Sister Angel (2 page)

Inside the house, Wanda pointed to him on the beach.
She and Constance were on the upper balcony. “You’re yin
and yang,” she said. “He’s so dark and mysterious-looking and you’re like a Nordic queen, tall, fair, splendid.”

Constance smiled. “Tell me something about Vernon,” she said, looking out at Charlie on the beach.

“Charlie reminds me of him,” Wanda said slowly. “Not the way he looks, but the way he listens, the way he accepts what he hears, maybe. Vernon was like that. Quiet, steady, so loyal that when his first wife left him, he waited for her for more than a year, really believing she’d come back. She left him for a ballet dancer,” she added wryly. “We were both so cautious. I had been married before, too—my childhood sweetheart. We used to fight all the
time; he beat me up regularly when we were children. After we got married, he reverted to his childhood behavior.” She stopped. When she went on, her voice was crisp. “People
thought I married Vernon for his money, of course. And I suppose there was something to that in the beginning, but not later. We were married five years. Each of us needed something the other had. We were happy together.”

They started to walk down the wide stairs that led to the
foyer. Indian masks lined the wall here. “This is for the
peyote ceremony,” she said, pointing to a ceramic mask
grotesquely contorted, brilliantly painted. “And that one was used for the buffalo hunt. The medicine man wore it and danced for eighteen hours to call the buffalo… .
He
was going to leave me. He had fallen in love with someone
else.”

Constance could feel the presence of staring eyes from the empty holes of the masks, could feel the presence of the ancient shamans. “Did he tell you that?”

Wanda looked up at her. “He didn’t have to. He said he
was haunted by her, obsessed by her, that he couldn’t stop
thinking of her. I told him I had to go away to think, and I went home with Gretchen and Dutch, and he was killed.”

Her face was so white, it could have been one of the masks.

“You hadn’t suspected before he told you?”

She shook her head. “Naturally, I knew there was something preying on him, but not that. I was as na
ї
ve as he had been with his first wife. I don’t know when it could have happened. We were never apart. I don’t even know who she
is.” Her voice was faint, unbelieving. “I never told anyone,
not Gretchen, not my mother, no one! And that’s one of the
things Brother Amos told me. There’s no way he could
have found out, no way. No one suspected.” She started to
walk again, this time holding tightly to the balustrade.

“What did Vernon mean when he brought up ghosts that
last night?” Constance thought at first that she would not
answer. She kept taking one step after another as if she had
not heard. At the foot of the stairs, she stopped.

“I think it was a premonition, that he was telling me he would come back when he died.”

“Maybe you think that now, but what did you think then?”

“Nothing. We never had talked about ghosts. It was an incredible thing for him to bring up like that, and of course
Dutch behaved so badly. I didn’t know what he meant.”

“Wanda, why did you agree to have Charlie and me come? What do you want?”

“I read your book. You have an open mind, don’t automatically reject things. I agreed more than a week ago.

Since then, every day there’s something new, something that only Vernon could be saying to me. Brother Amos says
ghost
is the wrong word. It’s a spirit, a soul, something else. Vernon isn’t able to leave because there were things he didn’t finish, things he has to tell me. I just don’t know what to think, what to do. I’m sorry I can’t answer your questions better. Every time I see him, I find out more. Perhaps in time I’ll have better answers.”

“You mean from Amos.”

She shook her head. “From Vernon. Through Brother Amos.”

Brother Amos was tall and blond, broad-shouldered, trim. He could have been a car salesman, an insurance agent, a government undersecretary, anything that called for a smooth exterior, good manners. He shook hands heartily,
like a good bureaucrat, and when he took Wanda’s hand, he used both of his and pressed hers between them as he gazed
into her eyes and murmured something inaudible.

His daughter, Angel, was very thin, still gangly, with long, pale hair that was baby-fine and very beautiful eyes a deep violet color. Give her a few years, Charlie thought, and she’d have Daddy pacing the floor every night.

“It was good of you, Gretchen, to bring company to help enliven the atmosphere in this house. Wanda needs company, needs companions, conversation. Too much grieving is a bad thing for anyone. Life is to be lived fully if we are to rob death of its fears.”

“I’m acting bartender,” Charlie said rather briskly. “Mar
tini mixings, scotch, let’s see… .” He looked over the
bottles, found the shaker, and started to mix martinis. “And
for the young lady, we have Coke, Pepsi, juice… .” He looked at her as he continued to shake the gin and ice.

When they had been introduced, she had ducked her head
quickly, shyly, but now she looked at him, and again he was struck by the loveliness of her eyes.

“Coke,” she said in a low voice.

“And juice for me,” Amos said. “I don’t condemn moderate alcohol, you understand, but I prefer to be abstemious. The training of a lifetime is hard to put aside.”

“Where do you preach?” Constance asked.

“Nowhere at the moment. My calling was late, too late for divinity school, too urgent for years of education. My
church is the world, wherever there are human souls yearn
ing for the Word, for Truth, for Guidance.”

Constance knew he capitalized the words in his head. Mildly, she said, “A tent revivalist? Really?”

“My dear lady, the Word of God is valid wherever it is uttered, be it in an alleyway or a tent or the finest cathedral.
Wherever there is an open heart, the Word of God can enter.”

“Here you go,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Juice, Coke, and for the rest of us, good old booze.” He handed out the drinks. “Do you heal at your meetings, Brother Amos? The laying on of hands, all that?”

“Enough about me,” Amos protested, putting his glass on the table at his elbow. “What is your trade, Mr. Meiklejohn?”

“Retired. Out to pasture. Used to be a building inspector of sorts.”

