Suffer the Children (11 page)

“It’s dangerous, that’s why,” Jack said, his tone indicating that he would like to leave it at that. But Elizabeth was not to be put off.

“But, Daddy, I’m thirteen years old now, and I can take care of myself. I don’t see how the embankment can be any more dangerous than the quarry, and you let me go there any time I want to.”

“I’d just as soon you stayed away from there, too,” Jack said.

“But why?” Elizabeth pressed. When there was no answer she said, “It’s because of Anne Forager, isn’t it?”

“Anne Forager?” Jack said guardedly.

“All the kids are talking about it They say something awful happened to her, and that it happened out here. Is that true?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said truthfully. “I don’t really think anything happened to her, and if it did, I doubt very much if it happened out here. At any rate, that doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s just that the embankment is very dangerous.”

“Not any more than the quarry.”

Jack shook his head. “If you slipped at the quarry, you’d at least have a chance. You’d fall into deep water, and you can swim. With the embankment, you wouldn’t hit water. You’d hit rocks and surf. That’s a whole different story.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. Then she looked up at him, and there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “But in five years I’ll be eighteen. Then I’ll go see just what’s at this embankment, and you won’t be able to stop me.”

“That’s five years,” Jack said. “In five years you could change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Elizabeth assured him. Then she slipped her hand into his, and together they walked back to the house.

*    *    *

Dinner was a quiet affair for the Congers that night, at least at the beginning. Out of respect for the delicate stomachs of Rose and Sarah, Mrs. Goodrich had put together a light omelette, which she had restrained herself from binning. Conversation was dilatory, much of it in the form of encouraging remarks directed toward Sarah by her parents. Sarah seemed not to hear; instead she concentrated on her plate calmly shoving each forkful of egg into her mouth, chewing stoically and swallowing. To Elizabeth, Sarah seemed to be as she always was.

Mrs. Goodrich cleared away the plates and brought in the dessert.

“Here we go again,” Elizabeth said.

“Hmm?” Rose inquired, turning her attention from Sarah to the older girl. Elizabeth grinned at her.

“I said, ‘Here we go again.’ We had the same pudding at school today. Except this is better.”

“Oh?” Rose said. But she was not really interested; her attention was back on Sarah. “How was school?”

“Not bad. We got our history tests back. I think Mr. Friedman must have made a mistake. He gave me a perfect score.”

Now both Rose and Jack turned to Elizabeth, and she could see the pleased expression in their eyes. But before they could speak, a sound rent the air.

Elizabeth turned, then ducked just in time to avoid the bowl of pudding that was flying toward her from her sister’s place. The glass bowl shattered on the wall behind Elizabeth, but the sound of its crashing was inaudible over the shrieks and wails emanating from Sarah.

Her face contorted in rage, Sarah snatched all the silverware within her reach, and in a moment it was scattered across the room. One of the heavy silver knives shattered a pane in the French door and clattered to rest on the veranda outside. Her voice building,
barati continued to howl as her arms moved wildly over the table, searching out other things to throw.

Rose sat as if frozen and stared at Sarah. Sarah had been so calm, and now— She began to rise as she saw Sarah’s fists clutch at the tablecloth. She tried to prepare herself for the destruction that was imminent if her daughter followed through on what she apparently intended to do.

And then, over the din of Sarah’s howling, she heard Jack’s voice shouting.

“For God’s sake!” he yelled. “Will you get her out of here?”

Rose’s eyes widened, but the impact of his words seemed to free her from her chair. Wordlessly she swept Sarah into her arms, somehow freeing the clutching fingers from the tablecloth, and carried her from the room. As she passed Jack she sensed more than saw him slump weakly in his chair.

The dining room was suddenly silent, and the two of them sat there, Jack avoiding words, Elizabeth with nothing to say. Then, visibly, Jack began to pull himself together.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, more to himself than to Elizabeth. “Every time she does something like that I get the most horrible feeling. I get the feeling that I made her nuts.” He began sobbing, but silently.

“And I guess I did,” he mumbled. Then he too left the room, and Elizabeth was suddenly alone.

