The Other Child

by Joanne Fluke

  Karen stared at him for a long moment and then she dropped her eyes. She really shouldn’t have yelled at him. She’d been making some pretty heavy demands for cash lately, and Mike was under a lot of pressure. At least he said he wasn’t drinking and that was a positive sign. She had to calm down so they could discuss this reasonably. If he’d just agree to stop gambling, they could work this out somehow.

  When Karen looked up, prepared to apologize for her outburst, Mike was headed up the stairs. His shoulders were set stiffly.

  “Mike—wait! Let’s talk about this. If you just stop gambling, we’ll cut down somehow. I know I’ve been spending a lot of money, but we can cut back. We can make do with cheaper things, now that I know we have a problem and—”

  But he didn’t even look back. Karen gave a sigh and hot, stinging tears filled her eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. And he wouldn’t even talk to her about it. Now it was too late for her to stop him and he’d keep right on gambling with their savings, risking their beautiful house.

  She heard the door of his studio slam shut and a shiver went through her in spite of the heat. It was impossible to take back the words she’d hurtled at him in anger, and now there was a wall between them, a wall Karen didn’t know how to tear down.

  Karen’s hands were shaking badly and she clutched her coffee cup as if it were a life raft. Even the heat of the scalding coffee failed to take the chill from her. He had broken his promise. How could she ever trust him again?

  “Damn!” Mike flung the checkbook on his desk and kicked out at the wastebasket, scattering paper and ashes wildly. She had no right to poke her nose in his business. Everything would have been fine if she hadn’t snooped around. What did she expect him to do? Create a miracle to pay the bills? Of course she was right that he shouldn’t have started gambling in the first place, but it was too late for that now. Now he was in over his head and he had to get out.

  Mike laughed bitterly. And she wanted him to stop when any day he was due for a big jackpot. She had no sense of timing; she didn’t understand the rules of the game. It would be stupid to quit now, Mike knew that. He’d wait for that jackpot and then he’d quit. He’d been planning on quitting anyway, just as soon as he cashed in one more time.

  There was film to develop and more prints to be made, but he didn’t dare start working when he was so upset. He needed something to calm him down so he could stop shaking.

  A drink. It would serve her right if he had one. She thought he was drinking again anyway, so what difference would it make? Of course he knew he shouldn’t, but a man could only take so much, and he had to begin taking hold of his own life again. All he’d been thinking of lately was work, the house, Karen, and Leslie. He was smart enough to know when to stop now, even if she didn’t think so. A little sip of the poor man’s tranquilizer would settle his nerves and make him feel good again. It was about time to open a bottle of the Napoleon brandy and do exactly what he’d been wanting to do for days.

  At first he just sipped and savored, rolling the brandy around on his tongue, not swallowing. It was superb, and the guilty feeling he was getting for yelling at Karen was melting away.

  Mike found himself staring at the calendar over his desk and he groaned softly, thinking of the house payment and Karen’s concern. He didn’t have the money in savings as he’d told her, and he’d have to ask Rob for an extension. Maybe he could do Rob a favor, hand him a bottle of the Napoleon brandy before springing the request. Rob was bound to agree.

  It would all work out. Mike took another sip of brandy. The little, niggling pangs of guilt were uncomfortable, but they would fade soon enough. Brandy was food for the soul.

  There was a timid knock at the door, which Mike ignored. He sat down in his swivel chair and leaned back, resting his feet on his overturned wastebasket.

  “Mike? Are you busy?” It was Leslie’s tentative voice. Karen must have sent her up here to check on him. Well, he wasn’t in the mood to be nice to Karen or her kid. They could knock as long as they wanted, but he’d stay right where he was, doing whatever the hell he liked. The money worries, the damn house—it could all wait until he felt like dealing with it.

  Karen ignored the work to be done and climbed the stairs wearily to the master bedroom. She felt awful, and the green canopy bed looked so inviting. Mike was locked in the darkroom and she hoped he’d stay there for a good, long while. She couldn’t bear to face any more problems today. Her white embroidered maternity top was sticking to her back and it was just too hot to live. She’d lie down for a little while until she felt better.

