Comes The Blind Fury Part 10

There had been something at the window-something dark, like a shadow. Something black.

Before she could tell Sally what she had seen that night, Jeff Benson appeared at the end of the hall, waving to her.

"Mich.e.l.le? Mich.e.l.le! Mom's here, and she needs to talk to you!"

"Just a second-" Mich.e.l.le began, but Jeff cut her off.

"Now! It's about your mother-"

Without waiting for him to finish, Mich.e.l.le broke away from Sally and ran down the hall.

"What is it? Has something happened?" she demanded. But Jeff was already leading her out of the building to his mother's car. A battered sedan sat by the curb, its engine running, Constance Benson fidgeting behind the wheel.

"What is it?" Mich.e.l.le asked again, climbing into the car.

"Your mother," Mrs. Benson said tersely, jamming the old car into gear. "She's at the clinic, having the baby."

"The baby?" Mich.e.l.le breathed. But the baby wasn't due for three more weeks. "What happened?"

Ignoring her question, Constance Benson let the clutch out, pressed on the accelerator, and moved away from the curb. As they drove toward the clinic, she chewed at her lower lip, concentrated on her driving, and maintained her silence.

Mich.e.l.le sat on the edge of her chair, holding a magazine in her lap but making no attempt to look at it. Instead, she watched the door through which, sooner or later, her father would come. And then, as she willed it to happen, the door opened, and Cal smiled at her.

"Congratulations," he said. "You have a baby sister."

Mich.e.l.le leaped to her feet and threw herself into her father's arms.

"But what about Mom? Is she all right? What happened?"

"She's fine," Cal a.s.sured her. "And so is the baby. Apparently with your mother and your sister, time is not not of the essence. Dr. Carson says this was the quickest delivery he's ever seen." Though he was careful to keep his tone light, Cal was worried. The delivery had been too quick. Abnormally quick. He wondered what had brought it on. Then he heard Mich.e.l.le asking about the baby and put the delivery out of his mind. of the essence. Dr. Carson says this was the quickest delivery he's ever seen." Though he was careful to keep his tone light, Cal was worried. The delivery had been too quick. Abnormally quick. He wondered what had brought it on. Then he heard Mich.e.l.le asking about the baby and put the delivery out of his mind.

"A sister? I have a sister?"

Cal nodded.

"Can I see her? Right now? Please?" She gazed appealingly up at Cal, and he hugged her close to him.

"In a few minutes," he promised. "Right now I'm afraid she isn't too presentable. Don't you want to know what happened?" Cal gently pushed Mich.e.l.le onto a chair, then sat beside her. "Your sister was almost born in the cemetery," he said. Mich.e.l.le stared at him uncomprehendingly, and the grin on his face faded a little.

"Your mother decided to take a walk," he went on. "She was in the old graveyard when she went into labor."

"The graveyard?" Mich.e.l.le's voice was low, faintly worried. "What was she doing there?"

"Who knows?" Cal asked wryly. "You know your mother-you can never tell what she might do."

Now Mich.e.l.le turned to Mrs. Benson. "But where was she when you found her? What part of the cemetery?"

Constance Benson hesitated, reluctant to tell Mich.e.l.le where she had found June. But why not? "She was on Louise Carson's grave," she said, her voice quiet.

"On the grave?" Mich.e.l.le echoed. How creepy, she thought to herself, clutching her father's hand. "Is the baby all right? I mean, it's sort of like an omen, isn't it? A baby born on a grave?"

Cal squeezed her hand, then slipped an arm around her.

"Don't be silly," he said gently. "Your sister was born right here, not on anybody's grave." He stood up, drawing Mich.e.l.le with him. "Come on, let's go take a look at the baby, then see how your mother's doing." Without a word to Constance Benson, he led his daughter out of the reception room.

"Oh, Mommy, she's beautiful," Mich.e.l.le breathed, staring down into the tiny face that nestled next to June. As if in reply, the baby opened one eye, peered vacantly at Mich.e.l.le for a moment, then went back to sleep.

June smiled at Mich.e.l.le. "Think we should keep her?"

Mich.e.l.le's head bobbed enthusiastically. "And name her Jennifer, just like we planned."

"Unless," Cal said, "you want to name her Louise, to commemorate the place of her first fuss."

"No, thanks." June's voice was low, but emphatic. "There'll be no Carsons in this family." Her eyes met Cal's, but he quickly broke the moment. Mich.e.l.le, however, had seen the odd exchange.

"Mother," she asked, her voice thoughtful, "what were you doing out there?"

"Why shouldn't I be out there?" June replied, forcing her voice to be cheerful. "I was supposed to be walking every day, wasn't I? So I walked to the cemetery, and then I decided to go in. Besides," she added, seeing that neither her husband nor her daughter thought that was all there was to it, "Constance Benson told me the cemetery wasn't safe, and I wanted to see for myself. She claimed it was about to fall into the sea."

