Winds of terror (8 page)

He held up a bottle, inspected its contents, then handed it to Melanie. "See that she gets one of these with a glass of warm milk at bedtime. That should keep her quiet till morning, even if the Devil does come a-callin'."

He chuckled to himself and began shuflSing towards the front door. "You know, most folks go to the younger doctors up in Talladega nowadays, but that doesn't bother me any. I've got a few around like your aunt that still call me and make me feel needed. I guess that's all any of us want... to feel needed."

Melanie smiled and nodded, liking the old man a great deal. He had probably been a very good doctor once,

kind and sympathetic to all his patients, but now, he was old. She would have preferred that Addie go to one of the younger doctors in Talladega, but she knew that was out of the question. Dr. Ambrose had delivered Addie and Bartley's only child; for generations he'd been the Beecher family doctor, and he would be until he died.

Mark stepped out of the parlor, and Melanie felt a shiver travel up her spine. Lately, he seemed to appear unexpectedly and to disappear with equal suddenness; she could never find him when she wanted to. Now he asked anxiously how his aunt was.

Dr. Ambrose repeated what he had just told Melanie. "Addie must have absolute rest," he said sternly. "She's an old woman, and she's already had one stroke. Another could be fatal."

Mark nodded compassionately. "We're so grateful that Melanie is here. She's going to be good for Aunt Addie. Maybe she can see to it that Aunt Addie follows your orders and takes the medicine you prescribe for her." Then he gave his cousin a warm look, and she wondered why he didn't tell the doctor the same thing he'd told her earlier—^how he wished she would leave! She had liked Mark at first, but now she found herself wondering if she liked him at all, especially as she listened to him telling such a boldfaced lie.

Dr. Ambrose bid them goodnight, and Mark said that he would make sure the house was locked. Melanie called Butch inside and hurried upstairs to bed. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and she hoped she would rest better knowing Butch was beneath her bed, ready to bark at the least sign of anything strange.

No light shined from beneath Cale's door. He must have retired early. It would have been nice, she thought, if he were still awake and she could offer to make hot chocolate for the two of them. She liked Cale—a lot— and she wanted their friendship to grow, in spite of his wanting her to leave.

She took a warm shower, and before sliding between the cool sheets, she paused at the open window, sniffing the delicious fragrance of magnolia blossoms that filtered into her room. The full moon shone down on the wide expanse of lawn. Now, with eyes closed, she could turn back the clock to those happy childhood Sunday afternoons when she romped over that very lawn. The

"grownups" would be sitting on the terrace, talking about people and politics and the state of the world, while the children would skip and run and play without a care. Later, Hilda would bring out the homemade ice cream and sweet lemonade, and everyone would gather on the terrace to share the treat

Such happy times . . . She wiped her eyes, blinking back the tears. She had so many hopes and dreams then—to grow up and fall in love with a wonderful man and have his children. But with Robert's death, the dreams had flown away like those lovely yellow butterflies she'd chased so long ago—always within her grasp, but eluding her at the final moment

She began to drift off, putting to rest all thoughts of the conflicts and tensions of the life she'd been plunged into. Tonight, she would not worry about Mark's unusual behavior, nor would she think about Addie and her strange ideas. For some reason she could not define, her thoughts returned, again and again, to Cale, and to the fires of life burning in his beautiful eyes. Someday, she prayed, that spirit would be released, and he could live his life the way he chose ...

Something woke her up! Melanie sat straight up in bed, fighting grogginess. Something had brought her out of a sound slumber, but now all was silence. Then she heard it —a distant rumble of thunder. She let her breath out and sank back against the pillows, chiding herself for being so jumpy. It was only a spring storm blowing up, and there would be thunder and lightning. It was certainly no cause for her to be shaking with fear.

She closed her eyes, preparing to drift off to sleep once again. Then she heard another noise—and this time it was not thunder. She heard footsteps moving slowly down the hall. Melanie turned her head quickly to the illuminated dial of the travel clock she had placed beside the bed. Three a.m.! Who would be up and walking about at this time of night?

