by Joanne Fluke
Marian couldn’t help it. The joke really wasn’t that funny, but it felt so good to laugh. She hadn’t laughed like this in days. She poured herself another drink and picked up the cards to deal.
They played until midnight. Marian was in good spirits when she said good night at the door. For the first night since they had found Becky, she wasn’t afraid to go to sleep.
She got Dan settled in bed and went upstairs. It was cold tonight. The outdoor thermometer was stuck at fifteen below. Marian opened Laura’s heat register all the way and got into her warmest nightgown. She wasn’t really sleepy. Perhaps she’d read for a while. Laura would like to hear a story.
Marian picked up the copy of Charlotte’s Web. Her students loved the book. She read a chapter a day, right after lunch. Was it fair to read it to Laura first? Laura would be ahead of the rest of the class.
“What do you think, baby?” Marian opened the book and stood quietly listening. “Do you want to hear it first?”
The light was good in the chair by the bed. Marian sat down and smiled to herself. Laura deserved a few extra chapters. She was eager to hear what happened to Wilbur.
Her voice filled the room, soft and melodic. Marian loved to read aloud to her baby. She finished the chapter and placed the book on Laura’s small table. She left it open on purpose. Laura wanted to look at the picture. It showed Wilbur posing under the web Charlotte had spun. TERRIFIC, it said, in an intricate design.
Marian stretched out on Laura’s bed. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Now she was really tired. She covered herself with Laura’s quilt and snuggled into the warmth. She felt peaceful and restored here in Laura’s bed. There was a soft smile on her face as she went to sleep.
Marian was happy. There was a feeling of joyous expectation as she opened her eyes and blinked against the morning light. The sun was out for the first time in days, and her baby had been here. She didn’t have to look. She knew it.
Laura’s diary was next to the bed. Marian reached for it with eager fingers. The smile on her face spread to rapture as she saw the big, childlike printing.
She’s here. I’m so happy, Mommy. Becky came to play with me.
Laura was happy again! Marian was so relieved, she laughed out loud. Now Laura wasn’t all alone.
This time she had to show Dan. Marian ran down the stairs with the diary in her hands. Dan had to read it. Laura had a playmate now, and she was happy.
“Dan! Wake up, honey! You have to read this! It’s another note from Laura!”
He groaned as he struggled to sit up in bed. Marian thrust the book into his hands, and he glanced down to read the lines. She was doing it again, right when he thought everything was all right.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Dan?” Marian’s face was bright with excitement. “Laura’s not alone anymore! Look! She says she’s happy!”
It was the same thing all over again. Dan felt a surge of anger and helplessness. Marian was writing these crazy notes in her sleep. Somehow he had to force her back to reality. This whole thing was completely insane!
“Marian, I want you to listen to me.” Dan faced her with a determined expression. Her delusion had gone too far. He had to take a hard line with her now, even at the risk of being cruel. Nothing else would be effective.
“Laura is not writing these notes. You are. Laura is dead.”
For a moment he thought he had gotten through to her. Her joyful expression wavered, but then it was back again, in full force.
“I know Laura’s dead, Dan. We both know that’s true. But she’s writing these notes. That’s what makes it so wonderful. She’s telling us that dying isn’t the end. Don’t you see? She’s still there, somewhere, loving us and watching over us.”
“No, Marian. Laura’s not writing these notes. You are. Don’t you understand what’s happening here? You’re upset over Becky’s death, and writing these notes makes you feel better.”
She was frowning now, trying to puzzle it out. “You think I wrote this note?” she asked at last.
“I know you did, Marian. Remember how you used to write things in your sleep? The poetry? The grocery lists? You kept a notepad right by the bed, and sometimes you wrote something in the middle of the night. You couldn’t remember doing that, either. Laura’s dead. She’s gone. You’ll never hear from her again. Dead people can’t write notes.”
“That’s not true!”
