Perdita (37 page)

When at last we reached shelter, Dr. Reid pulled me behind the rocks—both of us catching our breath, both of us now protected from the furious
wind.

His arms stayed around me, and he did not loosen his hold—and I rested my head against his chest, relieved to be out of the thrashing wind and its incomprehensible
violence.

I looked up into his eyes. Again I saw him looking at me with such a deliberate intensity, as if he were laying some claim to me now that the wind had forced this sudden proximity upon us. Then I felt a strange uneasiness descend upon me as Andrew Reid—the man Andrew Reid and not the doctor—began to fill up the hidden cavern as if he were a great tide washing in from the
Bay.

He said nothing, but taking my face between his hands—just as George had done—he began to kiss
me.

I felt my heart quicken, and then it seemed to me as if the wind were laughing—cackling from somewhere up high and outside the rocks, as if it were pleased with its
work.

Again and again he kissed
me.

I closed my eyes, and then I felt myself drift out into the Bay, away from the wind out into the open water—way out beyond the buoys and their markings of safe harbor. Even the lighthouse was lost from my sight, and the Bay seemed to be stretching out in all directions around me in one enormous undulating current of George and Andrew—Andrew and
George.

“It's time, Garth,” Marged
said. She seemed very restive. Her face was flushed and her pupils dilated. She took several deep breaths, seemingly struggling with
something.

“Time for what?” I
asked.

“I suppose it's only fair to warn you.” She turned her face toward me and subjected me yet again to one of her piercing blue
stares.

“Dr. McTavish—” she began. Then she seemed at a loss for
words.

I waited quietly for her to
continue.

“Dr. McTavish always blamed himself for his wife's death. He thought that Perdita might be able to connect him to her.” She looked at me with great appeal in her eyes, almost as if she were begging me to understand and forgive her for…something. “I didn't know that it would be so hard on him. He was quite elderly at the time.” Marged looked away, and I caught the dim glimmer of tears in her
eyes.

I asked her to please
explain.

She was silent for a few seconds. Then she whispered, “It killed
him.”

I drew back in
surprise.

“I brought Perdita to him. But it was too hard for him. He died almost instantly. Andrew said it wasn't my fault, but I was so sorry. So very sorry!” She began to cry
softly.

I immediately went over to her. “Marged,” I said kindly, “if Perdita will come to me, I'll take the chance. I'm pretty sure it won't kill
me.”

“You're humoring me again.” She was practically sobbing, anguished at the thought of bringing me
harm.

“I promise that I'm not humoring you. I will take the
chance.”

“Then would you—would you do it now? Would you
now
?”

I sat down and gave her a minute to compose
herself.

“There is a risk, you see.” She cleared her throat. “It's important that you understand
me.”

“I've told you, I take full responsibility.” I was absolutely determined that this time we would get past this business of Perdita. “If you feel this will help clear up all the things we've been talking about, then by all means, let's go ahead with
it.”

She still seemed indecisive. “I'm sure she will come to you. Perhaps—perhaps you might even know what to do with
her.”

“Yes, well, let's just take this one step at a time. Now, what do you want me to
do?”

She seemed confused. “What are you asking
me?”

“I mean am I supposed to do anything to make her come to
me?”

She shook her head. “You can't exactly make her—oh, but I see what you mean. No, there's nothing you should do. Just stay where you
are.”

“Just stay sitting
here?”

“Yes, you see, she's been here the whole
time.”

“She's been
here
?”

“Oh, yes,” Marged said softly. “She's been in my lap, but she's coming
down.”

The first thing I
heard after Marged said “she's coming down” was a humming
sound.

Then I felt a hand on my
shoulder.

It rested lightly on my shirt for a few seconds, and then it slowly moved up toward my collar. Then it touched my
neck.

Every hair on my body seemed to be standing on
end.

The hand began to stroke the side of my face, very gently, and I could feel soft, cool fingers. Then it began to pat me on my cheek, just below my
ear.

I felt a deep, paralyzing fear wash over
me.

“She doesn't want you to be afraid,” I heard Marged
say.

