Comes The Blind Fury Part 26

CHAPTER 20.

It was a crisp afternoon, and Corinne walked swiftly, her mind more on June Pendleton's visit than on the direction she had taken. It wasn't until she saw the building ahead of her, tucked in a small grove of trees, its walls covered with climbing roses, that she realized that the clinic had been her destination all along. She paused for a moment, reading the neatly lettered sign, with Josiah Carson's faded name, and freshly lettered above it, that of Calvin Pendleton. The lettering struck Corinne as sad somehow, and it took a few moments before she realized why. It was a sign of the old order giving way to the new. Josiah Carson had been around as long as Corinne could remember. It was difficult to imagine the clinic without him.

She stepped inside the waiting room, and was relieved to see Marion Perkins sitting at the desk, working on the books. Marion, at least, was still going to be here, smoothing the transition between Dr. Carson and Dr. Pendleton. As the little bell attached to the door jangled softly, Marion looked up.

"Corinne!" Her expression as she recognized the teacher was one of welcome mixed with concern and a little surprise. "You know, I had a feeling you might be by today. It's strange-well, maybe not so strange, really, all things considered. Nearly everybody's been here today, wanting to talk about Susan Peterson." The nurse clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Isn't it terrible? Such a loss for Henry and Estelle. And of course everyone seems to think that little Mich.e.l.le Pendleton had something to do with it." She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. "Frankly, some of the things that people have been saying, I wouldn't want to repeat."

"Then don't," Corinne said, tempering the shortness of her words with a friendly grin. "Is Uncle Joe here?"

Suddenly abashed at her near indiscretion, Marion reached for the phone. "Let me buzz him, and see if he's busy." She pressed the intercom. "Dr. Joe? A surprise for you-Corinne Hatcher's out here."

A moment later, the inner door opened, and Josiah Carson appeared, his arms extended, a wide smile wreathing his face, though for a moment Corinne thought she saw something else in his eyes. A sadness? Whenever one of his patients died, particularly a child, Josiah Carson took it hard. Since his own daughter had died, long before Corinne was even born, Carson had lavished his paternal instincts on the children of Paradise Point. But today there was something beyond sadness in his eyes. Something she couldn't quite identify.

He took Corinne in his arms in a ma.s.sive bear hug.

"What brings you down here?" he said. "You feeling all right?"

Corinne wriggled herself loose. "I'm fine. I guess-well, I guess I was just worried about you. I know how you get when something happens to one of your children."

Carson nodded. "It's never easy," he said. "Come on into the office, and I'll buy you a drink."

Carson gestured her to a chair and closed the door. He produced the bottle of bourbon from the bottom drawer of his desk, and poured each of them a generous shot, eyeing Corinne carefully.

"All right," he said, sipping his drink. "What's up?"

Corinne tasted the bourbon, made a face, and set it aside. Then she met Carson's eyes.

"Mich.e.l.le Pendleton," she said.

Carson nodded, "Doesn't surprise me. As a matter of fact, I thought you'd be here sooner. Things getting worse?"

"I'm not sure," Corinne said. "Today must have been horrible for her-none of the children would have anything to do with her. Until yesterday, I thought it was just her limp. But now-well, you know how this town can be. People get blamed for things, even when they aren't to blame, and n.o.body ever forgets." She picked up her drink, sipped at it, then set it aside once again. "Uncle Joe," she said suddenly, "is Mich.e.l.le all right?"

"It depends on what you mean. You're talking about her mind, aren't you?"

Corinne shifted in her chair. "I'm not sure," she said. "In fact, I didn't really know I was coming down here until I found myself out in front. But I guess my subconscious was trying to tell me something." She paused for a moment, and suddenly drained half of her drink. "Have you heard about Mich.e.l.le's imaginary friend?" she asked as casually as she could.

Carson frowned. "Imaginary friend?" he repeated, as if the words had no meaning to him. "You mean the kind of thing very small children do?"

"Exactly," Corinne said. "Apparently it all started with a doll. I'm not sure exactly what kind, but Mrs. Pendleton told me that it's old-very old. Mich.e.l.le found it in the bedroom closet when they moved in."

Carson scratched his head as if puzzled, then nodded. "I know what it looks like," he said smoothly. "It is is old. Porcelain face, old-fashioned clothes, a little bonnet. She had it on the bed with her when I saw her right after the accident. You mean she's decided it's real?" old. Porcelain face, old-fashioned clothes, a little bonnet. She had it on the bed with her when I saw her right after the accident. You mean she's decided it's real?"

Corinne nodded soberly. "Apparently. And guess what she's named it?"

"She told me she named it Amanda."

"Amanda," Corinne repeated. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?" She finished her drink and held her gla.s.s out. "Am I old enough for a second drink?"

Wordlessly, Carson refilled her gla.s.s and his own. "Well," he said abruptly. "Apparently she's heard some stories about the Point."

Corinne shook her head. "That's what I thought. But June told me she named the doll as soon as she found it. The very day they arrived."

