I followed him in and Randall picked up a newspaper. He went to pay for it while 1 stood there gazing out the window. Moments later the man who could be my real father came into sight. He wore a tweed sports jacket and jeans. He was at least six feet tall and very good looking with a strong mouth. He was trim, too, his shoulders wide. He glanced at the store and I looked directly into his face, but he didn't look at me. Even so, I held my breath as he gazed at a newspaper headline, read it quickly and then continued on.
The little boy at his side clung tightly to his hand. I thought the child was cute, especially because of the proud way he held his shoulders back and his head straight. Every once in a while, he looked up at his father as if he wanted to be sure he was imitating him well. They crossed the street and continued toward the river. That little boy could very well be my half brother, I thought, and that young girl back at the house could be my half sister. I had come all these miles, all this distance, to look upon them and the man who could be my father. How strange I felt. It was as if I was caught up in a dream, floating through a sea of wishes and promises.
"Well?" Randall asked coming up beside me, "what do you think? I think there's some definite resemblance," he told me, nodding before I could reply.
"Oh, you can't tell that from a short glimpse, Randall," I said.
"Let's see where they go," he suggested. "Maybe we can get a better look at him."
"I don't want to, Randall."
"We'll just stay far enough behind to. ."
"No," I said more emphatically. "I don't want to. I don't feel good about this. He's out for a walk with his little boy. It's just not right to spy on him."
"Not right? Why isn't it right considering who you are and who he might very well be?"
"I don't know," I said and left the store. I walked quickly in the opposite direction.
"Wait a minute. Where are you going?" Randall asked, running to catch up.
"I don't know. Back, I guess."
"Rain ..."
"Leave me alone," I cried and walked faster. He lingered behind, following slowly, knowing enough to keep away. My heart was filled with so many raging emotions; so many contradictory feelings were battling inside me. Yes, I wanted-to know him, to find out if he really was my father and then to talk to him, to learn about him and to make sure that he knew about me, but I was also still terrified that the moment I approached him and he discovered who I was, he would turn away from me and forbid me from coming near him or his family. What right did I have to walk in on him like this? How could I expect him to care about me, someone he has never known, he has never seen!
It almost made me feel dirty, like a voyeur, to have come here to spy on him and catch glimpses of him and his family. And yet, the image of his face, those bright black pearl eyes, that look of intelligence and that soft smile when he gazed at his little boy all flashed across my eyes again. What was his voice like? What if he looked at me with as much love and pride as he looked at his little boy?
I was still searching for that love and I was not at all sure that I would find it in this strange man's face, especially if I forced him to look at me, if I threw myself in his way and cried, "I'm here! I'm your daughter! You have to love me, too!"
Love, after all, wasn't something to be commanded or demanded. It came from that special place inside our hearts, blossoming like a flower properly nurtured. Real love took time.
"That's Chiswick Bridge ahead there," I heard Randall say. He had caught up to me slowly. "We're actually on one of the recommended London walks along the Thames. We could go to Kew Gardens."
I turned to him and shook my head.
"Always the tour guide, aren't you?"
"I just didn't want you to think you were wasting your time," he protested. Then he stepped in front of me and held out his arms. "This 'ere's all part of the package, ma'am. We aim to please all our customers, especially you Yanks with all the bob."
I had to laugh.
"That's better," he said. "You had me worried back there."
"I'm sorry I left you like that:' I said, "but it was all too much too soon."
"Sure. You can come back anytime. I found out something else that might interest you:' he said, digging into his pocket. He handed me a slip of paper.
"What's this?"
"The name of the school where he teaches and the address. I didn't want to give it to you unless there was a real possibility we were onto the right man. And I know he's the one."
"How did you find this out, Randall?"
He shrugged and smiled.
"I went over to the school. Mr. MacWaine's got these books on the schools in London and I looked up the faculty list, found Larry Ward and copied it down."
"Boswell Community College?"
"He's head of their English department," Randall said. He shrugged again. "Just trying to be helpful."
