by Jane Toombs
“She’s fine. Get her to bed earlier if she’s tired,” Dr. Milford said.
“But she’s so thin.”
“Thin people live longer. Look, Miss Linstrom, for some reason you’re worrying about this little girl. Physically she’s fine. Maybe you’re too attached to the child. A pretty girl like you should marry and have her own babies instead of wasting love and attention on these disabled children. What can you ever do for her to make her a normal child? Nothing. Mental retardation is forever.”
Danica stared at the grey-haired doctor. She wanted to cry out that Amy wasn’t disabled, and even if she were, no love for a child was ever wasted. But she took a deep breath, thanked him for his time, and went to collect Amy from the examining room.
“You’re okay,” she told Amy as she lifted her off the table. “Not sick at all.”
Amy looked at Danica with her large grey eyes. Silver? Danica wondered fleetingly.
“It’s the lessons,” Amy said softly. “That’s all.”
Evan was in the waiting room. “Well?” he asked.
“You were right,” Danica said. “There’s nothing wrong.”
But as they drove up and around the hills toward Star-Fire, Amy’s movements in the backseat lessened until she was drooping in the corner when they pulled into the parking lot.
“Hey, what’s this?” Evan asked Amy, but she turned her face away from him and from Danica, too. When Amy got out of the car she moved so slowly that Evan picked her up.
“I guess her visit with the doctor wore her out,” he said. “Was she very frightened?”
It’s Star-Fire she’s afraid of, Danica wanted to say, but again held back her words. She shook her head. “I’ll let her take a nap,” she said. “Bring her up to the house.”
“But won’t she be moving back to her own room?”
Danica looked at Evan. “Not just yet,” she said.
He shrugged.
“I’ll talk to Galt,” Danica said. “I think Amy likes Maxwell. It’s the first she’s shown interest in any of the other children. I believe they should be in the same house so the relationship can be encouraged.”
“Do you think it’s wise to have Amy with you?” Evan asked.
“Why not?”
“Well, this whole bit, hovering over her like a mother hen—you’ll suffocate her if you’re not careful.”
“No I won’t.” Danica’s voice was sharp. “It was a professional concern today. I thought she looked pale, and since she seemed so tired I wondered about blood abnormalities. Now that a doctor has seen her, I won’t worry.”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me.” He shifted Amy so he could take Danica’s hand. “Aren’t we friends?”
But Danica pulled her hand away, angry at Evan and at herself, too. What had she accomplished by her insistence on taking Amy into town? Would everyone think she was overreacting? Would Galt take Amy away from her?
They found Galt in the kitchen of Danica’s house, discussing prices with a painter.
“I don’t know,” Galt said when Danica took him aside. “If Amy isn’t sick…”
“But she likes Maxwell. Couldn’t we try …?” Danica broke off to look imploringly at Galt.
He smiled at her. “Don’t be so upset. Of course we can try Amy over here for a week or so and see how she gets along. I agree any interest she shows in developing a relationship should be encouraged. But you’ll have to be careful not to…”
“I know—don’t get too attached to Amy.” She smiled at Galt. “But I’m her friend and she does know I am I intend to act like one.”
“There’s no reason Melantha can’t continue her work with Amy now, is there?” Galt asked. “Melantha doesn’t want too great a gap of time between contacts with a child. She’s very pleased with Amy’s progress.”
“One more day,” Danica pleaded. “Amy needs one more day of rest.”
Galt frowned. “I’ll see,” he said.
When Danica went into her bedroom to check on Amy, she was surprised to find Evan standing beside the bed looking down at the girl. He came to the door when he saw Danica.
“Well?” he asked.
“Amy’s going to stay here for the time being.” Evan went out into the hall and she followed him.
“Do you ever have the feeling there’s something inside Amy’s head evaluating you, sizing you up?” he asked, voice low.
Danica was taken aback. “Do you mean she’s more intelligent than we think?” she said finally.