She grabbed the diary from his hands and ran from the room. He was being mean, trying to get even with her for the teachers’ party. Dan was lying about the notes, lying about Laura. He wanted to hurt her, but she wouldn’t let him. No one could take her baby away from her!
She didn’t calm down until she got to Laura’s room. Then she sat in the rocker and drew a deep breath. What should she do now? Dan didn’t believe this was a note from Laura.
It was hard to believe. Marian nodded. She would be the first to admit that it sounded crazy. Perhaps Dan hadn’t been trying to hurt her. He just didn’t have enough faith to believe.
She looked down at the diary and read it again. She knew Laura had written it. It didn’t really matter about Dan. It would be foolish to try to convince him.
She’s here. I’m so happy, Mommy. Becky came to play with me.
As she reread the words, peace stole into her heart. Laura was happy. That was the important thing. Laura was happy because Becky was there.
Was it right to feel joy over the death of a child? The thought sobered Marian. Perhaps it was not in good taste, or however you defined those nebulous things. And she certainly wasn’t rejoicing over Becky’s awful accident! She would have done anything to prevent it from happening.
But it had happened. It must be God’s will. And now Laura had a friend to play with.
Suddenly Marian felt better. It was all explained now. Grief was tempered with joy, and everything was changed. Becky had not died in vain. That would be a great comfort to Donna, if she could tell her. But Marian knew better than that. She had learned an important lesson from Dan this morning. Dan thought she was crazy. Donna would think she was crazy, too, for believing such a thing. No one could understand . . . no one but her. It was Laura’s secret she had to keep.
She opened the diary to the next page and stacked Laura’s books neatly on the table. She would buy a flower today to put in a vase on Laura’s table. Her baby loved flowers. And right after the funeral, she’d stop at the drugstore for the new issue of Jack and Jill. They could read it together up here in Laura’s room.
In a way, it was best that Dan was paralyzed. Marian paused thoughtfully as she brushed her curly hair. He couldn’t come up here to see all the wonderful little changes she would make in Laura’s room. Dan would be sure she was losing her mind if he saw fresh flowers on Laura’s table and the new books she was planning to buy. She pushed thoughts of Dan to the back of her head. This was for Laura and for her, a little secret between mother and daughter. What Dan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest.
Dan was still horrified. He had tried to be calm and reasonable, to present the facts in a no-nonsense way. But Marian would not face reality. She still believed Laura was writing her notes. And nothing he could say would change her mind. She had dashed from the room like a madwoman, clutching the diary in her hands. What could he do to snap her out of it?
He expected her to be angry when she came back downstairs. He thought she would scream or cry. He was ready for anything but the serene smile she gave him when she came in to say good-bye.
Mood changes were a sign of mental illness. Dan thought he remembered reading that somewhere. Marian’s mood had gone from rage to serenity in the space of ten minutes. Didn’t that prove that something was wrong?
He would have to do something soon. Dan sat up a little straighter and sighed. He’d keep a close eye on Marian. If things got worse, he’d have to ask someone for help.
Marian sat with Sally on the hard wooden bench that served as a pew. The Congregational church was pla
in, no stained-glass windows, no rubbed oaken pews, no fancy altar cloths or statues. It was rather like a converted storefront, Marian thought, except it was up here on a hill, set apart from the business section, painted white, with a metal cross on top. It had been the Bible church before this, and the Church of Christ a few years back. The congregation was the same, but the ministers had changed. It seemed no clergyman wanted to stay in Nisswa for long.
There were no flowers. The small pink coffin stood alone and bare at the front of the church. Donna had asked that the money be given to the church instead. Marian guessed they could use it. The young minister looked to be barely twenty, with a black, threadbare suit and a tentative voice. There were three churches in Nisswa. Redeemer Lutheran, St. Paul’s Catholic, and this church, the poor country cousin.
Erik Wahlstrom got up to read the eulogy. He was a teller at the First State Bank and an elder in the congregation. Marian wished she could smile at him. Erik looked nervous.
