Cherry Ames Boxed Set 13-16

by Helen Wells

  Bob—or Richard—half laughed, remembering, but Cherry and Dr. Hope were listening closely.

  “Because of what?” Dr. Hope asked.

  The question was painful. Richard paled, wet his lips, but could not speak. Cherry started to prompt him but the psychiatrist gestured for her to be silent.

  “Won’t you tell us? Was it perhaps because of your mother, in some way? Or because of some accident or quarrel? You remember, don’t you?”

  Richard breathed hard. “It was—Just another boy. It was just a boy at the beach.”

  Cherry remembered Richard’s agitation when he made up a beach scene for the misty TAT card. Another boy? That suggested in his boyhood.

  “How would another boy know?” Dr. Hope asked.

  “It was another boy.”

  “Unless perhaps it was your brother?”

  “No.” Richard turned his face away and refused to say more.

  “Well, tell us something else, then. Was Merrill in this difficulty, too?”

  “Please leave Merrill out of this.”

  Dr. Hope approached the sore point via another route. “Something extraordinary must have happened,” he said gently.

  “Something terrible happened. I’m sure of that much. Because I’ve never stopped feeling unhappy and guilty about him.”

  “About your brother?”

  “No, you mustn’t blame Merrill. Not for anything.”

  “You’re fond of Merrill, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, very fond of him. He’s my older brother. Four years older than I am. I’ve always looked up to him. But I—Funny I can’t remember exactly what happened—but I feel as if I’ve done Merrill some lasting injury, and have to make it up to him.”

  It was plain to Cherry and the psychiatrist, from Richard’s agitation about Merrill, that there was a good chance Merrill had been the “other boy” involved in the unnamed difficulty. Equally plain, Richard resisted telling anything much about Merrill, out of some feelings of guilt toward his brother. Some very tangled relationship must have existed between the two boys—and what was it now, between the two men?

  Guilty, Richard said. … Was the guilt imaginary or valid? Did it apply to their boyhood or to as recently as last April? Guilty of what? Whatever had happened, in Crewe or elsewhere, whatever other persons were involved—his brother, his mother, Susan—the truth was locked away in Richard’s memory. It was as if his memory had jammed, like a stubborn, complex piece of machinery, and all three people in this hospital room struggled to pry it open.

  Under Dr. Hope’s gentle questioning, Richard remembered a few things about his brother, and his family. He recalled his father.

  “I’m sure our father meant to be impartial,” Richard said hesitantly. “I’m sure he made every effort.”

  Dr. Hope raised his eyebrows. “But he wasn’t?”

  “Oh, he only favored Merrill a little, sometimes. Maybe I’d have done the same in his place. Merrill never was as strong as I am—not that Merrill ever complained. He’s a remarkable person.” He spoke kindly, devotedly of Merrill.

  “Why wasn’t Merrill as strong as you?”

  “In a way it was my fault.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  The story sounded pretty thin to Cherry. Apparently it did to Dr. Hope, too. He put questions, with tact, about the boys’ mother.

  “She’s the best mother in the whole world. But after what I did—I mean, after what happened to Merrill—After that, I felt my parents might never really want me. Especially my mother.”

  “You mustn’t feel that way,” Cherry said. “Weren’t your parents good to you? Affectionate?”

  “Oh, yes!” In answer to the psychiatrist’s question, Richard said, “I was about ten or eleven when all this happened.” He would not or could not say what “all this” meant.

  “So you kept the incident to yourself,” Dr. Hope said, “whatever it was, and nursed your feeling that you were at fault.”

  “Yes.” And this psychological wound, like any physical wound that is hidden and ignored, had festered. It was still painful, judging from Richard’s eagerness to change the subject.

  Dr. Hope talked for a while about the family business, or his deceased father’s business—Richard was unclear on this. Again he could remember only that the business concerned the manufacturing of medicines and drugs. Cherry had observed Richard’s evident training in chemistry and biochemistry, from time to time, in conversation with him about the drugs that Dr. Hope administered to him.

