Bitter Eden (21 page)

"Nattie . . . Nattie, do you hear me? Are you all right?" Her voice sounded shrill to Natalie. Sharp and loud enough to pierce her eardrum, burst her head.

"Stephen! Her gown! Look, the hem is binned. Oh, Nattie, say something—please! Are you hurt? Did • . . did those men find you?"

Natalie put her hand to her ears. Her skull was splintering, the sounds distorting and ripping the bone from her brain. Then she began to cry. She couldn't

keep her hands on her ears and still touch the real ashes. She leaned over, digging her fingers deep into the blackened ashes, clutching a fistful of them, then watching the black stream fall to the ground.

Someone was crying. Then Stephen stood in front of her. Stephen her brother. Stephen worried. She closed him out, staring hard at the ashes. Dark ashes. A dark-haired woman.

"Are you all right?" Stephen s voice shook. The torch he held, making the wavering golden circle, wavered more. The circle jiggled and shook. The earth looked as though it were falling apart They would fall through the molten gold ellipse.

Stephen s free hand ran over her shoulder. He moved the light about, forcing her chin up, making her hold out her arms, making her stand. "We'll go home now, Natalie."

"No! I'm waiting for the gypsy."

Callie knelt on the ground, her skirts in the ashes. "She's gone, Nattie. She's not coming back."

"She promised!"

Stephen walked impatiently from the clearing, taking the light with him.

Callie pleaded with Natalie.

Natalie shook her head frantically, her hands pressed tight to her skull. "She must come back! She must! I need her! I need her to help me!"

"Nattie, you don't need her. We're all here. Well help you. We . . ." Callie's mouth opened on the next word, but no sound came. Stephen had returned. He strode up to Natalie, his face marked with anger, his body rigid. "Why didn't you come for us? At least answer our calls?"

Natalie hummed and stared at the ashes.

Stephen grabbed her small wrist, making her cry out

"Stephen!" Callie jumped to her feet, her hand restraining his.

Tightly he said, "They've found Papa. Not ten feet from here. In the woods. She knew. She had to know."

Callie looked from one to the other. "Is he . . "

"I don't know," Stephen snapped, then pulled again at Natalie's arm. "Get up."

Natalie whimpered, lowering her head and curling her back as if by bringing herself nearer the ground she could avoid Stephen.

"I said get up!" He jerked her arm so hard she staggered to her feet off balance and screaming in fright He grabbed hold of her shoulders, spun her to face him, and shook her until she gasped for breath.

"Stephen, stop! You're hurting her."

"She knew he was there! Damn it, she had to know. Why? Why didn't you call for help?"

Callie clung to his arm as Natalie's mouth opened in a silent scream. Her arms swung disjointedly in a macabre doll's dance. Her tongue curled, blocking her mouth; her eyes rolled up deep into her skull. "Answer me! Tell me what happened! I'll shake it from you if I must!"

"Stephen!" Callie screamed, pounding on his arms and back.

Blinking, his face a rigid mask, he stopped all motion. He stared at his limp, unconscious sister, his arms slowly lowering her raglike to the ground. Tears spurted from his eyes; his chest heaved with ripping, inarticulate sounds of rage and pain and shock.

Callie, choked by her own fear and tears, knelt between Natalie and Stephen. With one hand she held Natalie's hand on her lap. The other gripped Stephen's coat lapel, holding fast as though she could keep the tension and fear from growing if she could only anchor both of them.

Callie was afraid to speak to him on the way back. Stephen carried Natalie back to the house.

Callie followed him up the stairs to Natalie's room. He laid her on the bed, then stood back staring at her. His face was still etched with pain and bitter sadness. His dark eyes glittered like sparking coals. Almost in-audibly he spoke to his unconscious sister. "I don't know what part you had in this, Nat, or why, but it's been a bad night's work."

Chapter 14

Stunned and bewildered, Meg took her place at the side of James's bed. His lips were nearly blue, his face ashen. For once Meg had no idea what to do for her husband. She had no means by which to bring comfort to him. She looked helplessly at the faces of her family, who came and went from the room hoping to see some improvement.

