Domino. Part 11

IX.

At the ranch we left the horses in Jon's care and walked back to the house, with Red once more loping along at my side. On the porch Caleb waited for the three of us, looking severe and remote. He had never wanted anything since I'd arrived except to have me gone, and I wished I could understand what lay behind so strong an antipathy.

"Mrs. Morgan is awake, and she wishes to see you right away," he told me. "She wants to see you and the dog and the man. Those are the words she used. So you'd better go up."

Hillary laughed. "I've been wanting to meet the fabulous lady who is opposing Mark Ingram."

When we started upstairs, Caleb stopped Gail curtly. "Not you. You've been away all morning, and she doesn't need you now."

Gail lost none of her surface sweetness. "That's all right with me. I'll get back to work on those accounts I've been doing for Mrs. Morgan. Sometimes I think I'm more secretary than nurse around here. See you later at midday dinner. Around twelvethirty?"

Accounts? I wondered. Somehow I didn't care for the idea of Gail Cullen delving so deeply into Persis Morgan's affairs.

At least I was relieved to know that the sedative had worn off. The emotion stirred by my visit to Domino was still upon me, and I could look at my grandmother with new eyes. But I must be careful now. My explosion toward Mark Ingram had made me a little distrustful of my own reactions. If I weren't careful I might find myself promising what I couldn't possibly fulfill. The brief urge to be helpful was fading.

Nevertheless, I felt a sense of uneasy antic.i.p.ation. No encounter with my grandmother was likely to be static. The seeds of conflict between us were there, and eventually they would grow. Even though she meant to hold back the truth from me, the darn would not stand forever. And when it broke . . .

More than anything else I needed to control my own feelings, to resist and be strong.

She awaited us propped high on her pillows, her eyes snapping brightly, and I noted that she did not look as though she were dying.

Caleb introduced Hillary, and Red promptly placed his forepaws on the bed and gazed with limpid brown eyes into the face on the pillow. For the first time I saw my grandmother smile, and when her eyes and lips quirked up at the corners, her look was unexpectedly roguish.

She put out her own hand, permitted it to be sniffed, and then stroked his plumy coat. He accepted the caress with joy and gave her his most melting look, accompanied by little whines of happiness.

Persis snapped her fingers at him. "Over here," she said. "Come around the bed and guard me on this side."

Clearly Red was already on the same wave length. He understood gesture and command, and scampered around the bed, ears flopping, to seat himself with his chin on the coverlet. One hand on his head, she looked up at me. In spite of my resolutions I found myself warming to the tenacity for life that looked out of her eyes. There was a sympathy in me since seeing Domino that had been lacking before. A subtle bond had grown between us.

"Caleb tells me you went riding up the valley. I suppose you went over the mountain to Domino after all, even though I asked you to stay away?"

"You knew I would go," I said. "You sent Jon Maddocks there ahead of us. Anyway, I couldn't not go."

Caleb brought chairs for us, but I didn't want to sit down. She flicked her fingers at him in dismissal, and he gave me a look of warning before he went away. I knew it meant not to tire her, not to wear her out, but it meant something more as well that I couldn't fathom.

There seemed to be more energy in her now, and she didn't look in the least tired. "I expect it was foolish of me to try to keep you away," she said.

"Why should you want to?"

Heavy lids drooped and her face lost its briefly quirky look. "Never mind that. It's all ancient history by this time," Then she opened her eyes and stared straight at Hillary. "So this is your young man?"

It seemed to me that Hillary looked a little less at ease than was usual for him. As though he might be more impressed with Persis Morgan than he had meant to be. Or perhaps he found her an uncertain quant.i.ty in his range of experience.

"You might put it that she's my young lady," he said.

She shook her head at him. "Unsuitable. You're an actor. You belong to the East. Laurie belongs here."

He was ready enough to humor her, and not take offense. "You can't really know that, can you?" he asked cheerfully. "Maybe I do belong out here. Maybe I can even be on your side, if you give me a chance."

139.

She neither accepted nor rejected. "While you're here you can be useful, at least. If you want to be."

He turned all his lovely charm upon her as he smiled. "Persis Morgan has always been able to command," he said with a slight flourish.

She regarded him from beneath half-closed eyelids, and though the look was faintly coquettish, it was not incongruous, and I found myself watching delightedly as she displayed an ability to play the old games.

"Yes, you can be useful," she went on. "I want you to stay on at the Timberline and watch him for me."

"You're talking about Mark Ingram?"

"Of course." A faint flush had come into her cheeks, and her eyes were brighter than ever. "I could put you up here at my house easily enough, but you're more useful to me over there."

"I would enjoy being useful to you," he said, sounding as though he really meant it. "I've always liked people who don't beat around the bush."

"I haven't time left for bush-beating. Ingram has to be stopped. What he's doing is despicable. Laurie is going to stop him, and you can help. You're both having dinner with him tonight, aren't you? So listen to him. Find out about his immediate plans, if you can. How does he propose to get me out of this house? That's what I want to know."

I thought of my recent encounter, and was all the more doubtful that we could learn anything Mark Ingram chose not to tell us.