She sat quite still for a time, as if she had neither heard what her father said nor noticed the chaos around her. When eventually she moved, it was to begin cleaning up the mess. She cleared off the table first, then began on the wall and floor. She moved slowly, carefully, as if her mind was far from what she was doing. When she finished, she surveyed the dining room.

“I was so sure that was Cecil,” she said, for no apparent
reason. “But I guess it couldn’t have been.” She was silent, then spoke once more to the empty room. “I wish he’d come home.”

Then Elizabeth, too, left the dining room.

To an observer they would have seemed no different from any other family at breakfast Perhaps one child—the younger—was much quieter than the other, but such is the case in any family. Only a particularly careful observer would have noted a slight air of strain around them, as if they were avoiding something. As, indeed, they were.

Rose Conger was maintaining an almost grim good cheer, doing her best to prevent the silence that was normal for Sarah from becoming the norm for them all But she knew no one was paying any attention to her. She could see Jack, his face mostly hidden, trying desperately to concentrate on his morning paper. And she knew that Elizabeth was devoting more energy to getting food into Sarah than she was to listening to her mother.

“And, of course,” Rose chirped, “they have a son.” She waited for a reaction, but there was none. She said, a little more loudly, “A fourteen-year-old son.” She was gratified to note that she suddenly had her older daughter’s attention.

“Who does?” Elizabeth said, putting down the knife she had been using to slice Sarah’s sausages.

“You haven’t been listening. The new neighbors. If you hadn’t been so engrossed, you’d have heard me.”

Elizabeth smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” she said, with a grin that let it be known that she was apologizing more for the sake of form than for anything
else. “Don’t tell me you actually sold the Barneses’ old place.” She made a face. “I hate that house. Who would want to live there?”

“It’s a family,” Rose said, smoothing the tablecloth unconsciously. “An architect and an artist And their son. His name’s Jeff.”

“A boy,” squealed Elizabeth. “A real live boy! What’s he look like?”

“I’m sure he’ll be terribly handsome,” Rose replied. “Isn’t the boy next door always supposed to be terribly handsome?”

Elizabeth blushed, and the sudden flushing disconcerted Rose. And then it hit her that she had somehow come to think of Elizabeth as being older than she was. She had to remind herself that Elizabeth was only thirteen, and that thirteen-year-old girls are very likely to blush when boys are mentioned.

“Actually, I don’t know what he looks like. But well all know over the weekend. Carl and Barbara—they’re the new neighbors,” she added for the benefit of Jack, who had finally put his paper down. “Carl and Barbara Stevens will be coming down this morning, and I’m going to spend most of the day with them.” Jack looked at her questioningly.

“Well,” Rose went on, a little uncomfortably, “since the Barneses aren’t around, somebody has to show them how the house works. Particularly a house like that” She saw a shadow of doubt cross Jack’s face.

“All right,” she said, putting down her napkin. “Also, I feel like being a busybody neighbor and seeing what I can find out about them. So far they seem to be a delight, and I think it would be nice to have neighbors who are also friends. It would be fun to have people we like close enough for dropping in, and I intend to promote it.”

“Well,” Jack said, the shadow of doubt now growing into a cloud. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” Rose saw his eyes flick involuntarily toward Sarah. It
was so fast that she was sure he wasn’t aware that he had done it; she was equally sure she hadn’t imagined it. She decided to face the issue directly. She began folding the napkin into smaller and smaller squares.

“I see no reason why we should behave like hermits,” she said slowly. “If there is a reason, I’d like to know what it is.”

The color drained from Jack’s face, and he stared at his wife.

“I—I should think—” he began. Then he fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“I should think,” Rose said definitely, “that we should keep in mind what century we are living in. Having a daughter in White Oaks School is not something we need to be ashamed of. If you think it is, then you have more of a problem than Sarah does.” She paused as she saw Jack signaling with his eyes to where Elizabeth sat, listening to what her mother was saying. Making up her mind, Rose turned to Elizabeth.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“About what?” Elizabeth asked carefully, unsure of the direction things were taking.

“Well,” Rose said, casting about in her mind for the proper words. “About Sarah, I suppose.”

