Embers (23 page)
Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
She knew funny little things about him, like the fact that he used to buy only Idaho potatoes, never Maine (she
'
d seen the peels) and that he was allergic to shellfish (he once gave her a bag of littlenecks that somebody had brought him). He hadn
'
t thrown his money around, but he
'
d always remembered Millie
'
s mother at Christmastime
—
and later on, Millie herself.
"
I was sorry to see him go,
"
she said simply.
"
He never felt sorry for himself, and he never complained.
"
It was the perfect tribute, potato peelings and all. It was comforting to know that after the fire and before the illness, Orel Tremblay had had a life. Maybe it wasn
'
t filled with adventure or family, but neither was it all emptiness and pain. He had dogs, he took walks, he had a few friends. Meg was glad; her heart became a little more easy about him.
The nurse had begun to look restless, as if it were time for her to be on her way, when Comfort suddenly showed up in search of Allie.
"
It
'
s Lisa,
"
Comfort whispered in a voice that tried hard to be discreet but failed.
"
Her boyfriend
'
s just walked out on her. She
'
s very distraught, Allie. She asked can you come right away?
"
"
Oh, no
...
Lisa
...
is she still on the phone?
"
"
She hung up.
"
"
Okay,
"
said Allie. She turned to her sister.
"
Gotta go. Lisa was real shaky at our last AA meeting. Poor thing; she could see this was coming. I
'
m sorry, Meggie.
"
She blew a kiss to Tom Wyler and said,
"
Be back as quick as I can,
"
and grabbed her windbreaker from the back of a chair. The nurse took the opportunity to leave as well. That left Meg, Tom, Joyce and the no longer shy housekeeper, Millie. And, of course, Zenobia.
"
I think,
"
said Zenobia,
"
that now would be a good time to all join hands in a moment of reflection. Come. Let
'
s join hands.
"
****
If there was one thing Tom Wyler hated, it was being told to all join hands. He hadn
'
t played that game in kindergarten, and he wasn
'
t interested in playing it now. Not that he objected to the idea of this little get-together. He was quite touched when Allie told him that her sister was rounding up a quorum in memory of Orel Tremblay
'
s passing. Now that he knew Meg more, he could see how typical it was of her. She took care of people in this life
—
and, apparently, right on through the next.
If he had to hold a hand, he preferred that it be hers. He placed himself between Meg and little Millie, across from Zenobia and the dreadful Joyce Fells. Fells! What a woman! Tacky, self-pitying, jealous, mean
-
spirited
—
she was one, big, negative vibe, guaranteed to thwart whatever it was Zenobia had in mind.
And what Zenobia had in mind was just a little bit hokey.
"
Actually, wouldn
'
t it be nice,
"
Zenobia said,
"
if we made a circle around the dollhouse. It is, after all, our most visible reminder of Orel Tremblay.
"
Without really seeming to push, she managed to shepherd them into a small circle around the table on which
the doll
house sat. Wyler assumed that Meg would balk at this New Age nonsense, but she didn
'
t. She seemed not so much mesmerized as curious to see where all this was leading. He liked that in her. She
'
d probably make a pretty fair detective.
What surprised him even more was that Tremblay
'
s niece was tolerating Zenobia
'
s antics. Apparently Joyce Fells was willing to put up with anything to stay close to the dollhouse. She hadn
'
t taken her eyes off it once during the evening.
Which was not good. He
'
d seen her kind so often. They carried a permanent grudge against those who had something they wanted, and when the grudge got too big, they exploded.
It could be over the most worthless, trivial things: a pair of sneak
ers, a bag of Chee
tos. He
'
d seen people murder for sunglasses.
The dollhouse, on the other hand, wasn
'
t simply desirable. It had genuine value.
"
Let us take up the circle of joy,
"
said Zenobia.
So now they all were holding hands. He liked the feel of Meg
'
s in his. It had a kind of steadiness that he wasn
'
t aware of when he held Allie
'
s hand. With Allie that could never be for long, anyway; she needed her hands to express herself. But Meg
...
well, her hand felt
...
just about right.
Meg turned, and he turned, and when she gave him a fleeting, tentative smile, he felt something deep inside him shift and move slightly, like the first subtle lurch of a frozen river in spring. It took him by surprise. He rubbed his thumb gently across her knuckles in a gesture as much protective as it was possessive.
Something is happening here,
he realized. It was as disturbing, as intriguing to him as the touch of her flesh against his.
Zenobia began her invocation.
"
Lord,
"
she said,
"
we ask you to open your kingdom to Orel Tremblay, a man who by all accounts bore malice toward none.
"
Maybe just one,
Wyler couldn
'
t help thinking. But no one seemed to be counting.
"
He loved life, or he would not have lingered so long on earth,
"
said Zenobia.