It was over very quickly. There wasn’t much to say about a seven-year-old child. Donna was weeping as the young minister led her from the church. Marian ached to say something to comfort her. She wanted to pull Donna to the side, show her Laura’s note, give her hope again. But then the moment was past. She took Donna’s hand and murmured something appropriate. Then she followed Sally down the steep concrete steps.
CHAPTER 17
They decided to have the sledding party as scheduled. It would take everyone’s mind off the tragedy. Marian bundled up warmly and left the house at seven thirty. She took the shortcut through the woods, climbing up the back of Heidelberg Hill. The moon was bright tonight, and it was cold and clear. It was a good feeling being up here all alone, the snow crunching under her boots. The moon threw blue-black shadows of trees all around her, and Marian took a deep, gulping breath of the fresh cold air.
She could hear the shouts of the children long before she reached the top of the hill. There was a sled track just over the crest, two parallel lines that swerved their way down the slope to disappear in the distance below.
She could see the bonfire now, and Marian hurried toward it, ducking under pine branches that hung low and heavy with snow. There were already skaters on the pond, gliding in circles across the smooth surface, laughing and calling out to each other.
“Look out below!” a man shouted. Marian stopped to watch a toboggan hurtle down the gentle slope. Jim Sorensen was in the front, steering, his face a laughing flash as he whooshed past in a cloud of powdery snow.
The chaperones were sitting on logs around the bonfire. They were drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups. Sally saw her and waved, patting the log next to her.
“You walked through the woods alone? It’s dark up there!” Sally sounded shocked, and Marian laughed.
“The moon’s bright tonight.” Marian accepted a cup of coffee and took a sip. Then she coughed and drank again. “This tastes like brandy!”
“Shh!” Sally put a finger to her lips. “Ronnie filled the thermos. He made it half-and-half because it’s so cold.”
“Mom? Can I ride on Mr. Sorensen’s toboggan?” Jenny came racing up and dropped her skates at Sally’s feet. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Larsen! Do you want a ride, too?”
“I think I’ll wait a little while, Jenny.” Marian reached down to tuck in Jenny’s long, ribbed scarf. “I’ll just stay here and talk to your mom.”
“She’s been waiting for this all day.” Sally shook her head. “The minute Jim got that toboggan, the news spread like wildfire. I bet every kid in school called him to see if he’d bring it tonight.”
“At least she’s not depressed.” Marian smiled. “I thought maybe . . . with Becky and all . . .”
“She took it pretty hard at first,” Sally admitted. “But she seems to be all right now. Come on, Marian. Let’s walk over there and watch them come down.”
Marian thought Jenny still looked a little depressed. It had been a terrible year for her, losing two of her favorite friends. The Terrible Trio was gone now. Jenny was the only one left. It was sad for Jenny to be separated from her friends. The three girls had been so close.
Jenny was right behind Jim, wedged in by the older kids. There was no way she could fall off. Marian heard her excited squeal as the toboggan shoved off. Jenny was hanging on tightly, her laughing face a blur as she streaked past. When they came to a stop at the base of the hill, Jenny rolled off and tugged at the rope. She was ready to go all over again.
“Okay. Once more.” Jim let himself be persuaded. “Who’s the strongest? We need the strongest and quickest to shove off.”
Marian felt a rush of love as she watched Jenny trudge back up the slope, sturdy legs churning through the snow. Her scarf had come loose again, and Marian wished she could tuck it in. Jenny was a dear little girl. She had been Laura’s very best friend.
There were numerous spills and scrapes, but none of them were serious. Some of the younger children were so well padded, it was an effort for them to walk. They tramped through the snow, puffing and laughing, not feeling the cold in the slightest. They reminded Marian of stuffed toys, legs and arms no longer bending in the proper places with twenty extra pounds of kapok sewn in their clothes.
There was one advantage to wearing snow pants, Marian thought as she saw Ricky Owens slide across the ice on his bottom. Ricky didn’t even wince. He just got up, grinning, and skated off again.