  She folded back the satin coverlet and stretched out with a sigh. She felt forlorn and uncertain of him, of their ability to create a happy family together here in this wonderful old house. A tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away with an ironic smile, thinking that this bed had seen its share of tears. According to the diary, Dorthea had cried many times in this very spot, longing for her lover.

  At first she had assumed this room to be Amelia and William’s, but to her surprise she discovered that the older Appletons had slept in separate bedrooms. This room and this bed had been Dorthea’s, her place of refuge in this lovely house. The thought comforted Karen. Life didn’t change so very much over the years. Dorthea had been just as unhappy as she was today, and perhaps life had worked out well for her. She’d know just as soon as she finished the journals.

  “Mom? Are you all right?” Leslie stood in the doorway, watching her with concern.

  Karen nodded. She knew she looked terrible. Her eyes felt scratchy, and they were probably red and swollen from crying. It wasn’t surprising that Leslie looked worried.

  “It’s not time for the baby yet, is it, Mom?” Leslie’s voice was small and scared. “Do you want me to call Mike?”

  “No, it’s not time for the baby, and you don’t have to call Mike.” Karen mustered up an ironic grin at the thought. Mike probably wouldn’t come out of his darkroom even if she went into labor this minute.

  “I’m just tired, honey.” Karen reached out and squeezed Leslie’s hand. “Why don’t you go up and play with your telescope and let me nap for an hour or so.”

  “Sure, Mom.” Leslie was relieved as she bent over to give her mother a kiss. She tiptoed out and closed the door softly behind her. Mom looked really tired and a nap would be good for her.

  She stood in the hallway for a moment, wondering what to do. She didn’t really feel like using her telescope right now. Maybe she should take a look at the bedrooms up here. There might be some way she could help Mom with the redecorating.

  Leslie opened a door at random and peeked inside. This room was going to be nice. A brass bed stood against one wall and there was an oak washstand in the corner. A sampler with a Bible verse done in cross-stitch was propped up against the mirror, ready to be hung as soon as the wallpaper was done. The room was old-fashioned and pretty and it matched the miniature perfectly.

  Leslie traveled the length of the hall, opening doors and peering at the partially completed rooms. Mom had done an awful lot of work up here. No wonder she was so tired.

  She stopped at the end of the hall and looked out the window. Everything was quiet and peaceful in their big yard. Sunbeams streamed in through the lace curtains and fell on the floor in patterns. The only sound in the whole house was her own soft breathing.

  Leslie sighed morosely. She felt very alone with Mom napping and Mike in the darkroom. Unconsciously, she lifted her hand to touch the key lightly. At least she had one friend, even though he scared her a little. If she got really lonely, she knew Christopher would come.

  A slight dizzy feeling made her reach out and find the wall with her hand. She stood that way for a long moment with her eyes closed. Then she turned and walked to her room. There was something she had to do.

  She went straight to the closet and opened it. All her clothes were here—the expensive, color-coordinated outfits her mother had given her. Looking at her pretty clothes usua
lly made her happy, but Leslie frowned as she fingered the soft cashmeres and rich materials that filled hanger after hanger. For some reason these clothes weren’t acceptable anymore.

  She looked down at the blouse she was wearing. It was light pink polished cotton with a dainty lace trim. She had always loved it.

  With a deliberate motion Leslie yanked it off over her head, ripping a seam. This blouse wasn’t right for her anymore. It was too fussy and feminine.

  She found an old white shirt in the back of her closet. Mike had given it to her to wear when they were unloading the trailer. She rolled up the sleeves and slipped it on. It felt just right. Now she had to do something about her designer jeans.

  Leslie grabbed her favorite pair of designer jeans and ripped off the pockets with their fancy designs. Then she snipped off the legs in a ragged line. Now she had a pair of cutoffs. She stood in front of the mirror and smiled at her reflection. She looked perfect now, except for her shoes.

  Quickly Leslie removed her Gucci loafers. She threw her socks under the bed and wiggled her bare toes happily. Now she was dressed just the way she should be, just the way she’d been in . . .?