Elizabeth looked directly at her mother—almost accusingly, Rose thought She seemed to be struggling with herself, and almost on the verge of tears. Then, she found her voice as her tears overflowed.

“I think,” she said, fighting back a sob with a small, choking sound, “that we all should remember that Sarah isn’t deaf. She doesn’t talk, but she hears.” She stared beseechingly at her mother for a few seconds, then turned back to her sister. “Come on, Sarah,” she said. “Let’s go get ready for school.” She took Sarah’s hand, and led her out of the dining room. Silently, Rose and Jack watched them go.

“From the mouths of babes.” Jack said softly.
Then he saw the tears running down his wife’s face. He moved from his chair and knelt beside her. She buried her face in his shoulder, and her body shook with her sobs.

“What are we going to do, Jack?” she said into his ear. “She makes me feel ashamed sometimes. Absolutely ashamed. And she’s only thirteen.”

Jack patted her gently. “I know, darling,” he said. “I know. I guess sometimes children have an easier time of things. They seem to be able to accept things the way they are. And we have to fight it.”

“It?” Rose looked up. Their eyes met, and there was closeness between them, a closeness Rose hadn’t felt since the early years of their marriage.

“Life,” Jack said. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could stop fighting life?”

Rose nodded. “But we can’t, can we?” Jack didn’t answer, nor did Rose expect him to.

A few minutes later Rose looked in on her daughters. Elizabeth, already dressed, was brushing Sarah’s thick dark hair. Sarah sat quietly in front of the mirror, but Rose couldn’t tell whether she was watching Elizabeth. She might have been, but she might also have been somewhere else, living a life that had nothing to do with this room, her sister, or anything else related to the house on the Point.

“Do you need anything before I go?” Rose said.

Elizabeth looked up and smiled. “An extra quarter for snack period?” she asked brightly. Rose shook her head. Elizabeth straightened up. “There,” she said. “What do you think?” Rose noted that the barrettes Elizabeth had fastened in her sister’s short, shiny hair did not match, and the part was not quite straight She decided not to comment on it.

“What does Sarah think?” she countered.

“Oh, she loves it,” Elizabeth said. “It keeps her hair out of her eyes.”

“That counts for a lot,” Rose said, smiling. “Could you do the same for me?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth said eagerly. “Now?”

Rose laughed. “Later. I don’t have time now, and neither do you. But maybe tomorrow,” she added, seeing the light fade in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Kiss me good-bye?”

Elizabeth approached her mother and tipped her head up to be kissed. Rose squeezed her quickly, then moved to the vanity, where Sarah sat, still apparently staring at her new hairdo. Rose knelt and wrapped Sarah in her arms.

“Have a good day, sweetheart,” she whispered. She kissed the little girl several times, then hugged her once more. “See you this afternoon,” she said.

Downstairs again, Rose stopped in the kitchen to speak to Mrs. Goodrich. The housekeeper looked up at her inquiringly.

“Has Cecil turned up yet?” Rose asked.

Mrs. Goodrich shook her head.

“Do me a favor and look around for him today, will you?”

“Cats can take care of themselves. He’ll be back when he’s a mind to,” the old woman said.

“I’m sure he will,” Rose said drily. “But would you mind having a look anyway? The children miss him. He might have gotten locked in somewhere.”

“If he did, someone locked him,” Mrs. Goodrich stated. Then she relented. “Sure. You go on now—I’ll find him.”

Rose smiled her thanks and went to find her husband. Jack had already left the house.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Goodrich continued loading the dishes into the dishwasher. She was convinced that no machine could get dishes nearly clean enough for someone to eat from, but she used the machine anyway. She simply washed them to her own satisfaction before loading them into the machine and left
out the soap. She supposed the machine was good enough for rinsing, particularly since she rinsed them herself, too. She closed the door and pressed the button to make the dishwasher start. All that racket, she thought. It’s a wonder they don’t all smash. Then, over the noise of the washer, she heard another sound, from the front of the house. She moved to the kitchen door, opened it slightly, and listened.

“No, Sarah,” she heard Elizabeth saying. “You can’t come with me. You have to wait here for the van.”

Mrs. Goodrich heard Sarah wail, and moved through the door.