"Why do you consider it despicable to rejuvenate Jasper?" Hillary asked. "Isn't it a good idea to restore it to the way it used to be and bring in people who will enjoy it and draw it back into life?"

"He wants more than that He wants to spoil the valley and wipe out Domino."

"To get people to come, he must offer something. The valley slopes will make good skiing."

"The trees will go, the wilds will go. Old Desolate won't be that anymore. And Domino-he'll erase what's left of it. Too many old mining camps have vanished."

"It's already nearly gone," Hillary said.

"Are you siding with him?"

"No!" His vehemence surprised me. "I've told you I can be on your side, but I can play Devil's Advocate either way. There's something else, isn't there, Mrs. Morgan? Something you haven't explained? If you want us to help, don't you think you'd better give us more of what we ought to know?"

She closed her eyes, and for a moment I thought it was a gesture of dismissal. I hated to see how old she looked with animation wiped from her face-old and withered and nearly finished with life. I liked her better when she was coquettish, or even domineering. I couldn't let Hillary push her too hard.

"You don't have to tell us anything you don't wish to, Grandmother," I said. "You're tired now. We'd better go, so you can rest."

That brought her eyes wide open and angry, and her words snapped. "All I do is rest! Your young man is right. I can't expect you to help me merely on trust. I can't tell you the whole story either, but I'll tell you this much. A long time ago Mark Ingram was the friend of my very worst enemy. Perhaps that abominable man is behind him now. Ingram hasn't come here merely to open a new resort. He could go anywhere for that. He has come to punish me, destroy me. And he knows he can do it. He has only to force me out of this house, make me give up the valley-and I am finished with living. But I'm not ready to die. Not yet. Not while there's an ounce of fight left in me. Not while I have a granddaughter who may be persuaded to stand by me."

Hillary spoke softly, as though he didn't want to dispel her mood of anger. "This-enemy-can you give us his name?"

For a moment she hesitated. Then she looked straight at me as though she expected some special response. "His name was Noah. Noah Armand."

Once more the familiar tremor ran through me, as though some deep, sensitive nerve responded with a quiver of dread.

"Your husband?" There was a change in Hillary's voice, though he spoke in the same low tone.

She raised a warning finger at him, her eyes upon me. "Hush. Laurie, you do remember something?"

I could only shake my head. "It's not really a remembering. I have an unpleasant a.s.sociation with that name. But I don't know why." I did not tell her that Noah had been the name I cried out in my nightmares.

"If there's something to tell, why don't you tell her, Mrs. Morgan?" Hillary asked, that new intensity in his voice, as though he might enjoy stirring everything up. His theatricality was in force again, but I couldn't forgive him if he played his stage games now.

"Don't," I said to him. "Please don't."

He touched my shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry. It's just that I feel it's way past time for you to find out the truth-whatever it is."

Grandmother Persis was shaking her head. "No, it's better not. If Laurie doesn't remember, I'd rather leave it alone. It's only what is happening now that matters, anyway. Young man, if you stay at the Timberline, if you can manage to find out what Ingram means to do, you can be of service to me, and perhaps you'll help Laurie too."

"It's possible," Hillary said. "I am interested in that theater of his, and that makes a contact between us. Besides, Laurie has already agreed to stay on for a little while longer."

"A little while longer!" She gave the words an indignant ring. "Laurie has come home. She is living here with me."

I had to answer her honestly. "I haven't promised that. I can't agree to stay indefinitely."

She snorted her complete disregard for my words, my wishes, and once more I felt myself bristling toward her. To her I was an instrument to an end, and that was all. I had been trying-a little-to understand her, to sympathize. But she was entirely unwilling to understand and know me.

For a moment we stared at each other in rising antagonism while Hillary watched, not altogether amused. "How much alike you two are," he said. "I'd never have suspected it if I hadn't seen Laurie in this setting."

Persis Morgan surprised me by laughing. The sound was full and deep, making no concession to age.

"No," she countered. "Not when she looks like that-we're not. When you put on that face, Laurie, you're your father all over again."

"If I resemble my father, I'm glad," I told her. "I'd like to know a great deal more about him before I leave."

"I can tell you about him." She spoke more quietly now, her indignation drained away as quickly as it had risen. "Richard was a gentle man. My son preferred cla.s.srooms to the ranch any day. But when he got his back up-the way yours is up now-he could dig in his heels and I could never shake him. He would even fight, if he had to, for what he believed in. I loved him dearly, but I never fooled myself. He was a rather dull young man, really. That was part of the trouble."

I didn't want to think of my father as dull. He had always cut a romantic figure in my imaginings, and I would accept nothing less. The fact that ranches and guns and riding had never interested him didn't mean that he had been dull-except perhaps to those who knew nothing else. But before I could protest, she went on.

"Unfortunately, he began to bore your mother. Marybeth was part of the trouble too."

I was ready to spring to the defense of both my parents, but I didn't know how. I lacked any real knowledge of my father, and Persis' words threatened old beliefs I didn't want to lose. As for my mother-she had given her life to being loyal to his memory.

