Bitter Eden (14 page)

But it was wrong. There was a time when she understood why it was bad for her to go to the cottage and allow the rage to well up inside. Now she no longer knew. Reasons had become vague and confused, as had so many things. There remained only the residue of a memory that taunting herself with the cottage was taboo.

It was difficult for her to tear her eyes from the path through the woods that would lead to the cottages. Though she knew perfectly well that Rosalind was in her room, Natalie could all too well see her skirts swaying as she hurried down the path to Albert.

She shuddered, the mood creeping up on her. A fleeting moment of panic enveloped her, making her terrifyingly aware that she trod a narrow line between sanity and madness. She lived in dread of crossing that thin line, and now frantically pushed her confused mind toward some activity to protect herself. She began to walk, then run, to the potting shed.

I

Once inside its fragrant interior she felt better. Everything would be all right now. The potting shed held no fears; she had filled it with beauty. From the beams hung great bunches of flowers she had dried last summer and fall. Along the narrowly shelved walls were jars of crushed rose petals and perfumed spices. She selected several flowers. Her small delicate hands moved gracefully and nimbly as she fashioned the lovely blue and violet flowers into a pleasing arrangement Singing now, she carried the flowers to the house.

"Callie! Callie, where are you?" Her voice sounded cheerful even to her own ears. She was surprised, for the effort to be happy was becoming more difficult. The vision of a forest path to the pickers' cottage kept intruding. The only emotion she was still able to feel honestly welled up in her, making her pulse race. With her jaw clenched she allowed the fearful hatred to seethe and flow out of her. Then she saw the image of her brother's handsome, laughing face. It took on the countenance of a jeering death's-head, and Natalie clapped her hand over her mouth to keep the wild laughter from escaping. How anxious she was to tell him of his wife's faithlessness. How good it would be not to be so alone, to have him share her deadly quiet panic. Together, she and Peter would feel nothing. Pain, hope, trust, disappointment, would die. Frightened again, Natalie hurried to the steps. The stairwell she ascended was distorted. Sounds rang in her ears too loud to bear and too soft to grasp. "Callie!?" Natalie ran the last few steps to Callie's room. She forced herself to slow down, catch her breath, and smile. Her voice was high and childish. "I have a surprise for you."

Callie looked up reluctantly from the novel she was reading, her finger holding her place. Then she

dropped the book, her face lighting with pleasure. "Former

"Yes, for you. A gift for my new sister." NataKe held out the bouquet. "The blue flowers match your eyes and the violet . . ." Natalie paused, suddenly confused between herself and Callie; then she went on, ". . . they match the sadness of your heart. Next time 111 bring you a pink bouquet ... or a gold one . . . for happiness. I don't know why I chose violet. It seemed . . *

Callie buried her face in the flower petals. "They're so beautiful! My father used to bring me flowers. I'd keep them until they wilted. I never knew you could preserve them like this. Would you teach me?"

Natalie looked skeptical. The mood stirred and threatened to take over. Then it vanished again. "Would you really like to learn?"

Callie nodded, her attention on the flowers.

Natalie sighed and tried to take Callie at her word. It was so hard to believe in the goodness of others when the mood kept threatening her. "I'd like some help drying the flowers. There are always so many to be done. It's a big job and I must always do it alone. Rosalind isn't interested, and Anna and Mama say the hop picking is too important for them to take time out for my flowers; but it is important! All winter we have brightness in our house because of my flowers. You like them, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Callie breathed. "I love flowers."

Natalie smiled. "I hoped you would. Oh, Callie—I think you are truly going to be my sister . . . and my friend. I've never really had a friend . . . not a real one." Natalie sat down on the edge of the bed. "Friends should be someone special. They should understand. You understand, I think."

"Understand what?"

"Things. How important it is to be happy . . . like my flowers. They make the house look happy even when the cold and rain and wind howl in the dark outside. It's even more important to feel happy when you're afraid inside."

"Afraid," Callie said tentatively. "You have nothing to be afraid of . . . not here. Do you?"

"There is always something to be afraid of."

Callie laughed nervously. "No—there isn't."

Natalie smiled, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Didn't you play scaring games when you were little?"

"Oh, well, that doesn't count. That isn't real . . ." Callie jumped, scrambling off the bed as Natalie let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

"Tell me that wasn't real! You were scared." Natalie giggled. "You nearly jumped out of your skin."

