Blue Willow

by Deborah Smith

  Michael stared at the answering machine. “Julia’s voice is on that tape? Why?”

  Tamberlaine hesitated. Sorrow radiated from him. He seemed to have trouble answering.

  Artemas said for him, “There were discussions about possible hazards involving the bridge.”

  Lily had to force herself to look at the others, as they realized the implication. Horror. Denial. Pain. It was as if Julia were dying before their eyes, again. James made a stiff movement forward, then halted. “Are you saying … you’re saying Julia knew it might not be safe?”

  Artemas’s hand tightened on Lily’s shoulder. “Yes. She knew. She insisted on going ahead with the building’s dedication.”

  Elizabeth cried out. Cass wavered, then sat down limply on the couch. Michael stared at Artemas in speechless supplication. James whipped toward Lily. “You think we’ll believe this? You drop some contrived revelation about Julia in our laps and expect us to accept it without question?”

  “There’s so much more to the truth than simple blame or exoneration. I’m not asking you to pass judgment on your sister.”

  “Lily didn’t want any of you—or me—to know about this tape,” Artemas said.

  Tamberlaine cleared his throat. “That’s true. I urged Lily to give the tape to Artemas, and she refused. I was the one who revealed its existence to him.”

  Cass bent forward, her hands splayed toward Lily. “Why did you feel that way about it?”

  Lily found herself looking at Elizabeth instead. “When you hear it, I hope you’ll understand. Julia was a complicated woman, and she was too emotionally involved to be objective. She didn’t see the danger. She despised Frank, but she wanted to believe him. He convinced her to ignore Richard’s warnings.”

  The confusion drained from Elizabeth’s ashen face. The secret torment she and Julia had suffered as children hovered in the gaze she and Lily traded. She knew why Lily was protecting Julia.

  James made a low sound of dismissal. “You seem to have developed the most mysterious intuition about our sister.”

  “Be quiet!” Elizabeth ordered, her voice strained. She sat on the edge of her chair, trembling, her eyes filling with tears. “Play the tape. I have to hear what Julia said.”

  Michael strode to James and gripped his arm. “Save your questions until we’ve listened to it.”

  For the first time James seemed shaken. He pulled away from Michael and crossed the room to Tamberlaine. Leaning on the table, he braced his hands on either side of the answering machine. “Go ahead.”

  Lily looked up at Artemas. He met her gaze. His large gray eyes were shadowed.

  The tape whirred. Lily shut her eyes. The answers to nearly two years of terrible doubts and recriminations began to unfold. Frank’s angry, determined voice burst forth. You stupid bastard, why did you tell Julia about the bridge?

  Lily glanced at each face around her. The drama played out in their eyes, and she saw the devastation. A half hour later, when silence replaced the eerie voices, Tamberlaine turned the answering machine off and sat down, massaging the deep grooves of tension in his forehead.

  Since no one else seemed capable of speaking, Cass bent her head to her hands and asked, her voice hollow, “What now?”

  Artemas looked at them all sadly. Lily saw a lifetime of authority and grace, the leadership that had been pressed on him as a child, now coming to its harshest test. “We talk. We cry. We forgive.”

  Michael leaned back in a chair and exhaled. “I’m glad we know.”

  “What do we know?” James countered. He looked at Lily. “We know that your husband and the others convinced her that the bridge was safe.”

  Artemas’s eyes narrowed. “We know that she ignored Richard’s warnings and badgered him to accept Stockman and Grant’s assessment of the risk.”

  James cursed. “You can condemn her for accepting recommendations on technical matters no layperson could judge?”

  “I don’t condemn her. She made a mistake—a mistake that turned out to be disastrous. I believe she was driven by reckless pride. Nothing mattered to her but seeing the building open on schedule. I wish to God I could understand how she justified it. I wish I knew why she didn’t simply come to us and explain that the opening needed to be delayed. No one would have accused her of mishandling the project.” Weariness settled on him, slumping his shoulders. “That’s the question we’ll never be able to answer—why she felt she couldn’t ask for our help and advice.”

