When the Wind Blows

by John Saul

  “You can’t take her away from me, Mother. Elliot gave her to me, and she’s mine.”

  “If he’d known about you, he wouldn’t have written that will You know that.”

  Diana felt panic rising in her. There was nothing wrong with her—nothing at all. Wouldn’t her mother ever leave the past alone?

  “That was years ago, Mother. It’s done.”

  “Nothing’s ever done,” Edna replied. “The past is all there is, Diana. No matter what you do, or what you pretend, the past is there. You can’t ignore it.”

  “You can’t ignore it, you mean!” The words burst from her in a torrent “You won’t let me forget, you won’t let me live, you won’t let me—” She groped for the right words, then found them. Her voice, strident a moment before, was suddenly calm. “You won’t let me grow up, Mother. You want me to be your little girl, until the day you die. But that’s the past, Mother—your precious past. I’m not a little girl anymore. I haven’t been a little girl for forty years. I’m a woman, Mama, and there’s nothing you can do about it And now I’m going to be a mother, too. A mother—just like you.”

  Diana’s eyes, locked to her mother’s, seemed to issue a challenge, then she turned and left the room. Edna, feeling suddenly drained, sagged back against the pillows.

  In the kitchen, Diana began preparing breakfast for herself and Christie. This morning, when she had awakened, she had decided that today was the day her life was beginning again. The funeral was past. Christie was hers now. This morning, she would begin establishing a routine for the child and begin the long process of making Christie her own.

  She began preparing breakfast for Christie, unconsciously duplicating the meals her own mother had fed her when she was a child. She set a single place for Christie at the table, and when the little girl appeared a few minutes later, there was a glass of orange juice sitting by itself in front of her chair. Christie stared at it mutely, then looked at Diana.

  “Is that all there is?” she asked shyly.

  “That’s only the beginning,” Diana told her. “But it’s bad for you to mix your food when you eat it. Start with the orange juice, then you can have your eggs.”

  Mystified, Christie drank the orange juice. At the bottom of the glass there was a shapeless, colorless mass of what seemed to be some kind of jelly. Christie stared at it in disgust.

  “There’s something in my glass,” she finally said.

  “Vaseline,” Diana explained to her, smiling across the room. “It’s very good for you—it lubricates your stomach so you won’t get indigestion.”

  Christie felt her gorge rising as she realized she was expected to swallow the glutinous mass. She stared at it for a long time, wishing it would go away.

  “Do I have to?”

  Diana came to stand beside her. “It’s good for you,” she repeated. “All the time I was growing up I had a tablespoon of Vaseline before every meal. It didn’t hurt me, did it?”

  Christie swallowed and reached into her glass with the spoon. “My father never made me eat Vaseline,” she said.

  “Maybe your father didn’t love you as much as I do.”

  “Christie gazed up into Diana’s face” but Diana was still smiling at her. Yet there was something in the set of Diana’s expression that told her it would be useless to argue. Shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, Christie thrust the lump of Vaseline into her mouth.

  It oozed between her teeth, a flavorless, shapeless bit of slime that she couldn’t swallow no matter how hard she tried. Suddenly she began gagging and ran across the kitchen to throw up her orange juice into the sink.

  When she returned to the table, Diana had another spoonful of the stuff waiting for her.

  “Don’t try to chew it,” Diana explained. “Think of it as a pill.” Somehow Christie managed to swallow the second dose.

  Diana began serving breakfast.

  First the eggs, soft-boiled.

  Then a piece of toast.

  Finally a bowl of cereal.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Christie got through the strange meal.

  When she was finished, she washed the dishes as Diana watched her, and listened as Diana explained the daily chores that she would be responsible for.

  Edna Amber watched from her window as Diana and Christie crossed the yard and let themselves into the chicken coop. The two of them, she reflected, looked for all the world like mother and daughter, much as she and Diana must have looked years ago. Except that Christie wasn’t Diana’s daughter. Edna turned away from the window and began to dress.

