The Other Child

by Joanne Fluke

  “No, thanks.” Leslie took another spoonful of stew and forced herself to eat it. It might have been good without the turnips, but with them it was horrible. She avoided the turnip pieces and settled for meat and a piece of cauliflower, swallowing quickly so she wouldn’t have to taste it.

  “This is good, even if I do say so myself.” Mrs. Schmidt got up from the table and carried her empty bowl to the stew pot for another helping. “Would you like more, Leslie?”

  “I still have some left, Mrs. Schmidt,” Leslie replied, watching the kitchen clock carefully as the housekeeper refilled her bowl. Christopher had said that the medicine would take from fifteen to twenty minutes to work, although he hadn’t been sure if the temperature of the stew would speed things up. Leslie hoped it would be over soon.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your mother,” Mrs. Smith said as she sat down at the table again and picked up her spoon. “Do you think she’s become a little too . . . uh . . . involved with restoring the house exactly as the Appleton’s had it?”

  Leslie shook her head. “No, I don’t, Mrs. Schmidt. She’s very interested in the history of the Appleton family. And so am I.”

  “But you sit upstairs with your mother for hours, listening as she reads you those old letters. Wouldn’t you rather be outside with your schoolmates? Or playing in the yard with Trixie?”

  Leslie almost laughed, but she caught herself just in time. She didn’t like any of the kids in her class, and she couldn’t play in the yard with Trixie. Trixie was gone. And very soon now, Mrs. Schmidt would be gone, too.

  That was when it happened. Mrs. Schmidt gave a strangled gasp she pressed both hands to her chest. Her face turned a pasty white color that reminded Leslie of the old snow that remained on the ground right before the spring thaw.

  “Call . . . call . . . the doctor!” Mrs. Schmidt gasped out. And when Leslie simply stared at her quizzically, she pushed back the chair, stood up on legs that were visibly trembling, and took two steps toward the phone on the kitchen wall.

  Leslie was silent as Mrs. Schmidt faltered and fell heavily to the floor. She knew it wasn’t polite to laugh, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Mrs. Schmidt looked ridiculous with her arms and legs twitching and pounding on the black and white squares of the linoleum floor.

  Now Mrs. Schmidt’s face was turning gray and saliva dripped out of the corner of her mouth. Her fingers clutched at her chest, scrabbling just the way Trixie’s toenails used to do. Then she was very still.

  Leslie stood up in a daze. Mrs. Schmidt looked very pale and she wasn’t moving at all anymore. Leslie stepped around her and walked up the stairs to get Mike.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  One week had passed since the funeral and Karen still shuddered when she thought of their housekeeper’s death. Poor Mrs. Schmidt! They hadn’t known she had a weak heart. Dr. Simmons said he’d warned her to keep her weight down, but she had ignored his advice. Karen just hoped that the strain of taking care of their house hadn’t contributed to her death.

  It had been hard on Leslie, being the one to find Mrs. Schmidt. For a few days she had been silent and withdrawn, but she seemed better now. They had talked about it and decided not to hire another housekeeper. Actually, the housework wasn’t that much of a problem, now that the house was nearly finished. Karen found that she loved taking care of the house again by herself. She had forgotten how much fun it was to polish the antique furniture and care for Amelia’s possessions.

  Karen glanced at her watch and hurried a little faster up the stairs. Leslie had just left for school and it was time to get to work. She’d found an old apron upstairs that was perfect for dusting and cleaning and she was determined to do the darkroom today while Mike was at the magazine. Mike didn’t seem to notice that his workroom was a mess, but it bothered her every time she went in. Certainly, that corner of the third floor had never looked like this when the Appletons lived here!

  It was a simple matter to mop the floor and empty the trash. She dusted his equipment and cleaned the long, troughlike sink. It looked better in here already and she’d barely started.

  Karen tied her hair back with a piece of string and tackled the windows. Soon she had them sparkling. She looked around for something else to clean and she smiled as she saw the old cupboard in the corner. Dorthea’s father had used it for his ledgers and accounts. She’d dust the shelves and straighten everything inside.