"Mr. MacWaine doesn't know you were looking into him, does he?"
"No, I was able to look up the information without his knowing. Don't worry about that."
"I can't believe you did all this."
"It was nothing, easy:' he said.
I put the note in my pocket and gazed at the bridge. It hadn't rained although it still might, yet people didn't seem concerned as they walked along.
"Want to go into the Gardens?" Randall asked. "It's still early."
"No. I'm tired," I said. "I feel like I've been running and running for miles. I just want to go home:'
"Okay," he said and we located the nearest tube station.
After we reached Endfield Place and parted, I went into the house quickly and then straight to my room. When I opened the door, I found a letter had been slipped under it. It was addressed to me and it had come from Germany. Roy had written, finally.
I turned it over and studied the envelope. It looked like it had been opened and then resealed, I thought. It just infuriated me that my mail had been read. However, at the moment I was more interested in what was inside the envelope, so I sat on my bed and slowly opened it.
Dear Rain,
When I got your letter I kept it all closed up until I was ready for bed. Just seeing your
handwriting put your face in my eyes. I read your letter over and over Some of my buddies probably thought I was trying to memorize something important. Anyway. I'm glad you got to where you wanted and life there ain't so bad, I bet you already made loads of new friends and you're a big success in the school.
I plan on taking my first leave real soon and now that I know exactly where you're at, I'll be dropping by to see you. I hope you want to see me at least half as bad as I want to see you. I have your picture hanging by my bed. When anyone asks about you, I tell them you're my girl. I hope you don't mind that. You are my girl. You always were and you know it. Sometimes, I just lay back and remember and think about you growing up, especially the way you turned those eyes on me.
Of course, I remember one special afternoon when I told you what you really meant to me and, well, I can't even write it, but you know the afternoon I mean. Jeeze, I can't believe I wrote this much. It's probably more than I wrote all the time I was in school. I can see you smiling and laughing about that as you read this.
I don't want to keep saying the same things so I'll just sign off with love and hope you will keep a little room in your heart for me.
I was about to sign my name and seal it up, but I stopped and just thought about Mama and you and Beni and how all those days back then run together in my head. I miss them. If it weren't for you, I guess I'd feel about as alone as anyone could. I wanted you to know.
I'm running off at the mouth.
Bye.
Love.
See ya, Roy
I folded the letter up carefully and put it back into the envelope. Then I lay there with it beside me and thought about Roy and Mama and Bend, too. My eyes flooded with tears. I wanted to see Roy so much, but I knew he was hoping I would tell him I loved him the way he loved me, and I was so c
onfused about that. For too long a time, he was my big brother. It wasn't easy to just stop thinking of him that way. I had tried to explain that to him, but he had refused to accept it. There was no one in the world I dreaded hurting more than I dreaded hurting Roy. I suppose I had been hoping that he would have found someone else by now and the problem would solve itself, but that obviously had not happened.
How strange it was, I thought, that there were people I wanted to love but couldn't and there were people who loved me and shouldn't. Fate was teasing me, dangling me in front of all these mirrors so that as I twirled slowly, I could see myself struggling at every turn. When would it end? When would I stop spinning?
I must have fallen asleep because of sheer emotional exhaustion. Suddenly, I felt my body twitch and I opened my eyes to darkness. For a moment I was confused about the time and the day. Then I glanced at the clock and popped up like a jack-in-thebox. I had slept right through supper. How could that happen? Why hadn't Boggs come banging on my door? I had it locked now, but he still could have knocked until he woke me. He certainly wasn't bashful. Maybe he just wanted to have me do badly so that the Endfields would get rid of me.
