by John Saul
She did not resist when each of them embraced her, nor did she respond.
“She’s always like that,” the nurse explained. “So far she hasn’t responded to anything. She eats, but the food has to be put in her mouth.” When Rose seemed to be on the verge of tears, the nurse hastened to explain.
“It isn’t anything to worry about,” she said. “Sarah’s had a bad trauma, and she’s reacting to it She’s temporarily withdrawn, just as normal people do. Except that she was already so withdrawn that now she’s practically shut down. But she’ll come out of it. I’m sure she will.”
They made the drive home in silence. When they were in the house Rose said, “Fix me a drink, will you? I feel like I need one. I’m going up to say hello to Elizabeth.”
“Kiss her once for me,” Jack said. He headed for the study as Rose disappeared upstairs.
A couple of minutes later, when Rose went into the study, she found her husband standing in the middle of the room, staring at the empty place on the wall above the fireplace.
“It’s gone,” he said. “She put it back in the attic.”
Rose stared at the blank space herself, then went to the study door.
“Elizabeth!” she called.
“What?” The muffled shout came through indistinctly from upstairs. Rose’s eyes narrowed, and she went to the foot of the stairs.
“Come down here,” she said sharply.
“In a minute,” she heard from upstairs.
“Now!” Rose commanded. She stalked back to the study. A very long minute later Elizabeth walked into the room.
“You used to knock before you entered a room,” Rose pointed out to her.
“Oh, Mother,” Elizabeth protested.
“Don’t whine,” Jack said sharply. “It doesn’t sound attractive. Did you take that picture down?”
“What picture?” Elizabeth said evasively.
“You know perfectly well what picture,” Rose snapped. “The one above the fireplace.”
“Oh, that,” Elizabeth said, offhandedly. “I told you I hated it.”
“Where did you put it?”
“Back in the attic,” Elizabeth said. “That’s where it belongs.” Then she marched out of the study.
“Well,” Jack said, “I guess that’s that.”
“I don’t know,” Rose said. “We certainly don’t have to leave the picture there. It seems to me that if we want to hang our picture in our study in our house, our daughter is no one to tell us we can’t.”
“But if it means so much to her—” Jack began.
But Rose cut him off. “It’s not that. It’s just that she’s starting to act like an only child.”
“In a way,” Jack said softly, “she is, isn’t she?”
The picture of the unknown child stayed in the attic.
BOOK II
The Present
26
Ray Norton drove slowly along the Conger’s Point Road, partly because he was keeping only one eye on the road and partly because he was getting older, and driving more slowly was a part of getting older. He would be retiring next year, and he was ready. Port Arbello was changing, and Ray Norton was changing, and he no longer felt that he was the best chief of police the town could have. He’d kept this feeling a secret, but he knew it was an open secret As the years had worn on he had turned more and more of the work of his department over to his deputy chief. Port Arbello had ten policemen now, and even they weren’t enough.
Not like the old days, Norton thought as he stopped the slowly cruising car entirely. Everything’s changing.
He was parked by the Congers’ field, and he was watching the work that was going on in the woods on the far side of the field. An apartment complex was being built there, and though Ray Norton didn’t approve of it, even he had to admit that, for what they were doing, they were doing a good job. The complex would fit well on the Point, long and low, snug to the ground against the north winds of winter.
As he watched the building progress it occurred to him that what he really resented was not the building itself, but the fact that the building would spell an end to what had become, for him, an annual tradition.
Each spring for the past fifteen years Ray Norton had spent several of his days off searching the woods for some trace of the three children who had disappeared that autumn the snow had come early. The first spring he had been joined by a search party, and they had combed the woods for days, then moved on to the embankment, searching for some trace of the missing children or the entrance to the cave that was supposed to be hidden there. They had found nothing. Whatever might have been there had vanished with the snow. They had continued the search for the cave until one of the searchers lost his footing among the rocks and nearly lost his life when he tumbled to the stony beach below. After that people stopped showing up for the search. From then on Ray Norton had searched alone.
He had never found anything, but the search had become a habit with him, and each spring he would return to the woods, make a careful search, and then move on to the embankment. And each spring he would find nothing. Well, the search was over now. The woods were being torn up, and the foundations of the apartment buildings were being anchored to the embankment.
Ray Norton left his car and began trudging toward the woods. You never know, he was thinking. They might turn up something I missed.
From the old house at the end of Conger’s Point, Elizabeth Conger watched the white-haired police chief making his way slowly across the field. Each spring she had watched him, and each spring she had asked him what he hoped to find.
“Don’t know,” he would say. “But I can’t just let it go. Something’s out there, if something’s anywhere. And I’ll find it, if it’s there.”
She had often wondered exactly what it was he hoped to find, and what he would do if and when he found it. It would have to be this year, or it wouldn’t be at all.
She glanced at a clock and saw that she still had three hours before it would be time to leave for Ocean Crest.
* * *
Sylvia Bannister was driving north, and it had not been her intention to make any stops until she reached Maine. But when she saw the sign for Port Arbello she turned off. As she drove toward the town she wondered why.
