At least Meryl had the social skill to keep something like conversation moving among us. “Tell us what you do, Lynn,” she invited. “Vivian says you work with children who are very ill. Isn’t that depressing?”
Aware of Jilly’s sudden interest, I answered carefully. “It’s not depressing whenever I can help. And sometimes I am able to help.”
“Help when a child is dying of cancer or some other incurable disease?” Meryl asked.
“I’m not sure any disease is incurable,” I told her. “Some people are certainly incurable. Children can be wonderful when it comes to using their own imaginations to help themselves. Visualization comes easy for them, once they understand how they can use it. Sometimes the hardest part is to keep grown-ups around them from bringing in their own fears and negative attitudes.”
Still aware of Jilly’s interest, I spoke to her directly.
“Our minds give us messages about whether we’re to be happy or sad. Some of the children I see have been given the wrong messages for a long time, and there’s a lot to overcome.”
Jilly regarded me thoughtfully. “Can you tell yourself how to be happy when you feel really sad?”
Touché, I thought. “Sometimes,” I said gently, “children help me to learn, even while I’m trying to help them.”
Everett, looking bored, picked up his menu and we all studied the cards for a time in silent concentration. Some of the listings were amusingly bookish in character: “Best Sellers,” “Short Stories,” “My Salad Days.” I ordered the “Rubaiyat”—soup, salad, bread, and wine, while Jilly chose an Ichabod Crane salad.
When we had ordered, Meryl pushed back her chair. “There’s a book I want to pick up, so I’ll just run into the bookstore and see if it’s here. Come with me, Lynn, so you can visit the shop. Excuse us for a minute, Everett.”
She didn’t invite Jilly to come, and when I saw the dark, silent stare the child turned on Everett, I felt reluctant to leave these two together. Meryl, however, was quietly purposeful, and I followed her up a flight of steps into the attractive area of shelves lined with books in colorful jackets. This would be a lovely place for browsing—at another time. Now she drew me into the rear among stacks that shielded us from other customers, her hand insistent on my arm.
“I needed to talk to you for a minute,” she said. “There’s something you can do while you’re in that house, Lynn. Please watch Carla. See if you can catch her in something, so that Everett will have to fire her.”
“Everett? But I thought Julian was the one who could tell her to leave, if it weren’t for Oriana?”
“Julian!” Meryl sounded scornful. “What Julian might want carries no weight. Julian and Vivian are only guests in that house. That was fine when Stephen was himself, and it was the way he wanted it. But Everett’s been court-appointed to look after Stephen’s affairs, and he could put those two out in a minute if he decided to. Just as he could Carla. He thinks Carla is what Jilly needs. I don’t. So I’d like to force Everett’s hand.”
I already had reason to set myself in opposition to Carla, but somehow I didn’t want to tell Meryl about Carla’s visit last night. I didn’t like the sort of intrigue she was proposing, and I wondered about her motives. How much did she really care about Jilly’s welfare?
“I don’t know—” I began hesitantly.
Meryl’s smile stopped me. “Never mind. When something strikes you about Carla that makes you really mad, just tell me. Maybe I can do something about it. And there’s another thing, Lynn. Jilly’s been hurt enough. She’s not a guinea pig for Julian to try out his weird ideas on. Or for you to experiment with either.”
“I’m glad you’re concerned about her,” I said. “I’d be the last one who’d want to hurt Jilly.”
“Even though she’s Stephen’s child by another woman?”
I hoped I wasn’t that small a person and I had no need to defend myself. My growing concern for Jilly had nothing to do with either of her parents, except for their neglect.
“Okay,” Meryl said when I didn’t answer. “I guess that was a cheap shot. But somebody has to worry about Jilly.”
“I think Julian is very much concerned about her.”
“Him!” Again, she sounded derisive. “It’s not Jilly he cares about. Ask him a few questions sometime and you’ll see how far out into space he’s gone. Anyway, let me pay for my book and we’ll get back to the table before something happens between Jilly and Everett. I’m glad I never had children—Everett would make a terrible father.”
