Comes The Blind Fury Part 21

Mich.e.l.le saw them, waved, and handed her end of the rope to Annie Whitmore. She started toward them. When she reached the car, she paused, a smile lighting her face.

"Hi! What took you so long? I was getting worried. But not very very worried." She climbed into the backseat of the car. worried." She climbed into the backseat of the car.

"Everything's fine, honey," Cal said. "Nothing for you to worry about."

But as he spoke, June wondered. His voice, though she knew he was trying to control it, was shaking. Not much, but enough so she knew he was lying. Her worries flooded back to her-perhaps Mich.e.l.le was getting better. But was her husband? getting better. But was her husband?

Mich.e.l.le turned restlessly in her sleep, moaned a little, then woke up.

It wasn't a slow waking, the kind that makes you wonder for a few moments if you're still asleep. It was, rather, the instant awakening that comes with a disturbance, an unusual sound in the night.

And yet, there had been no sound.

She lay very still, listening.

She could hear only the steady crashing of the sea against the bluff, and an occasional rustling as the autumn winds brushed branches against the house.

And Amanda's voice.

The sound was comforting to Mich.e.l.le. She snuggled deeper into the bed, listening.

"Come with me," Mandy whispered.

Then, more urgently: "Come outside with me."

Mich.e.l.le threw off the covers and got out of bed. She went to the window and looked out.

The moon was nearly full, casting an ethereal glow on the sea. Mich.e.l.le let her eyes wander over the scene. Finally they came to rest on the studio, sitting small and lonely on its perch at the edge of the bluff. Then, as her eyes remained fixed on the studio, a cloud seemed to pa.s.s over the moon, obscuring her sight.

"Come on," Mandy whispered. "We have to go outside."

Mich.e.l.le could feel Mandy pulling at her. She pulled on her robe, tying it snugly at the waist, put on her slippers, then left her room, walking slowly, carefully, listening to Amanda's voice.

In her room, her cane was still propped next to her bed.

She moved through the darkened house and went out by the back door. Steadily, Mandy's voice guiding her, she walked across the lawn and let herself into her mother's studio.

A canvas, the seascape her mother had been working on for so long, stood on the easel. Mich.e.l.le stared at it in the gloom, its colors faded to shades of gray, the whitecaps appearing as strange points of light in the foreboding picture.

She felt herself being drawn away from the easel, and moved toward the closet "What is it?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

She opened the doset door and stepped inside.

"Make me a picture," Amanda whispered to her.

Obediently, Mich.e.l.le reached for a canvas and took it to the easel. Setting her mother's painting on the floor, she replaced it with the canvas she had brought from the closet.

"A picture of what?" she asked.

In the darkness there was a silence, then Amanda's voice, suddenly dearer, spoke to her once more.

"What you showed me. Make me a picture of what you showed me."

Mich.e.l.le picked up a piece of charcoal and began sketching.

She could feel Amanda's presence behind her, watching over her shoulder as she worked.

She drew quickly, as if some unseen force was guiding her hand.

The figures emerged on the canvas.

First the woman, just the bare outlines, her limbs stretched languidly on a studio couch.

Then the man, above her, caressing her.

Mich.e.l.le began to feel a certain excitement as she drew, an energy flowing into her from the presence at her shoulder.

"Yes," Amanda whispered. "That's the way it was...I can see it now. For the first time, I can really see it...."

An hour later Mich.e.l.le took the canvas off the easel, put it back in the closet, and replaced her mother's picture exactly as it had been before.

When she left the studio, there was no sign that she had ever been there. No sign at all, except the charcoal sketch buried in the jumble at the back of the closet.

When she woke up the next morning, Mich.e.l.le wondered why she still felt felt tired. tired.

She had slept well that night.

She was sure she had.

And yet she felt tired, and her hip was throbbing with pain.

CHAPTER 16.

June's eyes filled with concern as Mich.e.l.le came into the kitchen. In silence, she noted the p.r.o.nounced increase in her daughter's limp. There was a tiredness in the child's eyes that worried her.

"Are you all right this morning?"

"I'm all right," Mich.e.l.le replied. "My hip hurts, that's all."