  Half an hour later she took the car keys from their hook by the kitchen door and went to the garage. She tugged at the heavy sliding door and for a moment feared that it wasn’t going to open. Then, with a protesting squeal, it began to move on its metal rollers. Edna pushed it wide, then maneuvered herself into the old Cadillac. She stared at the dashboard, studying it. It had been years since she’d last driven the car, but she told herself it was like swimming: once you learned, you never forgot. She started the engine, pushed the gear shift into reverse, and slowly backed out into the driveway. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Diana, standing in the chicken yard, staring at her.

  She ignored her daughter and kept the car steadily moving down the drive until Diana, blocked by the mass of the house, disappeared from her view. In front of the house, she turned the car around, then proceeded down the long driveway. For the first time in nearly twenty years Edna Amber was driving herself to town.

  Ten minutes later she eased the car into the noparking zone in front of the town hall, a narrow, two-story clapboard building with a bell tower rising from its roof. The bell was still used to warn the town of fire and to call the volunteers to man the engine. She left the keys in the ignition and wondered exactly what she was going to say to Dan Gurley.

  As Edna sat in the old Cadillac the marshal sat in his office, unsurprised that Edna Amber had come to town today. Indeed, when he had seen her drive up, he had smiled to himself, remembering his conversation with Bill Henry the night before. It was the little girl; Edna Amber, he was sure, wanted to talk to him about Christie Lyons.

  He was on his feet waiting for her when the door to his office opened and she came in. He offered her his hand, but she ignored it. Instead she simply seated herself, and for a long moment stared at him.

  “I find I need your advice, Daniel,” she began.

  “Anything I can do, Miss Edna,” Gurley replied cordially, easing his large frame back into the chair behind his desk.

  “It’s not an easy thing,” Edna continued. “It concerns Diana, and the little girl, Christine Lyons.”

  Gurley raised his eyebrows. “Is there a problem?”

  “The problem, Daniel, is that I want Christie taken somewhere else.”

  “I see.” Gurley swung his chair around and stared out the window for a moment. Then, without turning back to face Edna, he spoke. “Is it me you want to talk to, or a lawyer?”

  “When it becomes necessary to talk to a lawyer, Daniel, I will,” the old woman said tartly. “I came to you because I thought you could help me. I want to know how to have the child taken away from my daughter.”

  Now Gurley swung around to face her again, his usually placid expression knotted into an angry frown. “I thought Bill Henry already explained that to you: it’s not up to you.”

  “Dr. Henry told me that. What I need to know is under what circumstances it would be up to me. Can you tell me?”

  Dan shrugged. “I suppose if you wanted to try to prove that Diana wasn’t competent to raise her, the courts might be inclined to set the will aside.”

  “She’s not competent,” Edna stated.

  “Are you prepared to go to court to prove it?”

  Edna sat silently for a long time, turning the question over in her mind. She had known he would ask it, but had put off deciding how she would answer. Now she could put it off no longer.

  “I may be,�
�� she said at last. “I don’t want to hurt my daughter, Daniel, but I feel I have to do what’s right.”

  Dan Gurley felt himself getting angry at the old woman. “Right for whom? Diana? Christie Lyons? Yourself?”

  Edna’s eyes narrowed, and Dan could see her determination hardening. “For all of us,” she said firmly. “There are things you don’t know, Daniel. Things nobody here knows. I hope they are things I can take to my grave with me. But if that child is allowed to stay in my house, I can’t be responsible for what might happen.”

  Gurley rose from his chair and came around the desk to stand in front of the old woman. He looked down at her and let his face settle into its most serious expression. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Miss Edna, but to me it sounds almost like a threat. If it is, let me tell you that no matter what happens now, I’ll remember your words. As for any legal action you may be contemplating, I’d think twice, if I were you. You’d have to sue Diana, and I should think that any lawyer she retained would advise her to sue you right back. You’re not a young woman, Miss Edna, and everybody in Amberton knows you’re—what?” He paused for a moment, then flung the word in her face. “Eccentric?”

