Comes the Blind Fury (8 page)

Corinne closed her desk drawers. “Should I have?” What was he getting at?

“Not really. But she is. She knows it, too.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Somewhat. But what is definitely unusual is that apparently she’s never had any reaction to it at all. As far as her teachers could tell, she’s always accepted it as a simple fact of life.”

“Well, good for her,” Corinne said, her voice showing a trace of the annoyance she was beginning to feel. What on earth was Tim trying to get at? The answer came almost immediately.

“I think you should keep an eye on her,” Tim said. Before Corinne could protest, he forged ahead. “I’m not saying anything is going to happen. But there’s a difference between Paradise Point and Boston—as far as I know, Michelle is the only adoptive child you have here.”

“I see,” Corinne said slowly. Suddenly it was all becoming clear to her. “You mean the other children?”

“Exactly,” Tim said. “You know how kids can be when one of them is different from the rest. If they made up their minds to, they could make life miserable for Michelle.”

“I’d like to think they won’t,” Corinne said softly.

She knew what was in Tim’s mind. He was thinking of his own daughter, Lisa, eleven years old, but so different from Michelle Pendleton that comparison was nearly impossible.

Tim liked to believe that Lisa’s problems stemmed from the fact that she was “different” from her school friends: her mother had died five years earlier. In all charity, Corinne admitted that was partly true. The
death of her mother had been hard on Lisa, even harder than it had been on Tim.

At six, she had been too young to understand what had happened. Until the end, she had refused to believe her mother was dying, and when at last the inevitable had happened, it had been almost too much for her.

She had blamed her father, and Tim, distressed, had begun to spoil her. Lisa, from a happy six-year-old, had grown into a sullen eleven-year-old, uncooperative, listless, a loner.

“Do you have to be home this afternoon?” Corinne asked carefully, hoping Tim wouldn’t follow the train of thought that had brought her to what seemed an irrelevant question.

Suddenly, as if Corinne’s thoughts had summoned her, Lisa came into the classroom. She glanced quickly at Corinne. Her face, which should have been pretty, was pinched into an expression of suspicion and hostility. Corinne made herself smile at Lisa, but Lisa’s dark eyes, nearly hidden under too long bangs, gave no hint of friendliness. She turned quickly to her father. When she spoke, her words sounded to Corinne more like an ultimatum than a request.

“I’m going home with Alison Adams, and having dinner there. Is it all right?”

Tim frowned, but agreed to Lisa’s plans. A small smile of satisfaction on her face, Lisa left the room as quickly as she had come in. When she was gone, Tim looked rueful.

“Well, I guess I have the rest of the day,” he said. He had wanted to share the afternoon with his daughter, but there was no bitterness in his voice, only sadness and defeat. Then, reading Corinne’s expression
of disapproval, he tried to make the best of it.

“At least she told me what she’s up to,” he said crookedly. He shook his head. “I’m a pretty good psychologist,” he went on, “but as a father, I ain’t so terrific, huh?”

Corinne decided to ignore the question. If it wasn’t for Lisa, and Lisa’s clear dislike of Corinne, she and Tim probably would have been married two years ago. But Lisa ran Tim and had managed, to her own delight, to become a sore spot between Corinne and Tim. “I bought some steaks,” she said brightly, linking an arm through Tim’s and steering him toward the door. “Just in case you could come over this evening. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Together, they left the school building. As they emerged into the soft summer afternoon, Corinne breathed deeply of the warm, sweet air, and looked happily around at the spreading oaks and maples, their leaves still a vibrant green.

“I love it here,” she said. “I really do!”

“I love it here—I really do!” Michelle exclaimed, unknowingly echoing the words her teacher had just uttered. Beside her, Sally Carstairs and Jeff Benson exchanged a glance, and rolled their eyes up in disgust.

“It’s a tank town,” Jeff complained. “Nothing ever happens here.”

“Where would you rather live?” Michelle challenged him.

“Wood’s Hole,” Jeff announced without hesitation.

“Wood’s Hole?” Sally repeated. “What’s that?”

“I want to go to school there,” Jeff said placidly. “At the Institute of Oceanography.”

“How boring,” Sally said airily. “And it probably isn’t any different from the Point. I can hardly wait to get out of here.”