  James smashed a fist onto the answering machine. The plastic shell gave way with an ominous cracking sound. Artemas reached him as he pounded the device again. Slinging off Artemas’s hands, his face contorted with rage and grief, James limped to a window and stood with his back turned, gripping the handsome wooden casing, his head bowed.

  Elizabeth moaned. “It’s hard—you become so accustomed to thinking no one can possibly understand your feelings—your feelings about anything. You become so afraid to admit any doubt. Your self-image is so fragile and confused. You think, I have to keep everyone from knowing how terrible I am. There’s no room to ask for help.”

  Her rambling speech brought anxious looks from the others. James turned quickly, staring at her. Michael knelt by her chair and put his arm around her. “Easy now, Lizbeth,” he said carefully. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m not losing my mind,” she answered with dull conviction. “I’m trying to tell you—God, I’m trying”—her gaze shifted to Lily—“I think I know why Julia couldn’t trust anyone in a crisis. Lily, you know what I mean. That must be why you don’t hate her. You understood.” Lily froze, recoiling from the tragic decision in Elizabeth’s eyes. No, don’t, they’re hurting so much already. But she couldn’t say that to Elizabeth, couldn’t ask her to hide the final piece of the puzzle.

  “Lizbeth, what are you talking about?” Cass demanded brokenly.

  Elizabeth got to her feet. Lily felt smothered by dread. There was no room to breathe.

  There was only the crumpling of Elizabeth’s defenses and her low, raw voice. Certain words had a sick power that overwhelmed the rest. Father. At night. Julia and I. Mother let it happen. Even though Lily already knew Elizabeth’s story, each word stabbed her. How much worse was it for Artemas, who was hearing it for the first time? She went to him, watching his face, taking his hand gently.

  When Elizabeth finished, the weight of shock settled like a blanket. Artemas’s stark gaze met Lily’s. He was lost, needing some evidence of sanity in the world, some guide. “Go over and hold her,” Lily told him. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just go put your arms around your sister.”

  Elizabeth covered her face and cried as he reached her. “Do you believe me?” she asked.

  “God, of course we do, Lizbeth.”

  “Oh, Liz,” Cass whispered, and came to her. Michael looked devastated. He moved woodenly to his twin, and then he bent his head to hers and cried with her. “Why didn’t I suspect?” he asked. “I should have felt something was wrong. I’ve always known when you were unhappy.”

  “I shut it out of my mind,” she whispered.

  James stood in leaden distraction, as if lost in his own shock and agony. Artemas studied him sadly over the others’ heads. Stepping back from Elizabeth, he looked at Lily. “After Elizabeth confided in you, she asked you not to tell me?”

  Lily closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I understand.”

  “I would have died of shame,” Elizabeth cried. “But Lily convinced me to tell Leo, at least. Leo has been wonderful. Now he knows why I was so damned paranoid about our relationship. He’s helped me feel whole again. He talked me into going back into therapy. That’s why I had the courage to tell the rest of you.”

  Artemas said slowly. “I agree with Michael. How could we not have suspected? And about Julia—” He halted, his control fading. Elizabeth quickly touched his arm. “I’m sure Julia didn’t want you to kno
w either. How could any of you have recognized what was happening when it was years before I realized that Eather was abusing Julia as well as me?” She strangled on a sob, caught her breath, and added bitterly, “Mother told me if I ever said anything, I’d be sent away. She must have threatened Julia like that too.”

  Tamberlaine, who had been quiet for a long time, had tears on his face. “You grew up in an era when no one even imagined that such heinous things could happen. It’s not surprising that it never came to light.”

  “What could any of you have done about it?” Elizabeth asked, leaning against Michael and holding Cass’s hand. “I had these terrible ideas—that no one would believe me, or that something violent would happen.” She looked at Artemas with distraught affection. “I pictured you killing Father and being sent to prison. That’s the kind of fear that kept me quiet—Julia, too, I’m certain. It was almost worse to think about being discovered.”

