A Cry In the Night (15 page)

She yanked at the rug she wanted, realized there was no way she could manage it alone and with idle curiosity glanced at the other pieces in the room.

A small blue leather vanity case with the initials C.B.K. caught her eye. She pulled it out to examine it. Was it unlocked? Hesitating for only an instant, she deflected one then the other of the catches. The lid swung up.

Toilet articles were set in a traylike holder. Creams and makeup and pine-scented soap. A leather-bound daily reminder notebook was under the tray. The date on the cover was twenty-five years old. Jenny opened the book and flipped through the pages. January 2, 10
A.M
., teacher conference, Erich. January 8: dinner, Luke Garrett, the Meiers, the Behrends. January 10: return library books. She skimmed through the entries. February 2: judges chambers, 9
A.M
. Would that have been the divorce hearing? Feb. 22: order hockey stick for E. The last entry, March 8: Erich b-day. That had been written in light blue ink. Then with a
different pen, 7
P.M
., Northwest flight 241, Minneapolis to San Francisco. A ticket unused, one-way, clipped to that page, a note under it.

The name printed across the top of the note:
EVERETT BONADI
. Caroline's father, Jenny thought. Quickly she read the uneven handwriting: “Caroline, dear. Your mother and I are not surprised to learn you are leaving John. We are deeply concerned about Erich but after reading your letter agree it is best if he stays with his father. We had no idea of the true circumstances. Neither of us has been well but are looking forward to having you with us. Our love to you.”

Jenny folded the letter, slipped it back in the notebook and closed the lid of the vanity case. What had Everett Bonardi meant when he wrote “We had no idea of the true circumstances”?

Slowly she went down the attic stairs. The girls were still asleep. Lovingly she looked down at them, then her mouth went dry. The girls' dark red hair was tumbled out on their pillows. On the top of each pillow, positioned so it almost seemed to be a hair ornament, was a small round cake of pine soap. The faint scent of pine permeated the air.

“Aren't they the little beauties?” a voice sighed in her ear. Too startled to scream, Jenny spun around. A thin, bony arm encircled her waist. “Oh, Caroline,” Rooney Toomis sighed, her eyes vacant and moist, “don't we just love our babies?”

•   •   •

Somehow Jenny got Rooney out of the room without waking the girls. Rooney went willingly although she kept her arm wrapped around Jenny's waist. Awkwardly they descended the stairs.

“Let's have a cup of tea,” Jenny suggested, trying to keep her voice normal. How had Rooney gotten in? She must still have a house key.

Rooney sipped the tea silently, never taking her
gaze from the window. “Arden used to love those woods,” she said. “Course she knew she wasn't to go any farther than the edge. But she was always climbing trees. She'd perch up there in that one”—Rooney pointed vaguely to a large oak—“and watch the birds. Did I tell you she was president of the 4-H club one year?”

Her voice was calming. Her eyes were clearer when she turned to look at Jenny. “You're not Caroline,” she said, puzzled.

“No, I'm not. I'm Jenny.”

Rooney sighed. “I'm sorry. I guess I forgot. Something came over me, one of my spells. I was thinking I was late getting to work. Thought I'd overslept. Course Caroline would never care but Mr. John Krueger was so exacting.”

“And you had a key?” Jenny asked.

“I forgot my key. The door was unlocked. But I don't have a key anymore, do I?”

Jenny was positive the lock had been on the kitchen door. On the other hand . . . She decided not to try to pin Rooney down.

“And I went upstairs to make the beds,” Rooney said. “But they were all finished. And then I saw Caroline. No, I mean I saw you.”

“And you put the pine soap on the children's pillows?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, no. Caroline must have done that. She was the one who loved that scent.”

It was useless. Rooney's mind was too confused to attempt to separate imagination from reality. “Rooney, do you ever go out to church or to any meetings? Do you ever have friends in?”

Rooney shook her head. “I used to go to all the activities with Arden, the 4-H, the school plays, her band concerts. But no more.”

Her eyes were clear now. “I shouldn't be here. Erich won't like it.” She looked fearful. “You won't tell him or Clyde, will you? Promise you won't tell.”

“Of course I won't.”

“You're like Caroline, pretty and gentle and sweet. I hope nothing happens to you. That would be such a shame. Toward the end Caroline was so anxious to get away. She used to say, ‘I just have a feeling, Rooney, that something terrible is going to happen. And I'm so helpless.'” Rooney got up to go.

“Didn't you wear a coat?” Jenny asked.

“I guess I didn't notice.”

“Wait a minute.” Jenny dug her thermal coat out of the foyer closet. “Put this on. Look, it fits you perfectly. Button it up around the neck. It's cold out.”

Hadn't Erich said practically the same thing to her at that first lunch in the Russian Tea Room? Was that really less than two months ago?

Rooney glanced around uncertainly. “If you want I'll help you move the table back before Erich comes.”

“I don't intend to move the table back. It's staying right where it is.”

“Caroline had it at the window once but John said she was just trying to show herself off to the men on the farm.”

“What did Caroline say?”

“Nothing. She just put on her green cape and went outside and sat on the porch swing. Just like in the picture. Once she told me she used to like to sit out there and face west because that's where her folks were. She got awful homesick for them.”

“Didn't they ever come here to visit?”

“Never. But Caroline still loved the farm. She was raised in the city but she'd always say, ‘This country is so beautiful, Rooney, so special in what it does for me.

“And then she left?”

“Something happened and she decided she had to go.”

“What was that?”

“I don't know.” Rooney glanced down. “This coat is nice. I like it.”

“Please keep it,” Jenny told her. “I've hardly worn it since I came here.”