  She gave a sigh as she opened the doors. No wonder Mike had trouble finding things! The closet was jammed full of old files and papers. It was a shame to treat a fine antique cupboard this way.

  The rag caught on something as she dusted the bottom shelf and Karen reached in to pull it free. Her fingers found a latch and she gasped as the bottom slid back to reveal a secret compartment filled with bottles.

  “‘Napoleon brandy?’” Karen frowned as she read the label. There were ten bottles of old brandy in here. William Appleton must have hidden them here years ago.

  Karen’s hands shook as she pulled them out. It was a good thing Mike hadn’t discovered them. She had to take care of them right away.

  She didn’t even stop to think as she carried the bottles to the sink and poured them out, one by one. The smell of brandy was strong and her eyes watered as she reached for the last bottle. It was open!

  “Oh, no!” Her anger grew as she examined the tenth bottle. It was almost half gone. Mike was drinking again, and it looked as if it was becoming a habit. This bottle was wiped clean and the others had been covered with dust.

  She brushed her hair back with an angry gesture and threw the dust rag into a corner. Now she knew why Mike was spending so much time alone in here. No wonder he’d told her not to clean his studio.

  Karen was fuming as she slammed the studio door behind her. She remembered all the times she’d felt sorry for Mike because he was working all night. She’d even told Leslie not to disturb him because he was slaving away in the darkroom. And the whole time he’d been up here drinking. He’d told her when they were married that he’d lay off the drinking and the gambling, and here they were married only a few years and he was back to his old habits. After what she’d been through with the miscarriage, you’d think Mike would make an effort to be a good husband and provider. She did all the work on the house, and all he cared about was using it for his magazine feature. He didn’t understand about Dorthea or about the past. He was insensitive, and a liar to boot.

  Leslie was well prepared for geography today. She had worked with Mom last night and now she was glad she’d studied so hard. Mrs. Ogilvie beamed every time she gave a correct answer.

  “And what is the principal export of Bolivia?” Mrs. Ogilvie’s whistle bounced on her chest as the pointer whacked against the bright yellow continent of South America. “Yes, Leslie—I’m sure you know the correct answer. I want to see if anyone else does.”

  Taffy looked down at her book and slouched in her seat. It was clear that she hadn’t studied. Several of the other students were also avoiding Mrs. Ogilvie’s eyes, hoping their names wouldn’t be called.

  Mrs. Ogilvie looked up and down the rows of desks and stopped as she came to Taffy. “You had the highest grades in geography last year, Taffy. You should know this one. What is the principal product of Bolivia?”

  The color rose in Taffy’s cheeks until her face was bright red. She had been hoping Mrs. Ogilvie would leave her alone this morning. She’d watched television last night instead of doing her homework.

  “I don’t remember.” Taffy swallowed nervously as she looked up into the teacher’s stern face. “I—I didn’t get time to study much last night, Mrs. Ogilvie.”

  The teacher clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Well, now, Taffy, it’s perfectly clear that you spent no time at all studying. Leslie! Please give Taffy the correct answer.”

  Leslie spoke up hesitantly. “Tin. I think it’s tin, Mrs. Ogilvie.”

  “Correct again!” Mrs. Ogilvie rapped sharply
on the edge of her desk with her pointer. “Thank goodness for you, Leslie! Now, I want every student in this class to review the homework assignment immediately. There will be a ten-question test right after recess. And for homework tonight, you will outline chapters three through five in your text. Leslie is excused, of course. I know she did her homework.”

  Leslie blushed as she felt the cold stares of the class. Taffy turned and made a face at her as Mrs. Ogilvie wrote the assignment on the blackboard. The pleasure she had felt at her teacher’s praise quickly disappeared under Taffy’s angry glare. She hadn’t meant to do anything wrong and it seemed she had goofed again. Now all the kids hated her for doing her homework. She just couldn’t win.

  It was late afternoon when he got home. They were in the yard with Red Fischer, working on the garden. Mike carried his black camera bag upstairs and kicked the studio door open with his foot.

