Darkwater (4 page)

“Even to a girl?” Alicia asked in that thin, wasted voice of hers.

Jennifer was startled by that question from Alicia, who had not spoken since sitting down except to whine to Walter about her food.

“To a boy or a girl if either needs it,” Jennifer said. “And I do think girls sometimes need it as well as boys.”

To Jennifer's further surprise, Alicia said, “I think Susan is right, the children here need a teacher, a woman teacher. Someone like Miss Hale.”

The statement was as much a surprise to the others around the table as it had been to Jennifer. Certainly Alicia was the last person present that Jennifer would have expected to say anything in her favor.

“The men we've hired, all they ever do is whip Peter to look like they are earning their salaries. Why is it I never heard of a girl being whipped?”

Still no one made a comment. The people around the table stared at Alicia as if she had perhaps just blasphemed. Jennifer held her breath, fearful that anything she said might cause Alicia to turn against her as abruptly as she had sided with her.

Alicia's claw-like fingers suddenly gripped her husband's wrist, causing him to spill a spoonful of jelly.

“Say that Miss Hale can stay to teach the children,” Alicia pleaded, looking up at her husband with wide, feverish eyes. “And to be my companion,” she added in a firmer voice. She suddenly turned her gaze on Jennifer again, but this time it was a friendly look.

“That won't be too much work for you, will it?” she asked. “Acting as both teacher and companion?”

“I...I don't know, of course,” Jennifer said. “That is, I've no idea how much schooling the children will need, nor of how much attention you require in your...condition. But I would think I could manage it easily enough, if I am given the opportunity to try.”

“Do say she can have the opportunity, Walter, darling,” Alicia insisted.

Jennifer let her eyes go to Walter's face. Just then he looked at her too, and she had an odd sensation, as if she were suddenly falling, so that she actually gripped the edge of the table to support herself. She had never felt such a reaction to a man before, not even with Johnny, whom she had certainly loved, and it frightened her and embarrassed her. She felt her face growing warm and wondered what the others would think.

But he is married,
something within her cried, and she answered herself angrily,
I know that.

“If it will make you happy, and if it pleases Miss Hale, of course she can stay,” he said, but there was no pleasure in his voice and Jennifer wondered if his thoughts were like her own.

CHAPTER FOUR

Although it seemed to Jennifer that it was very early when she rose and came downstairs, she was surprised to discover that the family had already breakfasted and were about their chores. The children could be seen playing in the yard. The dining room was empty and in the kitchen Helen was going over the inventory of food supplies with the large black woman who had served dinner the night before.

“I'm afraid we breakfast early,” Helen said. “We all have to do more of the work now, and that means early rising. The men are already in the fields.”

“I must seem like a frightful laggard,” Jennifer said apologetically.

“You had a long journey yesterday,” Helen replied. Her tone implied that while Jennifer need not apologize for sleeping late this morning, she would be expected to adopt the family's schedule in the future. Jennifer did not mind. Usually she was an early riser herself.

“Is Mrs. Dere still abed?” Jennifer asked. “I mean, that is, the other Mrs. Dere.”

“We have dispensed with a great deal of formality here,” Helen said with a smile. “And I think you will find it less confusing if you did likewise. I would suggest you call me Helen. As for Alicia, I expect she will want you to call her by her first name, but you had better wait until she suggests it herself.”

“I will. I wonder if perhaps, as Alicia—Mrs. Dere—is still sleeping, I should begin with the children this morning. What do you think?”

“I think there's no particular hurry. There will be plenty of time to get acquainted with the children today and you can start lessons tomorrow, if you like.”

Jennifer started to ask something else and hesitated, not sure exactly how open she could be with the mother of her new employer. It was Helen, after all, who functioned as the mistress of the house. Despite Helen's charm, the sort of charm natural to the old South, Jennifer could not help thinking that the older woman disapproved of Walter's decision to hire her, her youth notwithstanding. Jennifer knew that she had been hired only because of Alicia's mysterious support. She had the impression that Helen would have preferred to see her on her way this morning, never mind Darkwater's tradition of hospitality.

“I'm not sure I should ask this,” Jennifer said after a moment's consideration, “but I'm not clear on one point and I wonder if you could help me. Am I to...that is, should I teach all three of the children or only...only Mr. Dere's?”

Helen stiffened visibly, as if this subject were taboo. “Liza is treated as a member of the family,” she said. “At least insofar as we can treat her. She will have her lessons with the other children.”

