Comes The Blind Fury Part 9

"It's the cemetery," Constance said. "The old Carson cemetery, between here and my house?"

June nodded.

"I saw the girls playing there yesterday afternoon. Such pretty girls, both of them."

"Thank you."

"I was just about to go out and talk to them myself when they left, so I decided not to bother with it until this morning."

"Bother with what?" June wished she'd get to the point.

"It isn't safe for children to play there," Constance said, "Not safe at all."

June stared at Mrs. Benson. This, she decided, was just a bit too much. Apparently, Constance Benson was the local busybody. It must make life hard for Jeff. She could imagine Constance coming up with an objection to everything Jeff might want to do. For her own part, she could simply ignore the woman. "Well, I'll admit, I don't think playing in a cemetery is the most cheerful thing in the world," she said, "but it couldn't be particularly dangerous..."

"Oh, it's not the cemetery," Constance said too quickly. "It's the land the cemetery's on. It's not stable."

"But it's granite, isn't it?" June's voice was smooth, giving no hint that she'd picked up on the other woman's apparent fear. "Just like this?"

"Well, I suppose so," Constance said uncertainly. "I don't know much about things like that. But that part of the bluff is going to wash into the sea one of these days, and I wouldn't want any kids to be there when it happens."

June's voice was cool. "I see. Well, I'll certainly tell the girls not to play there anymore. Would you like a cup of coffee? There's some on the stove."

"Oh, I don't think so." Constance glanced at a watch strapped firmly to her left wrist. "I've got to be getting back to my kitchen. Canning, you know." The way she said it gave June the distinct impression that Constance Benson was quite sure June didn't didn't know, but should. know, but should.

"Well, do come back again, when you have more time," June said weakly. "Or maybe I could drop in on you."

"Now that might be nice." By then the two women were standing at the open door to the studio, and Constance was staring at the house. "Pretty house, isn't it?" she said. Before June could reply, she added, "But I've never really liked it. No, I never have." Then, without saying good-bye, she began walking purposefully along the path toward her own home.

June waited for a moment, watching her, then slowly closed the door. She had a distinct feeling that she was done painting for the day.

The noon sun was warm, and Mich.e.l.le sat in the shade of a large maple, eating her lunch with Sally, Jeff, Susan, and a few of her other cla.s.smates. Though Mich.e.l.le was trying hard to make friends with Susan, Susan was having none of it. She ignored Mich.e.l.le completely, and when she spoke to Sally, it was usually to criticize her. But Sally, with her sunny disposition, seemed unaffected by Susan's apparent grudge.

"We ought to have a picnic," Sally was saying. "Summer's almost gone, and in another month it will be too late."

"It's already too late." Susan Peterson's voice had a superior sound to it that annoyed Mich.e.l.le, but everyone else seemed to ignore it. "My mother says that once Labor Day's past, you don't have picnics anymore."

"But the weather's still nice," Sally said. "Why don't we have one this weekend?"

"Where?" Jeff asked. If it was going to be on the beach, he'd be sure to be there. It was as if Mich.e.l.le had heard his thought.

"How about the cove between Jeff's house and mine?" she said. "It's rocky, but there's never anyone there, and it's so pretty. Besides, if it rains, we'll be close to home so we can go inside."

"You mean below the graveyard?" Sally asked. "That would be creepy. There's a ghost out there."

"There isn't either," Jeff objected.

"Maybe there is," Mich.e.l.le interjected. Suddenly she was the center of attention; even Susan Peterson turned to look at her curiously. "I dreamed about the ghost last night," she went on, launching into a vivid description of her strange vision. In the brightness of the day her terror had left her, and she wanted to share her dream with her new friends. Caught up in the tale, she didn't notice the others' silent exchange of glances. When she was finished, no one spoke. Jeff Benson concentrated on his sandwich, but the rest of the children were still staring at Mich.e.l.le. Suddenly she felt worried, and wondered if she should have even mentioned the nightmare.

"Well, it was only a dream," she said, as the silence lengthened.

"Are you sure?" Sally asked her. "Are you sure you weren't awake the whole time?"

"Well, of course I wasn't," Mich.e.l.le said. "It was a dream." She noticed that some of the girls were exchanging suspicious glances. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Susan Peterson said casually. "Except that when Amanda Carson fell off the cliff, she was wearing a black dress and a black bonnet, just like the girl you dreamed about last night."

"How do you know?" Mich.e.l.le demanded.