"At least you can tell me how he died," I said. "I've always believed that it was from pneumonia when I was only two. But Gail Cullen says she's been told that it happened in the back parlor downstairs-when I was eight years old. I'd like to know the truth."

"Very well." Persis looked straight at me, her words as direct and merciless as she could make them. "Your father-my son-was shot to death. He was killed right here in this house with a single bullet."

I found myself fumbling for the chair behind me. As I sat down, Hillary bent toward me, but I drew away. It was coming now-everything. I couldn't hold it off any longer. I didn't want to.

Persis went on, staring at me without blinking. "An intruder broke into the house, and Richard discovered him. So my son was shot senselessly, and he died almost at once. The police never found out who killed him, though theft seemed to be the motive. Several valuable pieces of jewelry were missing." Her voice was low, the words dry, and I knew they were uttered out of old, long-suppressed pain.

Red, who had been quiet until now, whined uneasily.

"I have to know," I said, and heard the tremor in my voice. "I was there in the room, wasn't I? I must have seen what happened. Is this what I've shut away for so long? Is this the thing I could never bear to remember?"

Her eyes closed again, and I saw a tear start down one cheek. "You were ill afterward. Your mother took you away. I was fu- 144.

rious with her, yet I was shattered myself for a long while. So I put you out of my life. I didn't want to be hurt anymore."

Strangely, the sense of revelation had faded. I felt empty, bereft. To come so close and yet have the truth withheld-as I knew she was withholding it-left me limp with the reaction of defeat.

"You haven't told it all," I said. "Not nearly all!"

She didn't answer. Her hand drew away from my touch and was hidden under the quilt.

I spoke again, urgently. "If you won't tell me, then I think I must go away soon. It's too late for anything but the truth."

In a flash her hand came out from beneath the covers and grasped mine, her grip surprisingly strong. "No! You can't go yet. You do owe me something-as I owe you. We can't help that, either of us. In a way you owe me life. Stay and pay your debt-as I'll try to pay mine."

I remembered walking the dusty street in Domino and thinking that if that place had never existed, I would never have existed. Yet I couldn't accept the debt she wanted to thrust upon me.

"I'll stay only a little while," I told her. "A week, perhaps. But there's one other thing I'd like of you. I want to see pictures of my father."

She turned her head away. "There are alb.u.ms. Look at them if you like. If you can bear to."

I recognized dismissal, and Red seemed to sense it as well. He drew away from the bed with a faint whimper, and Hillary went without protest to open the door. I walked out feeling dazed and empty of all emotion.

In the hallway Caleb still sat on the bench waiting for us, and he stood up impatiently.

"Is she all right? I hope you haven't upset her."

I wondered at his concern, not really trusting him. In any case I had nothing to say, and after a glance at my face he went past us into her room.

Hillary put an arm about my shoulders. "There-you see! It's over now. You know what really happened and you're perfectly able to face it. You'll be fine now. You'll never have to blank out again to protect yourself from the truth."

I stiffened against his arm, knowing that for once his rea.s.surance was of no use to me. It was facilely given-without strong reason.

"I don't think I know anything yet," I told him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go to my room for a little while. Will you take Red outside for me, please?" I knew I sounded abrupt, ungracious, but I could manage nothing more.

"Of course, Laurie. Gail has invited me to stay for lunch, so I'll see you then."

When we reached my door, he kissed me tenderly and went off, with Red at his heels. I had the feeling that I had once more disappointed him. Strangely, I didn't seem to care.

For a moment I stood before my door, where only last night a funeral wreath had waited for me. Was that what the card on the wreath had meant-that those who died violently do not sleep in peace? Who had been trying to tell me that, and why should it matter now? If the wreath had anything to do with Noah Armand, anything to do with the room downstairs, then there was reason for me to be frightened. Yet I seemed now to be only a little numb.

I went into my room and sat in the rocking chair, tipping back and forth gently, soothingly.

Why could I feel nothing at all about what I had learned? Pandora's box had been opened at last, and some of the horrors had flown out, yet far from feeling destroyed, I didn't feel anything. My very young ears must have heard the shot that killed my father. My eyes must have looked upon something truly ter- rible. Perhaps I had watched my father die. Yet I could feel only empty and stupefied.

Had I been shocked into this numbness? When I grew used to the idea, would sensation return? Then might I remember fully? For the first time I looked upon remembering with less of a sense of dread. Surely it would be better to feel pain, to suffer, to feel something, than to experience this emptiness of all emotion.

Or was my "emptiness" due only to the fact that I didn't believe the things that Persis Morgan had told me? When I thought of that "intruder" and the tale of stolen jewels, I reacted as if to a remote fiction, and about all this I felt nothing.

But there was something else to undermine me, and suddenly a new and terrible grief surged up in me. Grief for my father's dying, for a loss that would hurt me forever-and this I could weep for. Tears were a release, washing away tension, even though I didn't know exactly why I wept. Was it only for old loss?

A sense of time pa.s.sing brought my tears to an end. I hurried to wash my stained face and comb my hair. When I went down, Hillary was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. His searching look could hardly miss the evidence of swollen eyelids.