A Cry In the Night (25 page)

Sometime during the long, sleepless night the cramps began. First they were shooting pains in her abdomen. Then they settled into a steady off-on pattern. At eight she phoned Dr. Elmendorf. “You'd better come in,” he told her.

Clyde had left early for a cattle auction and had taken Rooney with him. She didn't dare ask Joe to drive her. There were a half-dozen other men on the farm, the daily help who came in the morning and went to their own homes at night. She knew their names and faces but Erich had always cautioned her “not to get familiar.”

She didn't want to ask one of them. She called Mark and explained. “By any chance . . .?”

His answer was prompt. “No problem. If you don't mind waiting until after office hours for me to drive you back. Or better still my dad can do it. He just got up from Florida. He'll stay most of the summer with me.”

Mark's father, Luke Garrett. Jenny was anxious to meet him.

Mark came for her at nine-fifteen. The morning was
warm and hazy. It would be a hot day. Jenny had gone to her closet for something to wear and realized that all the new clothes Erich bought her when they were married were for cool weather. She'd had to rummage to find a summer cotton from last year in New York. Putting it on she'd felt peculiarly herself again. The two-piece pink-checked dress was an Albert Capraro, one she'd bought at an end-of-the-season sale. The soft, wide skirt was only a little tight at the waist; the blouson top concealed her thinness.

Mark's car was a four-year-old Chrysler station wagon. His bag was tossed in the back. A stack of books was scattered next to it on the seat. The car had an air of comfortable untidiness.

It was the first time she'd ever really been alone with Mark. I'll bet even the animals know instinctively he'll make things better when he's around, she thought. She told him that.

He glanced over at her. “I'd like to think so. And I hope Elmendorf is having the same effect on you. He's a good doctor, Jenny. You can trust him.”

“I do.”

They drove down the dirt road that led past the farm into Granite Place. Acre on acre of Krueger land, she thought. All those animals grazing on the fields. Krueger prize cattle. And I really had visualized a pleasant farmhouse and some cornfields. I never understood.

Mark said, “I don't know whether you heard that Joe is moving back in with his mother.”

“Erich told me.”

“The best possible situation. Maude is a smart woman. Drink runs in that family. She'll keep a tight rein on Joe.”

“I thought her brother started drinking because of the accident?”

“I wonder. I heard my father and John Krueger talk about it afterward. John always said that Josh Brothers had been drinking that day. Maybe the accident was his excuse for coming out in the open with his boozing.”

“Will Erich ever forgive me for all this gossip? It's destroying our marriage.” She hadn't expected to ask the question. She heard it come from her flat and lifeless. Did she dare tell Mark about the phone call, about Erich's response to it?

“Jenny.” There was a long silence then Mark began to speak. She'd already noticed that his voice had a tendency to deepen when he was particularly intent on what he was saying. “Jenny, I can't tell you what a different person Erich is since the first day he came back here after meeting you. He's always been a loner. He's always spent a lot of time in that cabin. Now of course we understand why. But even so . . . picture it. I doubt whether John Krueger ever so much as kissed Erich when he was a child. Caroline was the kind who'd scoop you up, hug you when you came in, run her fingers through your hair when she talked to you. People around here aren't like that. We're not outwardly expressive. Caroline was half-Italian, as you know. I remember my father teasing her about that Latin warmth in her. Can you imagine what it must have been like for Erich to know she was planning to leave him? No wonder he was so upset about your former husband. Just give him time. The gossip will die down. By next month people will have something else to chew on.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Not easy, but maybe not as bad as you think.”

He dropped her at the doctor's office. “I'll just sit out here and catch up on some reading. You shouldn't be too long.”

The obstetrician did not mince words. “You've had false labor and I certainly don't like it at this stage. You haven't been exerting yourself?”

“No.”

“You've lost more weight.”

“I just can't eat.”

“For the sake of the baby, you've got to try. Malted milks, ice cream, just get something down. And stay off your feet as much as possible. Are you worried about anything?”

Yes, Doctor, she wanted to say. I'm worried because I don't know who calls me when my husband is away. Is Rooney sicker than I realize? How about Maude? She resents the Kruegers, particularly resents me. Who else knows so much about when Erich is away?

“Are you worried about anything, Mrs. Krueger?” he repeated.

“Not really.”

She told Mark what the doctor had said. His arm was slung around the back of the seat. He's so big, she thought, so overpoweringly, comfortably male. She could not imagine him exploding in fury. He had been reading. Now he tossed the book in the backseat, and started the car. “Jenny,” he suggested, “don't you have a friend or a cousin or someone who could come out and spend a couple of months with you? You seem so alone here. I think that might help to take your mind off things.”

Fran, Jenny thought. With absolute longing she wanted Fran to come and visit. She thought of the amusing evenings they had spent together while Fran expounded on her latest boyfriend. But Erich disliked Fran intensely. He'd told her to make sure that Fran didn't visit. Jenny thought of some of her other friends. None of them could spend nearly four hundred dollars to fly out for a weekend visit. They had
jobs and families. “No,” she said, “I don't have anyone who can come.”

The Garrett farm was on the north end of Granite Place. “We're small potatoes next to Erich,” Mark said. “We have a section, six hundred and forty acres. I have my clinic right on the property.”

The farmhouse was like the one she'd pictured Erich would have. Large and white, black-shuttered, with a wide front porch.

The parlor was lined with bookshelves. Mark's father was reading in an easy chair there. He looked up when they came in. Jenny watched as a startled expression came over his face.