  Edna Amber rose out of her chair, her eyes blazing with fury.

  “How dare you!” she demanded, but the marshal only met her gaze with a calm he had practiced for years.

  “You came to me for advice, Miss Edna,” he said, “I’m giving it to you. I know you resent suddenly having a child in your home. You’re used to having Diana’s attention all to yourself, and now you won’t have that anymore. As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to try to convince Diana to give up the child. But I wouldn’t try to take it to court, Miss Edna, Instead I’d try to get used to things the way they are. Life does not always go the way we want it to. Not even for you.”

  With tension crackling between them, the marshal and the old woman silently challenged each other. In the end it was Dan Gurley who looked away, shifting his attention to the bright day outside.

  “It’s summer, Miss Edna,” he said conversationally, as if a moment before he hadn’t been locked in wordless battle with her. “It’s going to be hot this year. Hot and dry. Folks are going to be edgy. Seems to me like the best thing we can all do is try to stay quiet, try to get by.”

  “It’s a summer like all others, Daniel,” Edna replied. “And I intended to spend it like all others. At home, alone with my daughter. Perhaps I still shall.” She picked up her purse and left Dan Gurley’s office. He heard the door close behind her, but remained by the window until he saw her move slowly down the steps of the building and climb into her car. Only when the Cadillac had pulled away from the curb did he turn back to his empty office.

  Diana led Christie into the shed above the root cellar. Lining the walls were sacks of food, and she carefully began explaining to the little girl what each of them was for, and how much of it was to be given to the chickens each day. But even as she talked, she wondered with half her mind where her mother had gone and why she had gone alone.

  There had been a moment of panic when she saw the Cadillac leave the garage, but then, as Edna proceeded steadily along the road toward Amberton, the panic had lifted, leaving only a vague sense of unease.

  She should have felt relieved. It had been years since her mother had gone anywhere alone, and Diana knew that she should be happy that her mother was at last doing something for herself. But deep inside, she also knew that the reason for Edna’s trip had to do with herself. Herself and Christie.

  “Do they really eat gravel?”

  Christie’s question interrupted her thoughts. “It’s for their gizzards,” she explained. “They need the gravel to help them digest the seed they eat.”

  “Yuck.” Christie’s face creased in disgust. She looked at the various bags, sure she would never remember what all of it was. What if she fed the chickens the wrong food? Would Diana be angry with her? She’d have to be very careful not to make a mistake. But what if she did? The question nagged at her, worried her. Life was so different now. Everything was new, and there was so much she didn’t understand. “Can’t we go see the horses now?” she begged. She understood horses and liked them a lot better than chickens.

  Diana nodded and began securing the latch on the shed door. “Always be sure this door is closed tight. Chickens are stupid, but they know where their food is, and if they get in here, they’ll eat themselves to death.” Christie nodded solemnly, and they started across to the stable. “Do you know how to ride?”

  Christie bobbed her head eagerly. “I took lessons in Chicago, but it was with an English saddle.”

  “Then we’ll start you out with Hayburner until you get used to Western. He’s big, but he’s gentle. I think if you fell off him, he’d try to pick you up and put you back on.”

  They went into the barn. In the second stall an immense dappled gray whinnied at them, his head hanging over the gate as he watched them move toward him.

  “Is that him?”

  “That’s him. Do you want to pet him?”

  Christie, happy to be back on familiar ground, let go of Diana’s hand and approached the horse. “Hi, Hayburner.” She reached up and scratched the horse’s neck. “My name’s Christie. You’re going to take me everywhere, and we’re going to be best friends. How do you like that?”

  Hayburner pawed the floor of his stall, and his tongue emerged from his mouth to investigate Christie’s hand for a possible sugar cube. “He likes me!” Christie cried. “Aunt Diana, he likes me!”