  “Did you take part in the business?” she asked. “Or did you plan to?”

  Richard grew upset and protested he could not remember. This, too, was pretty thin. He apologized, saying he realized there were periods for which he could not account.

  “Was Merrill in the family business?” Dr. Hope asked.

  Richard had no recall on that, either. Apparently the business was another sore point. That, Cherry thought, brought the focus of Richard’s distress up into the recent past. A question occurred to her. She gestured to Dr. Hope, then said:

  “Richard, I don’t understand what drove you away from home now. If you had foolishly run away from home when you were eleven and get all upset over that incident—well, some youngsters do foolish things. But why did you leave your home now—so many years afterward? Last spring, according to the police telegram. What drove you away?”

  Richard grew agitated. This point, too, he could not remember. That is, he could not bear to remember his point of breakdown. But what was it? What had happened?

  The only response their patient was able to make, out of his locked memory, was to repeat over and over that he was “guilty.” Especially regarding Merrill and his mother. He could not name what he had done, or not done, except to blame himself.

  “He’s still badly upset,” Cherry thought, “in spite of all progress.”

  In conference after the interview, Dr. Hope commented to Cherry that everything Richard had said tallied with the Crewe police report. But the report was all too brief.

  “We need more facts,” Dr. Hope said. “We need to know what the patient feels guilty about.” He explained that guilt, actual or imagined, could have caused Richard to break down and wander away. The psychiatrist needed the actual facts; then he could help Richard sort out facts from fantasy, and resume his life. That was the only way to help their patient get well.

  “Couldn’t we simply send Richard home?” Cherry asked. “Wouldn’t he remember everything once he got there?”

  “I’m afraid not. Restoring Richard to his family and home will not necessarily cure his amnesia.” Dr. Hope said patients had been returned to their homes and continued to be amnesics. “You see, Miss Cherry, if there’s family trouble, and that’s what drove him away, then our restoring Richard to his family might intensify his loss of memory. No, that won’t do. Our problem is to cure Richard and then reintroduce him into his family on happy terms. And for that, we need to know more about his relationships with his mother, his brother, the business, and the rest of it.”

  “We need more facts,” Cherry mused. “It looks as if somebody will have to go to Crewe.”

  “It certainly does. That detective fellow—Hal Treadway—can’t go. I can’t go, too many patients at the University Hospital. Miss Cherry?”

  Harry Hope looked down at her and Cherry looked up at him. They eyed each other, then burst out laughing.

  “I see we understand each other,” he said. “You’re elected. Can you go?”

  “If that’s an order, Doctor, I’ll make it my business to go.”

  “Well, I think it’s part of your nursing job on this case. I also think you’re a good person to do it—you’re thoroughly familiar with the case and know what to look for, better than anyone but I would. A hired detective might get the facts but overlook the meanings. We haven’t funds to hire a detective, anyway. I’ll tell Hospital Administration and Mrs. Peters all this when I ask f
or time off for you from the hospital.”

  “How soon do you want me to start?”

  “The sooner the better. We can’t go any further with Richard until we have more facts. By the way, Miss Cherry, I don’t know how we’ll finance this trip of yours.”

  “I have friends I can stay with in New York, Doctor.” She meant the Spencer Club’s apartment. With luck she might borrow Gwen’s car to drive up to Crewe. “As for the fare from Hilton to New York and back—the midnight coach flight isn’t very expensive, and I’ve been planning to visit my friends in New York, anyway.”

  “Honestly? Well, I feel better about it, then. Let’s see. This is Monday. Maybe some fast telephone calls will arrange things—”

  Dr. Hope offered to pay out of his own pocket any incidental expenses Cherry might incur. She thanked him but said that except for a few restaurant meals, these would not come to enough to matter.

  “You’re an awfully good person to go.”

  “I’ve been looking for an excuse to visit my friends in New York, Dr. Hope. This trip won’t be exactly a vacation, but it certainly should be interesting!”