  James made a tortured sound—less human than animal. His face was ravaged, his eyes bleak. He reached out blindly and braced himself against a chairback. His stark gaze met Artemas’s. “I knew what was happening to Julia.”

  “Oh, my God,” Elizabeth moaned.

  “And I didn’t do anything about it.”

  The others seemed speechless. Lily found herself stroking the back of Artemas’s hand, seeking that small, reassuring contact. He asked James finally, “You knew what Father was doing to her, and you never said anything?”

  James looked beaten. “I’ll tell you how you react when you walk into a room and find your little sister on a bed, half-dressed and sobbing, and your father’s doing something to her that instinctively makes you sick. You pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “How old were you when you saw this?”

  “About fourteen.”

  “Then Julia was only six.”

  James leaned on the chair as if he’d collapse without it. “When you’re older, you realize that you watched your sister being raped, and that you were too frightened of your father to tell anyone.” He gagged, then scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “You know you’re still too afraid to try to help her. And you hate yourself. You hate yourself so much that it colors everything about your life from that day on.” His ravaged gaze moved to Lily. “You defend your sister in every way you can, to make up to her for the betrayal you can never change.”

  Elizabeth ran to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Don’t blame yourself, Jimmy. I couldn’t help Julia or myself. I pretended we could forget. That’s what children do when something is too horrible to live with. I’ve learned that much.”

  James lifted his head and looked regretfully at Artemas. “I wanted to be like you. We all did. You wouldn’t have let Julia or Elizabeth suffer alone.”

  Artemas lifted a hand, then let it fall. “I thought we were invincible—that no one could hurt us because we could depend on each other. How incredibly naive.” He turned toward Michael and Cass. “Is there more? What about the two of you?”

  “I have no secrets,” Michael said wearily. “I despised being sheltered because of my asthma, and I’ve always rejected the theory that asthma can be a form of psychosomatic defense. But now I wonder if it was.”

  “Cass?” Artemas’s voice grated with painful expectation.

  She shook her head. “I had an armor of fat. Father ignored me. Do you know how hearing the truth about Elizabeth and Julia makes me feel? God, this is insane. I was jealous because he paid so much attention to them. I thought they were lucky. I never knew I was the lucky one.”

  Lily could not take her eyes off James. He met her gaze and held it. He said slowly, “Perhaps I’ve dealt with it by turning my self-hatred toward anyone who threatened my brothers and sisters. Especially anyone who threatened Julia.”

  Was this an apology, a plea for understanding, or a warning that his animosity toward her was too deeply invested to overcome? But this wasn’t the time to inject that question. Her problems with James were insignificant for now She was looking at a family that had just been ripped open for emotional surgery.

  “James,” Elizabeth spoke gently, “you did the best you could.” She started toward him, hands out, arms open. James backed away. “I’m not asking for sympathy.” He choked. “Liz, I’m sorry for what you went through.”

  “Then why can’t I feel sympathy for you?”

  “No. I don’t want that.” His gaze shifted to each of the others, finally coming to rest on Artemas and Lily. “From anyone.” He walked out of the room.

  The snow had stopped, and at the top of its dome, the sky was clearing. The sunset made a faint magenta haze behind the low clouds that drooped, like a smoky mist, among the mountains.

  Lily sat on an overturned bucket outside Harlette’s pen. The hog grunted happily and stuck her wide pink snout through the wire for more cinnamon cookies. Lily hugged one of Mama’s old quilts around her shoulders. She had changed from her dress into jeans, a sweater, and her boots. More normal. She needed every small, familiar reassurance, after today’s revelations.

  Lupa snuggled on a corner of the blanket and leaned against her legs. One cookie for Harlette, one for Lupa. Then a crumbled cookie for the chickens to peck at. Back and forth. They were attentive companions, as long as the cookies kept coming.

  Artemas walked up the knoll to her. His face was gaunt with exhaustion, and her heart went out to him. His lips crooked in a slight smile when he saw the cookies in her hands. She held one out. He shook his head. “Harlette and Lupa would never forgive me.”

