Comes The Blind Fury Part 14

And there had been a dream.

There had been a voice in the dream, calling to her.

"Mom?" Her own voice seemed to echo oddly in the room, and for a second she wished she hadn't called out. But the door opened, and her mother was there. Everything was going to be all right.

"Mich.e.l.le?" June hurried to the bed, bent over Mich.e.l.le, kissed her gently. "Mich.e.l.le, are you awake?"

Her eyes wide and puzzled, Mich.e.l.le stared up at her mother, seeing the fear that lay like a haunting mask over June's face.

"What happened? Why am I in bed?"

Mich.e.l.le started to sit up, but a stab of pain shot through her left side, and she gasped. At the same time, June put her hands on Mich.e.l.le's shoulders and gently pushed her back down.

"Don't try to move," she said. "Just lie very still, and I'll get Daddy."

"But what happened?" Mich.e.l.le pleaded. "What happened to me?"

"You tripped on the trail and fell," June told her. "Now just lie still, and let me call Daddy. Then we'll tell you all about it."

June left the bed and went to the door. "Cal?" she called. "Cal, she's awake!" Without waiting for him to respond, she came back into the room to hover once more over Mich.e.l.le's bed.

"How do you feel, darling?"

"I-I don't know," Mich.e.l.le stammered. "I feel sort of-" She hesitated, searching for the right word. "Numb, I guess. How did I get here?"

"Your father brought you," June told her. "Jeff Benson came up and got him, then-"

Cal appeared in the doorway, and as Mich.e.l.le's eyes met her father's, she knew something had changed. It was the way he looked at her, as if she had done something-something bad. But all she had done was have an accident. Could he be mad at her about that? "Daddy?" As she whispered the word, it seemed to echo in the room, and she saw her father step back slightly. But then he came toward her, took her wrist in his hand, counted her pulse, and tried to smile.

"How bad does it hurt?" he asked softly.

"If I lie still, it's only sort of an ache," Mich.e.l.le replied. She wanted to reach up to him, put her arms around him, and be held by him. But she knew she couldn't.

"Try not to move," he instructed her. "Just lie perfectly still, and I'll give you something for the pain."

"What happened?" Mich.e.l.le asked again. "How far did I fall?"

"Everything's going to be fine, honey," Cal told her, avoiding her questions.

Very gently, he eased the covers back and began examining Mich.e.l.le carefully, his fingers moving slowly over her body, pausing every few inches, prodding, pressing. As he moved close to her left hip, Mich.e.l.le suddenly cried out in pain. Instantly, Cal withdrew his hands.

"Get my bag, will you, darling?" He kept his eyes on Mich.e.l.le as he spoke, and tried not let his voice betray the fears that were building inside him. June slipped from the room, and as he waited for her to return, Cal talked quietly to Mich.e.l.le, trying to calm her fears, and his own as well.

"You gave us quite a scare. Do you remember what happened? Any of it?"

"I was coming home," Mich.e.l.le began. "I was coming up the trail, sort of running, I guess, and-and I must have slipped."

His blue eyes clouded with worry, Cal watched Mich.e.l.le intently. "But why were you coming home? Was the picnic over?"

"N-no..." Mich.e.l.le faltered. "I-I just didn't want to stay any longer. Some of the kids were teasing me."

"Teasing you? Teasing you about what?"

About you, she wanted to cry out. About you and Mom not loving me anymore About you and Mom not loving me anymore. But instead of speaking her thoughts, Mich.e.l.le only shook her head uncertainly. "I don't remember," she whispered. "I don't remember at all." She closed her eyes and tried to force the sound of Susan Peterson's mocking voice out of her mind. But it stayed there, crashing around in her brain, nearly as painful as the dull ache that permeated her body.

She opened her eyes as June came back into the room, and watched as her father took a vial out of his bag, filled a hypodermic needle from it, then swabbed her arm with alcohol.

"This won't hurt," he promised. He forced a grin. "At least, not next to what you've already been through." He administered the injection, then straightened up. "Now, I want you to go to sleep. The shot will make the pain go away, but I want you to lie still, and try to sleep."