“Who is it?” I whispered, barely able to
speak.

“You must turn to see
her.”

A stinging pain washed over me as I started to slowly move my head. The thought that I might be having some kind of heart attack suddenly flashed across my mind as I felt my pulse beginning to race. Marged became a blur before me, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to turn my head toward the
hand.

There was a little girl between one and two years old standing beside me. She was completely naked and smiling shyly, sucking on her
thumb.

As soon as I saw her, the pain
stopped.

The girl searched my face, clapped her hands together once, and then clambered up onto my knees, using my shirt collar to steady herself. Then she turned and settled herself on my lap, so that we were both facing
Marged.

I remained completely immobile, dumbstruck, and yet profoundly relieved that the awful pain was gone. Then she took each of my arms and brought them down across her tiny body so that she could nestle her back against my
chest.

“Isn't she lovely?” I could see Marged's eyes tearing from where I was sitting. “You're the first person she has ever come to—since George. Andrew so wanted to meet her, but he just couldn't bring himself to
it.”

I swallowed once or twice, trying to collect my wits. “This—this could be a little girl—a little girl visiting the home.” As soon as I said it, I felt the edge of the pain
returning.

Marged leaned forward quickly. “No, Perdita! Patience—remember? You've promised me. You will have to do a trick. It's the only way. Remember—with George, we had to do a trick, too.”

The little girl squirmed and then laughed; her voice was like a bird's. “Show him your doll,” Marged
instructed.

The child turned around in my lap and stood up on my knees, this time steadying herself by holding on to my shoulders. She placed her fingers on my cheeks, tweaking my nose and pulling on my lower lip, as if my face were a
toy.

It was then that I got a better look at
her.

At first she seemed to be a mass of soft, dark hair, hair that fell down her back in a long wave, turning a deep red at the ends. Her skin was flawlessly smooth, but it seemed to have a strange, almost greenish tinge to it. Then she looked up into my face. Her eyes—like Marged's—were of a blue so intense that I almost had to look
away.

“Marged,” I whispered. “Who—what is
this?”

She ignored my
question.

“Show him your doll,” Marged urged
again.

The child reached behind her, sticking out her belly to balance herself, and then she drew out a little bundle. She rocked it in her arms as if it were a baby and then beckoned for me to look
closer.

At first it seemed to be made of rags, but as I looked, the bundle grew luminous. I could see strands of a viscous material that seemed to be quivering. The girl took one of my hands and placed her doll in it, and I could feel it moving, alive with the motion of a thousand tiny
parts.

“
Piders
,” she announced dramatically, dropping the
s
, and then she shook her head back and forth in a cocky fashion, as if thoroughly pleased with herself and her “trick.”

The bundle began to vibrate, and I could hear a faint humming sound that began to grow louder and louder. At first it was like the buzzing of
bees…

Marged was watching me, her face suffused with happiness. “Now listen—listen
carefully.”

I strained my
ears.

“Don't you hear it?” Marged whispered. “Don't you hear the waves moving and now the pines bending in the
wind?”

“
That
Marged
.” The little girl laughed. “
Now
Garth
.”

All of a sudden I heard Farley barking—then there was Clare's laugh. The sounds seemed to surface and then fade as others replaced them. I heard a blue jay's jeer announcing dawn at my cottage—then my father striking a match against one of the hearthstones. I heard my mother sobbing as she turned in her sleep—then a tremendous crack of lightning and rain beating against the
roof.

The girl pressed the doll against my chest, and I seemed to hear my own
heartbeat.

The cacophony swelled until I couldn't stand it. “You may have it back,” I gasped, hastily thrusting the bundle into the little girl's hands and feeling a sticky substance remain on my
own.

She looked at me sternly and said, “
Welcome
,” before jumping down from my knees and running back to
Marged.

Then she climbed up on her lap and turned to face
me.

“You see, Garth; she
is
real. This is
Perdita.”

I sat there, unable to utter a sound, and then the little girl disappeared before my very eyes. It was not that she vanished—no. She disappeared gradually, taking a minute or so. She just…faded, and then was gone from Marged's
lap.

