by John Saul
June finished her lunch, and put the dishes in the sink. For now, she would go back to the studio, and try to finish sketching in the seascape.
She left the house, but as she walked to the studio, she found herself glancing north, and thinking about what Constance Benson had told her that morning. And then something struck her.
If Constance Benson was worried about that part of the bluff collapsing into the sea, why hadn’t she told June to keep Michelle off the beach as well? And why didn’t she keep Jeff off the beach? Better to be on top of the cliff when it went, than underneath it.
With sudden determination, June started along the path toward the cemetery. As she walked, another thought occurred to her: If it’s unsafe, why did Mrs. Benson use the path herself? Why didn’t she come down the road? June’s pace quickened.
She stood on the path, staring at the old graveyard. It would make a wonderful painting. She could use moody colors, blues and grays, with a leaden sky, and exaggerate the collapsed fence, the dead tree, and the overgrown vines. Done properly, it could be positively frightening. For the life of her, she couldn’t see why Michelle and Sally would have wanted to come here.
Curiosity, she decided. Just plain curiosity.
The same curiosity that had drawn the children to the graveyard now drew her. She left the path and picked her way carefully over the collapsed fence.
The old gravestones, with their antiquated inscriptions and their odd names, fascinated her immediately, a succession of markers that told a tale. She began tracing the history of the Carson family as they had lived and died on the bluff. Soon she forgot entirely about the condition of the ground, and was only aware of the headstones.
She came to Louise Carson’s grave.
DIED IN SIN—1880
Now what on earth could that mean? If the date had been 1680, she would have assumed the woman had been burned for a witch, or some such thing. But in 1880? One thing was certain: Louise Carson’s death could not have been a happy one.
As she stood looking down at the grave, June began to feel sorry for the long-dead woman. She was probably born too soon, June thought. Died in Sin. An epitaph for a fallen woman.
June chuckled at her own choice of words. They sounded so old-fashioned. And unfeeling.
Without quite realizing what she was doing, she lowered herself to her hands and knees, and began pulling the weeds from Louise Carson’s grave. They were well rooted. She had to tug hard at them before they reluctantly gave way.
She had almost cleared the weed growth from the base of the headstone when the first pain struck her.
It was just a twinge, but the first wrenching contraction followed immediately.
My God, she thought, it can’t be.
She struggled to her feet, and leaned heavily against the trunk of the dead oak.
She had to get back to the house.
The house was too far.
As the next contraction began, she looked frantically toward the road.
It was empty.
The Bensons’. Maybe she could get to the Bensons’. As soon as the pain let up, she’d start.
June lowered herself carefully to the ground and waited. After what seemed like an eon, she felt her muscles begin to relax, and the pain eased. Once again, she started to get to her feet.
“Stay where you are,” a voice called out. June turned, and saw Constance Benson hurrying along the path. Sighing gratefully, June sank back to the ground.
She waited there, lying on Louise Carson’s grave, praying that the baby would wait, that her first child would not be born in a cemetery.
Then, as Constance Benson knelt beside her and took her hand, June lay back.
Another overwhelming contraction convulsed her, and she could feel a spreading dampness as her water broke. Dear God, she prayed, not here.
Not in a graveyard.
CHAPTER 7
The three-ten bell rang. Michelle gathered up her books, shoved them into her green canvas bag, and started out of the room.
“Michelle?” It was Sally Carstairs, and though Michelle tried to ignore her, Sally took her arm and held her back.
“Don’t be mad,” Sally said plaintively. “Nobody meant to hurt your feelings.”
Michelle stared suspiciously at her friend. When she saw the concern in Sally’s eyes, she let her guard down a little.
“I don’t see why everybody kept insisting I saw something I didn’t see,” she said. “I was asleep, and I had a nightmare, that’s all.”
“Let’s go out in the hall,” Sally said, her eyes shifting to Corinne Hatcher. Understanding Sally’s glance, Michelle followed her out into the corridor.
