by Lois Duncan
“Helen, you have a visitor!”
The voice, coming so unexpectedly from behind me, startled me so that I jumped with the instinctive guilt that I would have felt as a physical intruder.
A plump, round-faced nurse came bustling into the room. Behind her was Mr. Tuttle.
“Wake up, Helen,” the woman said. “Your daddy’s here.”
Wake up! I thought. How can she demand such a thing?!
To my astonishment, Helen’s eyelids quivered. Her head moved on the pillow, and her mouth opened in a yawn.
“Hello, baby,” said Mr. Tuttle. “I hate to wake you, but I’m on the way to the airport. I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.”
“Morning, Dad,” Helen said drowsily. “Where is it you’re going?”
“Shiprock, New Mexico,” her father said. “Remember, I told you they had a sudden opening for a teacher who speaks Navajo?”
“That’s right. You did tell me,” Helen said. “It’s funny. I had this thing in my mind that we were going to New England. Didn’t you say once that you wanted me to have my senior year in an eastern school?”
“Your mother and I changed our minds,” Mr. Tuttle told her. “We decided that wouldn’t be our sort of place.”
“We were going to see snow. We talked about that. I’ve never seen snow, and you said—” She paused, as though struggling to get the thought clear in her mind. “You said, ‘Everybody should have a chance to experience a real winter once.’”
“I know, baby, and we will,” her father said. “There’s snow in the mountains of New Mexico. They even have skiing. You’d like to learn to ski, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure, I guess.” She smiled at him. It was a weak smile, but it brought with it a flash of the Helen I knew. “When do Mom and I get to come?”
“It’ll be a while yet. The doctors have to give us the go-ahead.”
“Was I hurt badly?” Helen asked the question with more interest than concern.
“Badly enough to scare us. We want you completely well before we make you go through a big move. You keep getting better the way you’ve been doing, and we’ll be together in no time. Meanwhile, I’ll find us a house and get our stuff shipped out.”
“Will Mom be in later today?”
“She’ll be here for visiting hours, like she always is. They let me in out of hours just to say good-bye.” He bent and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “You get well fast, all right? I’m going to be lonesome out there without my girls.”
“I will, Dad. I promise. As fast as I can.”
She smiled at him again, and the expression held until he was gone from the room. Then the smile disappeared, and her brows drew together in a puzzled frown.
“Mrs. Jensen,” she said slowly, “how long have I been here at Duke?”
“A couple of weeks, dear,” the nurse responded pleasantly. She had left the room briefly during Mr. Tuttle’s visit and was back now, refilling the water pitcher on the table by the bed.
“And before that, was I in another hospital?”
“Yes, they transferred you here from someplace. I don’t know where. I wasn’t working on this ward when you arrived.”
“Was it a hospital in Arizona?”
“I told you, dear, I don’t know. Dr. Cohn will be making his rounds in a little while, and you can ask him. Or your mother will be here for visiting hours.”
“It doesn’t matter, I guess. It’s just that it’s a weird feeling not being able to remember.” She sighed and let her eyes fall closed.
“Now, don’t you go dozing off, Miss Sleepyhead,” the nurse said playfully. “Breakfast will be along any minute now, and you’ll just have to wake right up again.”
Breakfast. It would be breakfast time at Cliff House also.
The kids would be up and dressed by now, and I—
I need to get back! And even as I thought it, I was there. The return was so fast that I wasn’t aware of what was happening. There was an instant of speed and light, the sensation of being yanked through space by some tremendous force, as though I were attached to the end of a gigantic rubber band that had been stretched almost to its snapping point and was then released. The world shot by beneath me in a crazy blur of land and water half-concealed by clouds, and my soul-self met my body with such an impact that I gasped aloud.
I was lying on my bed, and someone was shaking me so hard my teeth were rattling.
“Laurie,” Neal was pleading frantically, “please, wake up!”
“Don’t!” I mumbled. “Take it easy, Neal! You’re hurting me.”
“I’ve never seen anybody sleep like that.” There was relief in his voice as he released his grip on my shoulders. “It was like you weren’t even breathing. You scared me.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m here. I’m back again.”
“Back again?” Neal repeated in bewilderment.
“I mean, I’m awake. I’m back in the waking world.” I sat up in bed, thrust back the covers, and slid my feet over the side. “Run along and let me get dressed, okay? I’ll be down to breakfast in a minute.”
“You better hurry or you won’t make the ferry,” Neal said. “Is Jeff going to school today?”
“I think so. His father’s going to drive him down to the landing, and I can carry his books to classes for him.”
He’d better come, I thought, because I have a lot to tell him! And I don’t want to have to wait until after school to do it.
Jeff was at the landing when the kids and I arrived, but there was no opportunity to talk in private. There was only time for us to board and find ourselves seats inside. The weather was so grim that no one wanted to ride in the open air, and with the shape he was in, Jeff couldn’t have made it to the top deck, anyway.
The crowd in the cabin welcomed us with unaccustomed enthusiasm. The fact that we were survivors of a dangerous adventure seemed to have turned us into overnight celebrities. Everybody had questions. How had the accident happened? How far had we fallen? What had it been like to be trapped in such a situation? How had we been rescued?