"Everybody knows," Susan said complacently. "She always wore black, every day of her life. My grandmother told me, and her her mother told her. And my great-grandmother knew Amanda Carson," Susan said triumphantly. Her eyes challenged Mich.e.l.le. Once again a silence fell over the group. Was Susan telling her the truth, or were they all teasing her? Mich.e.l.le looked from one face to another, trying to see what each of them was thinking. Only Sally met her eyes, and she merely shrugged when Mich.e.l.le looked to her for help. Jeff Benson continued eating his sandwich, and carefully avoided Mich.e.l.le's gaze. mother told her. And my great-grandmother knew Amanda Carson," Susan said triumphantly. Her eyes challenged Mich.e.l.le. Once again a silence fell over the group. Was Susan telling her the truth, or were they all teasing her? Mich.e.l.le looked from one face to another, trying to see what each of them was thinking. Only Sally met her eyes, and she merely shrugged when Mich.e.l.le looked to her for help. Jeff Benson continued eating his sandwich, and carefully avoided Mich.e.l.le's gaze.

"It was a dream!" Mich.e.l.le exclaimed, gathering her things together, and getting to her feet. "It was only a dream, and if I'd known you were going to make such a big deal about it, I'd never have mentioned it!"

Before any of them could make a reply, Mich.e.l.le stalked away. Across the playground, she could see a group of younger children playing jump rope. A moment later she had joined them.

"I wonder what's wrong with her?" Susan Peterson said when she was sure Mich.e.l.le was out of earshot. Now her friends were staring at her.

"What do you mean, 'what's wrong with her?" Sally Carstairs asked. "Nothing's wrong with her!"

"Really?" Susan said, sounding annoyed at the contradiction. "She tattled on you yesterday, didn't she? Why do you think Miss Hatcher changed the seating around? It was because Mich.e.l.le told her what you did yesterday morning."

"So what?" Sally countered. "She just didn't want you to be mad at her, that's all."

"I think she's sneaky," Susan said. "And I don't think we should have anything to do with her."

"That's mean."

"No, it's not There's something really strange about her."

"What?"

Susan's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I saw her with her parents the other day, and they're both blond. And everybody knows blonds can't have a dark-haired baby."

"Big deal," Sally said. "If you want to know, she's adopted. She told me so herself. What's so strange about that?"

Susan's eyes narrowed. "Well, that settles it."

"Settles what?" Sally asked.

"Settles her her, of course. I mean, n.o.body knows where she really came from, and my mother says if you don't know anything about somebody's family, you don't know anything about the person."

"I know her family," Sally pointed out. "Her mother's very nice, and her father treated my arm, along with Uncle Joe."

"I mean her real real family," Susan said, looking at Sally contemptuously. "Dr. Pendleton isn't her father. Her father could be anybody!" family," Susan said, looking at Sally contemptuously. "Dr. Pendleton isn't her father. Her father could be anybody!"

"Well, I like her," Sally insisted. Susan glowered at her.

"You would-your father's only a janitor." Susan Peterson's father owned the Paradise Point Bank, and Susan never let her friends forget it.

Hurt by Susan's meanness, Sally Carstairs lapsed into silence. It wasn't fair of Susan to dislike Mich.e.l.le just because she was adopted, but Sally wasn't sure what she should say. After all, she'd known Susan Peterson all her life, and she'd only just met Mich.e.l.le Pendleton. Well Well, Sally decided, I won't say anything. But I won't stop being Mich.e.l.le's friend, either I won't say anything. But I won't stop being Mich.e.l.le's friend, either.

June finished her lunch, and put the dishes in the sink. For now, she would go back to the studio, and try to finish sketching in the seascape.

She left the house, but as she walked to the studio, she found herself glancing north, and thinking about what Constance Benson had told her that morning. And then something struck her.

If Constance Benson was worried about that part of the bluff collapsing into the sea, why hadn't she told June to keep Mich.e.l.le off the beach as well? And why didn't she keep Jeff off the beach? Better to be on top of the cliff when it went, than underneath it.

With sudden determination, June started along the path toward the cemetery. As she walked, another thought occurred to her: If it's unsafe, why did Mrs. Benson use the path herself? Why didn't she come down the road? June's pace quickened.

She stood on the path, staring at the old graveyard. It would make a wonderful painting. She could use moody colors, blues and grays, with a leaden sky, and exaggerate the collapsed fence, the dead tree, and the overgrown vines. Done properly, it could be positively frightening. For the life of her, she couldn't see why Mich.e.l.le and Sally would have wanted to come here.