Meg followed the doctors instructions faithfully, but each small improvement in James's health was secured by hours of worry and nursing and sleeplessness. And it was Meg who paid the price of those long hours. Aware now of the fragility of life as she had never been before—not even when she had watched two babies, born between Frank and Peter, waste away and die—Meg drew in the boundaries of her life closer to herself and James. She'd never given much thought to how much she counted on James. With cruel suddenness it was pressed on her that the air she breathed was only pure when it carried his scent. The food he ate pleased her palate. Her thoughts, loves, opinions, desires were founded on James.

She sluffed off responsibility for the rest of the house as though she had never welcomed its homey weight. The small unnoticed chores that keep a house warm and hospitable were now left to take care of themselves, or to be recognized and taken care of by the other family members. Meg's entire attention focused on James, for he was helpless and needed her, and she was helpless and needed him.

It took the other members of the family some time to realize that Meg had relinquished the general family concerns to whomever would accept them. Anna was worried about Natalie, and expected Meg to be as well.

"Mother Berean," Anna called, hurrying to the kitchen to talk with Meg as she fixed James's tea tray. "I don't know what is to be done with Natalie. Callie and I are quite worried."

Meg looked up from her task, maternal concern quickly clouding her eyes. "She's not ill?"

Anna hesitated. "No . . . that is, I don't know."

Meg raised her eyebrows. "You don't know?"

Anna, accustomed to Meg's placid, inquisitive way of sitting down to discuss any problem, was nonplussed by this quick, almost brusque Meg who was obviously more interested in arranging the china on James's tray than she was in Anna's worries. Awkwardly Anna raised her hands, helpless to explain succinctly what she sensed. "I don't understand her. Since the fire, she's changed."

"Changed? How?"

"She ... as often as Fve criticized Rosalind for her lack of charity, I can't say I blame her now. Natalie has become impossible."

Meg sighed, touching the side of the teapot. "I do wish they would simply stay away from one another.

James's health must come before all else. You tell them, Anna."

"Rosalind is trying, Mother Berean! But Natalie has taken to following her around. She dogs her every step. It has been like that for two days. Every place she goes when Peter is not around, Natalie is steps behind her. It's . . . it's . . . eerie."

"Bosh! Tell Peter to do something about it."

In one of her rare critical moments Anna frowned. "Oh, Peterl No one tells him anything. He never listens."

"Well, where is Callie? Why doesn't she help? Natalie is quite fond of Callie. I'm sure Nattie is just lonely and worried about her father." Meg patted Anna's shoulder.

"Mother Berean, I don't think you understand . . ."

Meg smiled sweetly, her mind only on James. "Tea's getting cold. We'll talk later, Anna."

Ploddingly stubborn, Anna stepped forward. "I . . . I'm not certain Callie should be asked to ... to look after Natalie. You don't understand. Something happened to her the night of the fire. It's as if she entered a different world. She . . . she frightens me sometimes. She's so single-minded . . . she thinks only of Rosalind."

"I might expect such fantasies from Rosalind, but not from you, Anna."

"Come see for yourself. Please." Ajma moved toward the garden door. Reluctantly Meg followed.

"They were standing here just a few minutes ago," Anna said, bewildered.

"Well, they aren't now. Perhaps they took a walk."

Anna ran a few steps, looking to each side. Then

she went toward the herb garden. "Please try this one last spot. If they're not here, I shall say no more."

They entered the gate of the walled garden. Meg stopped short, staring in disbelief.

Rosalind was backed against the far wall. "Go away!" she cried at Natalie.

Natalie stood immediately, whirling to face Meg. She ran to her mother and hugged her. The tinkling sound of her laughter filled the garden. "How is Papa? Better I hope."

"He is much better, Natalie. What were you doing when I entered the garden?"

She laughed again, the pitch a bit higher; then she moved closer to Rosalind. "We were playing a game. That is all. Rosalind is the deer, and I am the hound. It is a silly child's game, but I like it. Only Rosalind will never remember that deer cannot talk. She always talks when she gets trapped."

"She sounded very frightened to me, Nattie."