While Meryl made her purchase at the front counter, I noticed a book on display—a collection of essays about famous dancers. Oriana wasn’t mentioned in the index—she probably wasn’t important enough. However, Jilly might like the book, and I bought it to give to her at some opportune moment.
Nothing dire seemed to have happened when we rejoined Jilly and Everett. He still looked bored, and Jilly appeared to have gone deeply inside herself, shutting out everything around her. If they were not in communication, at least they weren’t in conflict. Not until the waitress brought our salads and we’d begun to eat did Jilly suddenly come to life and electrify us all.
“Last night my father tried to kill himself,” she announced calmly to no one in particular.
There was an immediate silence while Everett and Meryl stared at her. Jilly’s long hair framed a face that could seem angelic when the cloud of troublesome thoughts lifted from her. Yet, even at best, it was a dark sort of innocence that troubled me. She looked remote and angelic now, as though she spoke of some distant event that had nothing to do with her. Perhaps she had absorbed some of Oriana’s talent for the theatrical and could play a role very well. Perhaps she was even slyly pleased over the reception of her bombshell. Apparently no one had told either Meryl or Everett what had happened. That was strange in itself, since Everett was Stephen’s brother and supposed to be in charge.
Meryl was the first to speak. “What do you mean, Jilly? How do you know such a thing?”
“Paul told Carla and Carla told me. Carla said it was probably my fault.”
“My God!” Meryl turned angrily to her husband. “You’ve got to get rid of that woman!”
Everett’s attention was fixed on the child, and he’d begun to smolder. “What else do you know about this? What did your father try to do exactly?”
Jilly played with a spoon, nervous now. “I guess he tried to take some pills. Only he fell out of his chair in the bathroom and made a lot of noise. So Paul heard him. He didn’t really swallow any pills, Paul said. Anyway, that’s what he told Carla.”
“Whatever happened, it was not your fault,” I assured her quickly.
Her look dismissed me. “How would you know?”
“Why should he do anything so stupid?” Everett asked of no one in particular.
“Why shouldn’t he?” Meryl challenged. “What does he have to live for?”
Meryl was no better around Jilly than anyone else, I thought, irritated with both her and her husband. No one seemed to consider Jilly’s feelings for long. The child’s fingers tightened on the spoon she toyed with, and when she spoke again I heard the tension in her voice.
“Carla says my father did this because of what happened the night before. Somebody broke in when my father and Paul were asleep. Paul said nothing was missing, but the person who came in slashed the cushions in my father’s wheelchair, and left a note on the seat.”
“That’s terrible!” Meryl cried. “What did the note say?”
“I don’t know. Carla wouldn’t tell me.” Jilly’s voice rose. “Maybe she didn’t know, because it was sealed and Paul took it to Uncle Julian right away. He woke him up to give it to him, so then everybody was upset. I was the only one who slept right through what happened.”
So this was the answer to the uneasiness I’d sensed when I’d first arrived. Because something had occurred that Julian and Vivian didn’t want me to know about.
“I’m glad you told
us, Jilly.” Meryl spoke quietly. “Your Uncle Everett should certainly know about this.” She glanced at her angry husband. “I can’t think why he hasn’t been informed.”
Jilly opened her gray-green eyes very wide. “Why should he be? Uncle Everett doesn’t care about my father. He took all the things out of his office and hid them away!”
The waitress brought our lunch, putting a stop to any immediate response, though Everett was fuming openly by now. His temper was never far from the surface and Jilly had managed to get under his skin. An ugly sickness seemed to exist in both Meryl and Everett, and it had infected Jilly as well. By contrast, what I’d seen of Julian and Vivian seemed healthy and positive—at least offering affection and compassion for Jilly.
There was still the remark Jilly had made that needed to be followed up—even though she’d dismissed what I’d said. Now seemed to be the time to push a little, while all this emotion was alive.
“Jilly, why did Carla say she thought what your father did might be your fault? I’m sure she’s wrong, so why would she say it?”
