A Cry In the Night (17 page)

“You want to be able to meet Kevin, don't you?”

“Oh, my God.” Jenny pulled away. “Let me go to bed, Erich. I really don't feel well.”

He did not follow her up the stairs. She looked in on the girls. They were fast asleep. Tina stirred when she kissed her.

She went into the master bedroom. The faint scent of pine that always lingered in the room seemed heavier tonight. Was it because she felt queasy? Her eyes fell on the crystal bowl. Tomorrow she'd move that bowl to a guest bedroom. Oh, Erich, stay tonight, she pleaded silently. Don't go away feeling like this. Suppose Kevin started pestering them with calls? Suppose he stopped the adoption? Suppose he had regular visitation rights? It would be unbearable for Erich. It would destroy their marriage.

She got into bed and determinedly opened her book. But it was impossible to concentrate. Her eyes
were heavy and her body ached in unaccustomed places. Joe had warned her the riding would cause that. “You'll hear from muscles you didn't know you had,” he'd grinned.

Finally she turned off the light. A little later she heard footsteps in the hall. Erich? She pulled herself up on one elbow but the footsteps continued up the stairs to the attic. What was he doing there? A few minutes later she heard him coming down. He must be dragging something. There was a thudding sound every few steps. What was he doing?

She was about to get up and investigate when she heard sounds from downstairs, the sounds of furniture being moved.

Of course, she thought.

Erich had gone upstairs for the carton of curtains. Now he was rearranging the furniture, putting it back in its original places.

In the morning when Jenny went downstairs, the curtains were rehung; every table and chair and piece of bric-a-brac was in place and her plants were missing. Later she found them in the trash container behind the barn.

S
lowly Jenny walked through the downstairs rooms a second time. Erich had not failed to return a single vase or lamp or footstool to its original exact spot. He'd even found the ornately ugly owl sculpture that she'd poked away in an unused cabinet over the stove.

She had known what to expect but even so the absolute rejection of her wishes and taste shocked her. Finally she made coffee and went back to bed. Shivering, she pulled the covers around her and leaned back on the pillows propped against the massive headboard. It would be another cold and gloomy day. The sky was gray and misty; a sharp wind rattled the windowpanes.

The eighth of March, Erich's thirty-fifth birthday, Caroline's twenty-fifth anniversary. That last morning of her life had Caroline awakened in this bed, heartsick that she was leaving her only child? Or had she awakened counting the hours until she could leave this house?

Jenny rubbed her forehead. It ached dully. Once again her sleep had been restless. She'd been dreaming of Erich. Always he had that same expression on his face, an expression she could never quite understand. Once this anniversary was over and he came back to the house she'd talk to him quietly. She would ask him to go with her for counseling. If he refused she'd have to consider taking the children to New York.

Where?

Maybe her job would be available again. Maybe Kevin would lend her a few hundred dollars for airfare.
Lend.
He owed her hundreds. Fran would let her and the girls bunk in her place for a short time. It was a terrible inconvenience to ask of anyone but Fran was a good scout.

I don't have a cent, Jenny thought, but it isn't that. I don't want to leave Erich. I love him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

She was still so chilled. A hot shower might help. And she'd wear that warm argyll sweater. It was in the closet.

Jenny glanced at the closet and understood what had been subconsciously bothering her.

When she got up she'd taken her robe from the closet. But last night she had left the robe thrown over the vanity bench. The bench had been pulled back from the dressing table. Now it was precision-straight.

No wonder she dreamed of Erich's face. She must have subconsciously realized he was in the room. Why hadn't he stayed? She shivered. Her skin felt prickly. But it wasn't the cold. She was afraid. Afraid of Erich, of her own husband? Of course not, she told herself. I am afraid of his rejection. He came to me and then left me. Had Erich gone back to the cabin during the night or had he slept in the house?

Quietly she put on her robe and slippers and went into the hall. The door of Erich's boyhood room was
closed. She listened at the door. There was no sound. Slowly she turned the handle and opened the door.

Erich was curled up in bed, the gaily patterned patchwork quilt wrapped around him. Only his ear and hairline showed. His face was buried in folds of soft material. Silently Jenny entered the room and became aware of a familiar faint scent. She bent over Erich. In his sleep he was nuzzling the aqua nightgown to his face.

She and the children had almost finished breakfast when Erich came downstairs. He refused even coffee. He was already wearing one of his heavy parkas and was carrying what was obviously an expensive hunting rifle, even to Jenny's inexperienced eye. Jenny eyed it nervously.

“I don't know if I'll be back tonight,” he told her. “I don't know what I'll do. I'll just be around the farm today.”

“All right.”

“Don't go changing any of the furniture again, Jenny. I didn't like it your way.”

“I gathered that,” Jenny said evenly.

“It's my birthday, Jen.” His tone sounded high-pitched,
young,
like the voice of a boy. “Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?”

“I'd rather wait until Friday night. Mark and Emily are coming to dinner. We'll celebrate it with them. Wouldn't you prefer that?”

“Maybe.” He came over to her. The cold steel of the rifle brushed her arm. “Do you love me, Jenny?”

“Yes.”

“And you'll never leave me?”

