On Blue Falls Pond

by Susan Crandall

  Anger shadowed his tired features. “She could not have done this.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She saw his jaw flex as he gritted his teeth. “No. She didn’t know.” He drew a deep breath. “It wasn’t her. First of all, she’s not capable of such a sociopathic act. Second, she was sick as a dog. And third, she lived with a firefighter long enough to learn a few things. She’s much too smart to have left such a careless trail of evidence.”

  When Glory didn’t respond, he said, “There’s plenty here to point the finger at who did this. It’s just going to take a few days.” He gave Glory a pointed look. “And it won’t be Jill.”

  “I hope you’re right, Eric,” Glory said. “I hope you’re right.”

  Without a word, Eric left them and returned to his crew.

  “He’s right, you know,” Granny said. “Ain’t Jill behind this.”

  Glory looked at her. “How can you be sure?”

  “It ain’t in her. I can tell ’bout what’s inside people once I’m with ’em for a spell.”

  “Like you saw inside Andrew?”

  “Like that.” Granny nodded.

  “You weren’t so sure it wasn’t her when we were talking about the notes,” Glory said.

  “Notes is differ’nt. Even a good woman jealous enough might send notes. But this is differ’nt.”

  “Let’s hope so, Gran.”

  Eric didn’t have to wait for lab results to point the finger at the arsonist. Later that day he was alone at the scene, as he liked to be when conducting his investigation (Deputy Hawkins had taken Glory and Tula to Eric’s duplex and Scott to Jill’s). One of the day-shift firefighters had delivered Eric’s Explorer, so he had everything he needed to collect evidence.

  As he walked in a slowly increasing spiral around the house, he saw a small shiny disk at the edge of the gravel lane.

  He knelt to check it out.

  Leaning close, he couldn’t believe what was staring him in the face. Dear God, Glory was going to be shattered. He was glad she wasn’t here. How would he soften the blow of this betrayal?

  He used his pocket knife to slide the small BMW key fob emblem into an evidence baggie. It was clean and shiny; it hadn’t been lying there long.

  Then he went by his duplex. He had only one question for Glory. When he asked it, she was angrier than he’d ever seen her.

  “Come on!” she shouted. “Are you so desperate to protect Jill that you’d jump to such an illogical conclusion?”

  “All I asked was if Walt Harrison had any opportunity to put that T-shirt in your car.”

  “Yes, I suppose he did. But so did the rest of the population of Dawson. That key fob could have been dropped by one of the kids at the reunion. They’ve all got stuff like that.”

  “Seriously, BMW?”

  “He could not have done this.”

  “When I said that about Jill, you didn’t believe me.”

  “And you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe you want to believe it.” He turned around and walked out, angry with himself for even coming here first. It had been the wrong thing to do.

  When he got in his Explorer, he radioed the sheriff to meet him at Walt Harrison’s house.

  “Are you sure?” Sheriff Cooper asked as they got out of their cars in the Harrisons’ drive.

  “As sure as I can be without questioning him. You know as well as I do there’s only one BMW in Dawson.” Eric’s blood simmered; he could have lost both Glory and his son. He had to get ahold of himself before he met the man face-to-face, or who knew what he’d do.

  “All right, then,” Cooper said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Eric nodded.

  They waited for several minutes after ringing the bell. Then they rang again.

  Finally, the door opened. Walt Harrison didn’t appear surprised to see them on his doorstep. He did look like a man on the brink of collapse, however. With a look of resignation, he stepped back and motioned them inside. “Is everyone all right?” he asked in a tortured voice.

  “You know why we’re here, then?” Sheriff Cooper asked.

  Walt’s nod was almost imperceptible. “Glory? Tula? Are they all right?”

  Eric wanted to grab Harrison by the shirtfront and slam him against the wall. This man nearly killed the people Eric loved most in this world.

  Cooper said, “Everyone made it out.”