“If I do, can I make the girls jumpers like you promised?”

“Of course you can. And, Rooney, I'd like to be your friend.”

Jenny stood at the kitchen door, watching the slight figure, now warmly wrapped, bend forward against the wind.

I
t was the waiting that was so hard. Was Erich angry? Had he simply become so involved in painting that he hadn't wanted to break his concentration? Did she dare go into the woods, try to find the cabin and confront him?

No, she must not do that.

The days seemed endlessly long. Even the children became restless. Where's Daddy? was a constant inquiry. In this short time, Erich had become terribly important to them.

Let Kevin stay away, Jenny prayed. Make him leave us alone.

She spent her time concentrating on the house. Room by room she rearranged furniture, sometimes switching only a chair or table, sometimes making radical adjustments. Unwillingly Elsa helped her take down the rest of the heavy lace curtains. “Look, Elsa,” Jenny finally said firmly, “these curtains are coming down and I don't want any more talk about
checking with Mr. Krueger first. Either help me or don't.”

Outside, the farm seemed gray and depressing. When the snow was on the ground, it had had a Currier and Ives beauty. When spring came, she was sure the lush green of the fields and trees would be magnificent. But now the frozen mud, the brown fields, the dark tree trunks and overcast skies chilled and depressed her.

Would Erich come back to the house for his birthday? He'd told her that he was always on the farm that day. Should she cancel his birthday dinner?

The evenings alone were interminable. In New York when the children were settled for the night, she'd often gone to bed with a book and a cup of tea. The library on the farm was excellent. But the books in this library didn't invite leisurely reading. They were placed in exact rows, seemingly by size and color rather than author or subject. To her, they had the same effect as furniture with plastic covers; she hated to touch them. Her problem was solved when on one of her trips to the attic she noticed a box marked
BOOKS—CBK
. Happily she helped herself to a couple of the comfortably shabby, well-read volumes.

But even though she read far into the night, she was finding it harder and harder to sleep. All her life she'd only had to close her eyes and instantly she'd be in a sound sleep for hours. Now she began to wake up frequently, to dream vague, frightening dreams in which shadowy figures slithered through her subconscious.

On March 7, following a particularly restless night, she made up her mind. She needed more exercise. After lunch she went out to hunt for Joe and found him in the farm office. His unaffected pleasure at the visit was reassuring. Quickly she explained: “Joe, I want to start riding lessons today.”

Twenty minutes later she was sitting astride the mare, trying to keep Joe's instructions straight in her head.

She realized she was enjoying herself thoroughly. She forgot the chill, the sharp wind, the fact that her thighs were getting sore, that her hands were tingling against the reins. Softly she spoke to Fire Maid. “Now you at least give me a chance, old girl,” she suggested. “I'll probably make mistakes but I'm new at this business.”

By the end of an hour she was getting the feel of moving her body in cadence with the horse. She spotted Mark watching her and waved to him. He came over.

“You look pretty good. This your first time on a horse?”

“The very first.” Jenny started to dismount. Quickly Mark took the horse's bridle. “The other side,” he said.

“What, oh, sorry.” She slid down easily.

“You did real good, Jenny,” Joe told her.

“Thank you, Joe. Monday okay with you?”

“Anytime, Jenny.”

Mark walked with her to the house. “You've got a fan in Joe.”

Was there some kind of warning in his voice?

She tried to sound matter-of-fact. “He's a good teacher and I think Erich will be pleased that I'm learning to ride. It will be a surprise for him that I've started taking lessons.”

“I hardly think so,” Mark commented. “He was watching you for quite a while.”

“Watching me?”

“Yes, for nearly half an hour from the woods. I thought he didn't want to make you nervous.”

“Where is he now?”

“He went up to the house for a minute and then started back to the cabin.”

“Erich was in the house?”
I sound stupid, Jenny thought, hearing the astonishment in her voice.

Mark stopped, took her arm and turned her to him. “What's the matter, Jenny?” he asked. Somehow she could imagine him examining an animal, searching for the source of pain.

They were almost at the porch. She said stiffly, “Erich has been staying at the cabin since he came back from Atlanta. It's just that it's rather lonely for me now. I'm used to being terribly busy and around people and now . . . I guess I feel out of touch all around.”

“See if it doesn't get much better after tomorrow,” Mark advised. “By the way, are you sure you want us for dinner?”

“No. I mean, I'm not even sure Erich will be home. Could we make it the thirteenth instead? That will separate his birthday party from the anniversary. If he still hasn't come back by then, I'll give you a call and you two can decide if you want to come just to visit me or go out and enjoy yourselves.”

She was afraid she sounded resentful. What's the matter with me? she thought, dismayed.

Mark took both her hands in his. “We'll come, Jenny, whether Erich is home or not. For what it's worth I've had Erich turn on me when he gets in one of his moods. The rest of the picture is that when he comes out of them, he's all the good things—intelligent, generous, talented, kind. Give him a chance to get through tomorrow and see if he isn't the real Erich again.”

With a quick smile, he squeezed her hands, released them and left her. Sighing, Jenny entered the house. Elsa was ready to go. Tina and Beth were cross-legged
on the floor, crayons in hand. “Daddy brought us new coloring books,” Beth announced. “Aren't they good?”

“Mr. Krueger left note for you.” Elsa pointed to a sealed envelope on the table.

Jenny felt the curiosity in the woman's eyes. She slipped the note into her pocket. “Thank you.”

As the door closed behind the cleaning woman, Jenny pulled the envelope from her pocket and ripped it open. The sheet of paper, covered by oversized letters in Erich's bold handwriting, held one sentence:
You should have waited for me to ride with you.