Curiosity, she decided. Just plain curiosity.

The same curiosity that had drawn the children to the graveyard now drew her. She left the path and picked her way carefully over the collapsed fence.

The old gravestones, with their antiquated inscriptions and their odd names, fascinated her immediately, a succession of markers that told a tale. She began tracing the history of the Carson family as they had lived and died on the bluff. Soon she forgot entirely about the condition of the ground, and was only aware of the headstones.

She came to Louise Carson's grave.

DIED IN SIN-1880.

Now what on earth could that mean? If the date had been 1680, she would have a.s.sumed the woman had been burned for a witch, or some such thing. But in 1880? One thing was certain: Louise Carson's death could not have been a happy one.

As she stood looking down at the grave, June began to feel sorry for the long-dead woman. She was probably born too soon, June thought. Died in Sin Died in Sin. An epitaph for a fallen woman.

June chuckled at her own choice of words. They sounded so old-fashioned. And unfeeling.

Without quite realizing what she was doing, she lowered herself to her hands and knees, and began pulling the weeds from Louise Carson's grave. They were well rooted. She had to tug hard at them before they reluctantly gave way.

She had almost cleared the weed growth from the base of the headstone when the first pain struck her.

It was just a twinge, but the first wrenching contraction followed immediately.

My G.o.d, she thought, it can't be it can't be.

She struggled to her feet, and leaned heavily against the trunk of the dead oak.

She had to get back to the house.

The house was too far.

As the next contraction began, she looked frantically toward the road.

It was empty.

The Bensons'. Maybe she could get to the Bensons'. As soon as the pain let up, she'd start.

June lowered herself carefully to the ground and waited. After what seemed like an eon, she felt her muscles begin to relax, and the pain eased. Once again, she started to get to her feet.

"Stay where you are," a voice called out. June turned, and saw Constance Benson hurrying along the path. Sighing gratefully, June sank back to the ground.

She waited there, lying on Louise Carson's grave, praying that the baby would wait, that her first child would not be born in a cemetery.

Then, as Constance Benson knelt beside her and took her hand, June lay back.

Another overwhelming contraction convulsed her, and she could feel a spreading dampness as her water broke. Dear G.o.d Dear G.o.d, she prayed, not here not here.

Not in a graveyard.

CHAPTER 7.

The three-ten bell rang. Mich.e.l.le gathered up her books, shoved them into her green canvas bag, and started out of the room.

"Mich.e.l.le?" It was Sally Carstairs, and though Mich.e.l.le tried to ignore her, Sally took her arm and held her back.

"Don't be mad," Sally said plaintively. "n.o.body meant to hurt your feelings."

Mich.e.l.le stared suspiciously at her friend. When she saw the concern in Sally's eyes, she let her guard down a little.

"I don't see why everybody kept insisting I saw something I didn't see," she said. "I was asleep, and I had a nightmare, that's all."

"Let's go out in the hall," Sally said, her eyes shifting to Corinne Hatcher. Understanding Sally's glance, Mich.e.l.le followed her out into the corridor.

"Well?" Mich.e.l.le asked expectantly.

Sally avoided her gaze. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Then, staring at the floor, she said so quietly that Mich.e.l.le could barely hear her, "Maybe you did only have a dream. But I've seen Amanda, too, and I think Susan Peterson has."

"What? You mean you've had the same dream I had?"

"I don't know," Sally said unhappily. "But I've seen her, and it wasn't a dream. That day I hurt my arm? Remember?"

Mich.e.l.le nodded-how could she forget? That was the day she, too, had seen something. Something Sally had tried to pa.s.s off as "just the elm tree."

"How come you didn't tell me before?"

"I guess I didn't think you'd believe me," Sally said by way of an apology. "But, anyway, I saw her. At least, I think I did. I was out in the backyard, and all of a sudden I felt something touch my arm. When I turned to look, I tripped and fell."

"But what did you see?" see?" Mich.e.l.le pressed, suddenly sure that, whatever it might be, it was important. Mich.e.l.le pressed, suddenly sure that, whatever it might be, it was important.

"I-I'm not sure," Sally replied. "It was just something black. I only got a glimpse, really, and after I fell, whatever it was was gone."

Mich.e.l.le stood silent, staring at Sally, and remembering that night, when she and her father had been leaving the Carstairses', and she had looked back.