"I see," Carson said. "Then it was just a coincidence."

"Was it?" Corinne said softly. "Uncle Joe, who was Amanda? I mean, was she real? Or are they just stories?"

Carson leaned back in his chair. He'd never talked about Amanda, and didn't want to start now. But apparently the talk had already started, as he'd known it must. The thing to do was to direct it.

"She was my great-aunt, actually, or would have been if she'd lived," he said carefully.

"And what happened to her?" Corinne asked.

"Who knows? She was blind, and she stumbled off the bluff one day. As far as anyone knows, that's all there was to it." But there was something in his voice-a hesitation perhaps?-that made Corinne wonder if there wasn't something more.

"You sound as though you know more than that." When Carson made no response, she pushed him again. "Do you?"

"You mean, do I believe in the ghost story?"

"No. Do you believe that's all there was to it?"

"I don't know. My grandfather, who was Amanda's brother, believed there was more to it."

Corinne said nothing.

Carson leaned back in his chair and turned to look out the window.

"You know," he said slowly, "when the Carsons named this town Paradise Point, they didn't really have the setting in mind. It was more an idea, I guess you could call it. An idea of paradise, right here on earth." His voice was filled with an irony that Corinne couldn't miss.

"I knew the Carsons were ministers," she said.

Josiah nodded, "Fundamentalist. The real fire and brimstone variety. My great-grandfather, Lemuel Carson, was the last of them, though."

"What happened?"

"Lots of things, from what Grandfather told me. It started when Amanda lost her sight. Old Lemuel decided it was an act of G.o.d, and he tried to pa.s.s Amanda off as a martyr. He always made her dress in black. Poor little girl. It must have been hard for her-what with her blindness and all. She must have been a lonely little thing."

"And she was all alone when she fell off the bluff?"

"Apparently. Grandfather never said. He never talked about it much. I always got the idea there was something odd about it, though. Of course, he never did talk much about the family at all-too many serpents in Lemuel's paradise."

"Aren't there always?" Corinne observed, but Josiah didn't seem to hear her.

"It was Lemuel's wife," he went on. "It seems she had something of a wandering eye. Grandfather always thought it was a reaction to Lemuel's constant h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation sermonizing."

"You mean your great-grandmother was having an affair?"

Carson smiled. "She must have been quite a woman. Grandfather said she was beautiful, but that she never should have married his father."

"Louise Carson," Corinne whispered, "'Died in Sin.'"

"Murdered," Josiah said softly. Corinne's eyes widened in surprise. "It happened out in that building June Pendleton uses for a studio. Lemuel found her out there, with one of her lovers. Both of them were dead. Stabbed to death."

"My G.o.d," Corinne breathed. She could feel her stomach tighten, and wondered for a moment if she was going to be sick.

"Of course, everyone sort of a.s.sumed Lemuel had done it," Josiah said, "but he had the whole town pretty much under his thumb, and in those days an unfaithful wife wasn't particularly highly regarded. They probably thought she'd gotten what she deserved. Lemuel wouldn't even give her a funeral."

"I always figured the inscription on the gravestone must have meant something like that," Corinne said. "When I was a little girl, we used to go out there, and read the headstones."

"And look for the ghost?"

Again, Corinne nodded.

"And did you ever see her?"

Corinne pondered her answer for a long time. Finally, reluctantly, she shook her head.

Carson noted her hesitation. "Are you sure, Corinne?" His voice was very soft.

"I don't know," Corinne replied. Suddenly she felt foolish, but a memory was hanging in her mind, just out of her reach. "There was something," she said. "It happened just once. I was out there in the graveyard, with a friend-I can't even remember who-and the fog came in. Well, you know how spooky a graveyard can be in the fog. I don't know-maybe I let my imagination run away with me, but all of a sudden I felt something. Nothing I can put my finger on, really-just a feeling that something was there, close to me. I stood perfectly still, and the longer I stood, the closer whatever it was seemed to come." Her voice trailed off, and she shivered slightly as the memory of that foggy afternoon chilled her.

"And you think it was Amanda?" Carson asked.

"Well, it was something," something," Corinne replied. Corinne replied.

"You're right," Carson agreed sourly. "It was was something. It was your imagination. A little girl in a graveyard, on a foggy day, and having grown up hearing all those ghost stories. I'm amazed you didn't have a long talk with Amanda! Or did you?" something. It was your imagination. A little girl in a graveyard, on a foggy day, and having grown up hearing all those ghost stories. I'm amazed you didn't have a long talk with Amanda! Or did you?"

"Of course not," Corinne said, feeling foolish now. "I didn't even see her."

Carson watched her. "What about your friend? Did she feel the same thing you did?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, she did!" Corinne felt herself getting angry. Not believing her was one thing-mocking her was quite another. "And, if you want to know, we weren't the only ones. A lot of us had the same feeling. And we were all girls, and we were all twelve years old. Just like Amanda. And, in case you didn't know, just like Mich.e.l.le Pendleton."