I turned on my lamp and quickly straightened my hair and my clothes. Then I went to the bathroom, threw cold water on my face and hurried down the corridor to the kitchen to make my apologies. By the time I got there, the dishes had been cleaned up and everything was put away. Mrs. Chester and Mary Margaret were gone and the dining room was empty, the table set for breakfast. It was almost as if there hadn't been anyone here for dinner after all
Now, very confused, I stepped out in the hallway and listened hard. Except for the usual creaks and moans in the house, I heard nothing, no footsteps, no voices, nothing. Slowly, I walked down the corridor and peered into the billiards room, the office and then the drawing room. They were all empty. There was only a small lamp lit in the drawing room. All the other rooms were dark. I listened again, heard nothing and returned to the kitchen.
Realizing I was a little hungry, I made myself some tea and had a crumpet with marmalade. As I ate, I expected to see Mr. Boggs come bursting in at any moment to chastise me for sleeping through my supper duties, but for once he didn't appear. I cleaned up and listened again to the silence in the house before starting back to my room.
I noticed that Boggs's door was closed and when I listened in the hallway, i heard no sound coming from his room either. It must have been an early night for everyone, I thought with a shrug and prepared a hot bath for myself. Afterward, I returned to my room where I thought I would read a little before going to sleep. I had just opened my collection of plays when a glow over the grounds outside my window caught my attention.
Rising slowly, I went to the window and gazed out at the small cottage. Tonight, it was lit more brightly and the flow of that light on the grounds was what I had seen. As I stood looking out the window I saw figures silhouetted behind the curtains. Then, they disappeared. I opened my window a little more and brought my face closer to the opening. I thought I could distinctly hear what sounded like the kind of music you heard on a carousel. It was low, almost a tinkle.
No one lives there, everyone had insisted, almost angry because I had asked. Who was that, then?
I was tired of the mysteries and the shadows, the fretful side glances and the whispers. I didn't know what I was risking exactly, but I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep wondering. Except for the music that drifted over the grounds, the house was still very quiet. Even the creaks and groans in the walls and floor seemed to have stopped. I reached for my robe and shoved my feet into my slippers. Then, as softly as the famous ghost of Sir Godfrey Rogers's mistress must move through this house, I tiptoed down the hall to the back door and slipped out.
The night air was cooler than I had expected. I embraced myself and gazed at the cottage. Standing in the darkness, I felt I could observe without being discovered. I waited and watched, but saw no one. It looked safe for me to cross the grounds and go to the cottage. I walked slowly, gazing around. The music was definitely coming from the cottage. I stopped about midway because I thought I heard someone else skulking through the shadows behind me, but I saw no one. After a moment more, I continued until I reached the first hedge in front of the cottage. Someone moved behind the curtain, hesitated and then disappeared. My heart had stopped and started and now was pounding under my chest like a jackhammer.
I crouched and inched forward to the window after I had checked the grounds behind and around me once more. Slowly, almost as if I didn't want to see, as if something inside me instinctively retreated, I brought my eye up to the corner of the window and peered into the room.
I had seen the small furniture before, of course, but tonight I noticed that there were more dolls, and the dolls I had seen before had been moved. The one doll that was as big as a small child was still on the miniature sofa facing me. It looked like it was laughing at me.
I realized the music wasn't coming from this room. It was coming from another room on the south side of the cottage. I retreated and then, keeping to the shadows, moved across the front of the cottage to the other side. Once again, I looked around before going forward and was confident there was no one else out there waiting to pounce.
The hedges on this side were somewhat closer to the cottage so I had to step very slowly in order not to catch myself on a branch. I reached these windows and crouched again, slowly lifting my head. Through the gauze-like curtains, I could see a figure in the bed and another, larger figure sitting on the edge. I moved my head very slowly toward the small opening in the curtains.
People often say that when they are frightened by something, their blood turns cold. It is as if ice cubes had formed in the base of your stomach and waves of freezing air crawled into your veins, chilling your blood so that when it reaches your heart, your heart feels like it has been coated with thin layers of frost. I understood that description now. It was happening to me.