"
And yet it
'
s clear that he looked forward to being free of it, because he cared little for its vanities and trinkets
—
with only this one, wonderful exception,
"
she said, nodding at the dollhouse in their midst.
"
How beautiful it is,
"
she added, almost involuntarily.
Indeed, in the darkened shed the dollhouse seemed suddenly to glow with an enchanting grace. Light from every one of its rooms, from gable to ground floor, tumbled through dozens of multipaned windows, binding the mourners in a pattern of tiny squares of brightness, blurring the outlines between them.
Sparks
of light were everywhere, dancing and disorienting. Wyler had the sense that he and the rest were all dissolving into a vague, shadowy presence. He thought of breaking the circle by releasing Meg
'
s hand, but something compelled him to hold on.
This is absurd,
he thought.
A trick of light and shadow.
He gathered all his wits and focused on Zenobia
'
s hands, convinced that she
'
d be rapping out a message on the table next.
Watch her hands,
he told himself.
Keep an eye on her hands.
"
Ohhh
..."
The sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, sent the hair on the back of his neck straight up. The cry was not Zenobia
'
s.
It was Meg
'
s.
"
No
. .
I won
'
t go in there,
"
Meg said in a low wail.
He caught his breath, hardly daring to turn his head and look at her. But when he did he could see, by the light of the dollhouse, that her gaze was vacant and trancelike. She wasn
'
t seeing him. She wasn
'
t seeing the dollhouse. She wasn
'
t seeing anybody in the shed.
"Speak in French — en Fran
çaise!
"
she cried in the same low wail.
"
Do you want the children to hear you? Pourquoi ne me vous-laissez pas tranquille? C
'
est si faux. Je suis une femme mariée. J
'
ai deux fils. Pourquoi me
faites-vous cela? Vous savez qu'il
me
faut cet emploi. Ne me
faites pas cela, s
'il
vous plait.
"
The hand he was holding was now cold and limp, in appalling contrast to Millie
'
s warm and trembling hand. He held on to each, completely baffled, unwilling to change a thing until he got more of a handle on the situation. He reminded himself to watch Zenobia, then promptly forgot. All he could think of, all he could focus on, was Meg. Or whoever she was.
In a more frantic voice, now:
"They'
re waiting for us. We
have
to go. We haven'
t much time. It
'
s coming nearer. I can smell it. Oh, God
...
why won
't
you let me
go? Are you mad? Please don'
t
...
don'
t
...
don'
t .
Meg
'
s voice, bone chilling and exhausted, trailed off into a soft drumbeat of the single syllable. No one else spoke, no one else moved. Wyler could sense, rather than see, that Joyce Fells was weaving in place, like a snake charmed out of its basket, and that Zenobia was holding her breath, mesmerized or mesmerizing, he wasn
'
t sure which. Could she have hypnotized Meg?
Millie, clinging to his hand, was near collapse. He could feel the hummingbird-beat of her heart through the palm of his hand.
It
'
s gone too far,
he thought, and wanted to stop it. But he feared hurting someone in the process.
It was the hostage situation, all over again.
"
No!
"
Meg suddenly shrieked, sending every one of them jumping out of his skin.
"
No no no no no no!
"
She lifted both her hands violently, yanking out of his grip on one side and Joyce
'
s on the other, and began pounding against something in midair as she screamed,
"
Open it! Open it!
"
And then she fainted.
And then Millie fainted.
***
*
When Meg came to, she found herself face-to-face with Joyce Fells, who was gazing at her from under half-lidded eyes, her mouth pursed in something between sympathy and a grimace.
"
Are you all right?
"
Joyce asked, apparently annoyed with her.
"
You put on quite a show.
"
Confused, Meg said,
"
You have me mixed up with my sister; she
'
s the actress.
"
She was breathing with an effort. Her legs were rubbery; her skin felt cold.
"
How did I get on this chair?
"
she asked, completely disoriented.
Meg turned to Tom, who was crouched next to her with his finger on her pulse. She lifted her wrist out of his grasp and stared at it, wondering why he
'
d been holding it that way. Then she saw Millie sitting in the only other chair, her arms wrapped around herself, her knees literally knocking together. Zenobia was standing over her, trying to comfort her.
"
Millie,
"
Meg said,
"
what happened to
you?
"
I w-want to go home,
"
the young woman said between sobs.
"
Well, sure, you can if you want to,
"
Meg said, rising.
"
I
'
ll give you a lift in my
—
"
But her knees weren
'
t up to it. She fell back limply, missing the chair and landing in Tom Wyler
'
s arms.
"
Ooo-ee,
"
she said with a shaky laugh. She turned to him; his breath felt warm on her icy cheek.
"
The flu?
"
she suggested with a lopsided, dopey smile.
"
Not the flu. I
'
ll tell you after,
"
he said. He eased her back into the chair, an old upholstered thing with wooden arms, and said to the rest of the company,
"
I think we
'
ll call it an evening. Thank you all for coming. Is there anyone who needs a ride?
