The Singing Stones

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “He’s as badly damaged psychologically as she is. There’s nothing he can do for her when he can’t even help himself. His one friend—if you can call him that—is Paul Woolf, the man who looks after Stephen’s needs. Stephen is almost helpless, you know. Paul was employed at an exercise salon in Charlottesville, where Stephen used to go for workouts. After Stephen came out of the hospital, Everett employed Paul here full time. Stephen doesn’t require actual nursing care, but he does need constant assistance. There’s also a young physical therapist, Emory Dale, who spells Paul on his time off.”

  I must remember, I reminded myself, that I no longer knew the man Vivian was talking about. Those two young people who had married, loved each other, and planned their House of the White Moon had vanished somewhere in the years, and all this belonged to other people.

  “What do you call the house now?” I asked. “Does it have a name?”

  Vivian looked surprised. “Name? I suppose we fell into calling it The Terraces. That seemed to fit and it became a habit—when we call it anything.”

  I was glad that Stephen hadn’t used the name I’d wanted to give the house. What really surprised me was that Oriana had hardly come into this discussion.

  “What about Oriana?” I asked bluntly.

  Vivian’s impatience surfaced. “She’s no help at all. She’s not good for Jilly when she’s here. Oriana has her career, and she’s always placed that first. She was here a year ago at the time when Stephen was hurt, but it was all more than she could handle, and she escaped into her work. She drops in when her time schedule permits, but she’s worse than useless. Though she does seem devoted to Jilly—when she has time to think about her. Julian would rather not have her around.”

  Clearly Vivian Forster looked to her husband for major decisions and I found myself stiffening a little against this man whom I had yet to meet. His bringing me here had, in itself, been high-handed.

  “I’m still not sure why you wanted me to come,” I puzzled aloud. “What do you think I can possibly do? I’m not even sure why I listened to you in the first place.”

  Vivian spoke confidently, smiling. “You came because Julian wanted you to come. You wouldn’t have been able to help yourself. He’s like that when he puts his whole mind and spirit into something.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will when you get to know him. If you don’t want to stay, you’d better go now before you ever meet him. Didn’t you feel that you couldn’t resist what I said in my letter about crossroads? I didn’t write those letters myself, you know. Julian told me every word that I put down in them. And I never refuse anything Julian wants that much. He is very good to me. I’m sure I was destined to be with him after Larry died. That was a very bad time for me, and Julian practically saved my life.”

  She seemed ingenuously open, but while there were a hundred questions I wanted to ask, they couldn’t be directed at Vivian.

  “I won’t leave without meeting him,” I promised.

  “I knew you wouldn’t. I’ll run along now and get dinner started. Come downstairs whenever you feel like it.” Again there was a pause, and once more I had the sense that she was holding something back—something she was not yet ready to tell me.

  She went off with a flick of her fingers, leaving me to feel even more uncertain and unsettled, yet at the same time with a curious sense of anticipation I couldn’t suppress. Something strange was going on in this house. I could sense it through my very pores—as though I’d been brought here for some larger reason than I was yet aware of, and by some outside force that I had no power to resist.

  That was foolish, of course, and much too fanciful, but for now I would swim with the tide and hope there was no undertow. Just so I didn’t have to come face-to-face with Stephen Asche!

  2

  I went into the bedroom of the guest suite and stood at the glass doors looking out at the darkening line of mountains that scalloped the horizon in graduated tiers, reaching at last to the high Blue Ridge. Stephen had told me once that it was incorrect to say “Blue Ridge Mountains.” It really was a long ridge that ran for many miles and through several states.

  Early in our marriage, we’d followed the Blue Ridge Parkway for miles, enjoying the tremendous views on both sides. We’d been so deeply in love then—or so I’d thought—that Stephen had enjoyed showing me his Virginia. This was where he’d grown up, and since I had my own blood ties through my father, I’d loved Virginia as Stephen did, adopting it for my own state.

