A Cry In the Night (34 page)

A winter sky. A winter place. It had become her prison.

•   •   •

At eight minutes after seven, Jenny reached for the phone to call Mark. Her hand was touching the receiver when the phone rang. She grabbed it off the cradle. “Hello.”

“Jenny, you must be sitting on top of the phone. Are you waiting for a call?” There was an edge to the teasing quality in Erich's tone.

Jenny felt her palms go damp. Instinctively she tightened her grasp on the receiver. “I've been hoping to hear from you.” Did she sound natural? Did her nervousness show? “Erich, how are the girls?”

“They're fine, of course. What have you been doing today, Jenny?”

“Not much. Now that Elsa doesn't come in, I'm a bit busier in the house. I rather like that.” Closing her eyes, trying to choose her words, she added lightly, “Oh, I saw Joe.” She hurried on, not wanting to lie, not wanting to admit that she'd gone to the Ekers home. “He's so pleased that you rehired him, Erich.”

“I suppose he told you the rest of the conversation I had with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that garbled story about seeing you get in the car and then deciding he hadn't seen you. You never admitted to me that Joe actually told you he'd seen you in the car that night. I always thought it was only Rooney who saw you.”

“But Joe said . . . he told me that he told you . . . he's positive it was someone else wearing my coat.”

“Jen, have you signed that statement?”

“Erich, don't you see we have a witness who swears...”

“What you mean is we have a witness who knows he saw you and who, to ingratiate himself with me, to get back his job, is now willing to change his story. Jenny, stop trying to avoid the truth. Either have that statement ready to read to me next time I call or forget about seeing the girls until they're adults.”

Jenny's control snapped. “You can't do this. I'll swear out a warrant. They're my children. You can't run away with them.”

“Jenny, they're just as much mine as yours. I've only taken them on a vacation. I've warned you there's no judge who would award them to you. I have a townful of witnesses who'll swear I'm a wonderful father. Jenny, I love you enough to give you a chance to live with them, to be cared for yourself. Don't push me too hard. Good-bye, Jenny. I'll call you soon.”

Jenny stared at the dead receiver. All the tenuous confidence she had started to build vanished. Give up, something said to her. Write the confession. Read it to him. Be finished with it.

No.
Biting her lips into a thin, firm line she dialed Mark's number.

•   •   •

He answered on the first ring. “Dr. Garrett.”

“Mark.” Why did that deep, warm voice bring quick tears to her eyes?

“Jenny. What's the matter? Where are you?”

“Mark, I . . . Could you . . . I
have
to talk to you.” She paused, then went on: “But I wouldn't want anyone to see you here. If I cut through the west field, would you pick me up? Unless . . . I mean . . . If you have plans, don't bother. . . .”

“Wait near the millhouse. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Jenny went up to the master bedroom and turned on the reading light by the bed. She left a light on in the kitchen, a smaller one in the parlor. Clyde might investigate if the house was completely dark.

She'd have to take the chance that Erich wouldn't phone again in the next few hours.

She left the house and walked in the shadow of the stable and polebarns. Behind the electric fences she could see the outlines of the cattle as they hunched near the barns. There was no grazing on the snow-covered ground and they tended to stay near the buildings where they were fed.

Less than ten minutes after she reached the mill, she heard the faint sound of a car approaching. Mark was driving with his parking lights on. She stood out in the clearing and waved. He stopped, leaned over and opened the door for her.

He seemed to understand that she wanted to get away quickly. It wasn't until they reached the county road that he spoke. “I understood you were in Houston with Erich, Jenny.”

“We didn't go.”

“Does Erich know you called me?”

“Erich's away. He took the children.”

He whistled. “That's what Dad . . .” Then he stopped. She felt his glance, was acutely aware of his wind-tanned skin, his thick, sandy hair, the long capable fingers that gripped the steering wheel. Erich always made her uneasy; his very presence charged the atmosphere. Mark's presence had exactly the opposite effect.

It had been months since the one time she'd been in his home. At night it had the same welcoming atmosphere that she remembered. The wing chair, its velvet upholstery somewhat worn, was drawn up to the fireplace. An outsized oak coffee table in front of a Lawson couch held newspapers and magazines. The
shelves on either side of the fireplace were crammed with books of every shape and size.

Mark took her coat. “Farm life certainly hasn't fattened you up,” he observed. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No.”

“I thought not.” He poured sherry for them. “My housekeeper was off today. I was just about to cook a hamburger when you phoned. I'll be right back.”

Jenny sat on the couch, then instinctively reached down, pulled off her boots and curled up. She and Nana had had a Lawson sofa when she was growing up. She could remember wedging herself into a corner of it on rainy afternoons and happily reading the hours away.

In a few minutes Mark returned with a tray. “Minnesota plush,” he smiled. “Hamburgers, French fries, lettuce and tomato.”

The food smelled delicious. Jenny took a bite from hers and realized she'd been famished. She knew Mark was taking his cue from her, waiting for her to explain to him why she had called him. How much should she tell? Would Mark be horrified to know what Erich believed about her?

He was sitting in the wing chair, his long legs stretched toward her, his eyes concerned, his forehead creased in thought. She realized she didn't mind being studied by him. Oddly it was comforting, as though he would analyze what was wrong and make it right. His father had much that same look. Luke! She hadn't asked about him. “How is your father?”