He shook his head. “Not that exactly. More as though something alien is watching you?”
Danica stared at him.
“Oh, forget it,” he said. “Just a weird idea.” Danica walked outside with Evan. When she came back to Amy, Maxwell was with the girl. He sat on the bed and Amy sat next to him.
“Maxie,” she was saying softly, “close your eyes, that’s right, you’re a good boy…” When she saw Danica she broke off. Maxwell’s eyes popped open and he slid off the bed and left the room.
“What were you doing?” Danica said.
“Seeing Maxwell.”
“Seeing him?”
“Inside his head, like he really is.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You know—like the energy. When we all merge ourselves. Not the outside part you can see with your eyes. That’s not what touches together when a lot of us merge. It’s the inside.”
Danica sat down beside Amy. The mystical part of energy use was something she glossed over, didn’t really believe or disbelieve. She’d never felt anything unusual inside herself. She could tell the energy worked; symptoms of illness improved, tenseness relaxed. She believed in the energy, but she didn’t actually feel anything when a group using energy merged their inner consciousness, which was what Amy must be talking about.
“I didn’t know you joined any of the groups,” Danica said.
“You don’t have to hold hands to go inside,” Amy said matter-of-factly. “You just do it.”
“How do you see inside? Can you explain?”
Amy shook her head. “I don’t know, I just do.”
“Is this part of the lessons?”
“No. I mean, maybe I got better at it because of the lessons, but I think I always could see inside a little.”
“Like you saw the rock falling and the fire?”
“No, that’s different. Then it’s like I know what’s going to happen.”
Good heavens, Danica thought. Is this really true? Does Amy read minds as well as foresee future events? What did Melantha have to do with this? Did she know?
“Do you still like me?” Amy asked.
Danica smiled with difficulty, but she reached out her hand to Amy. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll always like you.”
Amy put her hand in Danica’s. “No matter what happens?” she asked.
“No matter what,” Danica promised.
Amy took her hand away. “My mama didn’t like me,” she said.
Danica said nothing. How could she reassure a child who had found her parents dead?
“Mama wanted to kill me so she wouldn’t be afraid anymore. She said I was bad and she hated me and I should be dead.”
“Oh, no,” Danica said.
“Yes, she did. But I could see inside her, so I hid when she came with the gun so she couldn’t find me, and then Daddy came home and she shot him instead, and I felt him die because I could see in Daddy’s head the best of anyone’s. He didn’t mind. But Mama did. Her head was all cloudy and she was always afraid.”
Amy sat rigid on the bed, her hands clasped tightly together, eyes staring straight ahead.
“Then I screamed inside myself, not out loud, when I knew Daddy was dead, and I don’t remember very well, it was like I fell asleep. But when I woke up Mama was dead, too. And everyone thought Daddy killed her first, then shot himself. I heard the policeman say they proved Daddy fired the gun. But he didn’t. Mama shot him when he tried to take the gun away from her. But s
he meant to kill me. I’m glad she’s dead.”
“Oh, Amy,” Danica said. “You poor sweetheart…”
Amy turned her grey eyes toward Danica. “I never told anyone because I couldn’t talk for a while. I really couldn’t, not just pretend. I don’t know why. And then later I thought no one would believe me. But you do, I knew you would because I always knew you’d come and find me sometime. With red hair like my daddy. And you’d have the arrow because we’re both Sagittarius. Daddy was, too, and he told me all about the Archer and how he hates badness.”
The grey eyes were tearless. “Do you think I’m bad?”
There were tears in Danica’s eyes. “No,” she said.
“I thought and thought about what happened,” Amy said, “and I think Mama laid down on the floor next to Daddy after he was dead and held his hand with the gun in it and made his dead hand shoot it somehow. Because when I came out to find them, they were both on the floor and Daddy had the gun.”
Oh God, we’ll never know what happened, Danica thought. But I’ll accept what Amy tells me so she’ll trust me. It could be true; she thinks it’s true.