“I'd never want to leave you.”

“That's what Caroline said, those very words.” His eyes became reflective.

The children had been silent. “Daddy, can I go with you?” Beth begged.

“Not now. Tell me your name.”

“Beth Crew-grr.”

“Tina, what's your name?”

“Tina Crew-grr.”

“Very good. I'll get both of you presents.” He kissed them and came back to Jenny. Propping the rifle against the stove, he took her hands and ran them through his hair. “Do it like that,” he whispered. “Please, Jen.”

His eyes were on her intently now. They looked as they had in her dream. With a wrench of tenderness she obeyed. He looked so vulnerable, and last night he had not been able to come to her for comfort.

“That's good,” he smiled. “That feels so good. Thank you.”

He picked up the rifle and walked to the door. “Good-bye, girls.”

He smiled at Jenny, then hesitated. “Sweetheart, I have an idea. Let's go out together for dinner tonight, just the two of us. I'll ask Rooney and Clyde to stay with the children for a few hours.”

“Oh, Erich, I'd love that!” If he began to share this date with her . . . it's a breakthrough, she thought, a good omen.

“I'll phone and make reservations for eight o'clock at the Groveland Inn. I've been promising to take you there, darling. It's the best food around.”

The Groveland Inn where she had met Kevin.
Jenny felt her face pale.

•   •   •

When she and the girls got to the stable, Joe was waiting for them. His usually sunny smile was missing; his young face was set in unfamiliar lines of worry.

“Uncle Josh came over this morning. He was pretty drunk and Maw told him to get lost. He left the door
open and Randy got out. I just hope nothing happens to him. He's not used to cars.”

“Go look for him,” Jenny said.

“Mr. Krueger won't like . . .”

“It will be all right, Joe. I'll see it is. The girls would be heartsick if anything happened to Randy.”

She watched him hurry down the dirt road, then said, “Come on, girls. Let's take our walk now. You can visit the ponies later.”

They ran ahead of her across the fields. Their rubber boots made soft squishing sounds. The ground was thawing. Maybe it would be an early spring after all. She tried to imagine these fields fleshed out with alfalfa and grass, those sparse empty trees weighted with leaves.

Even the wind had lost something of its biting edge. In the south pastures she could see that the cattle had their heads down and were sniffing at the ground as though anticipating the shoots of grass that would soon be coming.

I'd like to start a garden, Jenny thought. I don't know a thing about it but I could learn. Maybe it was because she needed exercise that she was feeling physically rotten. It wasn't just nerves; once again the clammy, queasy feeling was back. She stopped abruptly. Was it possible? Dear God, was it possible?

Of course it was.

She'd felt this way when she was carrying Beth.

She was pregnant.

That explained why the nightgown felt too tight in the bodice; it explained the light-headedness, the queasiness; it even explained the periods of depression.

What a marvelous gift to tell Erich tonight that she believed she was expecting a child! He wanted a son to inherit this farm. Surely the night staff at the restaurant
was different from the lunchtime help? It would be all right.
Erich's son.

“Randy,” Tina called. “Look, Mommy, there's Randy.”

“Oh, good,” Jenny said. “Joe was so worried.” She called to him. “Randy come here.”

The puppy must have cut through the orchard. He stopped, turned and looked at her. Squealing, Beth and Tina began running toward him. With a bark of delight he turned tail and began to run toward the south fields. “Randy, stop,” Jenny shouted. Now barking noisily, the puppy loped ahead. Don't let Erich hear him, she prayed. Don't let him run toward the cow pastures. Erich would be furious if he upset the cows. Nearly a dozen of them were coming to term with calves.

But he wasn't heading toward the pastures. Instead he veered and started running along the east line of the property.

The cemetery. He was heading straight for it. Jenny remembered how Joe joked about Randy digging around their house. “Swear he's trying to get to China, Jenny. You should just see him. Every spot that shows a bit of thawing, he's into.”

If the dog ever started digging in the graves . . .

Jenny passed the girls, running as fast as she could on the mushy ground. “Randy,” she called again. “Randy,
come here.”

Suppose Erich heard her? Puffing heavily she ran around the line of Norwegian pines that screened the graveyard and into the clearing. The gate was open and the puppy was leaping among the tombstones. In its isolated corner Caroline's grave was covered with a blanket of fresh roses. Randy romped over it, crushing the flowers.

Jenny saw the glint of metal coming from the
woods. Instantly she realized what it was. “No, no,” she screamed, “don't shoot! Erich, don't shoot him!”

Erich stepped from the shelter of the trees. With slow-motion precision he raised it to his shoulder. “Don't, please!” she screamed.

The sharp crack of the rifle sent sparrows squawking from the trees. With a howl of pain the puppy crumbled to the ground, his small body sinking into the roses. As Jenny watched in disbelieving horror, Erich worked the bolt with a well-oiled click, and shot the whimpering animal again. As the echo of the blast died away, the whimpering ceased.

L
ater Jenny remembered the hours after the shooting as a nightmare, blurred and difficult to piece together. She remembered her own frantic rush to head off the girls before they saw what had happened to Randy, yanking their hands. “We have to go home now.”