She had left Port Arbello a year after Sarah’s commitment, and had not been back in the fourteen years since. Now, as she drove into town, she decided that it was time to take one more look at her past.
She intended only to drive around the square, but she found herself stopping at the offices of the Port Arbello Courier. Before she went in she glanced across at the grim old Armory, still unchanged from the old days. So, she thought, Rose never followed through on her project to convert it to a shopping arcade. Just as well. She pushed open the door to the Courier and knew at once that Jack Conger was no longer there.
Everything was changed, and most of the old staff was gone. But she spotted one familiar face, a face that looked at her curiously.
“Miss Bannister?” the person said, and Sylvia realized that the young man had been a copy boy when she left. Now he was an editor. Things did change.
“I was looking for Mr. Conger,” she said doubtfully. “But I get the feeling he isn’t here any more.”
The young man stared at her. “You mean you didn’t hear?” he asked. “He died. Nine or ten years ago.”
“I see,” Sylvia said. “What about Mrs. Conger? Does she still live out on the Point?”
The young editor shook his head. “Only Elizabeth. Mrs. Conger died the same time that Mr. Conger did.”
He didn’t explain, and Sylvia left the office. She almost decided to leave Port Arbello and continue northward, but she changed her mind. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to see Elizabeth Conger. She turned her car around and headed out the Conger’s Point Road.
The house hadn’t changed, and Sylvia parked her car in front of the porch. She glanced out at the woods as she mounted the steps, and a chill ra
n through her body as she wondered what had really happened out there. She noticed the construction as she rang the bell.
A tall and strikingly beautiful young woman answered the door and looked at her curiously. From the blond hair Sylvia Bannister knew at once who it was.
“Elizabeth?” she said.
The young woman nodded. “May I help you?” She thought she knew the woman from somewhere, but she wasn’t sure. And so many strangers knocked on her door, asking her questions about the past. Questions she couldn’t answer.
“I’m not sure if you’ll remember me,” Sylvia said. “I’m Sylvia Bannister.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, opening the door wide. “My father’s secretary. Please, come in.”
Sylvia glanced around the house as Elizabeth led her through to the back study. Nothing, it appeared, had changed.
“I don’t know why,” Elizabeth was saying, “but we all seem to wind up living in here. I hardly ever use the living room any more, and Mother’s old office is completely closed off.”
“I heard about your parents,” Sylvia said gently. “I just wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am.”
“Don’t be,” Elizabeth said. “It may sound harsh, but I’m sure they’re happier now.”
“Do you mind if I ask you what happened?” Sylvia asked.
“Not at all. It’s been almost ten years since they died, and I don’t mind talking about it any more. And maybe you could answer some questions for me. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Sylvia said. “I’ll tell you whatever I can.”
The two women sat down, and Elizabeth told Sylvia what had happened to Jack and Rose Conger.
“It happened about five years after they had to send Sarah to Ocean Crest,” she said. “Just after my eighteenth birthday, to be exact. Of course, we’ll never know exactly what happened, but Dad took Mother out sailing one day. And they didn’t come back. Everyone assumed there had been some kind of an accident, but a week after it happened the manager of the marina, I can’t remember his name, found all the life preservers from the Sea Otter stuffed into one of the lockers. Since Dad was always careful about things like that, they decided that it wasn’t an accident after all. Apparently Dad just took Mother out, and sank the boat with both of them on it.” She paused a minute and seemed to think. “I’ve started to put it all together, I guess. At the time, of course, it didn’t make any sense to me at all. But over the years I’ve started to find out more and more about what must have been happening to him. I think I can understand it now. I think it just got to be too much for Dad. Apparently the town never stopped talking about what happened that fall, and somehow they got the idea that Dad was involved in it. Anyway, you know how Port Arbello is. They have long memories, and stories get worse every time they’re told. Toward the end Mother wouldn’t leave the house at all, except if Dad took her on a trip out of town, and Dad … well, I guess he just got tired of having people staring at him all the time.”
“Why didn’t they just leave town?” Sylvia asked.
“Why don’t I?” Elizabeth asked. “I guess for us Congers this place is home. It isn’t easy giving up everything that’s familiar to you. Dad could never do it, and I can’t either, Besides, there’s Sarah to think about too, you know.”
“Sarah?” Sylvia’s eyes flickered with interest. “How is she?”
“Much better,” Elizabeth said. “As a matter of fact, she’s coming home today, for the first time.”
“Will she be able to stay?”
“Not this time. But eventually, we hope. Not that Ocean Crest is a bad place to be. Actually, she’s very happy there.”
“Yes,” Sylvia said, “I imagine she is.”
“But we still, or I should say she still, has to remember what happened that day she came out of the woods with that—that thing in her hands. It’s the only thing she still can’t remember. She remembers what happened between her and Dad—” Elizabeth suddenly stopped talking, and stared at Sylvia in embarrassment.
“It’s all right,” Sylvia said. “As a matter of fact, I can probably tell you more about that incident than Sarah can, even if she remembers it.”
“Could you?” Elizabeth asked. “I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt that it was the major cause of what happened to Dad and Mom.”
“It undoubtedly was.” Sylvia sighed. “Jack talked a lot about it to me. We were very close, you know.”