"Maybe you shouldn't go to school," June suggested.

"I can go. I'll ride in with Daddy again, and if my hip isn't better this afternoon, I'll call you. Okay?"

"But if you're too tired..."

"I'm all right," Mich.e.l.le insisted.

Cal glanced up from the newspaper he was reading, and gave June a look of warning, as if to say, If she says she's fine, she's fine-don't push it If she says she's fine, she's fine-don't push it. Reading the look, June turned her attention to the eggs she was scrambling. Mich.e.l.le eased herself into a chair opposite her father.

"When are you going to finish the pantry?"

"When I get to it. There isn't any hurry."

"I could help you," Mich.e.l.le offered.

"We'll see." Though Cal's voice was noncommittal, Mich.e.l.le could feel his rejection of her offer. She opened her mouth to protest. then thought better of it. She decided to drop the subject.

Upstairs, Jenny began crying. At the stove, June glanced upward, then turned to her husband and daughter. "Mich.e.l.le, do you think you could ...?"

But Cal was already on his feet, starting toward the stairs. "I'll take care of her. Be back in a minute."

June watched as Mich.e.l.le's eyes followed her father out of the kitchen, but when her daughter's gaze shifted and she seemed about to speak, June quickly busied herself with the eggs. There just wasn't anything she could do. She felt helpless, and inadequate, and angry-at herself, and at Cal.

"Here's my girl," Cal said as he returned to the kitchen, Jenny cradled in his arm. He seated himself at the table and began bouncing the baby gently, making her laugh and gurgle with pleasure.

"Can I hold her?" Mich.e.l.le asked.

Cal glanced at her, then shook his head. "She's happy where she is. Isn't she beautiful?"

Without answering, Mich.e.l.le suddenly rose from the table.

"I forgot something upstairs. Call me when it's time to go, okay?" Cal nodded absently, still engrossed in Jennifer.

"That was cruel," June said when Mich.e.l.le was gone from the kitchen.

"What was?" Cal looked up from the baby, surprised at the expression on June's face. What had he done?

"Couldn't you have at least let her hold Jenny?"

"I beg your pardon?" Cal's baffled look told her that he hadn't the vaguest idea of what she was talking about.

"Oh, never mind," she said. She began serving the eggs.

As they drove into Paradise Point that morning, neither Cal nor Mich.e.l.le spoke. It was not a comfortable silence, not the kind of close, companionable silence they had enjoyed back in Boston; instead, it was as if there were a gulf between them. A gulf that was growing wider, which neither of them knew how to bridge.

Sally Carstairs tried not to listen as Susan Peterson's voice droned on.

They were sitting under the maple, eating their lunch, and it seemed to Sally that Susan just wouldn't shut up. It had been going on now for nearly fifteen minutes.

"You'd think she'd go to another school," Susan had begun. They'd all known whom she was talking about, since her eyes were fixed on Mich.e.l.le, sitting by herself at the top of the steps. "I mean, do we really have to look at her, gimping around like some kind of a freak? Why don't they send her to one of those schools for special children? If you can call r.e.t.a.r.ded special."

"She's not r.e.t.a.r.ded," Sally objected. "She's just lame."

"What's the difference?" Susan said airily. "If you're a freak, you're a freak."

She went on, her voice vibrant with malice, listing her objections to Mich.e.l.le's being in the some school with the rest of them, let alone the same cla.s.sroom.

Sally kept trying not to listen, but Susan's voice was like a bee buzzing in her ear. Every few seconds, she glanced over to see if Mich.e.l.le could hear what Susan was saying, but Mich.e.l.le seemed to be ignoring them. Then, just as Sally decided she'd heard enough, and was about to get up and go over to Mich.e.l.le, she saw Annie Whitmore run up to her. She could see the two of them talking, then Annie took Mich.e.l.le by the hand, and started pulling her to her feet. As the rest of the group under the maple became aware of what was happening, Susan's voice fell silent. They watched as Annie led Mich.e.l.le down the steps, then walked with her to a spot a few yards away, where the rest of the third-graders were gathered. A moment later Mich.e.l.le was holding one end of the jump rope, Annie the other, and the littler girls were starting to take their turns in the middle.

