The Bog (13 page)

“Yes?” David said, nodding, still not understanding what was unpleasant about the news.

Brad continued. “Well, you’ll note that the exploratory pits I’ve already sunk pretty much cover most of this half of the old bog caldron we’re standing in. That means that the most promising area for us to continue looking is in the other half of the caldron. The problem is that the Marquis owns the other half. You’re going to have to get his permission if we’re to dig any further.”

David ruminated for the rest of the afternoon over how he would go about this, and that evening Brad once again accompanied him back to the cottage for dinner When they arrived home this time they discovered Tuck sitting disconsolately on the steps.

“What is it, Tuckaroo?” David asked.

Tuck looked up sadly. “Daddy, Ben’s gone.”

David’s heart sank. He had forgotten that he was going to have to come up with something to tell Tuck tonight. He lifted Tuck’s sad and listless form up into his arms. “I know,” he said softly.

Tuck’s dark brown eyes searched his face for further comfort. “Do you know where he is?”

David felt a pang. He wanted desperately to tell Tuck that he did, but his drive for honesty insisted that he not lie. Still, he deliberated over the best way to dilute the truth.

“I don’t know where he is, but I think he’s only run off to chase animals through the woods. Dogs do that sometimes.”

Tuck brightened. “Then he’ll be back?”

“I hope so,” David said gently. “We just have to be patient and see.”

He carried Tuck into the house and was greeted by Melanie, who, he was both surprised and happy to see, was smiling broadly. He put Tuck down and affectionately ruffled his hair as he looked at his wife curiously.

She continued to just beam from ear to ear, and when he finally looked around, he saw why. Every inch of visible floor, wall, and ceiling space had been scrubbed and was three shades lighter. He could hardly believe his eyes. Even the huge balks of age-blackened oak in the ceiling shone with new life.

“My goodness!” Brad exclaimed. “Did Mrs. Comfrey do all of this?”

Melanie nodded happily.

“Where is she now?” David added. “I for one would like to commend her.”

“She’s out back beating all of the rugs,” Melanie informed. “Oh, but of course she didn’t start doing that until she had put dinner in the oven. Pot roast for us and Welsh rarebit for you,” she said, looking at Brad. “And cooked carrots and salad and trifle for all of us.”

It was more than David could fathom. “How does she do it?” he asked as they came in and took off their muddied boots and sat them on papers that Mrs. Comfrey had apparently placed there for that purpose.

“She just never stops,” Melanie explained. “I’ve had several nice chats with her today. It seems that she no longer has any family and she’s always been used to taking care of a lot of people. She’s really very nice. You know, I think she would do all of this for free if we’d let her.”

“Which we won’t,” David added, feeling a surge of righteous honor.

Since Melanie was no longer burdened with the cooking and serving, they ate in the dining room of the cottage, and as she served the dinner, Mrs. Comfrey continued to demonstrate her unusual prowess. The very moment a course was finished, she would sweep in and silently clear the dishes and with equal unobtrusive proficiency quickly serve the next. And true to form, everything was delicious, the roast superbly succulent, the vegetables cooked perfectly, and the custard in the trifle so indescribably light that even Katy, who did not like custard, ate it.

The only flaw in Mrs. Comfrey’s impressive first showing remained the potency of her perfume. She was efficient, silent, polite. But every once in a while when she was present David would almost find himself gagging on the pall of lilac that followed her around. When he mentioned it, however, although Brad nodded vaguely in agreement, Melanie quickly rushed to Mrs. Comfrey’s defense, noting chidingly that at least she had managed to place healthy doses of rat poison throughout the house, including attic and cellar.

During the dinner David also noticed that Tuck was taking Ben’s absence rather poorly, barely touching his food. Even the trifle he only poked at, and this truly set David to worrying.

David became so focused on Tuck’s mopish behavior that he did not notice that Katy’s already flourishing crush on Brad was flowering even further. Melanie, however, noticed its every advance. She noticed when Katy moved everything that was placed on the table an inch or two closer to Brad, the butter dish, the salt and pepper. She noticed each time that Katy’s adolescent hand brushed close to Brad’s when they were both reaching for something, and she observed especially the long, moonish gazes that Katy proffered the older man, accompanied by almost ludicrously coquettish flutterings of the eyelashes.