"But I've already been sleeping," Mich.e.l.le protested.

"You've been unconscious," Cal corrected her, a smile softening the worry lines that seemed etched into his face. "One hour unconscious doesn't count as a nap. So take a nap." Winking at her, he turned and started out of the room.

"Daddy?" Mich.e.l.le's voice, sharp in the sudden quiet of the room, stopped him. He turned back to her, his face questioning. Mich.e.l.le gazed at him, pain clouding her eyes. "Daddy," she said, her voice now little more than a whisper, "Do you love me very very much?" much?"

Cal stood silent for a moment, then went back to his daughter. He leaned over her, and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Of course I do, sweetheart. Why wouldn't I?"

Mich.e.l.le smiled at him gratefully. "No reason," she said. "I just wondered."

As Cal left the room, June came over and very carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. She took Mich.e.l.le's hand in her own. "We both love you very much," she said. "Did something make you think we didn't?"

Mich.e.l.le shook her head, but her eyes, moist with tears now, remained fixed on June's face, as though asking for something. June bent forward and kissed Mich.e.l.le, her lips lingering on her daughter's cheek.

"I'll be all right, Mommy," Mich.e.l.le said suddenly. "Really, I will!"

"Of course you will, darling." June stood up and tucked the covers over Mich.e.l.le. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Mich.e.l.le shook her head, then, a thought occurring to her, changed her mind. "My doll," she said. "Could you get Mandy for me? She's on the window seat."

June picked up the doll, brought it to the bed, and placed it on the pillow next to Mich.e.l.le. Though her face twisted in pain at the effort, Mich.e.l.le turned Mandy around, tucked her under the covers, then lay back, the porcelain figure nestled like a baby against her shoulder. She closed her eyes.

June stood watching Mich.e.l.le for a moment, then, thinking that her daughter had already fallen asleep, she tiptoed out of the room, easing the door dosed behind her.

Cal sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window, his unseeing eyes fixed on the horizon.

It was all going to happen again.

Only this time, the victim of his incompetence was not going to be a stranger, someone he barely knew. This time it was going to be his own daughter.

And this time, there were going to be no easy excuses, no salving of his conscience by telling himself that anybody could have made such a mistake.

Without realizing quite what he was doing, Cal got up and poured himself a tumbler of whiskey.

June came into the kitchen just as he had taken his first swallow of the liquor. For a moment she wasn't sure he was aware of her presence. Then he spoke.

"It's my fault."

June knew instantly that he was thinking of Alan Hanley, and connecting his death to Mich.e.l.le's accident.

"It's not your fault," she said. "What happened to Mich.e.l.le was an accident, and though I know you don't believe it, Alan Hanley's death was an accident, too. You didn't kill him, Cal, and you didn't push Mich.e.l.le off the bluff."

It was as if he didn't hear her. "I shouldn't have brought her up." His voice was dull, lifeless. "I should have left her on the beach until I could get a stretcher."

She stared at him. "What are you talking about? Cal, what are you saying? She's not that badly hurt!" She waited for an answer. When none was forthcoming, she began to feel the fear that had subsided as Mich.e.l.le came out of her unconsciousness surge through her once more, clutching at her stomach, choking her. "Is she?" she demanded, her voice rising sharply.

"I don't know." Cal's empty eyes met hers, then shifted to the bottle. He refilled the tumbler, then stared at it, as if realizing for the first time what he was drinking. "She shouldn't be hurting as much as she is. She should be bruised, and she should be aching, but she shouldn't have those sharp pains when she moves."

"Is something broken?"

"Not as far as I can tell."

"Then what's causing the pain?"

Cal's hand crashed down on the table. "I don't know, d.a.m.n it! I just don't know!"

June reeled at his outburst, then, seeing that he was on the edge of some Kind of breakdown, forced herself to stay calm.

"What do you think?" think?" she asked when she felt she could trust her voice. she asked when she felt she could trust her voice.

His eyes took on a wildness that June had never seen before, and his hand began to quiver. "I don't know. I don't even want to guess. But there could be all kinds of damage, and it'll all be my fault."

"You can't know that," June objected. "You don't even know that anything serious is wrong."