  All that was a lifetime ago, and I wished I could keep my thoughts from turning back over useless trails.

  Sam came up with my bags, friendly and tow-headed, his accent belonging to these hills and difficult for my northern-trained ears to understand. It had been like that before, until I’d begun to catch the different rhythm of spoken words around me. He called me “ma’am” with respectful courtesy, and I thanked him warmly. In brusque northern cities one forgot how pleasant consideration and courtesy could be.

  As I showered and dressed, I thought again about the little girl, Jilly—for Jillian? The wide look of those gray-green eyes had reminded me instantly of Stephen—though his eyes had been a changeable, brighter green. Once more I winced away from memory. When would this stop? I had better learn how to deal with emotions I thought I’d left behind long ago.

  When I’d dressed, I appraised myself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. My silk shirt floated as I moved, and the cognac blouse with its draped neck complemented the jewel tones of my skirt. I wore no jewelry except for garnets in my ears. Long ago I had put aside Stephen’s rings, and my hands were bare, the nails untinted. I could remember hiding my hands under the folds of my skirt when I’d sat beside Oriana and watched the dancer’s rose-tipped fingers weave a magic that held Stephen’s attention. Even then, when they’d only just met! I’d kept my nails free of enamel ever since—in some sort of foolish defiance.

  Perhaps I needed most of all to forgive myself. I’d been so young, so unformed, without any style of my own—only trying to make myself into whatever Stephen wanted. Now I knew how foolish that had been. And probably how boring. And I’d never thought enough about what Stephen might give me, so there had been no partnership.

  A woman looked back at me in the mirror, and I tried to be objective. The reflection showed a young, rather handsome, brown-haired woman who, by this time, knew her own worth, no matter what happened. My hair had always held a soft wave, and now I piled it in a fluffy mound at the back of my head, instead of down my back as I’d worn it for Stephen.

  Perhaps he wouldn’t even recognize me if we met. Certainly I looked far more serious than that young girl he would remember. If he remembered. Once I had laughed easily—because Stephen Asche, who was so brilliant, could also be such a funny man. He always managed to break me up with his unexpected antics, and in those days I’d loved to laugh. None of that mattered now, and there wasn’t much to laugh about.

  When I went down narrow, carpeted stairs—narrow because Stephen believed that the day of grand staircases was past, and he didn’t want to waste space-Vivian came to meet me. She seemed a little absent now, her attention drawn to something outdoors.

  “Julian’s just come home,” she said. “I hear his car. Do sit down, Lynn.”

  She gestured toward a grouping of furniture arranged before glass doors that opened upon fading evening light. The space offered a central pool of radiance in the long room, sofa and chairs neutral in color, accented with satin-striped cushions, and set upon a magnificent Chinese rug of blue and cream and dark caramel. I sat down before a low table of generous size, its top inlaid with oriental woods, and looked about me curiously. In spite of my resolutions, I suppose I was still searching for Stephen in the house he’d built, though so far I hadn’t found him.

  The long room, with bookcases at the far end, seemed quietly elegant, but not like the man I had known. Elegance had never been Stephen’s goal or concept. He�
��d liked dramatic colors—a touch of excitement, to suit his nature. Rooms were to be lived in, he would say passionately—not looked at like paintings. Americans were a vigorous, informal people, and their homes should reflect these qualities without pretense or imitation. This room was beautiful, conservative, in excellent taste, and I found no echo of Stephen Asche.

  Vivian had changed to black silk-crepe pants and a black tunic embroidered with a diagonal scattering of scarlet and brown autumn leaves—all flattering her fair hair and delicate make-up. Her earrings matched the leaf pattern in gold, and caught the light as she moved her head. Stephen’s stepmother looked as decorative as the room and at times as remote—like another still life to match those on the wall.

  I watched with interest as Julian Forster entered the room and greeted his wife. An exchange seemed to pass between them—a moment of question and answer before any words were spoken. She was no still life now.

  “I haven’t talked to Everett yet,” he told her. “He’ll be out to see us soon, so it can wait.”