He was a big man too, with rangy shoulders. The thick hair was pure white but the part broke at the same place as his son's. His reading glasses enhanced his blue-gray eyes, and his lashes were gray-white. Mark's were dark. But Luke's eyes had that same quizzical expression.

“You have to be Jenny Krueger.”

“Yes, I am.” Jenny liked him at once.

“No wonder Erich . . .” He stopped. “I've been anxious to meet you. I'd hoped to get the chance when I was here in late February.”

“You were here in February?” Jenny turned to Mark. “Why didn't you bring your father over?”

Mark shrugged. “Erich pretty well sent out signals you two were doing an at-home honeymoon. Jenny, I've got ten minutes before the clinic opens. What would you like? Tea? Coffee?”

Mark disappeared into the kitchen and she was alone with Luke Garrett. She felt as though she were being looked over by the school counselor, as though any minute he'd ask, “And how do you like your courses? Are you comfortable with your teachers?”

She told him that.

He smiled. “Maybe I am analyzing. How is it going?”

“How much have you heard?”

“The accident? The inquest?”

“You've heard.” She raised her hands as though pushing away a weight that was closing in on her. “I can't blame people for thinking the worst. My coat was in the car. A woman did call the Guthrie Theater from our telephone that afternoon.

“I keep thinking there's a reasonable explanation and once I find it out, everything will be all right again.”

She hesitated, then decided against discussing Rooney with him. If Rooney had made that call last night in one of her spells, she'd probably have forgotten it by now. And Jenny did not want to repeat what the caller had said to her.

Mark came in followed by a short, stocky woman carrying a tray. The warm, enticing scent of coffee cake reminded Jenny of Nana's one great baking success, a Bisquick coffee cake. A wave of nostalgia made her blink back tears.

“You're not very happy here, are you, Jenny?” Luke asked.

“I expected to be. I could be,” she replied honestly.

“That's exactly what Caroline said,” Luke commented softly. “Remember, Mark, when I was putting her bags in the car that last afternoon?”

A few minutes later Mark left for the clinic and Luke drove her home. He seemed quiet and distracted and after a few efforts at conversation, Jenny became quiet too.

Luke steered the station wagon through the main gate. They circled around to the west entrance. She saw Luke's eyes rest on the porch swing. “The problem,” he said suddenly, “is that this place doesn't change. If you took a picture of this house and
compared it to one that was thirty years old, it would be the same. Nothing is added, nothing is renovated, nothing is moved. Maybe that's why everyone here has that same feeling of her presence, as though the door might fling open and she'd come running out, always glad to see you, always urging you to stay for dinner. After Mark's mother and I were divorced she had Mark here so much. Caroline was a second mother to him.”

“And to you?” Jenny asked. “What was she to you?”

Luke looked at her through eyes that were suddenly anguished. “Everything I ever wanted in a woman.” He cleared his throat abruptly as though fearing he had revealed too much of himself. As she got out of the car Jenny said, “When Erich comes back, promise you'll come for dinner with Mark.”

“I'd enjoy that, Jenny. Sure you have everything?”

“Yes.” She started to walk toward the house.

“Jenny,” he called.

She turned. Luke's face was filled with pain. “Forgive me. It's just that you resemble Caroline so strongly. It's rather frightening. Jenny, be careful. Be careful of accidents.”

E
rich was due home on June third. He called the night of the second. “Jen, I've been miserable. Darling, I'd give anything not to have you so upset.”

She felt the hard knot of tension ease. It was as Mark said, eventually the gossip would blow over. If only she could hang on to that thought. “It's all right. We're going to get through all this.”

“How do you feel, Jen?”

“Pretty good.”

“Eating better?”

“Trying to. How did the exhibit go?”

“Very, very well. The Gramercy Trust bought three oils. Stiff prices too. The reviews were fine.”

“I'm so glad. What time does your plane get in?”

“Around eleven. I should be home between two and three. I love you so much, Jen.”

That night the room seemed less threatening. May be it will be all right, she promised herself. For the first time in weeks she slept without dreaming.

She was sitting at the breakfast table with Tina and
Beth when the screaming started, a hideous cacophony of wild neighing and frantic sounds of human pain.

“Mommy!” Beth jumped off her chair and ran for the door.

“Stay there,” Jenny ordered. She ran toward the sounds. They were coming from the stable. Clyde was rushing from the office, a rifle in his hand. “Stay back, Miz Krueger, stay back.”

She could not. Joe. It was Joe who was screaming.

He was in the stall, crouched against the back wall, trying frantically to dodge the flying hooves. Baron was rearing on his hind legs, his eyes rolling in his head, the sharp metal-shod hoofs flailing the air. Joe was bleeding from the head; one arm hung limply at his side. As she watched he slumped onto the floor and Baron's front legs trampled his chest.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!” She heard her own voice weeping, praying, entreating. She was shoved aside. “Get out of his way, Joe. I'm gonna shoot.” Clyde took aim as the hooves reared up again. There was a sharp crack of the rifle, followed by a screeching, protesting neighing; Baron stood poised statuelike in midair, then crumbled into the straw in the stall.

Somehow Joe managed to press against the wall, to avoid the crushing weight of the falling animal. Joe lay still, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his eyes glazed with shock, his arm twisted grotesquely. Clyde threw down the rifle and ran over to him.

“Don't move him!” Jenny shouted. “Call for an ambulance. Hurry.”

Trying to avoid Baron's body, she kneeled beside Joe, her hand smoothing his forehead, wiping the blood from his eyes, pressing against the gaping tear near his hairline. Men came running from the fields. She could hear the sounds of a woman sobbing. Maude Ekers. “Joey, Joey.”