I stood up
abruptly.

From behind me, I heard a laugh and I swung around. She was at the door and darted quickly away, running off down the
hallway.

“
Now
do you believe me?” Marged
asked.

But for the life of me, I could not answer
her.

I remembered nothing of
the drive
back.

As soon as I arrived, I got out of the car and immediately headed down to the beach, stripping down by the boathouse and plunging into the
Bay.

I must have had thoughts. I must have made rational conjectures about what I had just seen, but all that remained with me was the sensation of the little girl sitting in my lap, the warmth of her body pressing against my
chest.

She had seemed so
real…

I stayed in the Bay for over an hour, holding my ground against the waves and sinking down beneath them. I made myself focus on a single, simple task—diving down and keeping myself underwater for as long as I could, and then coming up to feel the cold spray burst over
me.

At first I just let the waves wash over me, but at last my head began to
clear.

Maybe
Doug
was
right.
I grasped at the thought as soon as it
surfaced.

“Not so much your body,” he had said. “That's in great shape. It's your head—that brilliant mind of yours—it needs a real
rest.”

Was that it? Was some part of myself playing along with Marged Brice's
fantasy?

Who
was
that
little
girl?

Now the phone was
ringing.

I found myself back inside the cottage, and I answered it
automatically.

“Garth, are you
there?”

I took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. “Yes! Yes, Clare, I'm sorry. What were you
saying?”

“I've got to go back to the city. It looks like for a few days. I don't want to go, but I have
to.”

She sounded upset, and I asked her if there was anything that I could
do.

“Could you take Mars? It would be best if he didn't come with
me.”

I told her I'd be happy to take
Mars.

“Could I come over now? Have you—have you finished your
swim?”

“Yes—yes, I'm
finished.”

I managed to have a shirt and shorts on when she
arrived.

She froze when she saw me. “What on earth has
happened?”

Clare came up close to me and put her hands on my arms, her eyes searching my face worriedly. Without warning, I grasped her shoulders and then hugged her to me very tightly, closing my
eyes.

I immediately felt
calmer.

After a few moments, Clare gently lifted up my arms and made me sit down. She brought me a glass of water, and I could see that she was growing alarmed at my
silence.

“Garth, I think you should see a
doctor.”

I looked up at her, my face still ashen. “No. I'm okay. Something happened at the home today, but I can't talk about it right now.” My voice became
unsteady.

She bit her lip. “Of course, but I'm worried about you. Won't you please let me take you to a
doctor?”

“No!” I said it much more forcefully than I intended, and she drew back in
surprise.

“I'm sorry. But really, Clare, I'm beginning to feel much
better.”

“Well, I'm going to stay. Can I at least stay until your…normal color comes
back?”

***

Clare made me promise that I would immediately call a neighbor if I felt any
worse.

“Are you sure you wouldn't like me to stay?” she asked again, lowering the window and looking at me
anxiously.

I took her hand. “Will you call me when you get
in?”

“I'll call you as soon as I've
arrived.”

“You didn't say…” I began. “Why are you leaving so
suddenly?”

She looked
away.

“Oh—it's Stuart Bretford. I think I told you about him. He's flown in from London, and I've got to meet
him.”

I dropped her hand. “Will you be coming back
up?”

“Yes, I'm sure I'll be back in a few
days.”

I watched her car as it disappeared down the
driveway.

I went back inside and put two bowls of food out for Farley and Mars and then went straight to
bed.

Clare's call woke me just after midnight. I told her that I was feeling much better, and she brightened, telling me that I had given her quite a
scare.

***

The next afternoon I called Edna to let her know that I wouldn't be coming down to the home for a few
days.

She was sorry to hear that I was under the weather. “Marged keeps asking about
you.”

“Please let her know I'm fine. And, Edna—it's very important that she not be concerned about me. You can tell her I'm planning to be back after the
weekend.”

“Yes, yes. You just get some rest,” she said soothingly. “And don't worry about Marged. I'll let her know you're on the
mend.”

I hung up, relieved that at least I wouldn't have to worry about Marged. Now I
could—

What was I going to do about
Clare?