“Well?” Michelle asked expectantly.
Sally avoided her gaze. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Then, staring at the floor, she said so quietly that Michelle could barely hear her, “Maybe you did only have a dream. But I’ve seen Amanda, too, and I think Susan Peterson has.”
“What? You mean you’ve had the same dream I had?”
“I don’t know,” Sally said unhappily. “But I’ve seen her, and it wasn’t a dream. That day I hurt my arm? Remember?”
Michelle nodded—how could she forget? That was the day she, too, had seen something. Something Sally had tried to pass off as “just the elm tree.”
“How come you didn’t tell me before?”
“I guess I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Sally said by way of an apology. “But, anyway, I saw her. At least, I think I did. I was out in the backyard, and all of a sudden I felt something touch my arm. When I turned to look, I tripped and fell.”
“But what did you see?” Michelle pressed, suddenly sure that, whatever it might be, it was important.
“I—I’m not sure,” Sally replied. “It was just something black. I only got a glimpse, really, and after I fell, whatever it was was gone.”
Michelle stood silent, staring at Sally, and remembering that night, when she and her father had been leaving the Carstairses’, and she had looked back.
There had been something at the window—something dark, like a shadow. Something black.
Before she could tell Sally what she had seen that night, Jeff Benson appeared at the end of the hall, waving to her.
“Michelle? Michelle! Mom’s here, and she needs to talk to you!”
“Just a second—” Michelle began, but Jeff cut her off.
“Now! It’s about your mother—”
Without waiting for him to finish, Michelle broke away from Sally and ran down the hall.
“What is it? Has something happened?” she demanded. But Jeff was already leading her out of the building to his mother’s car. A battered sedan sat by the curb, its engine running, Constance Benson fidgeting behind the wheel.
“What is it?” Michelle asked again, climbing into the car.
“Your mother,” Mrs. Benson said tersely, jamming the old car into gear. “She’s at the clinic, having the baby.”
“The baby?” Michelle breathed. But the baby wasn’t due for three more weeks. “What happened?”
Ignoring her question, Constance Benson let the clutch out, pressed on the accelerator, and moved away from the curb. As they drove toward the clinic, she chewed at her lower lip, concentrated on her driving, and maintained her silence.
Michelle sat on the edge of her chair, holding a magazine in her lap but making no attempt to look at it. Instead, she watched the door through which, sooner or later, her father would come. And then, as she willed it to happen, the door opened, and Cal smiled at her.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You have a baby sister.”
Michelle leaped to her feet and threw herself into her father’s arms.
“But what about Mom? Is she all right? What happened?”
“She’s fine,” Cal assured her. “And so is the baby. Apparently with your mother and your sister, time is not of the essence. Dr. Carson says this was the quickest delivery he’s ever seen.”
Though he was careful to keep his tone light, Cal was worried. The delivery had been too quick. Abnormally quick. He wondered what had brought it on. Then he heard Michelle asking about the baby and put the delivery out of his mind.
“A sister? I have a sister?”
Cal nodded.
“Can I see her? Right now? Please?” She gazed appealingly up at Cal, and he hugged her close to him.
“In a few minutes,” he promised. “Right now I’m afraid she isn’t too presentable. Don’t you want to know what happened?” Cal gently pushed Michelle onto a chair, then sat beside her. “Your sister was almost born in the cemetery,” he said. Michelle stared at him uncomprehendingly, and the grin on his face faded a little.
“Your mother decided to take a walk,” he went on. “She was in the old graveyard when she went into labor.”
“The graveyard?” Michelle’s voice was low, faintly worried. “What was she doing there?”
“Who knows?” Cal asked wryly. “You know your mother—you can never tell what she might do.”
Now Michelle turned to Mrs. Benson. “But where was she when you found her? What part of the cemetery?”