“It was wild,” Tommy Burbank kept saying over and over, resentful that his part in the drama was not getting full recognition. “I was the one they lowered in. It was black as pitch down there. Rankin was out cold, and Laurie was hysterical.”
“My shoulder was injured,” I said. “I thought the harness was going to wrench it out of the socket. Jeff was unconscious by then. He’d been there a lot longer than I was, and he was nearly frozen.”
“So what was he doing there, anyway?” Gordon had managed somehow to claim the seat on my right, and the old note of possessiveness was in his voice. “Are you in the habit of hanging around Cliff House at night, Rankin?”
“I was out there picking flowers,” Jeff said coolly.
“I’m not joking around. I asked you a simple question.”
“And I gave you a simple answer.”
“By ‘simple’ I didn’t mean ‘stupid,’” Gordon said. “Christmas Eve isn’t exactly the time most people decide to go hiking on the rocks.”
“I invited him, Gordon,” I said. “He was coming over for dinner.”
“To your place?” Gordon sounded incredulous.
“To my girlfriend’s place. Got any objections?” Jeff grinned. It was the old, cocky grin of three years before, except now it affected only the good half of his face.
Gordon’s mouth opened and closed again without a sound coming out of it.
Then Darlene, who was seated too far away to have heard what was being said, leaned over to ask, “Does anybody have ‘A’ lunch this semester?” and Rennie said, “I do,” and everyone began trading class schedules. With the change in topic, the conversation took off in other directions. Gordon didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride.
When the ferry reached the mainland, Jeff and I held back long enough to let the others disembark ahead of us. Then he hauled himself to his feet, and I gathered up his boo
ks and my own.
“Did you see the expression on Ahearn’s face?” Jeff asked.
“Yes, and I saw the look on yours, like the cat who swallowed the canary.”
“Well, yeah. Probably.” His eyes were twinkling. Then, abruptly, he sobered. “So what happened this morning? Did you try the projection?”
“Yes, I tried it.”
“No luck, huh?”
“Luck or talent,” I said. “Whichever it was, I did see Helen.”
“You’re kidding!” He stopped in the cabin doorway and turned to stare at me. “You were able to do it? It really worked?”
“Didn’t you expect it to?” I asked. “You’re the one who kept pushing me to try.”
“Yeah, sure, but I thought it would take a while. The way you talked you were pretty uncertain about it.”
“I shouldn’t have been,” I said. “I did it on the first try. It was like—like—” I wanted to put the sensation into words, but it was impossible. “It was like dreaming,” I said inadequately, “except that it was real.”
“Are you sure of that? If you were dreaming—”
“I wasn’t. I was really there at Duke Hospital. I saw Helen. I even saw her father.”
As we made our way along the sidewalk to the school, I described the visit, trying to recall every detail so Jeff could share the experience.
“That’s great news,” he said when I finished. “Is there a phone in her room?”
“A phone?” I tried to remember. “Yes, I think so. It was on the bedside table.”
“Then let’s call her.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I said.
“What do you mean? You said she’s okay now.”
“She’s conscious,” I said. “But there’s something I didn’t tell you. She doesn’t remember it, Jeff, not any of it. Nothing about New England and the time she spent here and the people she knew. I heard her talking to her father. All she can remember is that they talked about moving here. She thinks that her parents changed their minds.”
“No way!” Jeff exclaimed. “She lived here almost four months. That couldn’t have been wiped away like it never happened. I’ll bet all she needs is the sound of our voices to bring everything back.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “Still, I don’t think we should try it.”
“Why not? We’re her closest friends.”
“But we’re not doctors. We can’t know for sure if that would be the best thing for Helen. Mr. Tuttle has my phone number. I asked him to call as soon as there was any change. The fact that he hasn’t must mean the doctors have advised against it.”
“You think we should just leave it alone?” Jeff asked incredulously. “With her not remembering? That means we’ll lose her forever!”
“Not necessarily,” I said, trying to sound hopeful. “She might find her own way back to us. And if she doesn’t, we’ll still remember. Every time I wear the necklace she gave me, I’ll think about—”
I broke off in midsentence, my hand flying instinctively to my throat. The necklace! So much had happened since Christmas morning that I’d forgotten all about it. Mom had been in the process of helping me put it on when the call had come from Jeff ’s father.
“It’s gone!” I gasped. “Helen’s gift to me!”
“Relax,” Jeff said. “It’s not lost. I’ve got it at home.”
“You have it? But how—”
“The Emergency Room doctor found it caught in the zipper of my parka. I meant to tell you, but I kept forgetting. The clasp’s broken. I was going to fix it before I gave it back to you.” He paused. “It’s pretty. Helen used to wear one like it, didn’t she?”
“It’s the same necklace,” I said. “Her friend Luis gave it to her because she was going to take her first plane flight. Turquoise is the Navajo good-luck stone. The eagle fetish is supposed to protect the wearer against evil spirits from the skies.”
“It’s too bad she gave it away when she did,” Jeff said wryly. “She could have used that protection.”