“You probably won’t,” Jeff teased. “You’ll probably die here, like everybody else.”

“No, I won’t,” Sally insisted. “You just wait. You’ll see.”

The three of them were walking along the bluff. As they drew near the Bensons’, Michelle asked Jeff if he wanted to come home with her.

Jeff glanced at his house and saw his mother standing at the door, watching him. Then he shifted his gaze, passing over the old cemetery, and coming to rest on the roof of the Pendleton house, just visible beyond the trees. He remembered everything his mother had ever told him about the cemetery and that house. “I don’t think so,” he decided. “I promised Mom I’d mow the lawn this afternoon.”

“Oh, come on,” Michelle urged him. “You never come over to my house.”

“I will,” Jeff said. “But not today. I—I just don’t have time.”

A glint of mischief came into Sally’s eyes. She nudged Michelle with her elbow.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice carefully innocent. “Are you afraid of the cemetery?”

“No, I’m not afraid of the cemetery,” Jeff snapped. By now they were in front of his house, and he was about to start up the driveway. Sally stopped him with her next words, though she directed them to Michelle.

“There’s supposed to be a ghost in the cemetery. Jeff’s probably afraid of it.”

“A ghost? I never heard that,” Michelle said.

“It isn’t true, anyway,” Jeff told her. “I’ve lived here all my life, and if there was a ghost, I would have seen it. And I haven’t, so there isn’t any ghost.”

“You saying so doesn’t make it so,” Sally argued.

“And you saying there
is
a ghost doesn’t make it so, either,” Jeff shot back. “See you tomorrow.” He turned and started up the driveway, then waved back at Michelle when she called a good-bye to him. As he disappeared into his house, the two girls continued their walk, leaving the road at Sally’s urging, to follow the path along the edge of the bluff. Suddenly Sally stopped, grabbed Michelle with one arm, while she pointed with the other.

“There’s the graveyard! Let’s go in!”

Michelle looked over at the tiny cemetery choked with weeds. Until today, she had only glanced at it from the car.

“I don’t know,” she said, peering uneasily at the overgrown graves.

“Oh, come on,” Sally urged. “Let’s go in.” She started toward a place where the low picket fence surrounding the cemetery had collapsed to the ground.

Michelle started to follow her, then stopped. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Maybe we’ll see the ghost!”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Michelle said. “But it just seems like we ought to leave it alone. Who’s buried there, anyway?”

“Lots of people. Mostly Uncle Joe’s family. All the Carsons are buried out here. Except the last ones—they’re buried in town. Come on—the gravestones are neat.”

“Not now.” Michelle cast around in her mind for some way to distract Sally. She wasn’t sure why, but the graveyard frightened her. “I’m hungry. Let’s go to my house and get something to eat. Then maybe later we can come back here.”

Sally seemed reluctant to give up the expedition, but at Michelle’s insistence, she gave in. The two girls continued along the path for a while, in an uneasy silence that Michelle finally broke.

“Is there really supposed to be a ghost?”

“I’m not sure,” Sally replied. “Some people say there is, and some people say there isn’t.”

“Who’s the ghost supposed to be?”

“A girl who lived here a long time ago.”

“What happened to her? Why is she still here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anybody knows. Nobody’s even sure if she’s really here or not.”

“Have you ever seen her?”

“No,” Sally said, with a hesitation so slight that Michelle wasn’t certain she’d even heard it.

A few minutes later the two girls slammed through the back door into the immense kitchen, where June was kneading a loaf of bread. “You two hungry?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“There’re cookies in the jar, and milk’s in the refrigerator. Wash your hands first, though. Both of you.” June turned back to her dough, ignoring the look of exasperation that passed between Michelle and Sally at the reminder of the childhood they were becoming eager to leave behind. Yet neither of them considered the possibility of ignoring the order. In a moment, June heard the tap running in the kitchen sink.

“We’ll be up in my room,” Michelle said as she poured two glasses of milk and heaped a plate with cookies.

“Just don’t get crumbs all over everything,” June said placidly, knowing they were again rolling their eyes at each other.

“Is your mother like that, too?” Michelle asked as they went upstairs.

“Worse,” Sally said. “Mine still makes me eat in the kitchen.”