Anna pounded up the stairs. Breathlessly she came into the room. "What's happened? Are you all right? I heard someone scream . . ."

Natalie laughed. "Oh, poor Anna! I'm sorry. Callie and I were trying to scare each other. You should have seen her! I thought surely she'd climb straight up the wall."

Anna laughed weakly. "Well, you girls scared me. No more. Please."

Callie's heart was still pounding wildly. She fussed with the knickknacks on her dresser, trying to rid herself of the terrible jumpy feeling.

As soon as Anna returned downstairs, Callie turned to Natalie. "Why did you do that! You screeched like a horrible old barn owl! I still feel all creepy and crawly."

"I told you there was always something to be afraid of." Natalie got up, went to Callie, and took her hand. "I'm sorry. Sit down and I'll fix your hair for you. The

brushing will be soothing and I might tell you a secret"

Callie hesitated, then sat down, pulling the pins from her long honey-colored hair. "What land of secret? No more spooky stuff?"

Natalie began to brush in slow, gentle strokes. "A good secret But since you are such a doubter, I don t know that I'll tell you."

Slowly Callie relaxed, liking the easy pull of the brush. "Natalie! Now you have me bursting to know. If I ask you to tell me you are likely to shriek in my ear and frighten me to death, and if I don't ask it is likely to be something wonderful."

Natalie giggled. "What a dilemma you have, new little sister."

"Oh, tell me. Please, tell me now."

"Nooo . . ." Natalie said slowly, laughter in her voice. '1 don't think I'd better. It's not really my secret to tell."

Callie twisted in her chair. "Whose then? Tell me! You're such an awful tease!"

"All right. I'll tell you that much. It's Peter's secret • . . and Stephen's."

"Peter's?" Callie said softly, then fell silent.

Natalie peered around at her. "What? No more questions?"

"No. It's not your secret to telL I don't want to know anyway."

"Oh, what a nit! I think you are the most frightened little rabbit I've ever seen. Why are you afraid of Peter?"

"I am not frightened! I just don't care to know."

"You are too, frightened. Everyone knows you avoid Peter. Whatever will you do when he comes for you on Sunday?"

"What do you mean? Why—c-comes for me? Where is he taking me?"

"Wouldn't you like to know. Maybe to the dungeons."

"Natalie! This isn't funny. Tell me!"

"Sit still. I can't do your hair if you keep twisting around. You're getting all tangles."

"I don't want you to fix my hair. Tell me—what is Peter going to do?"

"I told you, it's a secret, and anyway you said you weren't interested."

"Natalie, please . . ." Callie stood up and faced her. "Tell me. I must know."

Natalie stamped her foot. "I take it all back! Every word! You are not my sister. Look what you've done. You've ruined it. I hope Peter does something awful to you that you'll never forget! I worked hard on your hair and now look!" At the door Natalie stopped and looked back. "Don't blame me for the way you look, and don't ask me to help you untangle it!"

Natalie stormed down the hall, slapping the brush against her thigh. Callie stood in the doorway indecisively. Part of her wanted to run after Natalie, yet she knew she would only annoy her further. She sat back down, picked up her book, glanced at the page, then tossed the book aside. She wrapped a scarf around her wild hair, ran down the stairs, grabbed her coat from the hall tree, and hurried out into the cold freshness of the farmyard.

Chapter 9

Callie didn't think about the mysterious secret for Sunday. She didn't allow herself to do so. Natalie's teasing had upset her badly enough despite her knowing that teasing was all that it was. Tearfully, Callie longed for the days when she had never felt afraid. They seemed so long ago. Being afraid had always meant the tantalizing wonder if witches truly rode the night sky on All Hallow's Eve, or listening to the scary imaginings of Mrs. Pettibone or her father. Never in her fourteen years had she experienced this nameless kind of fear, which seemed to magnify itself. Before her father's death, Callie remembered only pleasant days filled with security and well-being. Now all of that was gone. Its replacement had been fear. Vague, anonymous, insidious—creeping up on her from the most ordinary places and occurrences. It had become a habit with her, a habit she didn't know how to overcome.