“It’s just a superstition.”
“Helen believed it,” Jeff said. “That must be why she gave it to you.”
By now we had reached the entrance to the high school. I had to struggle to haul the heavy door open against the pressure of the mounting wind. We were enough behind the others that the sound of the late bell reverberating through the empty hall came as no surprise to either of us.
I held the door for Jeff to manipulate himself through with his crutches. Then I released it, and the wind sent it closed with a bang.
“Evil spirits from the skies.” Jeff repeated the words. “That’s what she is, Laurie. Lia’s an evil spirit. You’ve got no choice. You have to find her, especially now that you know that it’s possible.”
“It’s not as easy as going to Helen,” I said. “I knew where Helen was.”
“In the morning, you’ll try?”
“Yes, I’ll try,” I told him. “I can’t promise anything except that I’ll try.”
The day was hectic, as first days after vacation generally are. The confusion was accentuated by the fact that it was the start of the second semester. There were new classrooms to locate and new teachers to adjust to.
When lunchtime came, I discovered that the story of Jeff ’s and my adventure had spread during the morning, and everyone from the mainland was ready to mob us for details. Even the teachers had heard about it. Mrs. Crawfield, my algebra teacher, who had been so unsympathetic about my sliding grades, detained me after class to ask if I needed extra time to complete the next assignment because “such a traumatic event can have a detrimental effect upon your ability to concentrate,” and Miss Hayman, the journalism instructor, stopped me in the hall to ask if Jeff and I would collaborate on a first-person feature for the school paper.
With all the distractions, I was too busy to notice what was happening outside the classroom windows, and it was a surprise that afternoon to leave the building and find that it had begun to snow. It wasn’t a light, fluffy snowfall either. The flakes were solid and sodden, plunking to earth and remaining there as a foundation for those that fell on top of them.
“Here’s Helen’s picture-book winter,” Jeff commented with a touch of bitterness. “It sucks that she doesn’t get to see it.”
The ferry ride back to the island was not a smooth one. The wind from the morning had increased in strength, and the water was choppy and speckled with whitecaps. Jeff ’s father was at the landing to pick him up, and I walked the distance to Cliff House, leaning into the wind, with my hands crammed into my jacket pockets.
Lia didn’t walk beside me on this day, nor was she on the rocks or the dunes. I hadn’t seen her for nine days, yet the closer I drew to Cliff House, the more strongly I felt her presence. As I opened the front door, the aura grew so intense I almost expected to find her waiting for me at the top of the stairway.
But that didn’t happen. If she was there—and I believe she was—she didn’t display herself.
The remainder of the day is hazy in my memory. I did my homework. I ate dinner with the family. I don’t remember what we talked about. I think we spent the evening playing some sort of card game, but I can’t say what it was or which of us won. I went to bed. The waves were pounding hard against the rocks. I do remember that. When I turned off the light, their thunder was magnified by the darkness, and the wind was whining around the corners of the house with a sound like a human voice begging me to open the balcony doors and let her in.
But it wasn’t Lia who called to me; it was only the wind, and that didn’t frighten me. I closed my eyes and slept.
I awakened just before dawn as though I’d been programmed to do so. The sky was still dark, but there was a line of pearl gray extending along the eastern horizon. I knew instinctively that Lia was no longer at Cliff House. At some point during the night she had slipped away to return to her physical self at whatever place in the world that self might be.
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br /> This time I didn’t pause to look behind me at the sleeping body of Laurie Stratton. I simply rose and went. It was so easy now that I wondered how I had ever found it difficult. My doubts about my ability to determine direction were immediately put to rest. My destination seemed preset. In a flash I was moving with such speed that I had no sense of distance. Somewhere ahead of me was Lia, an earthbound Lia, in solid form, and I was going to be with her.
I’m scared for you, Laurie! It’s dangerous!
Helen’s voice rang suddenly in my ears, raised in a shriek of near panic.
The memory pierced me, and I hesitated. It was for one instant only that I experienced the sensation of holding back. For one lone instant, but that was enough to divert me.
The place I reached was dark and quiet, and Lia wasn’t there.
It was night. The sky above me was wide and clear and studded with stars. I sensed in the distance a range of mountains curving protectively around me on all sides like the rim of a bowl. I was in the valley at the bowl’s center. Directly before me lay a house, low and flat-roofed, and beyond that, a garden. There was a camper in the driveway, and off to the right there was a stable that until recently had housed two horses.
How did I know this? I can’t say. I just knew, like I knew that Lia had once been a part of this place and of the lives of the people who lived here. She had spent nights in the camper during summer vacation trips. She had ridden one of the horses.
She had lived in this house as though it were her own.
The walls offered no resistance as I entered. I passed through them easily, as though they had been formed of air, and found myself in a spacious living room. It was a lovely room, at once both comfortable and elegant. The heavy, hand-carved furniture was of dark, rich wood and upholstered in rusts and golds. There were a large, circular coffee table, a plasma TV set and an antique upright piano. Beyond those, a Navajo rug served as a wall hanging over a long bookcase. The windowed wall facing the garden had textured curtains drawn across it to keep out the chill of the night air.