Jilly looked suddenly frightened. “She didn’t mean something that just happened. She meant—” She broke off abruptly and began to eat the food on her plate as though that was the only thing that interested her.
“Never mind,” I said quickly. “I’m sure it wasn’t true, and Carla should never have said such a thing.”
“I agree,” Meryl put in. “I’ll have a talk with Carla soon.”
Jilly stared at her aunt. “What if it’s so? What if it is all my fault?”
“Of course that’s not true, Jilly dear.” Meryl reached out to touch her hand. “You mustn’t build something up in your mind that isn’t at all real.”
Everett stayed out of this, and I wondered if he even listened.
Jilly’s anxiety subsided a little under Meryl’s quieting touch, but she wouldn’t eat after that. The blank look I’d first seen on her face yesterday had returned.
For the rest of the meal not even Meryl kept up any social pretense. When Everett said grumpily that he wanted no dessert or coffee, no one else did either. Just before we left the table, he spoke directly to me, sounding now as though I were the cause of his bad temper.
“I’m not sure what brought you here, Lynn. But under the circumstances, it’s not a good idea for you to stay. Stephen’s clearly upset, and if he finds out you are here—I don’t know what might happen.”
“I shouldn’t think it would matter to him one way or another.”
Everett glowered. “You’re dynamite waiting to be set off. The worst kind of trouble!”
I couldn’t accept that. “Why should it be upsetting for him if we should meet? What happened was over a long time ago. I’m the one most likely to be upset—so I’ll make sure I don’t see him. Anyway, I won’t be here much longer—I promise you.”
Everett didn’t answer, but his temper was simmering, and I found myself watching Jilly. This exchange had clearly puzzled her, and I came to a decision. If I stayed—even just for a few days more—I would tell her that Lynn McLeod had once been married to her father. It was foolish to keep this from her, and might seem all the more disturbing the longer the fact was withheld. I must watch for the right moment to tell her the truth—and never mind what anyone else advised.
When we returned to the office to pick up Meryl’s car, Everett changed his mind about getting back to the office. He told Meryl that he would follow us in his own car. He needed to see Julian right away. We could go ahead while he went in to tell his secretary to cancel any afternoon appointments.
Meryl didn’t like this. “Why now, Everett? You’re upset and you’ll just upset Stephen.”
“It’s not Stephen I want to talk to. There’s been concealment of matters that I should have been told about at once. That’s what I want to get to the bottom of—now.”
When he went into the building and we returned to Meryl’s car, I sat purposefully in back with Jilly. “Do you mind if I ride with you?” I asked.
“I don’t care.” Jilly was once more on guard.
Meryl didn’t seem comfortable with this arrangement, and on the drive back to Nelson County I was aware of the way she watched us now and then in the rearview mirror.
After miles of silence while the foothills closed in around the highway, I asked Jilly a question.
“You like music, don’t you?”
She barely nodded, playing turtle again.
I went on with the idea that had been growing at the back of my mind. “I brought my tape player with me, and I have some special tapes you might like to hear.”
Her silence offered no encouragement.
“I know what we could do,” I suggested. “When we get back to the house I’ll get my player and some of the tapes I like, and we can try them out upstairs where you dance. These are songs, but you might like to dance to them.”
For the first time Jilly looked faintly interested. “I guess it’s okay. But let’s play them in your room. Then maybe Carla won’t know.”
“A good idea,” I agreed, and set another black mark against the name of Carla Raines.
6
Unfortunately, Carla herself was waiting for us when Meryl turned up the driveway. I saw her standing on the deck at the second level looking down as Meryl let us out of her car. Her flowing saffron gown blew around her, making her a dramatic figure. Meryl seemed intent on getting away before Everett arrived, and she didn’t notice Carla.
“I don’t want to be here to watch whatever performance Everett means to put on,” she told me. “I only hope Julian can deal with him. Sometimes I think both Julian and Vivian forget that they’re guests in Stephen’s house. Thanks, Lynn, for coming out with us.”