“Coming along, but he gave me a real scare. He wasn't feeling well even before he went back to Florida. Then he had the attack. But he's in his own place now and looks good. He really wanted you to come visit him, Jenny. He still does.”

“I'm glad he's better.”

Mark leaned forward. “Tell me about it, Jenny.”

She told him everything, looking straight at him, watching his eyes darken, watching as tight lines formed around his eyes and mouth, watching as his expression softened when she talked about the baby and her voice broke.

“You see. I can understand why Erich believed I've done these terrible things. But now I don't believe I did them. So that means some woman is impersonating me. I was so sure it was Rooney but it can't be her. Now I wonder... Do you think Elsa? It seems so farfetched that she'd hold a grudge for twenty-five years. . . . Erich was only a child. . . .”

Mark did not reply. His face was troubled now, grave. “You don't think I could do those things?” Jenny burst out. “My God, are you like Erich? Do you think . . .”

The nerve under her left eye began to jump. She put her hand up to her face to stop it, then felt her knees start to tremble. Throwing her head down on her lap, she hugged her legs. Her whole body was shaking now, out of control.

“Jenny. Jenny.” Mark's arms were around her, holding her. Her head was against his throat. His lips were on her hair.

“I couldn't hurt anyone. I can't sign and say that I could . . .”

His arms tightened. “Erich is in . . . insecure. . . . Oh, Jenny.”

Long minutes passed before the trembling stopped. She made herself pull away. She felt his arms release her. Wordlessly they looked at each other, then Jenny turned away. There was an afghan draped over the back of the couch. He tucked it around her. “I think we could both use coffee.”

While he was in the kitchen, she looked into the fireplace, watched as the log split and broke and caved into glowing embers. Suddenly she felt exhausted. But it was a different kind of fatigue, not tense and numbing but relaxing, the kind that came after a race had been run.

Unburdening herself to Mark, she felt as though she had rolled a stone off her shoulders. Listening to the clink of the cups and saucers in the kitchen, smelling the perking coffee, hearing his footsteps as he walked between stove and cabinet, remembering the feel of those arms . . .

When Mark brought in the coffee, she was able to make practical statements that helped dispel the emotionally charged atmosphere. “Erich knows I won't stay with him. The minute he brings the girls back I'll leave.”

“You're sure you're going to leave him, Jenny?”

“As fast as I can. But first I want to force him to bring the girls back. They're my children.”

“He's right that as their adoptive father, legally they're just as much his as yours. And, Jenny, Erich is capable of staying away indefinitely. Let me talk to a few people. I have a lawyer friend who's an expert in family law. But until then, when Erich phones, whatever you do, don't antagonize him; don't tell him you've been talking to me. Promise me that?”

“Of course.”

He drove her home, stopping the car at the millhouse. But he insisted on walking with her through the quiet fields to the house. “I want to be sure you're in,” he said. “Go right upstairs and if everything is all right, pull down the shades in your room.”

“What do you mean, if everything is all right?”

“I mean that if by any chance Erich decided to come back tonight and realized that you were out,
there might be trouble. I'll call you tomorrow after I speak to a few people.”

“No, don't. Let me phone you. Clyde knows every call I get.”

When they got to the dairy barn, he said, “I'll watch you from here. Try not to worry.”

“I'll try. The one thing I don't worry about is that Erich does adore Tina and Beth. He'll be very good to them. That at least is a consolation.”

Mark squeezed her hand but did not answer. Quickly she slipped along the side of the path through the west door into the kitchen and looked around. The cup and saucer she had left draining on the sink were still there. She smiled bitterly. She could be sure Erich hadn't come. That cup and saucer would have been put away.

Hurrying upstairs, she went into the master bedroom and began to pull down the shades. From one of the windows she watched as Mark's tall form disappeared into the darkness.

Fifteen minutes later she was in bed. This was the hardest time of all, when she couldn't walk across the hall and tuck Tina and Beth in. She tried to think of all the ways Erich would find to amuse them. They had loved going to the county fair with him last summer. Several times he'd spent a whole day with them in the amusement park. He was endlessly patient with the children.

But both girls had sounded so fretful when he let them speak to her that first night he'd taken them away.

Of course by now they'd be used to her absence, just the way they'd gotten used to her being in the hospital.

As she had told Mark, there was the one consolation that she wasn't worried about the girls.

Jenny remembered the way Mark had squeezed her hand when she said that.

Why?

All night she lay awake. If not Rooney . . . if not Elsa . . . then who?

At dawn she got up. She could not wait for Erich to come to her. She tried to close off the terrible nagging fears, the awful possibilities that had occurred to her during the night.

The cabin. She had to find it. Every instinct told her the place to begin was in the cabin.

S
he began looking for the cabin at dawn. At four
A.M
. she'd turned on the radio and heard the weather report. The temperature was dropping sharply. It was now twelve degrees Fahrenheit. A strong cold wind from Canada was driving it down. A major snowstorm was predicted. It should hit the Granite Place area by tomorrow evening.

She made a thermos of coffee to take with her, put an extra sweater under her ski suit. Her breasts were so sore. Thinking of the baby so much during the night had been enough to start them throbbing. She could not let herself think about Tina and Beth now. She could only pray, numb, pleading words. . . . Take care of them, please. Let no harm come . . .

She knew the cabin must be about twenty minutes' walk from the edge of the woods. She'd start at the spot where Erich always disappeared into the trees and crisscross back and forth from that spot. It didn't matter how long it took.