Butch ran out from under the bed, a growl escaping from deep in his throat. Melanie thought quickly. If someone were up and about, perhaps sick, it could only be Mark. Cale couldn't walk, of course, and the steady, measured footsteps could not be those of a person as weak and frail as Aunt Addie. It could only be Mark. She decided to get up and see if she could help him.

She patted Butch and told him to be quiet. "It's okay, boy. You don't want to wake up the whole house, do you?" He whimpered and wagged his tail, but he still pawed anxiously at the door, straining to go out and investigate.

Melanie pulled on her robe and slippers, then padded across the room and opened the door. The hallway was silent now. She felt her way along the wall until she came to the switch. She touched it and light flooded the empty hallway. She moved towards the stairway and peered downstairs, but the first floor was dark. Perhaps Mark had gone down for some aspirin or soda water, and she had heard him returning to his room. She decided to go back to bed, but tomorrow she would tell Mark that if he ever again became sick during the night, she would be glad to get up and see what she could do for him.

Then she heard Butch growling, and she saw him, once again at the door to Uncle Bartley's room, pawing anxiously, digging his nails furiously into the wood as he whimpered and snarled.

"Butch, no, no," she whispered as she tugged frantically at his collar. "Please, no. You're going to wake up the whole house."

But still he kept on, digging and scratching with a note of hysteria in his throaty whines and growls. He was determined to get into that room! She gave him a hard tug, pulling him back this time. As she began dragging him towards her room, he snarled even louder and strained with all his might to get away from her.

"What the devil is going on out here?" The voice was so startling that she lost her grip on Butch's collar. Butch bounded back down the hall and resumed his assault on the door. Melanie lifted frightened eyes to see Mark standing behind her in pajamas and robe, looking quite annoyed.

"Do you want to wake Aunt Addie? You heard the doctor say she has to get her rest!" His voice snapped, harshly.

She gestured apologetically towards Butch. "I'm sorry, Mark," she said in a whisper. "I heard you were up, so I got up to see if maybe you were sick, and then Butch ran down to that room and started trying to get in again. Are you all right now?"

"Yes, yes, I am," he nodded, a bit flustered. "I needed

a glass of water, that's all. Now how about gettmg that dog back in your room before he wakes Aunt Addie?"

He ran his fingers nervously through his hair as he started towards his room. Melanie scurried back down the hall after Butch, but when she took hold of his collar, he set up a howl. Just then, Mark grabbed Butch, swung him up in his arms, and strode angrily down the hall to Melanie's room. He put him inside with a rough pitch, closed the door, and turned on Melanie, who was right behind him.

"Keep that dog outside from now on, do you understand?" He was glaring at her with eyes that flashed more anger than Melanie had thought him capable of expressing.

'Tfou listen to me, Mark," Melanie cried in exasperation. "I'm sorry as I can be about Butch having a thing about that door, but maybe it's a good thing. Maybe there are rats or something breeding in there, and he smells them. It just isn't sanitary to seal a room off like that, and if Aunt Addie won't agree to opening it and cleaning it out, I'm going tol"

"Don't you dare!" he cried, his eyes widening, his face turning pale. *That room is a shrine to Uncle Bartley, and Aimt Addie would never forgive you for opening it without her permissioni There are no rats in that room; they'd spread over the house if there were. Now you just stay out of there and keep your dog out of the way!"

He was shaking his finger in her face, and Melanie's hand shot out to grab it and push it away. "I will speak to Aunt Addie about that room!" she hissed at him, unable to control her anger any longer. "Butch doesn't try to get in any of the other rooms. There's something he wants in that one!"

As if to avoid further conversation, Mark brushed by her and walked away. A few seconds later, she heard him slam the door of his own bedroom. Almost in answer, she slammed her door shut and locked it.

Actually, she hadn't been all that concerned about Butch's reasons for wanting to get into Uncle Bartley's room. Now, though, she was very curious. Butch was not a bad dog. He walked over to her and whimpered, putting his head on her knee and looking up at her with forlorn eyes. She patted him.

'Tomorrow, I'm going to do something about that

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room, Butch. I know you aren't just being nosy. I know you've got your reasons. You're a good dog."