“What can you do?” Michelle sighed, not expecting an answer. She led Sally into her room and closed the door. Sally threw herself on the bed.

“I love this house,” she exclaimed. “And this room, and the furniture, and—” Her voice stopped suddenly as her eyes fell on the doll that lay on the window seat.

“What’s that?” she breathed. “Is it new? How come I haven’t seen it before?”

“It was right there last time you were here,” Michelle replied. Sally got up and went across the room.

“Michelle, it looks
ancient!”

“It is, I guess,” Michelle agreed. “I found it in the closet when we moved in. It was up on a shelf, way at the back.”

Sally picked up the doll, examining it carefully.

“She’s beautiful,” she said softly. “What’s her name?”

“Amanda.”

Sally’s eyes widened, and she stared at Michelle.

“Amanda? Why did you name her that?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted an old-fashioned name, and Amanda sort of—well, came to me, I guess.”

“That’s weird,” Sally said. She could feel goose
bumps forming on her skin. “That’s the name of the ghost.”

“What?” Michelle asked. It didn’t make sense.

“That’s the name of the ghost,” Sally repeated. “It’s on one of the gravestones. Come on, I’ll show you.”

CHAPTER 5

Sally led the way as the girls left the path and started toward the collapsing fence around the cemetery.

It was a tiny plot, no more than fifty feet square, and the graves had a forgotten look to them. Many of the headstones had been pushed over, or fallen, and most of those still upright had an unstable appearance, as if they were only waiting for a good storm to give up their lonely vigils over the dead. A lightning-scarred oak tree, long dead, stood skeletally in the center of the plot, its branches reaching forlornly toward the sky. It was a grim place, and Michelle was hesitant to enter.

“Be
careful,”
Sally warned Michelle. “There’s nails sticking up, and you can’t see them through the weeds.”

“Doesn’t anybody take care of this place?” Michelle asked. “The graveyards in Boston never look like this.”

“I don’t think anybody cares anymore,” Sally answered her. “Uncle Joe says he isn’t even going to
be
buried here—he says being buried’s a waste of time and just takes up a lot of ground that could be used for other things. Once he even threatened to take out all the gravestones and let the whole place grow wild.”

Michelle paused, and looked around her. “He might as well have,” she observed. “This place is creepy.”

Sally avoided the tangle of vines and weeds as she moved through the graveyard. “Wait’ll you see what’s over here.”

Michelle was about to follow her when her eyes suddenly fell on one of the headstones. It stood at an odd angle, as if it were about to fall under its own weight. It was the inscription that had caught Michelle’s eye. She read it again:

LOUISE CARSON—Born 1850
DIED IN SIN—1880

“Sally?”

Ahead of her, Sally Carstairs paused, and turned back to see what had happened.

“Have you ever seen this?” Michelle was pointing to one of the headstones. Even before she went back to look, Sally knew which one it was. Seconds later she was standing next to Michelle, staring at the strange inscription.

“What does it mean?” Michelle asked.

“How should I know?”

“Does anybody know?”

“Search me,” Sally said. “I asked my mother once, but she didn’t know either. Whatever it was, it happened a hundred years ago.”

“But it’s creepy,” Michelle said. “ ‘Died in Sin’! It sounds so—so Puritan!”

“Well, what do you expect? This is New England!”

“But who was she?”

“One of Uncle Joe’s ancestors, I guess. All the Carsons were.” She took Michelle’s arm and pulled at her. “Come on—the one I wanted to show you is over there in the corner.”

Reluctantly, Michelle allowed herself to be drawn away from the strange grave, but as she picked her way across the cemetery, her mind stayed on the odd inscription. What could it mean? Did it mean anything? Then Sally stopped and pointed.

“There,” she whispered to Michelle. “Look at that.”

Michelle’s eyes searched out the ground where Sally was pointing. At first she didn’t see anything. Then, nearly lost under the brambles, she saw a small slab of stone. She knelt down, and pulled the thorny branches to one side, brushing the dirt off the stone with her free hand.

It was a simple rectangle of granite, unadorned and pitted with age. On it was a single word:

AMANDA

Michelle sucked in her breath, then examined the stone more closely, sure that there must be more to the inscription than just the name. There wasn’t.