  Walt’s entire body slumped as if the tension that had been holding him together had been released. “I was going to come in. I just needed a little time. How did you know?”

  Eric snapped. He advanced on Harrison, his hands fisted, stopping just short of touching him. “You bastard! My son was in that house! I thought you loved Glory!”

  Harrison looked him right in the eye. “I love Glory like she’s my own daughter.”

  Eric spun away and paced around the foyer. Then he pulled out the baggie with the BMW emblem in it and waved it in front of Harrison’s face. “Stop playing these games!” He shook the baggie.

  Sheriff Cooper put a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Maybe you’d like to tell us what happened, Mr. Harrison.”

  “Please understand—”

  A car door slammed outside, then the front door burst open. Glory rushed in out of breath.

  “The flowers!” she said. “There were no flowers!”

  Walt grasped her by the shoulders and hugged her close. “I’m so sorry—”

  She glanced wild-eyed around the foyer. “Where’s Ovella?”

  The deputy who drove Glory there hung back in the doorway. “Sheriff, she said it was an emergency that she get here.”

  Cooper nodded to his deputy. “It’s fine. Wait outside.”

  Eric stepped closer to Glory and asked, “What about flowers?”

  “Clarice’s grave. There were no flowers.” She turned to Harrison. “You said she took flowers every other day. But there weren’t any on the baby’s grave.” She looked back at Eric. “It wasn’t Walt. It was Ovella.”

  Harrison shook his head and said again, “I’m so sorry.” Then he looked at the sheriff. “My wife isn’t well.”

  Eric asked, “Where is Ovella?”

  “In a stress center, where she belongs. I just got back from taking her there. She’s getting the help she needs.”

  Eric said, “You’re telling me your wife set that fire?”

  Walt Harrison’s chin quivered momentarily before he regained his composure. “Yes, she told me she did.”

  “She just came in here and told you she set fire to Tula’s house?” Eric said with disbelief.

  “Not quite like that. I found her at the cemetery.

  “I awakened around four and found her gone. She sometimes goes to the cemetery early in the morning, but never that early. I got worried. My car was gone—it had been parked behind hers.” He swallowed drily. “When I got in hers, I found these.” He went to the desk in the corner of the room and picked up several sheets of copy paper and handed them to Eric.

  “Copies of the newspaper articles about the fire.” He handed them to the sheriff. Then he said to Glory, “Like the one you found in your newspaper.”

  Glory dipped her chin in understanding. Was it any easier for her to think that her mother-in-law tried to kill her instead of her father-in-law?

  Harrison continued. “Those were my first hint that something was really wrong.”

  “Why? Why did she attack Glory like that?” Eric asked, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

  Harrison’s shoulders slumped even more with his sigh. The man looked as if he’d aged overnight. “Ovella never fully recovered from our son’s death.” Harrison hesitated, rubbed his hand across his mouth, then said, “My wife had some health problems—psychological problems—early in our marriage. She received treatment in Knoxville, and we managed to keep it to ourselves. For years she’d been fine. But after Andrew died . . . she started making some startling accusations about Glory. Th
at’s why when Glory decided to leave town, I didn’t try to stop her. Ovella improved—I thought it was just grief—she was getting past it. I had no idea . . .”

  “What kind of accusations?” Eric asked.

  “She told me that Andrew told her the baby wasn’t his.” He shook his head. “I know that’s ridiculous.”

  “Do you think Andrew really told her that?” Eric wondered if Harrison had any suspicions that his son had inherited his mother’s disorders.

  Harrison rolled his lips inward and drew a deep breath. “I really don’t know. Sometimes I worried that Andrew had the tendency toward paranoia . . . but there wasn’t ever anything concrete . . .”

  “So she thought the baby wasn’t Andrew’s. Hardly reason to set fire to Tula’s house nearly two years later,” Eric said, moving closer to Glory and putting a supportive hand on her arm.

  “Don’t you see, logic had no part in this. My wife is ill. She was convinced Glory had set the fire that killed our son. When I found her this morning, she was crying over Andrew’s grave, saying justice had been done.”