Constance Benson hesitated, reluctant to tell Michelle where she had found June. But why not? “She was on Louise Carson’s grave,” she said, her voice quiet.
“On the grave?” Michelle echoed. How creepy, she thought to herself, clutching her father’s hand. “Is the baby all right? I mean, it’s sort of like an omen, isn’t it? A baby born on a grave?”
Cal squeezed her hand, then slipped an arm around her.
“Don’t be silly,” he said gently. “Your sister was born right here, not on anybody’s grave.” He stood up, drawing Michelle with him. “Come on, let’s go take a look at the baby, then see how your mother’s doing.” Without a word to Constance Benson, he led his daughter out of the reception room.
“Oh, Mommy, she’s beautiful,” Michelle breathed, staring down into the tiny face that nestled next to June. As if in reply, the baby opened one eye, peered vacantly at Michelle for a moment, then went back to sleep.
June smiled at Michelle. “Think we should keep her?”
Michelle’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “And name her Jennifer, just like we planned.”
“Unless,” Cal said, “you want to name her Louise, to commemorate the place of her first fuss.”
“No, thanks.” June’s voice was low, but emphatic. “There’ll be no Carsons in this family.” Her eyes met Cal’s, but he quickly broke the moment. Michelle, however, had seen the odd exchange.
“Mother,” she asked, her voice thoughtful, “what were you doing out there?”
“Why shouldn’t I be out there?” June replied, forcing her voice to be cheerful. “I was supposed to be walking every day, wasn’t I? So I walked to the cemetery, and then I decided to go in. Besides,” she added, seeing that neither her husband nor her daughter thought that was all there was to it, “Constance Benson told me the cemetery wasn’t safe, and I wanted to see for myself. She claimed it was about to fall into the sea.”
“Sounds to me like she’s full of a lot of nonsense,” Cal chuckled. “Just like this one.” He leaned down and stroked Jennifer’s brow. The baby opened her eyes, stared blankly at her father for a moment, then began crying.
“When can we take her home?” Michelle asked, reaching out tentatively to touch the baby. She wanted desperately to pick Jennifer up, but didn’t dare to ask.
“I’m bringing her home tonight,” June said. Michelle’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Tonight? Really? But I thought—I mean—”
“You mean you thought I should stay in the hospital? Why? Here I’d only have a night nurse to look after me, and Jennifer, too. But at home, I’ve got both you and your father to boss around.”
Michelle turned to her father for confirmation.
“I don’t see why they shouldn’t come home.”
“But the nursery—it’s not ready, is it?”
June smiled at her daughter, her eyes merry. “And guess who’s going to get it ready?” she asked. While Michelle listened, she began ticking off a list of things that needed to be done in the nursery before she and the baby were brought home. As the list lengthened, Michelle turned to her father, feigning exasperation.
“Isn’t she supposed to be weak, or asleep, or something?”
Cal chuckled. “That’s your mother—when she decides to do something, she does it—no muss, no fuss, no bother. I have a feeling even keeping her in bed for a couple of days is going to be a major project.”
June finished the list, and held her arms out to her daughter. “Now give me a kiss and run along. Mrs. Benson will take you home, and we’ll be there after dinner. You can eat with Jeff and Mrs. Benson—I’ve already arranged it.”
“But you haven’t even talked to her—” Michelle began.
“On the way here,” June said complacently. “And I’ll tell you something—having a baby isn’t nearly as hard as I thought.” She gave Michelle a quick hug, then sent her on her way. Moments later, as Cal watched, she began nursing Jennifer for the first time. The new parents looked happily at each other.
“Is she an angel, or is she an angel?” June asked.
“She’s perfect,” Cal agreed.
“Do you want us to stay with you?” Mrs. Benson asked as she pulled to a stop in front of the Pendletons’. She peered doubtfully at the old house, as if it was unimaginable to her that anyone Michelle’s age would be willing to venture inside it alone. But Michelle was already getting out of the car.