  He stopped in the doorway and blinked. His darkroom was immaculate. Karen must have cleaned up in here while he was gone. Of course it was nice to have it clean, but he wished she wouldn’t poke around in here. This was his room.

  He opened the door to the cupboard and frowned. She’d even cleaned up in here! He hoped she hadn’t found the brandy!

  “Oh, no!” Mike gave a loud groan. It was gone and he knew exactly what she had done with it. He could still smell the scent of brandy in the air. Karen had poured it all down the sink.

  “How could she?” Mike slammed his fist on the counter. Just when he was ready to sell it, she had poured it out! He had finally come to a decision on the trip home today. He was going to sell the brandy and use the money for their house payment. Now he was short and he had to ask Rob to carry them again.

  Karen saw him stomping across the lawn, a scowl on his face. She knew what was coming and she was ready for it. Turning to Leslie urgently, she said, “Go into the greenhouse and help Mr. Fischer, kitten. And stay there until I come and get you. Mike and I have something to discuss.”

  Leslie took one look at Mike’s face and hurried off. He was mad, and so was Mom. They were going to have another fight. They were like strangers with each other these days. Leslie remembered how happy they had been back in the Cities. Now all Mike did was work up in his darkroom. And to be honest, Leslie was glad he was out of the way. She loved having her mom all to herself, just the two of them like before. They talked about the Appletons and the house, and got along fine.

  “What the hell are you trying to prove?” Mike stepped up to Karen and drew a deep breath. “Jesus, Karen! I told you never to go in my studio!”

  “You also told me you weren’t drinking again!” She stood there trembling, facing him squarely. “What’s the matter, Mike? Did I spoil your evening?”

  “You’re spoiling my whole life!” He wanted to draw back his hand and hit her, but somehow he controlled himself. Her eyes were mocking him, daring him to say more. She thought she was clever, discovering the brandy and getting rid of it.

  “I did you a favor by dumping out that booze!” Karen’s face took on a righteous expression, and that made him even angrier.

  “A favor? That was one stupid move, Karen. I could have sold that brandy for three hundred dollars a bottle. Add it up. Twenty-seven hundred dollars! You poured the next four house payments right down the drain!”

  There was a long silence. Karen had reeled back in shock. Her face turned even whiter as she stared at him. It made him feel good to see her speechless for once.

  “That’s right, Karen. Stand there with your mouth open. We’re going to lose this house and it’s your fault. At least you can’t blame this one on me!”

  He turned on his heel and stalked off. Of course they weren’t going to lose the house, but let her worry a little. She deserved to worry for pulling a dumb stunt like that.

  Taffy was still fuming as she walked down the sidewalk after school. Mrs. Ogilvie thought Leslie was the smartest kid in the class and it made Taffy mad. Things had been just fine before the Houstons moved here. Then she was the smartest. Now Leslie was getting all the attention just because she studied and took class pictures with that stupid camera of hers.

  She was almost home before she remembered that her mother was at bridge club. She didn’t feel like going home to an empty house. Maybe she could drop in on her dad at the office. He was always glad to see her. He might even take her to the drugstore for a root beer if he wasn’t busy.

  Taffy pushed open the door and smiled when she saw Evelyn’s bare desk. Her dad’s part-time secretary was gone for the day. She could do her homework right here and her mother would never know that Mrs. Ogilvie had given her an extra assignment for punishment.

  Her dad was in his private office and the door was closed. Taffy knew that meant he had a client. She’d just sit out here and wait for him to come out. She could even have a little fun while she sat here and did her homework.

  Taffy reached out and pushed the intercom button. She’d done this before, but she had to be careful. Dad had told her never to play with that switch, but he wouldn’t find out if she stayed quiet. It was fun to listen when he was closing a deal.

  “I really hate to bring it up, but I’m a little strapped again this month.” It was Mr. Houston’s voice. “I could scrape together the house payment, but it would really make things rough at home. Do you think you could carry us one more month, Rob? I’ll make three payments then, on the fifteenth of October.”