  His smile faded. He looked down at her pensively. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here? I thought you’d gone up to my suite. Then LaMieux brought me the message that you’d decided to leave.”

  “I needed to feed my critters.” She stood, divided the rest of the cookies between Harlette and Lupa, then put her arms around his waist and kissed him. “I knew you needed to stay with the family.”

  “I need to be with you too.” She enclosed him in her blanket and put her head on his shoulder. He pulled her close against him, his body warm and solid along hers.

  “What a nice cocoon,” she whispered. He made a soft, weary sound of agreement, and angled his head so that his cheek brushed lightly along hers. She was soothed by the warmth and scent of his skin, the coarseness of his faint beard shadow, the weight of his hands on the hollow of her back. “Has James said anything else?”

  “No. He’s keeping to himself. As always.”

  “And the others?”

  “They’re still in shock, I think.” His voice was gritty with fatigue. “We keep going over the details of everything James and Elizabeth said, and everything we heard on the tape.”

  She lifted one side of the patchwork quilt. “It takes time to stitch the pieces together. But at least all the pieces are in place.”

  “I like that analogy. I hope you’re right.”

  After a moment of troubled silence, she said, “This is going to sound morbid—or like one of Little Sis’s whimsies—but I’ve been thinking about Halfman. Do you remember his legend?”

  “Oh, yes.” His arms tightened around her. “The peddler who gave the first blue willows to Elspeth.”

  “And then foretold her death. Halfman disappeared into the mountains after she died, but Grandma always warned that he’d become an evil spirit, watching us, waiting for any excuse to come back and cause more grief.”

  “Your grandmother told me that story too. I think it was designed to keep children in line.”

  “It did. I had nightmares about Halfman when I was growing up.”

  Artemas lifted his head. She followed his gaze. He was looking at the old place, the snow-covered barn looming over them, the willows draped in lacy white, the handsome old farmhouse. A muscle worked in his cheek. “You must wonder if Halfman has come back, then. To make you leave this place again.”

  “Maybe he has worse things in mind. I feel … oh, I’m just ragged out. It’s been a rough day. Your fam
ily may not realize it yet, but they built some strong bridges today. I only hope that James—”

  “He will. He will come to his senses. He took several large steps in the right direction.” Artemas lifted her slightly, so that she was on tiptoe, their bodies fitting together in all the soft curves and hard angles. She wound her arms around his neck. They were both desperate to push the unknown and its sorrows into the shadows, for a little while. “Halfman was just a story from our childhood,” Artemas whispered, his breath feathering her lips. “He can’t hurt us.”

  Lily stretched upward, returning the caress of his body. On a silent cue they turned and walked down the knoll.

  Her bed was their haven, a warm, safe place where their coupling brought comfort and release. They took each other again and again, lost in savage, elegant, reaffirming possession filled with all the nuances of lust and affection, and in the quiet interludes they talked about anything and everything, safe inside the open-hearted trust.

  Afterward she lay quiet, drowsy in his arms, but when she slept, she felt the dark specter near them again.

  Joe stood in the woods, frustrated and cold, watching the house.

  He slipped away, smiling contemptuously. He’d hunted these woods for years, grown dope in the hollows—getting to Lily’s place without being seen was easy. If Artemas Colebrook hadn’t put the law on him, he’d still be here, making money.

  Oh, yeah, tomorrow he’d be back, when no one was around, and he’d leave a little message. Lily might suspect it was from him, but she’d never prove that. His old man would know who’d done it, though. His old man would understand that he meant business. That was the important thing, because Joe wasn’t going to let him back out on the deal he’d made with Artemas Colebrook. Colebrook had to pay. One way or another, the bastard had to pay.

  James sat at a desk in the downstairs library, surrounded by shadows, the small pool of light from a desk lamp shrouding him in a sense of secrecy he loathed. But that was almost past. He would conquer this insanity with the same fierce dedication that had created it. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be. His hands rested on the phone in front of him, strong and certain.