“I see. Is there a schoolroom here?”

“No, not a schoolroom exactly, but there is the library. I think that will do nicely. Perhaps you will look it over and see if you don't agree. It's just along the central hallway.”

Jennifer went along the hall as directed and found the library with its book lined walls. At once she loved the room. Thanks to all those books, here more than anyplace else in the house she had a sense of belonging. She could not see a wall of books without feeling something almost sensuous stir within her. She went quickly to a shelf and studied the titles. She found Plato at once, and Marcus Aurelius, but she could see that there was a good sampling of the moderns, like Mark Twain and Henry James. It was not only an extensive collect but an up-to-date one as well.

Someone had been reading and had left a book open upon a table. Curious, she went to it and picked it up. It was a volume of Shakespeare's plays, open to Macbeth. Whoever had been reading that tragedy had read it more than once, judging from the book's well-worn condition.

She was startled when a masculine voice behind her said, “You are a lover of Shakespeare, then?”

She turned to find Walter Dere at the library door.

“I am sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to startle you. I was just coming along the hall and saw you there, with my book.”

“Is it your book?” she said, embarrassed. She quickly returned the book to its place on the table. “I did not mean to overstep the bounds of propriety.”

“Be assured you did not, and please, make use of any book here. I treasure them, but even more do I treasure sharing them with a fellow book lover.”

She felt a bond established between them. Two people who loved good books and fine literature and who were surrounded by Philistines.

“I would not have guessed you for a man who cherished books, and certainly not Shakespeare.”

“Odd, I would have said no one could love books without feeling something special for Shakespeare. Did you teach him in that school you were employed at—the one with all the wily girls?”

“Some. When I could keep their attention on him long enough.”

He remained standing half in half out the door, so that he would be visible to anyone passing in the hall, while she was across the entire room from him. Even so, Jennifer was aware of a certain impropriety in this lengthy interview alone with him. But if he was aware, he gave no sign of it.

“Then you must understand him pretty well,” he said.

“Pretty well, I think.”

“Good. There are some points I've often wondered about. Perhaps we can talk about them sometimes and you can help me clear up my thinking.”

She doubted that his thinking was ever anything but clear. Her little warning voice was telling her that this conversation had gone on long enough now and that she ought to excuse herself before someone saw them and got the wrong impression.

“For instance?” she prompted him.

Certainly he seemed to have no interest in ending their discussion. “For instance, all that supernatural business. Is it literal, or only subjective? I have heard arguments both ways.”

“Both literal and subjective, I should think. In Macbeth, for instance, Banquo's ghost is certainly subjective. It's only Macbeth's imagination at work. But in some other plays he surely means the ghosts and spirits to be taken literally.”

“What about the witches in Macbeth? They are surely not meant literally, are they?”

She shook her head, so immediately absorbed in their conversation that she forgot all other considerations. “I think not. Macbeth saw them because he wanted to see them. He wanted to remove Duncan from the throne and so he saw three witches who prophesied his doing just that. It was only his ambition talking.”

“But don't you think that makes the entire play monstrous, because certainly the good in him is defeated and in your interpretation, evil triumphs?”

Jennifer was thrilled to see that his grasp of Shakespeare was far more than superficial. She so rarely met anyone with whom she could truly discuss such things that she was fairly trembling with excitement.

They had been so absorbed, however, in their literary argument that both had failed to hear anyone approach until Helen suddenly appeared behind Walter in the doorway. She looked from one to the other of them, clearly a bit surprised to find them alone together like this.

“I was just coming to see if you thought the library would be all right for the lessons,” Helen said.

“Yes,” Jennifer said, blushing. “I think it will do very nicely.”

* * * * * * *

W
hy is she blushing,
Walter thought
. So she feels it too, then? It isn't only me. But, my God, it can't be. And yet...and yet....

He too seemed finally to realize his position, for he said, with what might have been embarrassment, “I was on my way down to look in on Alicia.”

He turned to go but paused long enough to incline his head toward Jennifer and say, with a barely suppressed smile, “It has been most enlightening, Miss Hale, and I hope we will have an opportunity to continue.”

“I have no doubt we will continue our discussion,” she said, and with a barely perceptible flick of her eyes in Helen's direction, she added, “Perhaps we can form a little discussion group and get several opinions.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, looking vastly amused at that suggestion. Then he was gone. Jennifer heard his footsteps echoing along the hall. A distant door closed. It seemed to her that the light had grown dim in the room.