"But of course! She is the hart! The hound had her trapped. She is supposed to be frightened. That is part of the game. You must act . . . like we do in charades. I do love to play games, Mama. You know, I shall always be part little girl. Even when I am an old woman I shall still be a little girl sometimes, and sometimes play games as I do now."

"It is no game!" Rosalind gasped. Her eyes never leaving Natalie, she stepped onto the path. "She is playing no game. She means it. You haven't seen her or been victimized by her. She'd tear me to pieces. She would! Lock her up or she'll bring me to harm, and it'll be on your head. I'm going to talk to Peter. Someone has to do something about her. Keep her away from me!"

"Harm you?" Natalie asked, all innocence and hurt. "Why do you say such cruel things about me in front

of Mama? It was your idea to play, and we were having such a good time until they came. Why are you telling lies now? You're just ashamed to admit you like to play too. Why do you want to hurt me?" Tears formed in Natalie's eyes.

Confused, Anna retreated. "You were playing hart and hounds ?"

Rosalind looked frantically from Meg to Anna. "You don't believe her! Surely you cant! You couldn't! I'm telling you she's a lunatic. She . . . she . . ."

"Go inside, Rosalind," Meg said. "We are all too bestirred to know what to believe. No harm came to you." ■

"Only because you came into the garden. What will happen next time when no one comes?"

"Nonsense!"

"I see," Rosalind said. She smoothed the front of her dress, her chin rising to its normal haughty angle. "Well, Mrs. Berean, let me tell you something and you'd better listen well. Don't you let that loony daughter of yours near me again, or I'll take proper care of her. It's only because she is Peter's sister that I didn't strike back at her today. Let her follow me again and I won't think about who she is, only what she is. Remember that, Mrs. Berean!"

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner!"

"And what manner is that, Mrs. Berean? 9

"Why! You impudent piece of baggage."

"You just keep her away from me. You can be assured Peter will listen to the truth of what happened today, and not some story about a game of hart and hounds. She has gone too far this time."

But Rosalind did not get her opportunity to tell Peter of Natalie's new game that night. Albert was pounding on the door shortly after they finished supper.

"Peter!" he said breathlessly as he hurried into the

dining room. "You have got to let me sign you as one of the yeomanry immediately."

"You've lost the little sense you were born with. I want nothing to do with your little army, Albert You know how I feel. You'll have to play general all by yourself. And I don't discuss business in the dining room."

Albert dogged Peter's steps, talking as the man walked to the study. "It's too late in the day for sympathies and principles; listen to me! For once, shut your mouth and listen! The whole thing is over. It's done. The arrests are being made now . . . hundreds of them as I speak to you. We'll not have an inch of space left in the jails with all of them being rounded up. You're likely to be one of them if you don't start listening to me."

"You want me to assist you in arresting these men? The same men I've been trying to help?" Peter asked incredulously. He broke into a wide grin. "Sit down and we'll have a game of dice, Albert. You've been working too hard."

"I didn't come here for my own pleasure," Albert said seriously. "I'm trying to help you. The Swing riots are over. They are finished; get that into your head. There is nothing you can do now except protect yourself. My men are arresting everyone connected with them right now. I told you this was coming. This time you'd better heed my warning, if not for yourself then for the sake of your family."

"Listen to him, Peter," Frank said, mopping his forehead. "He should know what is happening. God! The last thing we need is for a Berean to be locked up with a bunch of rabble. My God, can you imagine the damage it would do to our name?"

"I am not going to take part in arresting these men."

"Then let me swear you in as a yeoman. You can

find some excuse for being absent, but sign up. Protect yourself."

"Sign it, Peter! You owe us that much. We've put up with your damned nonsense; now do something for your family," Frank shouted.

Glaring at his brother, Peter refused to sign the paper, then suddenly he agreed, "Make me a part of your little army, Albert."

Albert looked at him suspiciously. Peter looked too cocky, too sure of himself standing with his hands on his hips. Albert didn't trust him, but Peter had called his bluff and he couldn't back down.

"Now I am a yeoman. Is everyone satisfied?" Peter looked around the room. "Just remember not to ask me to do your dirty work. I'm only your prize—for show only."