"Sounds to me like she's full of a lot of nonsense," Cal chuckled. "Just like this one." He leaned down and stroked Jennifer's brow. The baby opened her eyes, stared blankly at her father for a moment, then began crying.

"When can we take her home?" Mich.e.l.le asked, reaching out tentatively to touch the baby. She wanted desperately to pick Jennifer up, but didn't dare to ask.

"I'm bringing her home tonight," June said. Mich.e.l.le's eyes widened in surprise.

"Tonight? Really? But I thought-I mean-"

"You mean you thought I should stay in the hospital? Why? Here I'd only have a night nurse to look after me, and Jennifer, too. But at home, I've got both you and your father to boss around."

Mich.e.l.le turned to her father for confirmation.

"I don't see why they shouldn't come home."

"But the nursery-it's not ready, is it?"

June smiled at her daughter, her eyes merry. "And guess who's going to get it ready?" she asked. While Mich.e.l.le listened, she began ticking off a list of things that needed to be done in the nursery before she and the baby were brought home. As the list lengthened, Mich.e.l.le turned to her father, feigning exasperation.

"Isn't she supposed to be weak, or asleep, or something?"

Cal chuckled. "That's your mother-when she decides to do something, she does it-no muss, no fuss, no bother. I have a feeling even keeping her in bed for a couple of days is going to be a major project."

June finished the list, and held her arms out to her daughter. "Now give me a kiss and run along. Mrs. Benson will take you home, and we'll be there after dinner. You can eat with Jeff and Mrs. Benson-I've already arranged it."

"But you haven't even talked to her-" Mich.e.l.le began.

"On the way here," June said complacently. "And I'll tell you something-having a baby isn't nearly as hard as I thought." She gave Mich.e.l.le a quick hug, then sent her on her way. Moments later, as Cal watched, she began nursing Jennifer for the first time. The new parents looked happily at each other.

"Is she an angel, or is she an angel?" June asked.

"She's perfect," Cal agreed.

"Do you want us to stay with you?" Mrs. Benson asked as she pulled to a stop in front of the Pendletons'. She peered doubtfully at the old house, as if it was unimaginable to her that anyone Mich.e.l.le's age would be willing to venture inside it alone. But Mich.e.l.le was already getting out of the car.

"No, thanks. I have all kinds of things to do before Mom and Dad bring Jenny home."

"Maybe we could help," Mrs. Benson offered.

"Oh, I don't mind," Mich.e.l.le said immediately. "It's mostly just straightening up the nursery. It'll be fun." Then, before Mrs. Benson could protest further, Mich.e.l.le asked what time they expected her for dinner.

"We always eat at six," Jeff told her. "Want me to come over and walk with you? Sometimes it gets foggy around then."

"That's okay." Mich.e.l.le was just a little annoyed-what did he think she was, a baby? "I'll see you at six, or a little before." Waving good-bye, she ran up the steps and disappeared through the front door.

Mich.e.l.le closed the front door behind her and went up to her room, dropping her bookbag on her bed, her sweater on a chair. Then she went to the window seat, and picked up her doll.

"We have a sister, Amanda," she whispered. As she uttered the doll's name, her dream of the night before, and the memory of the things her friends had said to her came flooding back. "Maybe I should change your name," she said to the doll, staring into its sightless brown eyes thoughtfully. Then she thought better of it. "No! I named you Amanda, and you are are Amanda, and that's that! Do you want to help me clean up the nursery?" Amanda, and that's that! Do you want to help me clean up the nursery?"

Taking the doll with her, she went down the hall to the room next to her parents' that was to be Jennifer's. She went in, wondering what to do first.

All the furniture was there: a crib and a ba.s.sinet, a tiny chest of drawers with a top that converted into a changing table. The walls had been freshly painted, and at the windows there were curtains covered with Pooh and his friends. Propped up in the one full-size chair in the room was a stuffed animal-Kanga, with Baby Roo peeping shyly out of her pocket. Mich.e.l.le propped Amanda up next to the toys, and set to work.

She soon realized that there wasn't all that much to do. She found a pink blanket (edged in blue-just in case) and carefully arranged it in the ba.s.sinet. Then, picking up her doll, she went on to her parents' room, where she changed the bed so June would find it fresh and clean.

When she had gone over June's list in her mind several times, and decided she'd done everything she could remember, she took Amanda and returned to her own room, where she dumped her schoolbooks out of their bag. She stared at them resentfully. It was unfair that she be expected to do her homework on the very day when her baby sister had been born. Deciding that Miss Hatcher would understand, she returned to her window seat, her doll held comfortably in her lap.