“You couldn’t help what happened,” Danica said. “It’s not your fault. Nothing that happened was your fault.”
Tears welled up in Amy’s eyes and she flung herself against Danica and sobbed. “Daddy,” she cried, “Daddy, Daddy.”
Danica held the sobbing child until she quieted, then stayed with her until she fell asleep. How terrible, she thought. Amy has held all this in since her parents’ death and constructed a role for herself to play—the mute, disabled child. I must tell someone, tell Galt.
But she checked herself. No. Before I breathe one word of this I must have Amy’s consent. She trusts me, I must be careful not to breach that trust. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, about how Amy can drop her playacting and become herself.
Danica went into her bathroom to freshen up. As she picked a clean towel from the stack next to the sink, something fell out and into the sink bowl. Something that moved, was alive. She looked into the sink and stepped back with a choked cry. Another scorpion.
Chapter Thirteen
Danica slept well that night, despite the unease the finding of the scorpion left with her. She’d killed it and then sprayed the bathroom with insecticide. She’d searched through the bedroom for others but found no more.
When she awoke the next morning, Amy was sitting at the foot of her bed regarding her solemnly.
“Hi,” Danica said. “Feel better?”
Amy nodded. “It rained last night,” she said. “I heard it.”
But the morning was sunny, though cool. Lydia was already in the kitchen with the other children when they came out.
“We’re going to the snow today,” Lydia said.
“Snow,” Maxwell repeated.
“Where?” asked Danica.
“Up by Balch Park,” Galt said, “if we can get that far. Rain here means snow in the mountains.”
“Snow,” said Maxwell, watching Amy.
“Sounds like fun,” Danica said.
“And the painter will redo the kitchen while we’re gone.” Lydia lowered her voice. “I think Galt really wanted to take only you and Amy, but thought it wouldn’t look good.”
“Singling out one child, you mean?”
“Well, that, too. But I meant you. I think he’s…”
Danica shook her head. “Oh, no.” But she remembered the fire in Galt’s eyes when he touched her, and her own response. How nice it would be if only the three of them were going. Amy would be safe, secure with them, and maybe she could talk to Galt about the child. Plus the excitement of being with him.
“Let’s see, there’ll be seven of us, then?” Danica said to Lydia.
“Yes. I’ll make the supreme sacrifice and sit in back with the kids to keep peace.”
“Oh, you don’t have…”
“I’d expect the same from you if Dave was driving.”
They bundled up the children after breakfast and piled into the Star-Fire station wagon. Galt took Highway 190 and drove into Springville, where he turned off onto the Balch Park Road. They passed small farms and bare-limbed pear and apple orchards as the road paralleled the North Fork of the Tule River. But soon the road began a series of altitude-gaining switchbacks.
“That’s Dennison Mountain,” Galt said, pointing. “And Moses Mountain over there.”
The road was so steep and narrow that Danica held her breath until he had both hands back on the steering wheel.
“You’re not used to mountain roads, are you?” Galt asked with a grin.
“Snow,” Maxwell exclaimed from the backseat. He was right, they could see the rise ahead of them dusted with white.
“We’ll see the sequoias in a minute,” Galt said.
The snow on the road had melted, but they could see it on both sides of them. The children began clamoring to get out. Danica watched Amy, who, though she said nothing, seemed as eager as the rest.
“Wait until we get onto the flat here,” Galt said.
The redwoods rose above them with pines and cedars interspersed between the big trees. The sky was blue and clear, and the snow set off the deep reds and greens of the trees with postcard clarity. Through the air vents came the smell of evergreens.
Now there was snow in the road and after the station wagon skidded once, Galt pulled off into a small clearing. “This is as close as we’ll get to Balch Park today,” he said. “Everybody out.”
There were three or four inches of snow on the ground and the children tumbled out into it. Lydia began teaching them to roll snowballs for snowmen, but they soon discovered snowballs could be thrown, too. Also eaten, although Danica did her best to discourage that.