She glanced at Jilly, who stood apart, not looking at that ominous figure on the deck above.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself a little, Jilly,” Meryl added doubtfully. “We’ll get together again soon, dear. I’m going out to the farm for the rest of the day. If Everett asks, Lynn, tell him that’s where I’ll be.”
I remembered Oleander Acres, not many miles away, where Everett raised prize horses and kept valuable studs for hire.
When Meryl drove off in a hurry, I was glad to see her go. Still in her shell, Jilly stood rigidly—a picture of resistance.
“Please come upstairs right away,” Carla called down to her. “You’ve missed your lessons today, and your mother won’t be happy about this.”
“I don’t want to go with the dragon,” Jilly whispered to me.
A good name for her. I walked to where I could speak to Carla without shouting.
“I don’t think it will matter if Jilly visits with me for a little while. Surely she can take some time off while I’m here.”
Carla looked uncomfortable and cold, standing up there in the wind. Dry leaves scuttering around her feet made the sounds of fall.
When she spoke it was directly to me. “You should be gone by now.”
I ignored that. “Come along, Jilly, and we’ll play those tapes I wanted you to hear.”
Vivian appeared at a door on the lower deck, and I spoke to her quickly.
“Hello, Vivian. Perhaps you’d better tell Julian that Everett’s on his way here. I think he’s disturbed because he wasn’t told what happened to Stephen.”
Vivian came outside hastily. “Oh, dear! I was afraid Everett would be upset, but Julian has his own way of doing things, and I couldn’t interfere.”
She ran off toward Julian’s study, and Carla, giving up, disappeared inside.
In the sitting room of the guest suite that I’d expected to leave long before this, Jilly sat primly on the desk chair. I slipped a tape into the machine that stood ready on a table.
“This is a group called Heartsong, Jilly, and I think their ‘White Light’ is beautiful. Listen to the words.”
The tape purred through the introduction and voices began to sing.
There is a white light around us
And we can use it any time …
I liked the idea behind the song, and it might be comforting to Jilly—that if we “only realized” the light was there we could call it to us: Giving me the power to be—making me free. The gentle music nevertheless held a strong beat—a rhythm that managed to be sweet, yet New Age and not glibly sentimental.
I wasn’t sure whether Jilly heard the words, but the music seemed to touch her. Her face lighted up, and I saw again how beautiful she could be when that dark heaviness lifted from her. The “white light” of the music reached out to her and she responded, her eyes shining, her arms raised gracefully, moving to the enticing throb of the music.
“I think I could dance to this, Lynn. Could we bring the tape upstairs?”
“Of course.” I shut off the player and we hurried up to the long empty room, where afternoon sun cascaded through the high windows, sending yellow ribbons across the floor. I placed the tape player on the piano, turned it on, and sat on the bench behind the instrument. I knew how unobtrusive I must be if I was to let this magic happen. The thread that stretched between Jilly and me was fragile—anything could snap it in two.
She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her socks. Then in her bare feet she began to drift lightly to the beguiling sounds. At first her movements were slow as she sensed the rhythm, catching the underlying beat of the music. Her steps were simple, merely a following where the song led, yet filled with a young grace that brought a lump to my throat as I watched. This girl, in her plaid skirt, prim blouse, and bare feet that moved more swiftly now, was a dancer. Her movements were her own and no imitation of her mother’s ritual formality. Jilly’s seemed a freer, more expressive dancing. The music was part of her, and now she seemed to hear the words—holding out her arms to the “white light” that streamed over her in a shining I could almost see.
Carla’s voice, calling to her down the room, startled me. “Stop it, Jilly! That sort of dancing is uncontrolled, and only develops bad habits.”
Jilly never missed a beat. It was as though she were so lost in music and motion that Carla’s stridency couldn’t penetrate the shield of white light around her. Carla’s words reached me, however, and I knew that something deep inside this woman wanted only to hurt and punish her young charge.
The Singing Stones Page 8
