Comes The Blind Fury Part 16

"I'll come back again," Sally offered, but when there was no response from Mich.e.l.le, she followed Jeff out into the hall.

June was waiting for them downstairs. She knew immediately that something had gone wrong. "Did she talk to you?"

"Sort of." Sally's voice was unsteady. June saw that she was on the verge of tears. She put an arm around the girl and hugged her gently.

"Try not to let her worry you," she urged. "It's been terrible for her, and she's been in pain all the time. But she'll be all right. It'll just take time."

Sally nodded mutely. Then her tears overflowed, and she buried her face in June's shoulder.

"Oh, Mrs. Pendleton, I feel like it's our fault. All our fault."

June drew the girl to her. "It's not your fault, or anyone's fault, and I'm sure Mich.e.l.le doesn't think it is."

"Are you really going to send her away to school?" Jeff asked suddenly. June looked at him blankly.

"Away? What do you mean?"

"Mich.e.l.le said she might be going to another school. I guess a school for-cripples," he finished, stumbling on the word as if he hated to use it.

"Is it true?" Sally searched June's face, but June carefully remained expressionless.

"Well, we've talked about it..." she lied, wondering where Mich.e.l.le had gotten such an idea. It had never even been mentioned.

"I hope she can stay here." Sally's voice was eager. "n.o.body will laugh at her-really they won't!"

"Why, whatever put such an idea into your heads?" June exclaimed. She began to wonder exactly what had transpired upstairs, but knew better than to try to pry it out of Jeff and Sally. "Now why don't you two run along and come back in a couple of days. I'm sure Mich.e.l.le will be feeling much better then."

June watched the two children retreat along the bluff. She could see them talking animatedly together. When Jeff glanced back at the house, June waved to him, but he ignored her, turning almost guiltily away.

June's spirits, buoyed by the appearance of Sally and Jeff, sank again. She started upstairs to have a talk with Mich.e.l.le. But as she was about to go into her daughter's room, Jennifer suddenly began crying. June stood indecisively at Mich.e.l.le's door for a moment. As Jennifer's howls increased, she decided to see to the baby first. Then she would face Mich.e.l.le, and have a talk with her. A real talk.

Mich.e.l.le lay in bed, her eyes open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, listening to the voice.

It was closer now, closer than it had ever been before. She still had to listen carefully to make out the words, but she was getting better at it.

It was a pleasant voice, almost musical. Mich.e.l.le was almost sure she knew where it came from.

It was the girl.

The girl in the black dress, the one she had seen first in her dreams, then that day at the graveyard. The day Jennifer had been born.

At first, the girl had only called out to her, calling for help. But now she was saying other things. Mich.e.l.le lay in bed, and she listened.

"They're not your friends," the voice crooned. the voice crooned. "None of them are "None of them are.

"Don't believe Sally. She's Susan's friend, and Susan hates you.

"All of them hate you.

"They pushed you.

"They pushed you off the trail.

"They want to kill you.

"But it won't happen. I won't let it happen.

"I'm your friend, and I'll take care of you. I'll help you.

"We'll help each other..."

The voice faded away, and Mich.e.l.le became aware of a soft tapping at her door. The door opened, and her mother came in, smiling at her, Jennifer in her arms.

"Hi! How's everything?"

"All right, I guess."

"Did you have a nice visit with Sally and Jeff?"

"I guess."

"I thought you might like to say h.e.l.lo to your sister."

Mich.e.l.le stared at the baby, her face expressionless.

"What did Sally and Jeff have to say?" June was beginning to feel desperate. Mich.e.l.le was barely answering her questions.

"Nothing much. They just wanted to say hi."

"But you must have talked with them."

"Not really."

A heavy silence fell over the room. June began fiddling with Jennifer's blanket while she tried to decide what tactic to take with Mich.e.l.le. Finally, reluctantly, she made up her mind.