Oddly, Melanie found herself greatly annoyed by all of this, and once or twice she made subtle overtures to Katy to tone her flirtations down, petitions that Katy more often than not responded to with sharp glances. She noticed also that Brad was becoming increasingly aware of Katy’s budding fancy and responded to it with the same unease with which he seemed to respond to most things.

At length, they finished dinner, had their coffee in the living room, and in due time the children were sent off to bed.

Mrs. Comfrey appeared at the door.

“Mrs. Comfrey,” David said. “I must commend you, the dinner, the dessert, everything was magnificent.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Mrs. Comfrey said with stern dignity. “Shall I put another kettle on?”

David got an impish glint in his eye as he looked first at Melanie and then at Brad. “I think not. I think we’re going to go for a drive.”

Both Melanie and Brad looked at him curiously. “Very good, sir,” Mrs. Comfrey said. “Then, if there’ll be nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

“Yes, of course,” David said. “And Mrs. Comfrey?” The older woman paused.

“I just wanted to say thank you. We think you’re doing a tremendous job.”

“Glad to oblige, sir,” Mrs. Comfrey ended and with-drew.

“A drive?” Melanie questioned.

David smiled. “Well, with Mrs. Comfrey’s coming and her great success, I think we have reason to celebrate. I thought we’d all go into the village and have a drink at the Swan with Two Necks.”

Neither Melanie nor Brad seemed very taken with the idea.

“Oh, come on,” he prodded. “We could all use a drink.”

“But what about the kids?” Melanie asked.

“Mrs. Comfrey is here,” David said. “That’s why we got her, isn’t it? So that we could do things like this.” Both Melanie and Brad finally gave in.

“I’m going to look in on Tuck just one more time and then we’ll go,” David said as Brad began to chip the mud off of his boots so that he could once again put them on.

David rushed upstairs, taking two steps in each stride. He said good-night to Katy, but before he reached Tuck’s room he heard Tuck cry out. “Dad, dad!”

David rushed to the door and flung it open. In the darkness he could see nothing that might have alarmed Tuck. He snapped the light on and looked around the room. “What is it, Tuck?”

“Over there!” Tuck said, pointing at a chair with a jacket flung over it. His eyes were wide with fear.

David crossed the room and lifted the jacket up quizzically. “What?”

“
Oh,
” Tuck sighed. “I thought it was a monster.” David went over and sat down on his son’s bed. “Tuck, there aren’t any such things as monsters.”

“Katy says there are.”

“When did she tell you that?”

“When we first moved here. She told me that a bogey man lives in the bog and that’s why they call him a bogey man. At first I didn’t believe her, but now I think the bogey man has Ben.”

Nothing could have disturbed David more. He stroked the side of his son’s face lovingly. “Honey, there are no bogey men. Ben’s just run off. Nothing bad has happened to him.”

“Well I miss him,” Tuck muttered as tears welled up in his eyes and he began to cry.

David pulled him into his arms. “I know you do, honey, and Daddy’s going to do everything in his power to try to get him back.”

“You are?”

“Of course, did you think Daddy would do anything else?”

“I guess not,” Tuck sniffled.

For several minutes David just continued to rock Tuck in his arms, making sure that all of his tears had subsided. As he gazed off into space he also found himself thinking that they should not go out tonight, but he knew going out for a drink would do them all a world of good. Finally he looked down at his son once again.

“Daddy’s got to go now, Tuck. Are you going to be all right?”

Tuck still looked disconsolate, but his tears had abated and a discernible drowsiness had crept into his eyes. “I think so,” he said.

David kissed him lightly on the forehead and then tucked him beneath the covers. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Could I sleep with the light on tonight?” Tuck asked.

David smiled at his son. Under normal circumstances he demanded a lot from his children and would have tried to talk Tuck out of needing to sleep with the light on, but tonight he gave in.

“How about this light?” he asked, clicking on the little lamp sitting on Tuck’s desk.

“Ya,” Tuck murmured, almost asleep.