* * * * * * *

Helen said, “Would you like me to bring the children in now? You'll want a chance to get acquainted with them before you actually start lessons.”

“Yes. I will need to know just what they have been taught before, and then there is the question of their textbooks. What have you here?”

“There are some textbooks there,” Helen said, indicating one of the lower shelves. “Whatever else you think necessary can be ordered. I will bring the children.”

She was back in a few minute, shepherding the three youngsters. Jennifer saw that Peter and Mary looked a bit apprehensive but nonetheless excited at the prospect of a new routine. The oldest of the three, the girl Liza, looked sullen and resentful. Jennifer guessed that, as she was obviously quite a bit older than the other two, perhaps she resented being treated as a child the same as them.

Whatever the reasons, her instincts told her that whatever problems she might have would center around Liza and not the other two.

Helen left them alone in the library. Jennifer faced the three youngsters and said, “Now then, so we make no mistakes, let us get reacquainted. I am Miss Hale, and will you each please tell me your name again and how old you are?”

“I'm Peter and I am seven,” the boy said.

“Six,” the little girl said.

Peter's bright smile turned to a frown. “I am almost seven,” he said with an angry look at his sister.

“Very well,” Jennifer interceded, “Six and a half will do nicely. And you?”

“I am Mary, and I am eight and a half.”

The oldest of the three sat gazing from the window at the green field outside. She pointedly ignored the others in the room.

“Aren't you going to tell me your name?” Jennifer asked her.

“You have already been told my name.”

“Perhaps I would like to hear it again,” Jennifer said firmly. “And I would like you to look at me when you are speaking to me, please.”

The girl turned then and looked directly at her. Jennifer was startled by her expression. It was not one of girlish temper, as she might have expected, but a look of mature malevolence. For a moment it disconcerted her.

“I am Liza,” the girl said, almost spitting the words at her.

“And how old are you, Liza?” Jennifer asked, recovering her composure. It would not do, she knew from experience, to let this child start off on the wrong foot. It would undo any future attempts at discipline.

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Jennifer asked, astonished. The girl only continued to stare at her, now with a blank expression that told nothing of what she was thinking or feeling. “What of your parents?”

“I have no parents.”

Unexpectedly, Peter cried, “Her mother is the swamp witch.”

“That isn't true,” Liza cried, leaping to her feet. Afterward, Jennifer was certain that Liza would have struck Peter had not she also risen to her feet and spoken sharply.

“Liza,” she said. The girl froze where she was and looked at her angrily.

“That wasn't true,” Liza said.

“Whether it was or was not, we shall have discipline while we are at lessons,” Jennifer said sternly.

“I am not afraid of you.”

Jennifer was momentarily taken aback by this display of impertinence. She hesitated briefly, not knowing just how far she was permitted to go in disciplining the children.

“You will do as I say or I shall have to speak to Mr. Dere.”

That threat at least had some magic effect. The taut anger seemed suddenly to leave Liza's body and without further argument she returned sullenly to her seat.

Jennifer studied the three faces before her. She saw that Peter and Mary had been impressed with her show of firmness and she guessed she would have no real difficulty with them.

She felt a burning curiosity, however, to know more about Liza. What a strange young girl she was. How could she not know her own age? Jennifer had reckoned it to be about fourteen, certainly no more than a year younger or older, but oughtn't she to know that herself? And what an odd thing for her to say, that she had no parents. And who was the swamp witch, who Peter had said was her mother? Why did Peter say that, if it were not true?

She did not ask any of these questions aloud, though, because she felt they were sure to provoke another outburst. For some reason or another, the question of Liza's parentage was a sensitive subject. Nor was there anyone else she could ask. Her hints in that direction with Helen had produced a coldness that implied she was prying, and she could hardly presume to question Mr. Dere regarding his household. Nor was Mrs. Dere likely to satisfy her curiosity.

A sudden thought crossed her mind as she thought of Mr. Dere. Peter and Mary were his and Alicia's children, and Liza plainly was not. But could she be Mr. Dere's by some other...she hesitated even on the thought...by some other relationship? That would explain why she was here, why he gave her the same place as his own children. It would explain too the family silence on the subject, and why the children were kept out of Alicia's way.

But these are not my questions to answer, she thought. She returned her attention to the children, who had been waiting silently.

“I think,” she said, “I will hear each of you read something, so that I can begin to ascertain the extent of your previous education.”