  They agreed not to tell their patient where Cherry was going, since it might distress him. Dr. Hope would tell him just before Cherry returned—bringing back what unsuspected information?

  The hospital authorities promptly gave permission for Cherry to take a few days’ leave from the hospital. Mrs. Peters rearranged the schedule: Ruth Dale, two volunteer teenagers, and she herself would double up on Cherry’s ward work. Cherry telephoned Hilton Airport for flight information. And an hour later, when Mrs. Ames came home, she found Cherry in her bedroom packing a suitcase and wearing her gray suit.

  “Cherry! Now what? I’ve learned never to be surprised by your impulsiveness but—You never said a word!”

  “Didn’t know till now, darling. Will you or Dad drive me to the airport for the eight o’clock plane? I’ll explain at dinner.”

  At eight Cherry boarded the plane to New York, leaving her astounded parents waving out the car window. A few hours later Cherry roused the astonished Spencer Club nurses out of their sleep.

  “I’m here,” Cherry announced. “I told you I was coming. Isn’t anyone going to say hello?”

  CHAPTER IX

  Cherry Asks Questions

  THE SPENCER CLUB REUNION LASTED FAR INTO THE night and started up merrily again at breakfast. But Gwen and Mai Lee had nursing jobs to report to. Josie had a job interview to go to, and Bertha had promised to shop in New York for her numerous farm relations. The rush for hats, coats, and the front door started all at once.

  “At least my jalopy is going to Crewe with you,” Gwen apologized to Cherry.

  Cherry jammed on her hat. “I wish I could spend the day visiting with all of you.”

  “We’ll visit tonight,” Mai Lee promised. The dainty Chinese-American girl urged the other four out of the door. “We’ll all meet here at dinner this evening.”

  “At the Witches’ Cave,” Josie said. She was a rather timid girl, but she had a passion for murky, candlelit restaurants.

  “We eat dinner at home,” Bertha ruled. Since Bertha was a fabulous cook, no one argued. They called good-byes to one another, and the nurses wished Cherry good luck on her extraordinary search in Crewe.

  Nearly a two hours’ drive out from New York City brought Cherry into the quiet suburban town of Crewe, Connecticut. White-pillared churches, white houses with pumpkins set on their doorsteps, and the many schools and libraries reminded Cherry she was in New England. She drove along under Crewe’s flaming autumn trees, remembering the poem about New England’s “stern and rock-bound coast.”

  “Well,” she thought, “I’m looking for ‘a stern and rock-bound coast.’”

  Her plan was to go first to the rocky beach that Richard had described with so much unexplained agitation. It had seemed to both Dr. Hope and Cherry that of everything Richard recalled, the unnamed, disturbing incident at this place was most important to Richard. That is, if such a place actually existed. She’d better inquire.

  Cherry pulled in at a gas station and asked the young man in coveralls if he knew of a beach on rough water, which had big jutting rocks.

  “Sure, miss. Probably you mean Gull Point.”

  “Is that a public beach, or private property, or what?”

  “It’s a public park and beach. It’s open April through October.”

  She followed a bus marked “Gull Point,” and after passing scattered cottages and sandy marshes, she saw from a cliff the open waters of the Sound. It was gray, churning water today, rough and angry looking. Cherry drove downhill into the park, past rows of closed bathhouses. At the edge of the empty beach she parked the car and got out. A salty wind flapped her hair and coat wildly.

  She looked around rather anxiously for other people. Some workmen were repairing a dock. Cherry saw a weather-beaten elderly man wearing a park attendant’s cap, and hailed him.

  He was chilly and glad of a chance to step inside a shelter and talk to Cherry.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m the caretaker at Gull Point Park, all during the season. Sam Beasley, that’s me. I’m a fixture here. Been working in this park for over twenty years.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Beasley. I’m Cherry Ames, and I need some information from you.”

  He was eager to oblige. Cherry asked whether this beach happened to have any large, jutting rocks. For answer the caretaker led her out of the shelter into the wind and pointed far down the beach. She saw jagged gray rocks, taller than men, towering out over the water’s edge. The crags tallied with what Richard had visualized from the vague TAT picture. So he had remembered this place as it really was.

