Promises to Keep (20 page)

"From what Dan and Jessie have told me about her, it strikes me that you were only speaking the truth."

"True or not, it was very wrong of me to say it," Julie firmly insisted. "Grandmother flew into a rage. She seemed to become a different person and she— she hit me. Twice. Like this." Her hand moved to slap the air in a forceful forehand-backhand gesture. Her voice was barely audible when she continued. "She was wearing the ring—she always did—and the stone caught me on the chin. She'd never struck me before and she couldn't have known how she might injure me."

"I think you're letting her off the hook a little too easily," Garth said grimly.

Julie rushed on as if he hadn't spoken. "When Grandmother saw what she'd done, she looked so very old and she just seemed to—to shrivel. That was when she had her second stroke, and I promised I would never leave her."

"She gave you the ring then?"

"Yes. As a reminder of my promise. As a reminder that I'd given it freely, without her asking me to do so."

"No doubt she intended it as a reminder, but not of any promise you'd made." Garth cupped her cheeks with his hands and turned her to face him. "Oh, honey," he said softly, giving her a little shake, "can't you see that it was supposed to reinforce the guilt you felt because you held yourself accountable for her illness? And needlessly! I mean—my God!— she was in her
seventies
! It could have happened anyway, at any time."

He saw a flicker of uncertainty in the still depths of her eyes. "I'd like to believe you, Garth," she said shakily, "but it happened
then
! And besides, that's not the whole story."

Her throat worked with the sudden sharp stab of remorse that assailed her. Although she described only sketchily her final clash with Elizabeth Ayers, in her imagination she relived each painful detail of the battle.

Elizabeth had always cautioned Julie that the day was bound to come when she would regret being so rebellious. More than once she'd somberly predicted, "If you don't overcome your recalcitrant attitude, young lady, one day you'll go against my wishes once too often. Then you, and you alone, will have to pay the penalty." The severe lines in her face would soften, and she would smile ingratiatingly as she asked, "Do you think I want to see that happen to my own sweet little girl?"

Julie would hang her head and mumble, "No, Grandmother."

She had come to Elizabeth a bewildered not quite five-year-old, and she had learned very quickly that it was forbidden to say anything in praise of her mother or father. As soon as she did, Elizabeth would stop acting the role of doting granny and become stern and cold.

From a very early age Julie had recognized that this giving and withholding of love was a ploy designed to keep her in line, and she'd resented being subjected to it. Yet basically her grandmother was kind to her. Even some of the harshest rules she laid down were for Julie's own good, and if she was possessive and refused to give Julie permission to join in the activities of the other children, it was only because she loved her and was afraid of losing her. After all, as Elizabeth so often pointed out, they had no one but each other.

It was not until she approached her teens that Julie consciously questioned this fundamental premise, around which her grandmother had structured her existence. She began to wonder whether Elizabeth had overprotected her out of a determination to keep her eternally Grandma's own sweet little girl.

As if to prove her surmise, when Julie entered adolescence and her body started to ripen, Elizabeth sought to instill in her a sense of modesty that approached shame. And when Elizabeth's self-fulfilling prophecy that Julie would eventually defy her once too often came to pass, it seemed inevitable that it should involve a feeble attempt on Julie's part to exercise her newfound maturity by accepting a date with a boy.

The boy in question, Tom Rush, was a year or so older than she. They had several classes together at school and their friendship had blossomed rather tenuously. He asked her out a number of times, but she adhered to her grandmother's interdict and made up excuses for declining his invitations. When he asked her to go to the Junior Prom with him, however, he made it clear that their friendship was at stake.

Julie accepted, for she couldn't bear to nip the fragile bud of affection that had sprung up between them. She had very few friends of her own age and she was lonely. Since her grandmother's last stroke, she had almost no free time. She had to hurry home after school to be with Elizabeth, and her vacations and weekends were occupied with taking care of her grandmother as well, so Julie was unable to participate in ordinary teen-age socializing.

She considered sneaking out to keep her date with Tom, but finally decided against it. It went against the grain not to be forthright, and she wasn't doing anything sinful. When the day of the prom arrived, she explained to Elizabeth, as one adult to another, where she was going that night. On the surface Elizabeth was surprisingly unmoved by the news. The showdown didn't come until Tom brought her home after the dance.

Julie was worried when they drove into the yard and she saw that, with the exception of the porch light, the house was completely dark. She bade Tom a hasty good night and hurried inside. In spite of her concern, she was lighthearted after her innocent evening out and she fairly danced into the parlor.

"Did you have a nice time, dear?" Elizabeth called pleasantly enough from the couch.

As Julie turned on a floor lamp she gaily replied, "I had a wonderful time, Grandmother. But why were you sitting in the dark?"

"I wanted to make sure that boy didn't take any liberties when he brought you home."

"His name is Tom, Grandmother, and he was very gentlemanly." Julie was starry-eyed with pleasure as she held up her wrist to display the silvery little bangle on it. "See," she said softly, "he even gave me a present."

Elizabeth blanched and her eyes hardened. "He
gave
you that?" Her nostrils flared indignantly as she asked, "Are you sure it wasn't payment for services rendered?"

"I—I don't know what you m-mean."