"Don't tell me me she's not r.e.t.a.r.ded," Susan Peterson said. Around her, her group of friends began to giggle. she's not r.e.t.a.r.ded," Susan Peterson said. Around her, her group of friends began to giggle.

Mich.e.l.le tried to ignore the sounds, telling herself that they were laughing at something else. But she knew it wasn't true. She could feel them: looking at her, whispering among themselves, laughing. As the first twinge of anger knotted her stomach, she tightened her grip on the jump rope and forced herself to concentrate on Annie Whitmore, whose feet were lightly skipping in rhythm to the chant as she began her turn.

But as the laughter from Susan Peterson's group increased, Mich.e.l.le found it more and more difficult to ignore it. Her anger grew; she could feel her face growing hot. She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that by shutting her cla.s.smates out of her vision, she could shut them out of her mind.

When she opened her eyes again, something seemed to have happened. The sun, so bright a moment before, was fading into a gray mist. And yet, it was too early in the day for the fog to be coming in. The fog always came in late afternoon, not lunchtime....

In her ears, Susan Peterson's taunts grew louder, carrying through the mist, tormenting her.

Turn the rope, she told herself. Just turn the rope, and pretend nothing's happening.

Her vision was fading rapidly, and soon she was aware of nothing but the rope in her hand. She increased the tempo of the chant, turning the rope faster to keep up with the rhythm.

The happy grin on Annie's face began to fade as she tried to keep up with Mich.e.l.le's suddenly furious pace. She skipped faster and faster, and soon gave up using the little intermediate hop that filled the time between the rope's rotations. She was jumping now, facing Mich.e.l.le, trying to make up her mind whether she should keep going or try to run out. But the rope was going too fast: she couldn't run out, nor could she keep up.

The rope slashed against her ankles, and Annie screamed in pain, tripping, stumbling to the ground.

It was the scream that got through to Mich.e.l.le.

Drowning out the laughter from Susan Peterson, it cut through the fog, piercing the mist like a shaft of lightning.

The rope, jerked from her hand when it hit Annie, lay at Mich.e.l.le's feet. She couldn't remember dropping it, couldn't remember what, exactly, had happened. But there was Annie, rubbing her ankle and looking at Mich.e.l.le with more reproach than fear.

"Why did you do that?" Annie demanded. "I can't do hot peppers."

"I'm sorry," Mich.e.l.le said. She took a step forward, but Annie seemed to shrink away from her. "I didn't mean to turn it so fast. Really, I didn't. Are you all right?"

Again she moved toward Annie, and the little girl, seeing nothing but concern in Mich.e.l.le's face now, let herself be helped up.

"It hurts," she wailed. "It stings!" A welt was rising on her leg, and she rubbed at it once more before getting to her feet. A small crowd had gathered, watching curiously, pointing first to Annie, then to Mich.e.l.le. As Susan Peterson approached, Mich.e.l.le hobbled away as quickly as she could. She was at the foot of the steps when she heard Sally Carstairs's voice behind her.

"Mich.e.l.le? What happened?"

Mich.e.l.le turned to face Sally. Though there was nothing but curiosity in Sally's eyes, Mich.e.l.le was distrustful. After all, only a few moments ago Sally had been under the maple with Susan and the rest of them.

"Nothing," she said. "I just turned the rope a little too fast, and Annie tripped."

Sally watched her carefully as she spoke, and wondered if Mich.e.l.le was telling the truth. But as the bell rang calling them back from lunch, she decided not to press Mich.e.l.le. "Do you want me to walk back in with you?" she asked.

"No," Mich.e.l.le replied, her voice sharp. "I just want you to leave me alone!" Hurt, Sally stepped backward, then hurried up the steps. By the time Mich.e.l.le regretted her words, it was too late-Sally was already inside the building. Slowly, Mich.e.l.le started up the stairs, relieved to see the rest of the children streaming past her, chattering among themselves, the incident with Annie forgotten.

"I saw what you did," Susan Peterson hissed in her ear.