  “But the police—” Vivian began before her husband’s look stopped her. Watching them, I missed nothing. Something was certainly up, as I’d already sensed—but they didn’t mean to share whatever had happened with me. Since I was an outsider, this was natural enough, but it whetted my curiosity. Particularly since it might also affect Jilly.

  They came to where I was sitting, and Vivian made an effort to lighten her tone as she introduced her husband. Julian’s handclasp offered warmth and welcome, and I felt myself being gently disarmed, my expected resistance to this man evaporating. Perhaps a bit more quickly than I liked. He must be twenty years older than his wife, tall, lean—rather ascetic-looking. A thinker, perhaps, rather than a doer? His gray hair grew thickly back from a wide forehead, and dark, deep-set eyes regarded me openly, seeming to approve of what he saw.

  “Thank you for coming, Lynn McLeod,” he said and sat down on the sofa beside me. “We know how difficult this visit must be for you, but perhaps when you see Jilly you’ll understand the need.”

  “She’s already seen her,” Vivian broke in, and explained about my chance meeting with Stephen’s daughter.

  “What do you think?” Julian asked me.

  “How can I think anything? In the first place, I don’t really understand why you wanted me to come.”

  “Why did you come?” he asked directly.

  The question disconcerted me. I had no clear answer to give him. No clear answer even for myself. At least, none I wanted to face.

  “Never mind,” he said. “You were drawn to come here, and that’s enough for now. How long can you stay?”

  “A day or two, perhaps. My one glimpse of Jilly seems to indicate problems I have no skills to resolve. Even if I understood what troubles her, it might take months. And I have other work to do. You must know better than I what’s frightening her.”

  He answered quietly, strangely. “You have all the time there is. No more and no less than that.”

  I must make an effort to resist the subtle pressures Julian Forster seemed to exert, and I countered with a question.

  “Does Jilly know who I am? That is, about my marriage to her father?”

  “Oh, no!” Vivian spoke so quickly that she startled me. “Jilly knows, of course, that her father had a wife before Oriana, but you’ve never been talked about much, even before Stephen’s accident, and never by name. It seemed wiser not to tell her now.”

  That was reasonable, so why did I feel a stab of hurt? I had been put aside long ago, and now I was the square peg in a very round hole.

  “Who takes care of Jilly?” I asked.

  Again, Vivian explained. “A woman who has been here a few months. No one who comes stays very long. Jilly is withdrawn and elusive. She pays no attention to discipline and ignores any efforts to teach her. She’s a great reader, on her own, but how can you instruct a child who only stares blankly at nothing, and then goes off to do her own thing? We know that she wants to be near her father, but she upsets him, so Paul Woolf keeps sending her away.”

  Vivian’s tone alerted me to more than she was saying. “Tell me about this woman who is with Jilly now.”

  Julian and Vivian exchanged a look, and this time Julian answered.

  “Her name is Carla Raines. She’s a rather exotic bird. But since it was Oriana who brought her here, there’s nothing much we can do.”

  “You don’t like her?”

  He didn’t answer directly. “Perhaps you can give us your appraisal after you meet her. We’d welcome that.”

  “I don’t think there’ll be time,” I repeated, and Vivian stood up abruptly, as though this discussion had begun to upset her.

  “If you’ll excuse me, dinner’s nearly ready.” She hurried toward the dining area and galley kitchen at the far end of the room, and Julian shook his head sadly. “Vivian feels all this deeply. But patience to wait out the problem is hard to achieve.”

  “How did Jilly feel about her parents before Stephen’s accident?”

  “She and her father were very close. They did a lot of things together. I think he tried to make it up to her because Oriana had to be away so much. That’s why he took her up to the construction site that Sunday. He wanted her to see what was being built in that spectacular place. Something his own vision was creating. Mostly Stephen prefers—preferred—to design homes, but Everett talked him into this because so much money was involved. Stephen was promised free rein to create something unlike other condos, so he took it on. But there were restrictions he didn’t expect and he wasn’t entirely happy about the project.”