  She stopped, confused. As she’d been . . . when? She couldn’t remember. She had known for a second, but now the memory was gone.

  It didn’t matter. She felt much happier now and she wasn’t lonely any longer. And now she knew exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to go up to the cupola and take a little nap. When she woke up, her mind would be clear again. Then she might be able to remember whatever it was she had forgotten.

  SIXTEEN

  Karen sipped her orange juice and read, the leather-bound diary propped open against the sugar container. She was nearing the end of Dorthea’s last diary now and she couldn’t bear to put it down. Her heart went out to the poor girl. Just reading between the lines convinced her that Dorthea had been victimized by Kirby Shaw.

  Leslie sat across from her, elbows propped on the table. Her bare feet were hooked around the legs of the chair and Karen grinned at the sight. She’d never seen Leslie in a more undignified position! All of her ladylike ways seemed to have disappeared overnight and Karen shook her head in amusement.

  She had been shocked when Leslie appeared in this ridiculous outfit two days ago. “How do I look, Mom?” Leslie had grinned expectantly. “These clothes are perfect for here, don’t you think?”

  Karen was ready to scold her, but she thought better of it. If that’s what Leslie wanted to wear around the house, she supposed it was all right with her. She wasn’t exactly a fashion plate herself lately. And the outfit, as unattractive as it seemed at first, was certainly practical. In a tomboyish sort of way, Leslie looked cute.

  It took Karen some time before she figured it out. Then she was glad she hadn’t said the wrong thing. She really hadn’t considered it before, but Leslie’s wardrobe was a direct contrast to the things the Cold Spring children wore. They seemed to dress exclusively in old shirts and cutoff jeans. It was kind of a reverse snobbery. With her makeshift outfit, Leslie was just trying to fit in.

  Leslie looked up from her work as she felt her mother’s gaze. She was braiding a new strap for her camera from long leather thongs. “Did you find out any more, Mom? Did Dorthea get married yet?”

  Karen smiled at her daughter. They were both fascinated by Dorthea’s story. The Appleton family was real to them, as real as friends they had always known.

  “Dorthea’s father caught them together in the rose garden.” Karen pointed to the page. “He threw an absolute fit and threatened to kick Kirby out of town, but Amelia stepped in. The portrait wasn’t finished yet, you know. She persuaded Mr. Appleton to let Kirby stay until the painting was completed. Amelia agreed to chaperone all Dorthea’s sittings.”

  “Does her mother know Dorthea’s in love with Kirby?” Leslie leaned closer.

  “Oh, Amelia knows, but she’s not happy about it, either.” Karen sighed. “Amelia thinks Kirby’s not good enough for Dorthea, but she’s more sympathetic than Mr. Appleton. She’s hoping that Dorthea will come to her senses eventually. Mr. Appleton hired a detective to investigate Kirby’s background. He thinks Kirby is after the family money.”

  “Is he?” Leslie questioned eagerly.

  “I think so,” Karen went on. “Let me read a little more and I’ll tell you. I think Dorthea’s heading for big trouble.”

  A few moments later Karen gasped aloud. “Oh, no, this is terrible, Leslie! Dorthea’s pregnant. Just listen to this.”

  ‘Father still forbids our marriage and I am to be sent to my Aunt Jane’s in Boston until the child is born. There is no time to waste. We will have to flee tonight. Kirby has convinced me to take my jewelry and sell it when we arrive in the West. I know Mother will understand what we’ve done even if Father is furious right now. I am sure she will manage to convince Father to take us back once Kirby has made a name for himself in artistic circles. Then we can return and take our rightful place in the family. I am convinced my course of action is guided by fate and I will return to you, dear Journal, before many months have passed.’

  “That’s the end!” Karen paged through the rest of the diary, but it was blank. Dorthea had indeed run off as she had written, leaving her locked diaries behind. No wonder her family had replaced her portrait with the pastoral scene! Dorthea had left Cold Spring in disgrace, disappearing into the night with her lover. It was romantic and terribly sad. Karen swallowed hard as she closed the diary.