"I think you do!" Elizabeth struggled to her feet and regally drew herself to her full height. "I'd rather see you dead," she hissed, "than have you turn out to be a cheap little tramp like your mother."

Julie counted to ten before she replied and in this way she managed to keep her voice low and steady as she dissented. "My mother wasn't a tramp."

"Oh wasn't she?" A feral glitter entered Elizabeth's eyes. "Then why was she too ashamed to come and see me after she ran off with your good-for-nothing father?"

"Gran," Julie reminded her gently, "you said you'd told her that if she married Daddy, she was no daughter of yours. You
ordered
her to leave and not come back."

"Don't you put words in my mouth, Miss Know-it-all," Elizabeth said scornfully. Her face had grown livid and her breathing was irregular. "If I say your mother was a tramp, it's not half of what she deserves. And you!" she shrieked. "You fall into bed with the first boy who looks at you twice."

"
Please
try not to get excited," Julie begged, her voice rising with concern. "There's no reason for it, because I didn't do anything wrong!"

Elizabeth's breathing was stertorous, and she collapsed onto the couch, lying against the pillows at her back for support.

"I'll get your medicine," Julie cried.

She ran to her grandmother's bedroom to find the mild sedative the doctor had prescribed, and by the time she returned to the parlor Elizabeth was drifting in and out of consciousness. Her flesh seemed to have sunk into her skull and her face was gaunt and ashen. Her lips were blue and she moved them fretfully, trying to speak.

"What is it, Gran?" Julie asked.

Weakly, Elizabeth motioned to her to come nearer and when she did, she reached out to grab her wrist. Her talonlike fingers were astonishingly strong.

"Promise me—" Elizabeth gasped. "Promise—"

"Yes, Grandmother?"

Julie leaned even closer in order to hear what Elizabeth was saying, and a cloud of her grandmother's rose-scented cologne enveloped her in a choking miasma that clogged her nose and throat.

"Swear… to me… you'll never…
never
—"

"I swear it, Gran," Julie blurted hastily.

With a monumental effort Elizabeth pulled herself upright, and her fingers tightened until her nails were digging into Julie's wrist.

"Say it!" she commanded.

Julie knew what Elizabeth was asking of her, and her stomach churned with nausea as she recited the vow her grandmother had so often requested of her. "I swear I'll never leave you, Grandmother."

"And you won't get married!"

"I promise, Grandmother." At that moment Julie would have promised anything to win release so that she could get to the telephone and call the doctor.

Her reserves exhausted, Elizabeth fell back against the upholstery. Her fingers grew limp and she patted Julie's hand approvingly. "You'll always be my own sweet little girl," she muttered raspily. Her eyes rolled wildly, as if she hadn't the strength to coordinate them, and she lost consciousness.

"We never spoke of that night again," Julie said to Garth, "until just before Grandmother died. She must have known she hadn't much longer, because she asked me to repeat my promise to her."

"I can see why you felt obliged to go along with her," Garth remarked, "but you must have recognized that Elizabeth was using emotional blackmail to dictate the way you led your life after she was gone. Surely you never seriously planned to keep your word!"

"No, I don't suppose I ever did. And when I met you… Well, I thought I could handle marriage. Then on the beach that day, you asked about the scar, and it all came back as if it had just happened and I couldn't—" She drew a deep, quivering breath. "It didn't seem right that I should be so happy after what I'd done."

Garth pulled her into his arms and she rested against him gratefully, burying her face in his chest. "It's all right, darling," he said quietly. "I understand."

"Could we visit my grandmother's house before we go home?" she whispered.

"Are you positive you want to?"

Julie nodded emphatically.

Garth's hand moved over her back to the nape of her neck, stopping when it came in contact with the chain. He laced his fingers around her neck as if to assert that his claim on her outweighed Elizabeth's.

He was troubled by her request but he could think of no good reason to deny it. It might even be constructive.

"I don't see why not," he agreed. "When would you like to go?"

"Now!" she exclaimed anxiously. "This afternoon!"

The house came into view when they reached the brow of the rise. It was smaller than Julie had remembered as it crouched, squat and foursquare, on the hard-packed earth that surrounded it. After today's thaw the yard would be a sea of slick, red mud.

Her grandfather had built the house as a gift for his bride in the early 1930s. With its gables, its broad veranda, and fat round pillars, it tried too hard to be charming and instead seemed merely dated. Probably its original siding had lent it a kind of distinction, but Elizabeth had replaced that with white asbestos shingles many years ago.

It had not fared well in the year it had been vacant. Everything about it showed signs of neglect and abuse. The shrubbery was overgrown, sending out choking tentacles that would screen out most of the light. Most of the windows had been broken and were boarded over, giving the house a blank, aggrieved look, as if it mourned its own demise, and one corner was tilted at an extreme angle, for it was sinking into its cellar. This added to the illusion that it was waiting to pounce on the incautious passerby.

Dan had opposed their coming here. "I don't think it's a good idea," he'd said, cryptically concise. "It's changed."

Jessie had disagreed. "It's something Julie has to do, Dan," she argued. Dan had looked at her with dismay. "I've made no secret of my feelings about Elizabeth over the years," she'd explained, "so this will probably sound hypocritical, but Julie was the only person who ever loved Elizabeth. For one reason or another, you and a few others may have respected her, but Julie really cared about her. So maybe it's only proper."