As she stared out the window, Mich.e.l.le's mind began to wander. She wondered what things had been like when she had been born. Had she had a sister who had set up a nursery for her? Probably not. Unhappily, she reflected that she probably hadn't even been taken home from the hospital, at least not until the Pendletons had come for her.

The Pendletons.

She never thought of them as anything but Mom and Dad. But, of course, she realized with a start, they weren't really really her parents at all. her parents at all.

What had her real mother been like? Why hadn't she wanted Mich.e.l.le? As she turned the matter over in her mind, she hugged the doll closer, and began to feel lonely. Suddenly she wished she hadn't told Jeff and his mother to leave her alone.

"I'm being silly," she said out loud, the sound of her own voice startling her in the silence of the house. "I have a wonderful mother, and a wonderful father, and now I have a sister, too. Who cares what my real mother was like?"

Resolutely, she left the window seat, and picked up one of her schoolbooks. Better to do her homework than make herself miserable. She settled herself on the bed, tucked Amanda under her arm, and began reading about the War of 1812.

At five-thirty, Mich.e.l.le put her books aside and started out on the path along the bluff. It was still light, but there was a damp chill in the air. The fog would roll in off the sea long before she got to the Bensons'. She wasn't sure she wanted to walk the path in the fog. Retracing her steps, she went back to the house, and down the driveway to the road. The trees around her were beginning to turn, and the tinges of red and gold among the green seemed to offset the grayness of the mists that were gathering over the sea. Then, as she came abreast of the old cemetery, she glanced eastward. The fog had, indeed, made its silent way to the bluff and was swirling softly toward her, its billowing whiteness turning to brilliant gold where the fading sun still struck it, then giving way to the chilly gray of the offsh.o.r.e ma.s.s behind it.

Mich.e.l.le stopped walking, and watched the fog as it crept steadily toward her, flooding across the graveyard whose only visible feature, from where she stood, was the gnarled oak tree. As she watched, the fog engulfed the tree, and it faded away into the grayness.

Suddenly, something seemed to move in the fog.

It was indistinct at first, no more than a dark shadow against the gray of the mist.

Tentatively, Mich.e.l.le took a step forward, leaving the road.

The shadow moved toward her, and began to darken, and take on a shape.

The shape of a young girl, clad in black, her head covered with a bonnet.

The girl Mich.e.l.le had seen the night before, in her dream.

Or had it been a dream?

The beginnings of fear gripped Mich.e.l.le, and a coldness surrounded her.

The strange figure moved in with the fog, advancing toward her. Mich.e.l.le stood transfixed, staring, unsure of what she was seeing.

The fog drifted around the black-clad child, and for a moment it disappeared, until the wind shifted, and the mists suddenly parted.

She was still there, silent, completely still now, her empty eyes fixed on Mich.e.l.le with the same milky pale, sightless stare that Mich.e.l.le had seen the night before.

The figure raised one black-clad arm, and beckoned.

Almost involuntarily, Mich.e.l.le took a step forward.

And the strange vision disappeared.

Mich.e.l.le stood quite still, terrified.

The fog, very close to her now, was beginning to surround her, soft tendrils of mist, cool and damp, reaching out to her as moments before the dark apparition had beckoned.

Slowly, Mich.e.l.le began to back away from the mist.

Her foot touched the pavement of the road, and the firm feel of the asphalt beneath her seemed to break the spell. Only seconds before, the fog seemed to have become almost a living thing. Now it was only fog again.

As the fading light of the September afternoon filtered through the mist, Mich.e.l.le hurried along tibie road toward the comfort of the Bensons'.

"Hi!" Jeff said as he opened the door. "I was going to come and look for you-you were supposed to be here at six."

"But it can't be six yet!" Mich.e.l.le protested. "I left home at five-thirty, and it only took me a few minutes to walk down here."

"It's six-thirty now." Jeff pointed to the grandfather clock that dominated the Bensons' hall. "What did you do, stop in the graveyard?"

Mich.e.l.le gave Jeff a sharp look, but saw nothing in his eyes except curiosity. She was about to tell him what had happened when once again she remembered the conversation at lunchtime that day. Abruptly, she changed her mind.

"I guess our clock's wrong," she said. "What's for dinner?"

"Pot roast." Jeff made a face and led Mich.e.l.le to the dining room, where his mother was waiting.

Constance Benson surveyed Mich.e.l.le critically as she came into the room. "We were getting worried-I was about to send Jeff out looking for you."

"I'm sorry," Mich.e.l.le said, slipping onto her chair. "I guess our clock must be slow."

"Either that, or you were dawdling," Constance said severely. "I don't approve of dawdling."

"It was the fog," Mich.e.l.le confessed. "When the fog came in, I stopped to watch it."