  “If she thought Glory had done it, why didn’t she go to the authorities and report it?” Eric asked.

  Harrison shook his head slowly. “Mother would never let Andrew’s name be sullied by such scandal. She never even said it to me before today.”

  “Did you know she had been threatening Glory before she set the fire?” the sheriff asked.

  “If I had suspected at all, you can believe I would have taken her to get treatment immediately, and this never would have happened.” He paused. “The awful thing is, I don’t think she wanted to do it. She kept asking why Glory didn’t just leave.”

  “My presence drove her to avenge Andrew?” Glory said softly.

  “Oh, Glory, who knows what went on in her mind. She was a proud woman . . . ,” Harrison said.

  Eric tried not to feel sympathy for the man who could have prevented all this. If there had been any hint of Mrs. Harrison’s problem around town before this, Eric would have known where to start looking the minute that first note showed up. As it was, one tragedy just heaped on top of another.

  Sheriff Cooper said to Eric, “If you want to go check on your boy, I’ll finish up here.” He turned to Harrison. “We’ll need to know where Mrs. Harrison is receiving treatment and such.”

  Eric took Glory by the arm and started to lead her out. At the door to the foyer, she pulled away and ran into Walt’s arms.

  Eric watched them cry together. Tragedy heaped on tragedy, pain upon pain. At least this would be the end of the cycle.

  Outside the Harrison house, Glory turned to Eric and said, “I’ll have the deputy take me back to your place. You’ll want to check on Scott, and I need to get back to Gran.”

  “I don’t want to leave you. Not now.” Eric pulled her against his chest. After a few seconds, he said, “I guess I owe you an apology about not trusting your judgment about Walt.”

  She leaned back and looked up at him. “And I owe you one about your judgment about Jill—so let’s call that one even.”

  He sighed. “Ovella.”

  “Yeah. Ovella,” she said sadly. She kissed his chin. “I’ll see you later.” She didn’t want to talk about it now. Everything had come so quickly, she needed some time to sort out her thoughts.

  As she rode next to the deputy in silence, she looked at the past with a new perspective. Ovella had always seemed so rigid . . . brittle. Glory had assumed it was because she thought herself above everyone else. But maybe it was the outward sign of holding herself together by a slender thread.

  Had Andrew’s controlling nature been a symptom of a similar dysfunction? She would never know. But it hurt her to think that maybe, just maybe, he could have been helped before all of this began.

  Eric drove to Jill’s. When he went in, he found Scott spinning his pirate boat and Jill lying on the couch in her bathrobe. She looked wiped out.

  “Feeling any better?” he asked.

  “The worst has passed. I even ate a cracker.”

  “I’ll take Scott with me so you can rest.”

  “I want to keep him here—close—but thanks for offering.”

  Eric smiled and nodded. He knew how she felt. After coming close to losing him, he wanted to keep his son close, too.

  “Do you know any more about the fire?” she asked.

  He sighed. “It’s ongoing; you know I can’t discuss—”

  “For Christ’s sake, Eric, Scott almost died! Stop with the protocol.”

  “It’s still my job, Jill.” He started toward the door, then turned. “Something like this certainly puts a different perspective on things, doesn’t it?”

  “Like there are worse things than your child having autism?” she said quietly.

  “Like that.”

  When Eric pulled up in front of his duplex, the front door was open to the screen and the windows were open. He decided he liked the feeling of coming home to a house with Glory inside.

  He opened the door quietly and was glad he had; Glory lay curled on her side, sleeping on the couch. The pile of used tissues on the floor next to her said she’d cried herself to sleep.

  He tried to tiptoe to the kitchen, but she stirred.

  “Scott okay?”

  “Good as ever.” Eric went to sit on the floor next to the couch. “Got a couple of scrapes from the shingles, that’s all.” He took Glory’s hands in his, even though his fingernails and the creases in his skin were still outlined in soot. “And I have you to thank for that.”