  Diana grinned. “He likes everybody, sweetheart. I think he’s some kind of a freak—he looks like a horse, but he acts like a dog.”

  “He does not!” Christie protested. She opened the stall and went in. Hayburner backed up to make room for her, then began nuzzling her. Diana quickly moved forward.

  “Be careful—he’s not used to you yet.”

  “Yes he is. See? He loves me! Can we put a saddle on him? Right now? Please?”

  Diana hesitated, disturbed by the look of pure joy on Christie’s face. She cast about in her mind for an excuse but found none. “Why not?” she said. “Come on—you might as well learn the tack room.”

  They went to the back of the barn and began sorting through the various saddles.

  “What about this one?” Christie asked. She pulled a piece of canvas off a saddle that stood on a rack in the corner. Though it was obviously old, it was polished brightly and smelled of saddle soap. Diana frowned slightly, then shrugged.

  “All right—it was my saddle when I was a little girl—it’ll be perfect.” They chose a blanket and a bridle, then Diana picked up the saddle. Returning to Hayburner’s stall, they began saddling the horse, while the big gray continued snuffling at Christie. When they were done, Christie led him outside.

  “Do you need a block?” Diana asked. She started toward the barn, but Christie was already scrambling into the saddle. “Let me help you,” Diana cried, hurrying toward the struggling child.

  “I can do it,” Christie protested. “I’m not a baby, and my teacher in Chicago said you have to be able to get on a horse by yourself.”

  The words stung Diana, and she watched helplessly as Christie put her left foot in the stirrup and swung herself up onto Hayburner’s back. The horse craned his neck to peer up at her, then began walking slowly around the corral. Christie whispered to him, squeezed him with her knees, and he broke into a trot.

  “How’s it feel?” Diana called.

  “It’s neat! It’s different than the saddle I used in Chicago. Wider.”

  “Easier on the horse, harder on you.”

  Diana climbed up onto the top rail of the corral and watched as Hayburner trotted around the corral once more. Christie, she realized, rode better than she had expected. In a way, Diana felt disappointed—she had hoped to be able to teach Christie riding, just as her mother had taught her. Then, as she watched the girl and the horse moving together so naturally, she beg
an to wonder if she’d made a mistake. In her heart, she could feel the horse coming between herself and Christie.

  “That’s enough,” she suddenly called. Christie looked up, startled by the anger she heard in Diana’s voice, and quickly reined Hayburner to a halt next to Diana.

  “Can Hayburner be my horse, Aunt Diana?” she asked. “Please? I love him, and I can tell he loves me, too.”

  Diana was silent for a moment, her emotions in upheaval. Finally, reluctantly, she nodded. “All right,” she said slowly. “He’s yours. But I won’t have you getting too attached to him, do you understand? He’s old, and he could die.”

  The happy smile faded from Christie’s face. “Why would he die?” she asked.

  When she spoke again, Diana’s voice was muted, and Christie had to strain to hear the words.

  “Because that’s what happens,” Diana said. “You love things, and they get taken away from you. Or they die.”

  As the words sank in, Christie’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she patted the horse gently.

  “You won’t die, will you, Hayburner?” she whispered to him. The horse pawed at the ground nervously and tossed its head, then started toward the barn.

  As she watched them go Diana remembered the words she had just uttered and wondered where they had come from. Surely not from herself. They were such cruel words, and she had seen the hurt they had caused Christie.

  And yet she had said them.

  She climbed slowly off the corral fence and started toward the house, still wondering what the words had meant.

  They had come from somewhere deep within herself, from a part of her mind that she didn’t like to think about.

  The part where she buried things.

  But somehow the things never stayed buried. Instead they kept coming back, demanding to be acted upon.

  She went into the kitchen, letting the door slam behind her as she had slammed doors on so much of her past.

  7

  Kim Sandler and Susan Gillespie scuffed along the road, then veered into the field that lay between them and the Ambers’ corral.