He licked her hand appreciatively. She was so fond of the animal. When Robert had given it to her, he had said: "To keep you company till I return." Now she looked down at Butch and whispered, "I hope you stick around forever, boy, because my guy's not coming back

• • •

This time when she drifted off to sleep, her pillow was wet

Chapter 7

When Melanie awoke, she went straight to Addie's room. The old woman had been sleeping, but the sound of the door opening brought her wrinkled lids open. She peered out over the covers and asked irritably, "Yes? What is it? What do you want?"

"I'm sorry I woke you up," Melanie apologized, hurrying to the bedside with Butch trailing behind her. "I wanted to check and see how you were. Did you sleep weU?"

Addie yawned and pulled herself up. "I might've, if it hadn't been for the nightmare."

"Nightmare?" Addie certainly couldn't get proper rest if she had bad dreams. "What was it about?"

"Todd again," she said a bit impatiently, as though Melanie should have known without asking. "He was here again. At the foot of the bed. He shook the bed until I woke up, and then he glared at me as though he wanted to strangle me with his bare hands. I've never seen so much hatred."

Melanie scoffed, "Of course, it was only a dream. Aunt Addie. You know that, don't you?"

The old woman pushed back the covers. "I know Tm supposed to think it's a dream, so folks won't think me crazy, so that's what I'm calling it. I know, though, my dear, that Todd was here. I'd know those spiteful, evil eyes anywhere. He had the same expression on his face that he had when he looked down at me from that rope and said he'd be back to get me."

Melanie pretended to be shocked, as though she hadn't heard the tale before. "You haven't told me that before.**

Addie shrugged. "You don't believe me, so don't pretend that you do and try to humor me. You're like everybody else. You think I'm crazy. I know what I know, so why do I want to argue with you or anyone else?" She swung her frail legs over the side of the bed. "Get my robe and get me up. I'm going downstairs to breakfast."

"You can't do that," Melanie protested sharply. "Dr. Ambrose says you're to rest."

"The old fool! He's as crazy as I'm supposed to be. Get my robe or I'll get it myself!"

She knew it was no use arguing, so Melanie got her aunt's robe and helped her into it. "You won't walk, though, and there'll be no arguing about that!" she told her firmly. "I'll take Cale down in the wheelhcair, and then bring it back for you." She left the room before there could be any protesting.

Melanie got out the bacon and started it sizzling in a pan. Butch whined at the back door, so she let him out, then hurried to whip eggs for scrambling.

The elevator door slid open with a squeak and Cale rolled into the room, a bright grin on his face. "Mmmm, it smells good in here. I can smell fresh coffee all the way upstairs."

Melanie smiled a greeting, then told him of his grandmother's firm decision to have breakfast with them. "I told her she'd have to come down in the wheelchair. Do you mind sitting in a chair while I take it back upstairs to her?"

"Not at all." He rolled over to the table, stopped beside a chair and pulled it out. Melanie watched as he struggled to hoist himself out of the wheelchair and into the wooden one. She did not offer to help, because she knew he would be offended by the gesture.

Mark came into the room just as Melanie rolled the empty chair into the elevator. "What's going on?" he asked, a touch of annoyance in his voice. Melanie told him, and he frowned.

"She has no business down here. The doctor wanted her to rest."

"You know how stubborn Grandmother can be," Cale told him, stirring the coffee Melanie had poured in his cup. "It will probably do her good. She can sit on the porch afterwards and get some fresh air."

Mark gave him a cold look. "You aren't in charge around here yet, Calel"

Cale matched Mark's look. "And you aren't, either!"

"Hey, you two, let's don't have any arguing," Melanie cut in quickly. "Addie is still in charge, and what she says goes, so there's no point in our even discussing it."

She closed the door and pushed the button. The elevator began climbing upwards with a whine.

A few moments later, Melanie was wheelmg Addie Beecher into the kitchen.

"This is more like it. I'm sick of eating oflf of trays." Addie let Mark help her into a chair. "Thank goodness Melanie is here. If it were left up to you two scalawags, I'd die up there in that room."

"We follow doctor's orders; Melanie doesn't," Mark said. "How did you sleep last night. Auntie?" he asked pleasantly as he poured her a cup of coffee.