“Evenin’, Miz Larsen.”
Jake Campbell stood by the edge of the pond, watching the children skate. There was a wide, happy grin on his face, and Marian could tell he was half drunk on whatever he was carrying in his brown paper bag. She waved but avoided him neatly, hurrying off toward the crowd around the bonfire. When Jake was drunk, he’d talk your ear off about his days in the army. He lived in a corrugated tin shack on the edge of town, subsisting entirely on the small check he got from the VA each month. Jake had come back to town after being injured in combat and had just stayed. He seemed perfectly harmless, even though he said some strange things now and then. The children liked him, and Marian supposed he had just as much right to be there as anyone else in town.
Sally was off supervising a group of younger children, helping them slide down a small slope in cardboard boxes from the Red Owl. Connie Bergstrom was with her. Marian looked around for Cliff. If Connie was here, Cliff couldn’t be far away.
There he was, building a snowman with four younger children. Marian grinned as she saw him using his cast as a lever to lift the heavy balls of snow. She’d have to remember to tell Dan about that. It seemed that no injury would keep Cliff down for long.
Midge had brought three huge saucers of bright orange plastic with handles on the inside. She was attempting to organize a lineup of kids. The disks were a novelty, and they all wanted a turn to slide and spin down the hill.
Jenny sat down on a log by the bonfire. She missed Laura and Becky! This party would be fun if they were here.
The toboggan ride was over. Mr. Sorensen said she had to wait until everyone had a turn before she could go again. Jenny understood about taking turns, but now she was bored. Her mom was with the kindergarten kids, and Jenny didn’t want to join them. She was too old to slide down a snowbank in a box. And she didn’t feel like riding on a saucer, either. There was nothing to do.
She pulled her sled over to the baby hill and went down once. That was no fun, either. It was such a little hill. When she played with Laura and Becky, they went down much bigger hills than this.
Jenny stood alone, away from her laughing classmates, and stared up at the big hill. She remembered what they had decided last summer. They had all made a promise, Laura, Becky, and her. This year they’d slide down the big hill at night. Should she do it alone? Becky and Laura were dead. They couldn’t keep their promise, but she could keep hers. It wasn’t right to break a promise.
Mom would be mad. Jenny frowned in concentration. Dad wouldn’t like it, either. She’d probably get a spanking for breaking the rule. W
as it worth a spanking to keep her promise?
Marian wandered from group to group, returning to the bonfire a couple of times for a refill from the thermos. She spotted Jim Sorensen leaving with the toboggan and waved at him. Then she looked around for Jenny. Her skates were still by the log, so she wasn’t out on the pond. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen Jenny for quite some time.
She wasn’t in Midge’s group, and Sally was still with the younger children. Ronnie was on the far side of the bonfire. Jenny wasn’t with him, either. Her sled was gone, though, and there were tracks where she’d dragged it away.
Marian walked to the edge of the clearing and peered up through the trees. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw a small figure disappearing around a pine tree near the path. Surely, Jenny wouldn’t be foolish enough to go down the big hill in the dark. It had been declared off-limits for this party.
Should she get Ronnie? Marian stood, undecided. Perhaps it wasn’t even Jenny up there. Jenny could be anywhere in this crowd of children. She should still go up and check, though. A child could get hurt up there, and they’d never know until noses were counted to go home.
Marian climbed up part of the way and stopped, listening. She was sure she heard someone ahead of her on the path. If Jenny was up here, she’d scold her and bring her down. Rules were rules, and Jenny was no exception. She had to hurry and catch up with whoever it was. Heidelberg Hill at night was no place for a child!
It took a long time to climb up the big hill. Jenny stopped halfway and caught her breath. The woods were dark now. Dense pine branches blocked the moonlight. It was quiet and lonely up here by herself.
She wanted to turn around and go back. This was no fun without Laura and Becky. But that would be a chicken thing to do.