Constance looked at him admiringly, wondering if he had rehearsed that answer. In the arson squad for years, he had
indeed inspected many buildings for the New York City Fire Department. Now Brother Amos turned to her.

“And Mrs. Meiklejohn? Do you have a profession?”

“I’m thinking of writing a book,” she said seriously. “As soon as I have enough time.”

“A writer! How exciting.” He dismissed them both and
turned his attention to Wanda. “And you, my dear, are you feeling better today?”

“I’m fine, really,” she said. She looked at her martini, tasted it, put it down, and picked up her cigarette instead.

“Amos wants to build a church in town,” Gretchen said then.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps. I am awaiting guidance, as we all must.”

Charlie poured more martinis, refilled Angel’s glass with Coke, and then knocked Amos’s glass off the table when he
started to refill it. He put it aside, brought out a fresh glass and filled that one, and went on to pass the tray of cheese and shrimp pastries. He managed to spill one of them on Amos’s knee.

“Keep falling over my own feet,” he said. “One of those
days… .”

Amos was wiping away the stain of shrimp.

“Needs a little water,” Charlie said, dipping a napkin into
the pitcher of water; he returned to Amos, began to sponge off the spot

“Thank you,” Amos said stiffly. “I can manage. If you don’t mind.”

Charlie was practically on his lap, close enough to see
that Brother Amos dyed his hair. He backed off with an apologetic grin and took his own seat, drained his martini.
When he looked up, he found Angel’s gaze fixed on him, her violet eyes unblinking, an unfathomable expression on
her face, the kind of look children sometimes assume. After
what seemed an uncomfortable time, he asked, “Do you go to school here?”

She shook her head.

“I tutor her at home,” Amos said. “I don’t approve of the moral values the school systems teach.”

Dinner was interminable. Everyone waited for Brother
Amos to lead the conversation, and this he did willingly at
first, then with more and more reluctance. His store of small talk ran out before the entrée was served.

When he began to discuss weather, even Wanda looked desperate. Gretchen maliciously kept silent and allowed
Constance to feed him enough response for him to keep
floundering.

“Have you been through a tornado?” Constance asked, eating her scallopini.

Charlie ate with pleasure, listening to everything, seeing
every gesture. Angel was yawning.

Amos tried baseball. No one else was a sports addict. With dessert, the talk moved on to television, and again Amos had to carry it alone. None of the others watched much television.

“There are a lot of good programs,” Amos said. “Good
educational programs for children, spiritual programs, some fine old movies… .”

Charlie thought he could see a glaze forming over Constance’s eyes and he suppressed a grin. Brother Amos was wearing out his welcome. As soon as there was a pause in the monologue, he said, “Wanda, any chance of seeing those mechanical cats Gretchen told us about?”

She looked relieved. Without even making certain they were all through with the mousse, she stood up, moved to the door. “Why don’t you go into the living room for coffee. I’ll bring in one of the cats.”

The others left the dining room at a more leisurely pace and had not seated themselves yet when she reappeared, holding a furry white cat. At first glance, it appeared to be a live cat, its tail full and limp, its forepaws dangling, but then, looking at its too-bright emerald eyes, one could see that it was a toy, a stuffed animal. Wanda put it down in the center of the room and they formed a circle around it.

“This one’s set to respond to my voice. They’re all voice-activated. They’re covered with mink, or vicuna, or even silk. There are still problems with them. They’re heat-seeking, but they’re so dumb that they can’t tell one heat source from another. They’ll approach the fireplace and stop at a certain temperature and curl up and purr. Or maybe go to a light bulb, or a toaster, anything that’s the right temperature. He was trying to get them to go to people only, but all they know is temperature.”

Angel moved in front of the toy, bending slightly to peer at its face.

“Kitty, kitty,” Wanda said then.

The cat moved, slowly rose from the sleeping position to
stand on four feet; its tail went straight up in a realistic way, and it turned its head from side to side and then started to walk a bit stiffly, but catlike.

Constance was watching the cat with amusement when she felt a wave of revulsion and fear, then another even stronger, and something else. Angel screamed.

The next several seconds were confused; Angel was screaming, backing away from the cat that was homing in
on her. Wanda had thrown her hands over her face and was
swaying, moaning. Charlie caught Angel and half-carried her out of the path of the advancing cat, held her pressed against his chest as she screamed again and again and finally started to sob. Amos grabbed the cat and held it at
arm’s length, like something dangerous. Constance backed
Wanda into a chair, forced her down. The revulsion, horror,
terror had faded, leaving her spent and weak. She saw that
Gretchen had gone white also, and she groaned, left Wanda, and took Gretchen by the arm, sat her down, too.

“For heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed, and took the cat from Amos, who was staring at it as if entranced. She started toward the workroom with it

The spell was broken. Amos shook himself and ran over to Angel. “Baby, baby, it’s just a toy! It’s all right, sweetheart.”

Angel clung to Charlie, burying her face against him, no longer crying. He tried to loosen her grasp, but she shook her head, held on.

“Come on, honey. I’ll take you home. It’s all right now.”
Amos pried her loose and held her, stroked her fine hair, all
the while making soothing noises.

“I need a drink,” Constance said, rejoining them.

“Amen,” Charlie said, already at the long table where the
bottles were lined up. He filled a glass with brandy and downed it.

Wanda stared fixedly at Brother Amos. “He was here, wasn’t he? What did he want?”

He nodded gravely. “Yes. Tomorrow we’ll talk. I have to
take my girl home now. She’s had a shock. She’s very sensitive to this kind of thing, very sensitive.”