She closed her mind against Sunday, against the habit of fear. She kept herself busy through Thursday, Friday, and Saturday helping May with the cheese

making and Anna in the sewing room and doing odd chores for Meg in the house and for Stephen in the brewhouse. What little time there was left on the short wintery days she spent with Natalie, sometimes in the stables playing with the puppies, sometimes allowing Natalie to teach her to ride a horse. She wasn't overly fond of the beasts, who loved to nip at her boots when she mounted, and whose friendly, nuzzling searches for sugar treats tended to be rough and direct. But mastering the horse and herself astride the animal required all her concentration, leaving little time for her overwrought and morbid imagination to draw visions of a catastrophe awaiting her on Sunday.

When finally Sunday arrived, it had all the markings of an ordinary day. The household ^wakened and stirred at the normal time. The wintery March sky was leaden and heavy with unfallen rain, or perhaps snow judging from the frigid coldness of her room.

Breakfast odors wafted up the staircase tempting her to get up and dress. At the table James wasted no time in saying the morning prayers, and the nine of them ate in near silence until Meg began to fuss, urging them to hurry or they would be late for church.

All through the service and the lengthy sermon Cal-lie kept her eyes squeezed shut, her hands clasped so tightly in prayer her knuckles hurt and her bloodless fingers were numb. She prayed to the Savior, to the Precious Blood, to His Holy Mother and the Archangels, to keep her safe. And she prayed to some nameless, personal Savior that the Father would have time to hear her pleas.

It appeared that He did, for when they returned home from church, it was already time for supper. Darkness and early bed would not be far behind, and then, with blessed sleep, the Sunday would be gone, laid to rest alongside other dead days.

Shortly after they had eaten, the family retired to the parlor. Natalie played the harpsichord, and James let his head fall back against his chair, a smile on his face as he was soothed by the sound of his daughter's music. Callie hardly noticed that Peter hadn't joined them. He often didn't, having matters of his own to attend to. But she did note that Stephen wasn't there. She had become quite close to him, counting on his willing and gentle company, basking in the affection he gave so easily and so often. She wished he were there now for she was enjoying Natalie's music and knew that he would have silently shared that pleasure with her.

The door opened, letting a cold, damp wind blow across them. Natalie looked up, her fingers poised above the keys. She smiled broadly, then played a gay little fanfare.

"Everybody put your coats on," Peter said. "Everything is ready."

Meg and James exchanged amused glances. Frank sighed, as if going along with something he thought so much silliness. Anna and Rosalind went to fetch the many coats and scarves. Natalie glowed, her soft laugh an added merriment. Only Callie remained in her seat, frozen.

Smiling, Stephen came over to her, her coat in his hands. "Come on, Callie."

"I don't want to."

"It's a surprise for you. Come along. I'll be with you."

She shook her head woodenly. "It's raining."

"Please—for me. I promise I'll stay right with you. You'll be glad you came."

Before she could answer, the rest of the family, standing by the door, chorused that she should hurry.

Still she held back, embarrassed but too frightened

to act brave. Then she wished she had, for Peter separated himself from the others. "Go on ahead. I'll bring Callie. Go on, Stephen."

Stephen handed Peter her coat and scarf. The door closed leaving her alone with Peter.

"Put your coat on, Callie/'

She did as she was told, thankful he didn't touch her or try to help her.

"The surprise is for you. Stephen and I wanted you to have something special . . ." He seemed unsure of himself, but he went on. "I know—at least I suppose— things have not been easy for you, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I frightened you so badly—I don't understand it. But I was hoping . . . well, perhaps our surprise will tell you what I wish for you. If I could change things for you, I would. Now come along. The others are waiting in the rain."

Callie had hardly heard him. When he took her arm it felt like wood, unresponsive and stiff. She walked at his side like a puppet, her eyes wide, fixed and staring. She was barely sensible. Whatever fears she had, they were not based on reality. They went far beyond that, and Callie lived in a tormented world of dreadful imagination. He might have been walking her to the gallows for all the anticipation she showed for the surprise. He felt tired and old, beaten and remorseful. He should have left her alone. Only a fool would have thought otherwise. A stupid gesture, such as the one he and Stephen had made with their surprise, couldn't give back to Callie the youthful zest for life she had somehow lost. He had been a naive idiot to think it could. Something had frozen the girl deep at her core. Only time could heal it, he thought, then mentally shook himself for the idiocy of that thought too. Time healed nothing.