  “You have me to thank for his being in danger in the first place.” She inched to the edge of the couch. “Eric, if I had had any idea that something like this would happen, I wouldn’t have stayed there; I would have found a place by myself.” Her bloodshot eyes pooled with tears. “I am so sorry I put your child at risk.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “You know, when I was in that burning house, the only thing that mattered was getting him out, keeping him safe.”

  “And you did.” He kissed her forehead. “You were the hero this time.”

  She laughed softly. “At least you didn’t have to rescue me, for a change.”

  “Hey, I like rescuing you.”

  She smiled and looked at his stained hands. “Here I am talking, and you probably want food and a shower.”

  He was still in the clothes he’d worn under his fire gear. He had managed to clean his face with the disposable wipes he had in the Explorer, but he was dirty and smelled of house fire. “I’ll get one in a bit. How’s Tula?”

  Glory sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the couch. “Stubborn as ever. Even though Deputy Hawkins and I both ragged her all the way into town, she still refused to go to the ER and get checked.” She pushed her silky hair away from her face. “Paramedics said she’s okay, and I really do think she is. She’s up in your bed.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

  Needing to be close, he pulled Glory down into his lap. They sat quietly for a few moments, Eric thankful to the core of his being for the good fortune that saved those he loved. And he did love Glory.

  As if she read his mind, she said, “You know, things become brilliantly clear when you think you’ve reached the end of the road. When I thought I might never see you again . . . I swore if I made it out alive, I wouldn’t be afraid of anything. Life is chances, and it’s a sin not to take them.”

  His heart took flight, but she spoke before he could say anything. “Eric, when I couldn’t find Scott in that fire . . . I can’t tell you what that did to me.” A tear slid down her cheek.

  “Shhhh.” He hugged her close. “I know exactly what it did to you, because that’s the way I felt when we got the alarm. Scott, you, Tula; I’d have died if anything had happened.”

  She nuzzled the side of his neck and placed a soft kiss on his throat.

  He didn’t want to ruin this moment; would have been happy to sit there for the rest of the
day. But there was more that needed to be said.

  “Ovella probably won’t stand trial,” he said.

  “What good would it do if she did? She’s sick. She’s where she can get help. There’s no way Walt will be able to keep this quiet. Everyone will know.”

  “You don’t sound angry.”

  “Oh, I’m angry. I’m angry that she made some people think I could have done some awful things. I’m angry that she burned Gran’s house. I’m angry that Scott and Gran could have been hurt. But I understand what losing a child can do to you”—she nodded slowly. “Oh, yes, that I understand.”

  “Don’t you think Walt should have seen it coming?”

  Glory sighed, then coughed. That cough was enough to make his anger rise again.

  Then she said, “Ovella was very, very good at making people see only what she wanted them to see. Her husband included. Plus, Walt was dealing with his own grief.” She paused. “I can’t blame Walt—you don’t know how wonderful he was when I was in the hospital—in spite of his own loss.”

  Eric looked at her for a long moment. “You’re an amazing woman. How do you find the strength?”

  She looked into his eyes. “From you. I get my strength from loving you.”

  Eric lay back on the floor, taking her with him. He rolled her onto her back and looked into green eyes that reminded him of a cool evening in the forest. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” He kissed her, softly, gently. “I love you, Glory.”

  She pulled him closer, drawing him into a kiss that could quickly lead to other things. He slid his hand under her shirt and let himself go; wrapped himself in her love—a love he’d waited a lifetime for.

  “Well, for Heaven’s sake!”

  At the sound of Tula’s voice, Eric jerked himself to a sitting position as quickly as any teenager caught going for second base.

  Tula continued down the steps, wearing an old robe Eric didn’t even remember he had. “I took the bed upstairs just so there wouldn’t be this sort of hanky-panky!” She fluttered a hand over her heart. “It ain’t good for an old woman to see such things.”