It was my Great-uncle Richard sitting on the bed, holding a children's book in his hands. He was wearing a velvet robe over his pajamas. Dressed in a frilly little nightshirt with pigs and squirrels and rabbits embossed all over it was Mary Margaret. She was sucking on a fairly large round red lollipop. Her eyes were wide as if she was five years old and hearing the most fascinating tale. Beside her on the nightstand a music box played.
The room itself was unquestionably decorated for a little girl. There was pink and white wallpaper filled with cartoon characters, more dolls on shelves, a small mauve-colored desk and a chair, and a pink rug. All the pictures on the wallsn ante from storybooks and children's movies. The vanity table had a small brush and comb on it as well as some little bottles of perfume.
The window was opened slightly so if I lowered my ear, I could hear what was being said.
Great-uncle Richard's voice rose and fell with exaggeration as he read the story of a little duck who had wandered into the woods too far from her mother and was trying desperately to find her way home.
"Her little quack quack echoed in the darkness around her," he read, "and she fluttered her feathers and ran faster, not knowing she was going in the wrong direction. Suddenly, she heard an owl and she stopped to look up.
"Who? the owl said. My name is Dolly and I'm lost, Dolly said. She didn't know that owls only said who... Isn't that funny, Heather?" he asked Mary Margaret.
I looked at her.
Mary Margaret nodded emphatically, pulling the lollipop from her mouth.
"Yes, Daddy," she said. She forced a giggle and then put the lollipop back into her mouth.
"Do you want to hear the rest or are you tired?" he asked. She pulled out the lollipop.
"I want to hear the rest, Daddy," she said.
Great-uncle Richard smiled and continued.
"Who? the owl said. Dolly repeated her name and told him she was lost. She waited. The owl went who, who, who?
"Why don't you listen to me? Dolly said angrily. I told you who I
was. All the owl said was who, so Dolly ran on until she heard a hiss. She stopped and looked into the darkness. Who's there? she asked. There was another hiss. She walked ahead slowly," Great-uncle Richard read and then he put his fingers on Mary Margaret's arm and pretended they were little feet inching up toward her shoulder. She giggled.
"Suddenly," Great-uncle Richard read, "a snake popped out from under a rock. He stuck out his tongue. That's pretty rude, Dolly told him. He hissed again and slithered toward her."
Great-uncle Richard's hand went under the blanket. Mary Margaret squealed and jumped in the bed. Then she looked like she was going to cry and Great-uncle Richard pulled his hand out and embraced her.
"There, there, don't be frightened, Heather. I was just pretending. Your mother will accuse me of giving you nightmares."
He stroked her hair and then he let her head return to the pillow. She looked up at him as he took the lollipop from her hand and put it on a dish on the night table.
"I think you're getting tired," he told her and she closed her eyes, opened them, fluttered her lids and closed them again. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the forehead.
"We'll finish this tomorrow. There's so much more, but don't worry. Dolly will be safe and get home to her mother after she has some more adventures. Okay?"
Mary Margaret barely nodded.
Great-uncle Richard stood up, fixed her blanket around her and then kissed her again, this time on the cheek. He turned off the music box and turned off the lamp. He stood there for a long moment looking down at her and then he left the room.
The rain that had been threatening all day suddenly began in a light drizzle, but I couldn't move. My legs felt frozen and cramped and my chest ached from holding my breath for so long. Just as I was about to work my way out from behind the hedges, the lamp went on again and Mary Margaret pushed the blanket away from her. She was wearing a nightdress that barely reached the top of her thighs. I was mesmerized. I couldn't move an inch even though the raindrops were thickening and falling faster.
She rose from the bed and went to the closet. I saw her pull off the nightdress and then put on her own clothes. After she was dressed, she turned off the lamp and left the bedroom. I hovered in the shadows, close to the cottage to keep out of the rain, and then I crouched even lower when I heard the cottage door open and close. Moments later, Mary Margaret crossed the grounds quickly. She had an umbrella and headed toward the front of the house. A few seconds later, I saw the Endfields' limousine pull away with Boggs driving.
Lightning Strikes Page 16