Elizabeth nodded. “There’s been some gossip. I was never very sure how much truth there was to it, but I knew Mom and Dad weren’t getting along. Especially after Sarah got sick.”
“That was the root of the trouble,” Sylvia said. “Jack was never the same after that terrible day in the woods.” She fell silent for a minute, then continued.
“We had an affair,” she said stiffly, her face coloring. “It didn’t last long, only a year. I finally broke it off. I don’t know why, really. I suppose partly because I felt sorry for Rose and partly because I was afraid of what would happen when it came to an end. Often, it seems, it’s easier to handle endings if you bring them on yourself. So I ended the affair, and left Port Arbello. And do you know,” she went on, “when I left I had the feeling that for Jack, life had ended. I suppose that sounds conceited, but I don’t mean it to be. It didn’t have anything to do with me. He just seemed tired out. Really, when I think about it I’m surprised he held on as long as he did.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I think he did it for me. I don’t think it was any coincidence that he killed himself right after my eighteenth birthday. He waited until I was old enough, and then he just sort of—went away …”
“It must have been terrible for you,” Sylvia said.
“It was, at first. And it still isn’t easy. I’ve had to sell off some of the land just to support myself and Sarah. I decided to get rid of the woods. It seemed like they’d been in the family long enough. I guess I hoped that if I got rid of them, and that awful embankment, it would get rid of the legend and the gossip as well.”
“I’m sure it will,” Sylvia said. Then she glanced at her watch. “Gracious. If I’m going to get to where I’m going, I’ve got to get started. Thank you for telling me what happened to Jack. Have I been any help to you at all?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said. “I’m glad to know my father had some happiness in his life.” Then she too glanced at the time. “I’m sorry this has to be such a short visit,” she went on. “Come back and see me again?”
Sylvia assured her that she would, but both women knew that they wouldn’t meet again. Elizabeth waved to Sylvia as she drove down the drive, then glanced once more at her watch. She still had an hour before it would be time to leave for Ocean Crest. She went to look in on Mrs. Goodrich.
Though the old housekeeper had never admitted to her true age, Elizabeth was sure she was well into her eighties. She still lived in the little room next to the kitchen, and did her best to keep up the pretense that she was looking after Miss Elizabeth instead of the other way around—brewing fresh coffee for her each morning, and managing to put together something that passed for lunch, though Elizabeth had grown accustomed to waiting for the old woman to fall into her afternoon nap and then going to the kitchen to fix something to tide herself over until dinner.
Elizabeth was worried about Mrs. Goodrich; it wouldn’t be much longer until the old woman would need full-time care, and Elizabeth didn’t see how she was going to afford it. Unless what the doctors had told her was true, and Sarah really would be allowed to come home. She tapped lightly at Mrs. Goodrich’s door.
“Is that you, Miz Rose?” the andient voice quavered. Elizabeth shook her head a little, in sorrow. More and more lately the old woman had been mistaking Elizabeth for her mother, and Elizabeth supposed that it was a sign of increasing senility.
“It’s me,” she said gently. “Miss Elizabeth.” She opened the door, and the old woman stared at her blankly. Then her mind seemed to clear, and she smiled
tentatively.
“Oh, yes,” she said uncertainly, “where’s your mother?”
“She’ll be in later,” Elizabeth promised, knowing that later Mrs. Goodrich would have forgotten that she had asked for Rose. The first time this had happened, Elizabeth had tried to explain to the old woman that Rose was dead, and a look of horror had come over Mrs. Goodrich’s face.
“Oh, dear,” she had clucked. “What’ll become of poor Mister Jack now?” Elizabeth had stared at her for a moment before she realized that the old housekeeper must have forgotten what had happened. These days she simply ignored it. She closed the door.
Elizabeth glanced around the kitchen now, and thought she ought to do the dishes and save Mrs. Goodrich the effort Her arthritic hands could no longer hold on to wet dishes, and she had a hard time seeing what she was doing. But Elizabeth found she didn’t mind having the role of servant thrust upon her. Mrs. Goodrich had served her family well for a long time. The least they could do for her was take care of her in her old age.
And besides, Elizabeth didn’t really have much else to do. Without being aware of it, she was becoming more and more like her mother, sticking close to her home, going into Port Arbello only when there was shopping to do or errands to be run. It did not occur to her that, at the age of twenty-eight, she was beginning to behave like a spinster twice her age. Nor did it occur to her that her lifestyle seemed odd to many people.
Elizabeth Conger was, in actuality, fairly content with her lot in life. She had her home, which she loved, and she had her cat, an ancient Persian she’d named Cecil, after the one that had disappeared. Her father had brought the kitten home to her soon after Sarah had gone to Ocean Crest. The cat was decrepit now, and needed a great deal of care. Elizabeth had considered having Cedi put to sleep, but hadn’t been able to find it in her heart to do it.
She glanced around the kitchen again and wondered where to start Then, just as she had made up her mind to do it, she changed her mind and decided to go for a walk instead.
She looked in on Mrs. Goodrich once more and found the old woman sound asleep. As she was putting on her coat at the front door, she felt Cedi rubbing against her ankle.