  “Let me see. . . .” Taffy could hear her dad shuffling papers on his desk. “Sure. No problem, Mike. Just don’t mention it to anyone. Marilyn’s the legal owner of the house and she’d start action in a minute if she knew. As long as you keep it under your hat, I’ll carry you.”

  Taffy began to smile as she doodled on her notebook with her pencil. This was really interesting. Leslie’s stepfather was late on their house payment and it wasn’t the first time. Maybe they’d have to move!

  The more she thought about it, the better she felt. Taffy’s smile grew wider. Her mother didn’t like the Houstons. Taffy was positive that she’d kick them out of the house if she could. Maybe she should tell her mother and see what happened.

  No, she couldn’t do that. Taffy let out a disappointed sigh. If she told, she’d have to admit that she had listened in on the intercom and then Dad would skin her alive. As tempting as it was, she didn’t dare say a word.

  All the lights were off as Mike pulled into the driveway. They were in bed already. He had a little trouble unlocking the door, but he managed. The whiskey sours they mixed at the Municipal Liquor Store were heavy drinks. The bartender was a regular guy and he’d mixed them doubles and charged for singles. Rob said he was a hometown boy. Everyone he met in the bar tonight had been friendly. These Cold Spring people were nice. He just didn’t understand why Karen and Leslie didn’t like them.

  Mike chuckled ruefully as he faced the closed bedroom door. Some of the guys had had their wives in the bar tonight. It was a crying shame Karen didn’t loosen up a little and have a few drinks with him. It might make her more human. They used to have fun. Hell—they used to have lots of fun before they moved here.

  He had turned to climb the stairs to his studio when he remembered. All gone—the brandy was all gone. He was feeling good and there wasn’t a damn thing to do. Karen was asleep and she wasn’t any fun anyway. He really ought to go in and wake her up and show her how to have a good time.

  “Why not?” Mike chuckled again. He opened the bedroom door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind him. He’d just get out of his clothes and hop into bed with Karen. It was about time she started acting like a wife again.

  “Mike! What—?” Karen gasped as she turned on the light and saw him leaning over her. The sour smell of whiskey made her head spin. He was staring at her, leering drunkenly. Then his hand shot forward and fastened on the neck of her silk nightgown.

  “No!” She gave a cry and jerked back in fear. The material pulled away in his hand and she cried out again as s
he covered herself with her arms. “Get away from me! You’re drunk!”

  “Yeah!” Mike laughed and grabbed her arms. He twisted them behind her back and pinned her to the bed. “I’m going to show you how to have a good time. Don’t you remember? You used to like it!”

  She pushed against him with all her strength, but she was no match for his drunken determination. He was grabbing her now, fingers digging painfully into the tender flesh.

  “Mike! Please! Leave me alone!” She twisted from side to side, but he was too strong. She heard his laughter as he loomed over her, and pure panic made her struggle desperately. He was an animal, a drunken animal. She had to get away.

  His hand snapped back to slap her viciously. She reeled in shock; and before she could react, he was on her, lunging forward brutally.

  One cry was all she gave. Then she shut her eyes tightly, welcoming the blackness. She willed her mind away, leaving her body uncaring, unfeeling, unmoving. It was a nightmare and she would awaken soon. She had fallen asleep in the yard, tired from taking care of the rose garden, weeding and planting in the late-summer sun. Any moment now she would wake up and it would be over. None of this was real.

  The taste of ashes was in his mouth. Mike opened his eyes to see the early-morning sky outside the window. He’d tied one on last night. Gradually the memory was coming back.

  He rolled over to look at her, ashamed at his passion of the night before. She lay there, still and straight, the covers barely lifting with her shallow breathing. She was asleep.

  He felt tears come to his eyes and he blinked them away angrily. He’d never done anything like this before. He felt as if something inside him had died last night and there was no way to bring it back to life. She was gone—the beautiful, passionate woman he’d married. And in her place was this shell, this doll-like stranger who had only one thought in her mind, an old house.