  “Mr. Beasley, you’ve been here for many years—do you by any chance remember the Albee brothers?”

  “Albee brothers? Why, of course I do! There’s an Albee family been living in Crewe for years, same as me. Crewe is the largest town around. The Albee brothers ain’t boys any longer, though. It’s twelve years, maybe fifteen, since the two of ’em used to come down to the Point, in summer vacation from school. Yes, fifteen years, every bit of it.”

  Fifteen years ago, Cherry figured. Richard had been about ten or eleven years old. Let’s see. He was about that age, he’d said, when “something terrible happened.”

  “What were the Albee boys like?” she asked curiously. “Or maybe you don’t remember. After all, you’ve seen thousands of boys at Gull Point.”

  “I know them well,” the elderly man asserted. “I’ll tell you this. I never saw two brothers more different from each other! Different as night and day. Even before his mishap here at the beach, Merrill never was—“

  “So there was an accident!” Cherry exclaimed.

  “I’m coming to that. I have to admit I liked Richard a whole lot better’n the other one. Most people did.”

  The park attendant said that Richard, though four years the younger, outstripped Merrill in strength, abilities, handsomeness, and pleasantness of disposition. Merrill was a nice enough boy, but Richard outshone him, effortlessly. Richard was not even aware of this. He looked up to his older brother. Merrill, though, seemed jealous of the younger boy. At the beach and in the water Merrill showed off, making the most of being four years older.

  “I’d say Richard was around ten years old, and Merrill maybe fourteen, when he had that bad time in the water.”

  “Merrill?” Cherry asked. “Not Richard? Was it Richard’s fault?”

  “Now look, young lady. Who’s telling this story, you or me?”

  Cherry grinned, apologized, and listened.

  Merrill, when a teenager, occasionally undertook feats at the beach that his younger brother could not manage. He often teased Richard in front of their friends. One day he and Richard swam far out and raced each other. It was the last week in September and the beach was officially closed, so there were no lifeguards on duty.

  “I don’t know whose idea it was to race, miss,
” the park attendant said, “but it was a fool stunt. I was on shore and I could see Merrill was having a hard time to swim back. Richard swam up to him several times, I guess to try to help him, but Merrill wouldn’t have it. A couple of us swam out a ways, wanting to help him, but Merrill motioned us to go back. Well, he wasn’t in any real danger, just tired, and anyway Richard was alongside him, so we did go back. He made it back to shore, finally, all spent.

  “And then, if you please, for all that Merrill was shaking all over and could hardly stand up, I heard him bawl Richard out—in front of their friends, again—and argue with the little fellow. Maybe Merrill felt ashamed of making a poor showing. Honestly, I never in my life saw such an expression as on the little fellow’s face.”

  “What expression?” Cherry asked.

  “Well, Richard was all bewildered and close to crying. And that ain’t all,” Mr. Beasley said. “After that, Merrill contracted rheumatic fever.”

  Cherry knew that rheumatic fever, or inflammatory rheumatism, could start from prolonged exposure to dampness or from an infection, with children especially susceptible. She pitied Merrill for it is an extremely painful disease, and it often leaves the victim with an impaired heart. Even with good care and long rest, complete recovery is difficult to achieve. A person who has had rheumatic fever must cut down on his activities so as not to overstrain his heart. That must have been hard for a boy of fourteen, just growing up.

  “Merrill was sick for a long time,” the park attendant continued. “First at the hospital, then at home. He never got really well. The experience sort of changed him, too. He never had Richard’s nice, friendly disposition, but after that, Merrill—Well, he was hard to get along with.”

  From Mr. Beasley’s halting account, Cherry understood that Merrill had become a sickly, complaining boy. He had demanded special privileges and often blamed others for the results of his own shortcomings. He had been unable to go in for sports, and he did not care to take much part in other activities. As a result he had few friends. Except for Richard.