"
"
I d-don
'
t think I can d-drive,
"
said Millie, still shivering.
"
I
'
ll take you home, dear,
"
Zenobia offered.
"
You can get your car tomorrow.
"
The girl nodded dumbly and Zenobia helped her to her feet.
"
Tom? Do let
'
s get together later tonight
—
"
Zenobia began.
"
Not tonight,
"
he said, dismissing her.
"
At breakfast, then. This is most interesting.
"
Somehow she managed to lean over and give Meg a reassuring hug without letting go of poor Millie.
"
Good-night, everyone. Joyce? Are you coming?
"
It was the nudge Joyce needed.
"
Nice to
'
ve met you,
"
she said to Meg. At the door she turned, hitched her pink handbag under her flabby arm, and said with a bitter smile:
"
Enjoy it.
"
Meg was left alone with Tom Wyler. He was leaning against the custom-made
table that held the dollhouse, his arms folded
across his chest, watching her thoughtfully.
"
You should be in bed,
"
he said softly.
"
God, no,
"
she answered, rubbing her hands together to warm them.
"
Not until I find out what the heck happened here. I
'
m fine, I
'
m fine. Just
...
tea. I
'
m fine.
"
Tom took off the light canvas jacket he was wearing and draped it over her shoulders, then brought over an empty cardboard box and turned it upside down in front of her.
"
Feet up,
"
he commanded.
She did as she was told while he went over to the big thermos dispenser and poured her a mug of tea. He came back to her and put the mug in one hand and wrapped her other hand around it and held his hands over hers for a moment.
Then he pulled up Millie
'
s chair, a battered kitchen reject, and placed it between Meg and the dollhouse. Meg had the insane thought that he was trying to protect her from it, which made no sense;
he
didn
'
t know about her bizarre reaction to the master
'
s bed within it.
"
What happened?
"
she asked simply, lifting the mug to her lips.
"
That, dear heart, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. I can tell you what I saw, but not what happened.
"
She made a wry face at his careful distinction, then said,
"
I remember holding hands and staring into the dollhouse as
Zenobia
spoke. After a while it began to seem real
—
full-size, I mean, like a real house. I could picture myself as one of the inhabitants inside. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. I had such a clear sense of myself
—
you know
—
inside
,
"
she said, pointing into the house.
"
I was standing in the circle, holding your hand and holding Joyce
'
s. But I was inside the house, too. That
'
s all I remember. Did you feel that way too?
"
she asked him,
not sounding hopeful
.
He gave her a sigh for an answer, then got up and walked around to the front of the little gabled mansion. He bent over sideways to peek in the windows.
"
How
'
d you get all the stuff inside these front rooms, anyway?
"
he asked.
"
The facade of the house comes off in panels. I had to figure it out. The whole thing is very cunningly constructed. I half expect there to be secret corridors inside. You know? The kind where the servants can come and go without sullying the view of their masters?
"
"
Do I detect an upstairs-downstairs attitude?
"
"
No, of course not,
"
she said, her chin coming up.
"
I
'
ve always believed that it
'
s not where you are but who you are. But ever since Orel Tremblay told me
that
my grandmother was trapped in
to working for someone she despised --"
"
Are you sure she despised him?
"
Tom asked, looking back at Meg.
"
Yes,
I
'
m sure!
"
Meg said, shocked that he could even speculate.
"
You know what Orel Tremblay said
—
how distressed my grandmother was about Gordon Camplin
'
s pursuit of her.
"
"
I
'
m wondering whether it was a love-hate thing,
"
Wyler admitted.
She simply stared.
"
God! What a cynic! Is this what happens to homicide detectives? They come to believe that every victim is a willing victim?
"
"
No, Meg,
"
he said softly, straightening up again and watching her with an expression almost of pain.
"
That
'
s not what they believe.
"
"
I
'
m sorry,
"
she said, biting her lip.
"
That was a stupid thing to say. But whatever gave you the idea that my grandmother was attracted to Gordon Camplin?
"
He hesitated, then said,
"
It was something you said.
"
"
I
said? When?
"
"
When you were in your
...
I guess I
'
m calling it a trance.
"
"Trance!"
He pulled up the old kitchen chair opposite her, then sat down and ran through the whole bizarre sequence for her. He repeated every line that she spoke, except for the French, which he admitted to her he hadn
'
t understood.
When he got to the part about how she broke free of his and Joyce
'
s grasp, he took both her hands in his, lifted them up, and mimicked her pounding gesture with them. Then he lowered her hands gently into her lap, like discarded props a magician no longer needs.
Meg didn
'
t believe a word of it, of course; that was her first reaction. But even as she denied it, she was aware from the thumping of her heart that somewhere or other she
'
d actually experienced the event he was describing
—
either in her
"
trance,
"
or on that October day in 1947. Or both.