"Well, I think it's time you got out of bed," she said flatly. At last there was a reaction from Mich.e.l.le. Her eyes flickered, and for a moment June thought they filled with fear. She shrank further down under the covers.

"But I can't..." she began. June quietly interrupted her.

"Of course you can," she said smoothly. "You get out of bed every day. And it's good for you-the sooner you get out of bed and start exercising, the sooner you can go back to school."

"But I don't want to go back to school," Mich.e.l.le said. Now, suddenly, she was sitting up straight, staring intensely at her mother. "I never want to go back to that school. They all hate me there."

"Don't be silly," June said. "Who told you that?"

Mich.e.l.le glanced wildly around the room, as if searching for something. Her eyes came to rest on her doll, sitting in its usual place on the window seat.

"Mandy," she said. "Amanda told me!"

June's mouth fell open in surprise. She stared first at Mich.e.l.le, then at the doll. Surely she didn't think it was real! No, she couldn't. Then June realized what had happened. An imaginary friend. Mich.e.l.le had made up an imaginary friend to keep her company. And yet, there was the doll: its gla.s.s eyes, large and dark as Mich.e.l.le's, seemed to see right through her. June closed her mouth, and stood up.

"I see," she said hollowly. "Well." Dear G.o.d, what's happening to her? Dear G.o.d, what's happening to her? she thought she thought What's happening to all of us? What's happening to all of us? Trying to keep her confusion from her voice, and forcing herself to smile at Mich.e.l.le as if nothing were wrong, she got to her feet. Trying to keep her confusion from her voice, and forcing herself to smile at Mich.e.l.le as if nothing were wrong, she got to her feet.

"We'll talk about it later." She bent over and kissed Mich.e.l.le lightly on the cheek. Mich.e.l.le's only response was to lower herself, so she was once more lying on the bed. As June watched, all expression seemed to fade from Mich.e.l.le's face. Had her eyes not remained open, June would have sworn she had fellen asleep.

Hugging Jennifer close to her, June backed slowly out of the room.

Cal came home in the middle of the afternoon, and spent the rest of the day reading and playing with Jennifer. He spoke only briefly to June, and didn't go up to Mich.e.l.le's room at all.

As June finished setting the table for dinner, and was about to call Cal into the kitchen, an idea came to her. Without pausing to think about it, she went into the living room where Cal sat with Jennifer in his lap.

"I'm going to have Mich.e.l.le come down for dinner," she said. She saw Cal flinch, but he quickly recovered himself.

"Tonight? What brought this on?" His voice was guarded, and June prepared herself for another argument.

"She's spending too much time by herself. You never go up there-"

"That's not true," Cal started to protest, but June didn't let him finish.

"Whether it's true or not isn't the point. The point is that she's spending too much time alone, feeling sorry for herself. And I won't let it continue. I'm going to go up and tell her to put on her robe and come downstairs. And I'm not going to take 'no' for an answer."

As soon as she left the room, Cal put Jennifer in the extra ba.s.sinet they had installed in the living room, and fixed himself a drink. By the time June returned, he had finished it and begun on a second, which he brought with him when June called him to the table.

They sat silently, waiting for Mich.e.l.le. As the hall clock ticked hollowly, Cal began twisting his napkin.

"How long are you going to wait?" he asked.

"Until Mich.e.l.le comes down."

"What if she doesn't?"

"She will," June said firmly. "I know she will." But inside she did not feel the a.s.surance of her own words.

The minutes dragged. June had to force herself to stay at the table, not to go upstairs, not to give in at all. And then it hit her.

Maybe Mich.e.l.le couldn't couldn't come down. She got up from the table and hurried into the hall. come down. She got up from the table and hurried into the hall.

At the top of the stairs, Mich.e.l.le, her robe tied tightly around her waist, was clutching the bannister with one hand, while with the other she tested the top step with her cane.

"Can I help?" June offered. Mich.e.l.le glanced at her, then shook her head.

"I'll do it," she said. "I'll do it by myself."