  “But did she come back?” Leslie sat on the very edge of her chair. “Does it say what happened to Dorthea and her baby?”

  “There’s no more here.” Karen looked wistful. “Maybe we’ll find something else in the trunks upstairs, honey.”

  “I hope so! I want to know what else happened, Mom. I really like Dorthea!”

  The ringing of the telephone interrupted their speculations, and Karen hurried from the room to answer it.

  “Karen?” Mike’s voice was thin and there was static on the line. “I’ll be late tonight, so don’t hold dinner for me. I won’t be home until midnight or maybe later. We ran into some snags here and it’s going to take a lot longer than I thought.”

  Karen heard a burst of laughter and loud conversation. There was a jukebox playing in the background and she drew in her breath sharply.

  “Are you working now?” she asked, her voice skeptical. “It sounds like you’re in a bar, Mike. You swore to me you weren’t drinking again.”

  “I’m not drinking! Christ, Karen! You’re really getting paranoid lately! I just ran across the street to use the phone in here.”

  “But, Mike—”

  “Got to run now. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  There was a click and the line went dead. Karen stood staring at the receiver for a long moment before she replaced it in the cradle. Mike didn’t fool her for a second. He wasn’t working late; he was drinking again! Damn him for being such a fool!

  “Mike won’t be home until late.” Karen covered her feelings with a smile for Leslie’s benefit. “I think I’ll get started refinishing the dining-room table. Is there anything special you’d like to do, kitten?”

  “I’d really like to read these journals, if you don’t mind, Mom. I could take them up to the tower room and learn all about Dorthea. I’ll be careful with them, I promise.”

  “That’s fine, honey.” Karen smiled broadly. By reading the journals Leslie would learn about the history of this house. And maybe tonight, before Mike got home, they could go through some of the boxes and trunks in the ballroom. Leslie seemed just as interested as she was in finding out more about Dorthea.

  The table was finally stripped and Karen stepped back to survey her work. The grain of the wood she’d uncovered was gorgeous. It was going to be lovely when she was through.

  Karen stood up and rubbed the small of her back. The stripping was hard work and two hours had passed in a rush. Soon Leslie would be getting hungry. She really should go up and
check on her daughter. There hadn’t been a peep from the cupola.

  “Leslie? Aren’t you getting—oh!” Karen gave a soft smile as she opened the door of the cupola and saw her golden-haired daughter sleeping soundly, surrounded by pillows. Leslie’s hair was tangled and Karen noticed she looked warm. She gently touched her forehead. While Leslie wasn’t feverish, it was probably good for her to nap. She’d let her sleep now and stay up later tonight.

  Karen saw the key on the floor as she turned to leave. The string was frayed and broken. Idly Karen picked it up and turned it over in her fingers. She didn’t have the faintest idea why Leslie was so attached to this rusty old key, but she had worn it around her neck ever since she’d found it. At least it would look nicer on a pretty ribbon or chain. She thought Leslie would like that. It would be a surprise for her when she woke up.

  Karen slipped the key into her pocket and went back down the stairs. She paused as she passed the hall window. She could hear the mower outside, a high-pitched humming that made her head hurt. Red Fischer was working on the yard.

  Red was a real gem. Karen smiled as she caught sight of him rounding the corner. He wore blue denim overalls and a straw fishing hat bobbing with lures. Red said he’d always itched to get his hands on this beautiful estate and get it into shape.

  “Oh, dear!” Karen frowned in irritation. She had forgotten to tell Red about the rose garden. If she went outside right now, she could catch him before he left for the day.

  She could still smell the fumes from the stripper and took a deep breath of the clean air outside. The yard smelled wonderful. A smile took the place of her frown as she walked across the lawn. Damp cut grass stuck to her shoes and she kicked up puffs of green as she walked.

  Red was working at the side of the house now. Karen brushed her fingers against the trunk of an old elm tree as she passed it. Perhaps Dorthea had played under this very tree as a child. It looked very old. It was a joy to have huge old trees on their property, and Red said they were all healthy and thriving.