Daughters of Eve (26 page)

"There's a friend who thinks I ought to have an abortion."

She had expected a violent reaction, but she did not receive one.

"That's one answer, I suppose," her father said. "I hear they do them real easy and safe nowadays right in a hospital."

"Do you think it would be wrong?"

"What I think doesn't matter," Mr. Whitten said. "It doesn't matter what your mother thinks either, or what this friend of yours thinks. I don't know about Dave. I guess what he thinks ought to matter some, but then again, maybe it shouldn't It all comes down to you. You've got to make a decision you can live with, and once you've done that, you've got to accept it and go on from there."

"It's not fair," Ann said miserably. "Why do I have to decide this? It's because I'm a girl, that's why! Look at all the guys out there, running around, grabbing sex every place they can get it, and not one of them ever has to worry about who ought to live and who shouldn't get born."

"Of course, it's not fair," her father said. "Why should it be? Whoever said life is fair was a moron."

"What?" Ann said in bewilderment

"Nothing's fair," Mr. Whitten said crisply. "It isn't fair for a man of forty-six to have a heart attack. There I was with everything—a good job, a happy marriage, all the makings for a great life—and what happens? Clunk! The old pump goes out on me. Suddenly I'm an old man whose feet are always cold. There's a whole half lifetime that somebody owes me, and I'm never going to get to use it."

"Daddy, you are!" Ann protested.

"Don't give me that guff. I've got months left, a year maybe. I've been cheated out of what's due me, and it's not right. Do you know how many nights I've laid awake in my bed and cursed at God and asked Him, "Why? Why me? Why John Whitten who's always tried to do good and live by Your holy laws? What have I ever done to deserve a blow like this?' A thousand times, at least, that's how many. And do you know what He's told me?"

"What?"

"Not one word, that's what. Whatever, the answer is, it's not for me to know it on this earth."

"I love you, Daddy," Ann said.

"And I love you. More than anything else in my life."

"And you'll keep on—whatever happens? Whatever I decide to do?"

"Whatever you decide."

They sat, staring into the fire, his arm still around her. The dry wood snapped, and the sparks flew, and the logs resettled themselves. Outside the den window the flakes of snow continued to fall.

In a while, Mrs. Whitten came in with a bowl of stew and set up a TV tray so her husband could eat by the fire.

"Well, Tammy, this visit is certainly unexpected," Irene Stark said.

"I'm sure it is."

Tammy had been in Irene's apartment only the month before when the Daughters of Eve had gathered there to work on posters for Bambi's campaign. At that time it had seemed a pleasant place, warm and inviting and humming with happy activity.

Today it was different, quiet and empty. The furniture looked as though it had never been sat on. Glancing about her, Tammy became acutely aware of the oil paintings that covered the walls. All were abstracts, done in dark, intense colors against a background of white. The size of the pictures and the starkness of the sharp, strong images crowded so close upon each other in the confinement of the small room made her oddly uncomfortable.

"Won't you sit down?" Irene asked politely.

"Thank you." She seated herself on the edge of the sofa and then hesitated, caught by the sight of a familiar jacket laid across the back of a chair. "Do you have company?"

"It's only Jane. She's asleep in the bedroom. The poor girl was at the hospital most of the night waiting for her mother to come through surgery."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tammy said awkwardly. "I didn't know. Is Mrs. Rheardon going to be okay?"

"They can't say yet. Her husband hurt her badly."

That's just terrible," Tammy said. "Jane can stay at our house if she wants to. I know my folks would be glad to have her, and we've got an extra room with Marnie away at college."

"That won't be necessary," Irene said.

"I wish you'd tell her—"

"Jane is taken care of, Tammy." Irene paused. "You wanted to see me about something? It must be important if it brought you out in this weather."

"It's about what happened in my father's classroom."

"The Pellet boy's experiment—" Irene began slowly.

"It wasn't just Gordon's demonstration," Tammy interrupted. "It was everything! All the lab equipment! All Dad's personal things! I knew something was going to happen when I left the meeting, but I never guessed it would be so bad."

"Peter was punished. Why shouldn't your father be?"

"My father isn't like Peter! He doesn't go around hurting people! He had a good reason for rejecting Fran's experiment—"

"Don't shout, Tammy," Irene said quietly. "You'll wake Jane."

"You can't go on doing these things," Tammy said, fighting to get control of her voice. "I have a terrible feeling about what's going to happen. You're making people do things that are wrong."

"I hardly think it is up to you to pass judgment," Irene said. "I have never forced anyone. Daughters" of Eve is a democratic organization. Every issue is decided by a vote of the members. As sponsor, I don't even participate in the voting."

"Maybe you don't exactly force people," Tammy conceded, "but—you do something. You make things happen. I've known most of these girls for years. They've changed. You've changed them."

"By helping them face reality? By giving them courage to stand up for their rights?" There was satisfaction in Irene's voice. "If I've brought about those changes, then I'm delighted. Men have to learn that we are a force to be reckoned with. I've lived longer than you have. I know what I'm talking about. Men don't know the meaning of words like loyalty' and love.' They care about nothing and no one except themselves. They view women as servants to be exploited. We must rise up and overthrow them if we are to survive!"

"Maybe there are a few like that, but—"

"All of them! All of them!"

"You can't really believe that," Tammy said incredulously. "If you do, you're as prejudiced as you think they are."

"You truly can't see the difference?"

"No, I can't."

"Then I think this conversation is over." Irene regarded her coldly. "You are no longer one of us. You have disassociated yourself from the sisterhood. Our goals are not yours. There is really nothing more for MS to discuss."