  For a few moments Julian was silent, and so was I. This time “destiny” had worked in a terrible way to bring Stephen to that particular place at that exact time. If he’d gone on any other day he might not have been hurt. Perhaps the most frightening aspects of life were these happenstance events. And so easily avoided, if one only knew.

  “There are no coincidences,” Julian said quietly, startling me again. “Anyway, when Stephen came home from the hospital everything changed. He hated his own helplessness, and he rejected all of us. Even Jilly. I suppose it’s unfair to blame him, when his life was wrecked so completely. But I’m afraid I do blame him and I wish he’d come out of it. Jilly needs him, and he’s not there for her.”

  I sensed a certain speculation in Julian as he watched me, and I wondered if he had some plan up his sleeve concerning Stephen. But this I wouldn’t accept at all. If anything like that surfaced, I would leave at once.

  “You may not understand this,” he told me gently, “but I was guided into bringing you here.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about and I trusted this strangeness less and less.

  “Your wife spoke of the possibility of placing Jilly in some special school,” I said.

  He looked at me with that deep gaze, which made me feel as though I might lose my own resolution if I stared into his eyes too long.

  “I feel that sending Jilly away should be a last resort,” he told me. “We must try every possible means of reaching her in order to bring her back to the child she used to be. When we saw you on television and heard you talk about the children you’d worked with, I knew you were the one. I would have felt this even if it weren’t for the tie you have with Jilly’s father.”

  “That’s a barrier, not a tie, Mr. Forster.”

  “Please call me Julian. And we don’t know yet whether it’s a barrier or not.”

  “I know.”

  He went on smoothly. “I can’t understand how you feel, but I also understand that you have a gift for helping those with little hope left in their lives. That’s where Jilly is now. And that is a self-destructive place for her to be.”

  I certainly had no wish to call him by his first name, and I tried to answer him firmly. “Now that I’ve come here, I know this is the wrong road for me. I can’t possibly help this little girl. Even if I could reach her in some way, there’s nothing I c
an do for her. You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Forster. We both have.”

  “My guides are seldom mistaken. How much time can you allow us?”

  Apparently this man never gave up, and I wondered at what seemed a deep compulsion in him. Nor did I like his talk about “guides.” Psychic guides?

  I tried to speak quietly. “The work I do can be enervating, and I need to get away—to be free of telephones and responsibility. Free of any involvement that can be draining. This is my vacation time and I need to renew myself.”

  “Two weeks?” Julian said. “No one can reach you here and Jilly would be your only concern.”

  While he seemed relaxed, something thoroughly unsettling reached out to me. Jilly Asche was not my problem and everything about this place and this man was wrong for me. In a way it was threatening because of the pressure I felt. I mustn’t let him break through my defenses.

  He went on implacably. “One way to be free of old emotion is to confront it in the present, Lynn. Aren’t you in the least curious about what must seem a very strange situation?”

  “I can’t afford to be curious, and all those old emotions are over and done with.” Even as I spoke the words I knew they weren’t as true as I’d hoped, but I would never admit that to Julian Forster.

  He went on as though I hadn’t spoken. “Jilly adores her mother and wants only to be like her, even though Oriana puts her dancing first and has so little time for her daughter.”

  In spite of my resolve to stand apart, I spoke indignantly. “Doesn’t Jilly’s mother care about what has happened here? About her husband? Her daughter?”

  “Oriana’s strengths don’t lie in confrontation. She finds it safer to run away. That doesn’t mean she’s without feeling. She was devastated when Stephen was hurt—she lost a great deal too. Her only escape from pain was in her dancing—just as we all seek escape through our work. In fact, the one place where she and Jilly really meet is through dancing. Jilly wants to be a dancer more than anything, and that hasn’t changed. Oriana turned the whole top floor of this house into a practice studio where she could work when she’s home. That’s where Jilly still dances.”