June felt the tension that had been building up in her suddenly release itself. But then, as Mich.e.l.le spoke once more, the knot of fear that had been clutching at her all afternoon regained its grip, more tightly than ever.

"Mandy will help me," Mich.e.l.le said quietly. "She told me she would."

Very carefully, Mich.e.l.le started down the stairs.

CHAPTER 12.

The morning sun, crackling with an autumnal brightness, flooded through the windows of the studio, its rays seeking out every corner, its brightness lending a new mood to the canvas on the easel. June had begun it several days ago. It depicted the view from the studio, but it was moody, somber, cast in heavy blues and grays that reflected all too well her own mood over the past few weeks. But this morning, bathed in the sunlight, its colors seemed to have changed, brightened, capturing the excitement of a suddenly gusting wind churning the cove on a dark day. Dipping her brush in white paint, June began adding whitecaps to the boiling sea that erupted over her canvas.

In one corner of the studio, Jennifer lay in her ba.s.sinet, cooing and gurgling in her sleep, her tiny hands contentedly clutching at her blanket. June tore herself away from her work long enough to smile at Jenny. As she was about to return to the canvas, a movement outside caught her eye.

Putting her palette and brush aside, she went to the window and looked out.

Mich.e.l.le, leaning heavily on a cane, was making her way toward the studio.

As she watched, June fought to control her emotions, struggled against an almost overpowering impulse to go to Mich.e.l.le, to help her.

Mich.e.l.le's pain was written boldly on her face: her features, even and delicate, were screwed into a mask of concentration as she made herself keep moving steadily forward, her good right leg moving easily, almost eagerly, while her left leg dragged reluctantly behind as if mired in mud, being moved by sheer strength of will.

June felt tears well up in her eyes. The contrast between this fragile child bravely limping toward her, and the robust, agile Mich.e.l.le of only a few weeks ago tore at her.

I won't cry, she told herself. If Mich.e.l.le can take it, so can I If Mich.e.l.le can take it, so can I. In a strange way, June drew strength from the pain-contorted body that drew steadily nearer, then, suddenly feeling self-conscious about watching Mich.e.l.le, she turned back to her easel. When, a few minutes later, Mich.e.l.le appeared at the door, she was able to feign surprise.

"Well, look who's here!" she exclaimed, forcing her voice to a level of cheerfulness she didn't feel. Reflexively, she took a step toward Mich.e.l.le, but Mich.e.l.le shook her head.

"I made it," she said triumphantly, lowering herself on June's stool so that her left leg hung nearly straight to the floor. She sighed heavily, then grinned at her mother, a trace of her old humor briefly illuminating her face. "If I hurried, I bet I could have made it twice as fast."

"Does it hurt terribly?" June asked, letting her mask of cheerfulness fall away. Mich.e.l.le seemed to consider her answer carefully, and June wondered whether she was going to hear the truth, or some evasion Mich.e.l.le thought she might like to hear.

"Not as much as yesterday," Mich.e.l.le said.

"I'm not sure you should have tried coming all the way out here..."

"I needed to talk to you." Mich.e.l.le's face turned serious, and she shifted her weight on the stool. Even that slight movement sent stabs of pain through her. She winced slightly, and waited for the spasm to pa.s.s before she spoke again.

"What is it?" June asked finally.

"I-I'm not sure. It's-" She floundered for a moment, then her eyes moistened, and a tear began running slowly down her cheek. June quickly put her arms around Mich.e.l.le and hugged her close.

"What is it, darling? Tell me. Please?"

Mich.e.l.le buried her face against her mother, her body suddenly wracked with sobs. With each sob, June could feel Mich.e.l.le's body tighten with the pain in her hip. For several minutes June held her, until Mich.e.l.le's agony slowly pa.s.sed.

"Is it that bad? Does it hurt that much?" June wished there were some way she could take the pain upon herself. But Mich.e.l.le was shaking her head.

"It's Daddy," she said finally.

"Daddy? What about him?"