“No, thanks. I have all kinds of things to do before Mom and Dad bring Jenny home.”
“Maybe we could help,” Mrs. Benson offered.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Michelle said immediately. “It’s mostly just straightening up the nursery. It’ll be fun.” Then, before Mrs. Benson could protest further, Michelle asked what time they expected her for dinner.
“We always eat at six,” Jeff told her. “Want me to come over and walk with you? Sometimes it gets foggy around then.”
“That’s okay.” Michelle was just a little annoyed—what did he think she was, a baby? “I’ll see you at six, or a little before.” Waving good-bye, she ran up the steps and disappeared through the front door.
Michelle closed the front door behind her and went up to her room, dropping her bookbag on her bed, her sweater on a chair. Then she went to the window seat, and picked up her doll.
“We have a sister, Amanda,” she whispered. As she uttered the doll’s name, her dream of the night before, and the memory of the things her friends had said to her came flooding back. “Maybe I should change your name,” she said to the doll, staring into its sightless brown eyes thoughtfully. Then she thought better of it. “No! I named you Amanda, and you are Amanda, and that’s that! Do you want to help me clean up the nursery?”
Taking the doll with her, she went down the hall to the room next to her parents’ that was to be Jennifer’s. She went in, wondering what to do first.
All the furniture was there: a crib and a bassinet, a tiny chest of drawers with a top that converted into a changing table. The walls had been freshly painted, and at the windows there were curtains covered with Pooh and his friends. Propped up in the one full-size chair in the room was a stuffed animal—Kanga, with Baby Roo peeping shyly out of her pocket. Michelle propped Amanda up next to the toys, and set to work.
She soon realized that there wasn’t all that much to do. She found a pink blanket (edged in blue—just in case) and carefully arranged it in the bassinet. Then, picking up her doll, she went on to her parents’ room, where she changed the bed so June would find it fresh and clean.
When she had gone over June’s list in her mind several times, and decided she’d done everything she could remember, she took Amanda and returned to her own room, where she dumped her schoolbooks out of their bag. She stared at them resentfully. It was unfair that she be expected to do her homework on th
e very day when her baby sister had been born. Deciding that Miss Hatcher would understand, she returned to her window seat, her doll held comfortably in her lap.
As she stared out the window, Michelle’s mind began to wander. She wondered what things had been like when she had been born. Had she had a sister who had set up a nursery for her? Probably not. Unhappily, she reflected that she probably hadn’t even been taken home from the hospital, at least not until the Pendletons had come for her.
The Pendletons.
She never thought of them as anything but Mom and Dad. But, of course, she realized with a start, they weren’t really her parents at all.
What had her real mother been like? Why hadn’t she wanted Michelle? As she turned the matter over in her mind, she hugged the doll closer, and began to feel lonely. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t told Jeff and his mother to leave her alone.
“I’m being silly,” she said out loud, the sound of her own voice startling her in the silence of the house. “I have a wonderful mother, and a wonderful father, and now I have a sister, too. Who cares what my real mother was like?”
Resolutely, she left the window seat, and picked up one of her schoolbooks. Better to do her homework than make herself miserable. She settled herself on the bed, tucked Amanda under her arm, and began reading about the War of 1812.
At five-thirty, Michelle put her books aside and started out on the path along the bluff. It was still light, but there was a damp chill in the air. The fog would roll in off the sea long before she got to the Bensons’. She wasn’t sure she wanted to walk the path in the fog. Retracing her steps, she went back to the house, and down the driveway to the road. The trees around her were beginning to turn, and the tinges of red and gold among the green seemed to offset the grayness of the mists that were gathering over the sea. Then, as she came abreast of the old cemetery, she glanced eastward. The fog had, indeed, made its silent way to the bluff and was swirling softly toward her, its billowing whiteness turning to brilliant gold where the fading sun still struck it, then giving way to the chilly gray of the offshore mass behind it.