“Actually, the snow’s probably fairly clean up here,” Galt said. “Not too many germs, because not too many people. I used to eat snow when I was a kid. Didn’t you?”
Danica shook her head. “I never had a chance,” she said. “Believe it or not, this is my first snow.”
“Well, then,” said Galt, and stooped to gather enough snow for a ball.
Danica eyed him. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said.
“What? Eat it or throw it at you?”
“Either one,” she said.
“Try me.” He drew back his arm and she dodged, but the snowball caught her on the shoulder. She bent to gather her own snow.
Soon they had chased each other so far they were out of hearing range of the children and Lydia. A rise hid them from sight. Danica leaned, laughing against a tree.
“No fair,” she told him. “You’ve had previous experience.”
“Ignorance is no excuse,” he said, and threw another snowball.
Danica didn’t see it coming in time to duck and it hit her cheek, bringing tears to her eyes. Instantly Galt was beside her, wiping off her face with his handkerchief.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you’d dodge it.”
“It’s all right. I’m not hurt.”
“I don’t ever want to hurt you,” he said.
She couldn’t answer. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cold face. His lips were warm, too, covering hers, and they clung together until Danica felt a tug at her leg. Pulling away from Galt, she looked down to see Amy staring up at them. Another child appeared over the rise, following Amy’s footsteps. Maxwell.
Galt smiled at Danica, then crouched down to speak to Amy.
“Do you like the snow?” he asked.
Somewhat to Danica’s surprise, Amy nodded and reached out her hand to Galt. He took it with a sidelong glance and raise of his eyebrows at Danica. Danica moved to take Amy’s other hand and they began to walk back, occasionally lifting Amy off the ground and swinging her while she laughed aloud.
When they came to Maxwell, Galt reached out his free hand, but Maxwell scooted around him and took Danica’s instead.
Over the rise they found Lydia holding hands with the two o
ther children and heading toward them. When the two chains reached each other, Galt said, “Let’s make a circle.”
This was a familiar command. Hands clasped hands and the circle was formed, the Star-Fire circle. “Om,” Galt intoned, holding the word, drawing it out, and the children began to follow suit. The chant had begun.
“Om,” Danica chanted and gathered awareness so she could start the energy flow. She felt her body sway from side to side and knew the others in the circle were doing the same. Their voices rose in a merged hum and disappeared among the redwoods, then seemed to return until the air was throbbing with sound. Time was meaningless. Danica wasn’t sure how long they had merged when the humming began to diminish and then faded into silence. Slowly the hands unclasped.
Danica looked around at the group, feeling a closer kinship with these six individuals than she’d ever known. And yet she felt light and free. She bent down to Amy.
“How is today?” she asked softly. “How are you?”
Amy put her arms around Danica’s neck and her mouth next to Danica’s ear. “She’s gone,” Amy whispered. “The darkness is gone.”
Then Maxwell’s face was there and Danica was unable to ask what Amy meant.
“Did you notice the echo effect?” Galt asked.
“Wow,” Lydia responded. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“Helloo,” Galt called, and after a second the echo repeated, “…looo.”
“Cold,” Maxwell said.
They all were. It was time to leave.
On the trip down, with the heater warming the car, some of the children fell asleep. Danica felt Galt’s eyes on her now and then and when she turned her head to look at him, she thought something passed between them, a promise, a commitment to each other.
They were back at Star-Fire by early afternoon. Everyone was starving. “Lunch at Fred’s,” Lydia said. “He left a note on the table.” The smell of paint in the house was strong, but the painter was gone.
“Will you be having lunch with us?” Danica asked Galt.
“I’d like to but I can’t today.” He smiled at her. “I would have taken a picnic lunch for the children, but I’ve learned from experience never to feed a child when there’s a mountain road to come down.” Danica nodded. She’d felt a bit queasy herself coming down the switchbacks.