David kissed him one last time and then turned to leave. Just before he departed he looked back at the tiny mound beneath the covers and the mop of chestnut hair. He knew that emotionally he could deal with the weirdness of the people of Fenchurch St. Jude, with Ben’s disappearance, with Melanie’s mood changes, and with most of the other sundry problems arising in their new life. But one thing that he could not tolerate was the unhappiness of his children. As he went back downstairs he thought again of how sad Tuck had looked, and for the first time since they arrived he began to wonder if their moving to Fenchurch St. Jude had been a mistake.

Outside, the sun had not quite set, and the sky was the deep ultramarine blue of late twilight. They piled into the Volvo and drove off. The nights were growing more humid, and both David and Melanie rolled down their windows for air.

“I still don’t think this is such a good idea,” Melanie said, her blond hair blowing delicately across her face.

“Why not?” David asked.

“Going into town to have a drink at the Swan with Two Necks? I mean, even the name gives you the creeps.”

“Come on, Mel,” David countered. “Loosen up a little.”

“Pub names are always a little ominous sounding,” Brad added from the backseat. “Like the King’s Head or the Lost Dog.”

David cringed silently at the mention of the latter and noticed that a dark cloud fell over Melanie’s expression.

“I wonder what did happen to Ben?” she said distantly.

“Well, you don’t live that far from the bog,” Brad continued. “He could have always blundered into a sink and been sucked under.”

“Brad, please!” David said, raising his voice.

“Sorry,” Brad said, but it was too late. Out of the corner of his eye David noticed that Melanie grew gloomier. Brad’s grim observation also struck a nerve in him and he remembered again Winnifred Blundell’s warning that the bog always took something from everyone.

They all went silent for several minutes.

Suddenly Melanie leaned forward in her seat. “Look!” she exclaimed. They were now passing the hills near the site of the excavations and down in the valley, illumed in the ghostly blue twilight, was a flash of white. David could not be sure, but it looked like the little girl he had seen the day before. She seemed to be running frantically, and around her were several other dark forms in apparent pursuit. Suddenly the other forms, which appeared to be other children, caught up with her and threw the little figure to the ground. Then they jerked her up roughly and started to drag her in the direction of the bog.

“David, do something!” Melanie gasped, and David stopped the car and jumped out. He ran quickly down the hill.

“Hey, what are you doing there!” he shouted. As he approached he could see that the little girl’s attackers were, indeed, children, four young boys ranging in age from about nine to thirteen, and they all looked up in surprise. As he drew nearer and observed them more closely, he discerned that they were definitely from Fenchurch St. Jude. Their foreheads were overly flat, and there was something just a little too weedy about their skeletal structure, something oddly misproportioned. He remembered seeing pictures of a family in the Appalachians in which the children had been the product of incest, and it struck him that there was a similar look to these children. He found an incredible dislike welling up inside him for them.

“What were you doing?” he demanded.

They all looked at him silently. The little girl straightened her ancient-looking frock and gave indications that she was going to run off, but then stopped and looked up at him shyly. By no stretch of the imagination could she be considered anything but plain, but there was something strangely appealing about her. Her hair was tangled and badly in need of brushing, but her round eyes were wide and beckoning, and her expression so innocent and so ineffably sad that he had to use all of his will to suppress his urge to strike out and pull her attackers to the ground.

David could overlook many things, but one thing he could not tolerate was the mistreatment of children. He had never thought about it, but perhaps it had something to do with his own childhood and all of the inequities he had suffered. Even under normal circumstances he would have run to the little girl’s aid, but tonight, because of Tuck’s tearful session earlier, he was especially sensitive, and he glowered at the older boys. Then he knelt and looked the little girl in the eye. “What were they doing to you?” he asked.

She was obviously extraordinarily withdrawn, and once again she almost turned and ran, but then she paused and seemed to detect something that she could trust in his eyes. “They was goin’ ta throw me in the bog,” she said timidly.

“Aw, it was just a lark, mister,” the oldest boy broke in. “We wasn’t really goin’ ta throw ’er in the bog. We was just havin’ a bit ’o fun.”