Carson's eyes hardened. "Corinne," he said slowly, "do you know what you're saying?"

And suddenly Corinne did. "Yes. I'm saying that maybe the ghost stories are true, and the reason everyone says they aren't is because no one ever actually saw Amanda before. The only ones who even felt felt her were twelve-year-old girls. And who believes what they say? Everyone knows little girls have wild imaginations, right? Uncle Joe, what if it wasn't my imagination? What if some of us really did feel her presence? And what if Mich.e.l.le not only felt her, but actually saw her?" her were twelve-year-old girls. And who believes what they say? Everyone knows little girls have wild imaginations, right? Uncle Joe, what if it wasn't my imagination? What if some of us really did feel her presence? And what if Mich.e.l.le not only felt her, but actually saw her?"

The expression on Josiah Carson's face as he watched her told her she had struck a nerve.

"You believe in the ghost, don't you?" she asked.

"Do you?" he countered, and now Corinne was sure he was growing nervous.

"I don't know," Corinne lied. She did did know! "But it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, in a strange kind of way? If you can accept that there really is a ghost, and that it's Amanda, who would be more likely to see her than a twelve-year-old girl? A girl just like her?" know! "But it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, in a strange kind of way? If you can accept that there really is a ghost, and that it's Amanda, who would be more likely to see her than a twelve-year-old girl? A girl just like her?"

"Well, she's had over a hundred years to find someone," Carson said. "Why now? Why Mich.e.l.le Pendleton?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "Corinne," he said quietly, "I know you're worried about Mich.e.l.le. I know it seems odd that she'd make up an imaginary friend named Amanda. It seems like quite a coincidence-h.e.l.l, it is is quite a coincidence. But that's quite a coincidence. But that's all all it is!" it is!"

Corinne stood up, truly angry now. "Uncle Joe," she said, her voice tight, "Mich.e.l.le is one of my students, and I'm worried about her. For that matter, I'm worried about everybody else in my cla.s.s, too. Susan Peterson is dead, and Mich.e.l.le is crippled and acting very strangely. I don't want anything else to happen."

Carson stared up at Corinne. She was standing in front of his desk, her back stiff as a ramrod, her expression intense. He began to reach out to her, to comfort her, but before he was halfway out of his chair, she had turned and fled.

Slowly, Josiah sat down. He sat by himself for a long time. It wasn't going right, none of it. He hadn't meant for Susan Peterson to die. It should have been Mich.e.l.le-it should have been Cal Pendleton's daughter. A life for a life, a child for a child. But not one of his his children. children.

All he could do now was wait. Sooner or later, as it always had, the tragedy would come back to the house, and whoever was living there. And when it did, and the house had avenged Alan Hanley for him, it would be over. Then he could go away and forget Paradise Point forever. He poured himself another shot of bourbon and stared out the window. In the distance he could see the churning waters of Devil's Pa.s.sage. It was, he thought, aptly named. How long had it been since the devil had come to live with the Carsons? And now, after all the years, the last Carson was going to use the devil. It was, Josiah Carson thought, somehow poetic.

He only hoped that not too many of his own children-the village children-would have to die in the process.

Late that afternoon, Mich.e.l.le made her way to the old graveyard. She lowered herself clumsily to the ground near the odd memorial to Amanda and waited, sure that her friend would come to her. But before the now familiar grayness could close in around her, she felt someone watching her. She turned and recognized Lisa Hartwick standing a few yards away from her, staring at her.

"Are you all right?" Lisa asked.

Mich.e.l.le nodded, and Lisa took a tentative step toward her.

"I-I was looking for you," Lisa said. She looked almost frightened, and Mich.e.l.le wondered what was wrong.

"For me? How come?" She started to get up.

"I wanted to talk to you."

Mich.e.l.le regarded Lisa suspiciously. No one liked Lisa-everyone said she was a brat. What did she want? Was she going to tease her? But Lisa came closer and sat down next to her. Gratefully, Mich.e.l.le let herself sink back to the soft earth.

"Is it true you're adopted?" Lisa suddenly asked.

"So what?"

"I'm not sure," Lisa replied. Then: "My mother died five years ago."

Now Mich.e.l.le was puzzled. Why had she said that? Was she trying to make friends with her? Why?

"I don't know what happened to my parents," she ventured. "Maybe they're dead. Or maybe they just didn't want me."

"My father doesn't want me," Lisa said quietly.

"How do you know?" Mich.e.l.le let herself relax: Lisa wasn't going to tease her.

"He's in love with your teacher. Ever since he met her, he's liked her more than he likes me."

Mich.e.l.le thought this over. Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe things had happened for her the same way they had happened for Mich.e.l.le when Jenny had been born. "Sometimes I don't think anybody likes me," she said.

"I know. n.o.body likes me, either."

"Maybe we could be friends," Mich.e.l.le suggested. Now Lisa's eyes seemed to cloud over.

"I don't know. I-I've heard things about you."

Mich.e.l.le tensed. "What kind of things?"