"Yes, there is," Tammy said. "There's my father's classroom. You led the girls into doing what they did there "

"There's no way for you to have any idea of what went on that afternoon," Irene said. "You weren't even with us."

"It can't go on, Irene! If it does, something terrible will happen! I feel it—I know it!"

"You took an oath," Irene reminded her.

"I know that, and I'll live by it. I will divulge to no one words spoken in confidence within the sacred circle.' But that doesn't apply to anything else that might happen. From now on, I'm not a member of Daughters of Eve. I'm just me, Tammy Carncross, on my own, and I'll do whatever I think is right."

"Are you threatening us, Tammy?" Irene asked quietly.

"I guess you could say that."

"Then I think I should warn you that threats have a way of boomeranging. It makes people very angry when they are threatened. Emotions get out of hand, and regrettable things can happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember what I told you about Robert Morrell?"

"No. Yes—I mean, I think so." Tammy was confused by the turn of the conversation. "Was he that P.E. coach at the school in Chicago?"

"That's right. He blocked my friend from her new position. Well, I may have told you, some students staged a demonstration. Emotions ran high, and somebody threw a bottle."

"Threw it at him?"

"It was undoubtedly an accident, but the result was very sad." She paused. "Your father isn't as handsome as Morrell was, Tammy. Still, it would be a shame—" She let the sentence dwindle off, unfinished.

Tammy sat staring at her, too stunned to speak.

The telephone on the end table jangled shrilly. Irene leaned over and picked up the receiver.

"Hello? Oh—Bambi." There was a moment's silence. Then she said, "I see. Can you hold a moment?" She turned to Tammy. "I think we've finished, haven't we?"

"You're insane," Tammy said hoarsely.

"Oh, no, my dear," Irene said softly. "It's just that I refuse to be intimidated—not by the men in this world, and not by you. And I will not let my girls be threatened either. We are a sisterhood, and we take care of our own. Do you understand me?"

Silently, Tammy nodded.

"Then don't you think you should be leaving? You have a long walk home through the snow."

Numbly, Tammy got to her feet. When she was standing, her eyes were even with the painting on the wall directly across from her. The images swam before her—black and purple and red—the red, thick and dark like blood; the black, like a heavy metallic object—strong, brutal shapes that were a silent cry of fury.

"That picture—" She blinked, and the forms seemed to shift. There was no recognizable object there at all, only hatred. A canvas full of hatred.

"That day—at the initiation," Tammy said haltingly, "something was wrong. I knew it—but I didn't know what. I got scared—I ran—but I didn't know what it was I was running away from.

"I know now. It was you. I was running from you."

The snow delayed the delivery of the day's mail. It was 2:45 P.M. by the time the postman had made it along the slippery roads as far as the Ellis house on Fourth Street. He brought an assortment of cards in square envelopes bedecked with Christmas seals, and a letter for Bambi.

The letter read:

Dear Miss Ellis:

It is my understanding that those citizens of Modesta who contributed so generously to the school athletic fund through the November raffle did so out of a desire to support the program as it currently exists. To use these funds for another purpose would, I believe, be unfair to the contributors. I appreciate the concern of your club group for the future of the Modesta athletic program. Your desire for the development of a girls' soccer team will be kept very much in mind in time to come. However, at this particular point, I feel' the donations from the community will be best used to further the sports activities the school already sponsors.

I am grateful for the continued support and help of the Daughters of Eve.

Sincerely yours,

J. Douglas Shelby, Principal

Modesta High School

"That self-satisfied bastard!" Bambi said softly when she had finished reading the letter. "Of all the gall!"

She went directly to the telephone and made several short phone calls.

Then she told her mother, "I'm going out for a while."

Hurriedly, before her mother could question her further, Bambi put on her ski jacket and left the house. Throughout the town of Modesta, the doors of other homes were opening to spill an assortment of teen-age girls out into the blowing snow. Some were on foot. Others borrowed cars from their parents. The ones with the cars collected the others.

Paula Brummell stopped at the Schneider house to pick up Fran.

To her surprise, she found her upstairs in her bedroom, doing homework.

"I'm not going," Fran told her. "I don't think this is the way to handle things."

"We did it for you when you got screwed over," Paula reminded her.

"I know that, and I wish you hadn't. If I'd been at the meeting that day, I'd never have let you. You can't go around destroying people's property because you're mad at them for doing things differently than you want them to."

"You think we should sit still for discrimination?" Paula demanded.

"It wasn't discrimination that kept me from going to state. Mr. Carncross knew my project would be disqualified. He told me about a student two years ago who trained a rat to run a maze by rewarding it with food. To get it hungry enough to perform well, the student didn't feed it for twenty-four hours. The decision committee banned the project because they thought it showed 'cruelty to animals.' If they'd do that, you can imagine how they'd react to a bunch of rats crawling around with the D.T.'s."

"He probably made that story up," Paula said.

"I don't think so. I believe him."

"You can't know it's true."

"And you can't know it isn't true," Fran said. "But if it wasn't, if he was deliberately trying to cut me out of going to state because he liked Gordon better, that still wouldn't have, been reason to go smash up all that expensive stuff. I saw that place the next day. It looked like a bunch of animals went crazy in there."

"So what about punishing Peter? Do you think that was wrong too? You were part of that as much as the rest of us."

"It didn't seem wrong at the time," Fran admitted. "Now, though, I think it might have been. I did take part in that, but I thought it was going to be a one-time thing because of Laura. I didn't know it was just the beginning."