It was as if he didn't hear her. "I shouldn't have moved her. I should have waited."

He was about to pour some more whiskey into his gla.s.s when there was a rapping at the back door, and Sally Carstairs stuck her head in.

"May I come in?"

"Sally!" June said. She'd thought the children had left long ago. She glanced at Cal. He appeared to have calmed down slightly-enough, anyway, that she was able to shift her concentration to Sally. "Are you all out there? Come in."

"There's only me," Sally said half-apologetically as she let herself into the kitchen. "Everybody else went home." She stopped uncertainly, then: "Is Mich.e.l.le all right?"

"She will be," June said with an a.s.surance she didn't feel. She offered Sally a gla.s.s of lemonade, and invited her to sit down. "Sally," she began as she poured the lemonade, "what happened down on the beach? Why was Mich.e.l.le coming home early?"

Sally fidgeted at the table, decided there was no reason not to tell what had happened.

"Some of the Kids were teasing her. Susan Peterson, mostly."

"Teasing her?" June kept her voice level, curious but not condemning. "What about?"

"About her being adopted. Susan said that-that-" She fell silent with embarra.s.sment.

That what? That we wouldn't love her anymore, now that we have Jennifer?"

Sally's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know?"

June sat down at the table, her eyes meeting Sally's. "It's the first thing everyone thinks of," she said quietly. "But it's not true. Now we have two daughters, and we love both of them."

Sally's eyes fell to her gla.s.s, and she seemed intent on its contents. "I know," she whispered. "I never said anything to her at all, Mrs. Pendleton. Really, I didn't."

June could feel herself slipping. She wanted to cry, wanted to lay her head on the table, and weep. But she couldn't let herself. Not now. Not yet She stood up, struggling to maintain her self-control, and made herself smile at Sally.

"Maybe you should come back tomorrow," she said. "I'm sure by tomorrow, Mich.e.l.le will want to see you."

Sally Carstairs finished her lemonade, and left.

June sank back onto her chair and stared at the bottle, wishing she dared have a drink, wishing there was some way she could make Cal see that whatever had happened to Mich.e.l.le wasn't his fault. She watched him refill his gla.s.s, started to say something to him. But as she was about to speak, she suddenly had the feeling that she was being watched. She turned quickly.

Josiah Carson was standing in the kitchen door. How long had he been there? June didn't know. He nodded at her, then he stepped into the room and placed his hand on Cal's shoulder.

"Want to tell me what happened?" he asked.

Cal stirred slightly, as though Carson's touch had brought him back to some kind of reality.

"I hurt her," he said, his voice almost childish. "I tried to help her, but I hurt her."

June stood up, deliberately shoving the table against Cal. The sudden movement distracted him from what he was saying. June spoke quickly.

"She's in pain, Dr. Carson," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Cal says she hurts more than she should."

"She fell off a cliff," Josiah said bluntly. "Of course she hurts." His eyes moved from June to Cal. "Trying to drown her pain in alcohol, Cal?"

Cal ignored the question. "I may have injured her myself, Josiah," he said.

"Perhaps so. Or perhaps not. Suppose I go up and have a look at her. And just what is it you think you did to her?"

"I brought her home. I didn't wait for a stretcher."

Carson nodded curtly and turned away, but just as his face disappeared from her line of sight, June thought she saw something.

She thought she saw him smile.

Mich.e.l.le lay awake in bed, listening to the voices below. She had heard Sally a while ago, and now she could hear Dr. Carson.

She was glad Sally hadn't come up, and she hoped Dr. Carson wouldn't either. She didn't want to see anybody, not right now.

Maybe not ever.

Then the door to her room opened, and Dr. Carson stepped in. He closed the door and came close to the bed, leaned over her.

"Want to tell me what happened?" he asked. Mich.e.l.le looked up at him, and shrugged.

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember anything?"

"Not much. Just-" She hesitated, but Dr. Carson was smiling at her, not forcing himself to, as her father had, but really smiling. "I don't know what happened. I was running up the trail, and then all of a sudden it was foggy. I couldn't see, and-and I tripped, I guess."