A Ruling Passion

by Judith Michael

  "But you didn't," Sybille said.

  Lily shook her head. "He didn't even kiss me. Not then."

  "Then why are you worrying about it now?"

  Lily's mouth opened and closed. She looked at Sybille as if she were a stranger. "You don't understand."

  "I'm trying—" Sybille bit off her sharp words. "I want to," she said soothingly. "Lily, I want to help you. You were right to come here; this is where you belong. You'll stay here tonight. You'll stay here as long as you want. You don't have to worry anymore. I'll take care of you."

  Lily's shaking eased under the murmur of Sybille's voice. "Could I have a cup of tea?" she asked.

  "Oh. Of course. Come to the kitchen, we'll sit there. And you'll tell me what you're thinking. You can tell me, Lily; you can tell me anything. I'll understand. I'll give you everything you need; you don't need anyone else. You never did. I'm the one you need."

  "Yes," Lily said. She was so sleepy. She hurt all over, and though she had washed and washed, and taken a bath so hot it turned her skin bright red, and spread ointment on her torn flesh, there was still a terrible burning between her legs, like a scream, and she thought she could still feel the oozing he had left behind, and the trickling of her blood. She felt dirty and anonymous, as if she were a piece of merchandise that a store clerk had torn from its wrappings and then tossed on a shelf, for everyone to see.

  "Tell me what happened," Sybille said. They sat at a long table in the kitchen, across from each other, waiting for the water to boil. "He came to your house .>"

  Lily closed her eyes. "I can't... not yet."

  "Tell me," Sybille said urgendy. She leaned forward tensely. "I want to hear everything."

  "No! I'm sorry, Sybille, I can't. Not tonight. I just want to go to sleep."

  "You don't want your tea?"

  "Oh. I guess so. And then can I go to sleep?"

  "Of course. You can do anything you want. You don't have to do anything at all until Sunday morning. We'll find an old sermon for you to give; no one will notice—"

  "Sunday? Sybille, I can't preach Sunday. You wouldn't ask me to."

  Sybille's mouth tightened; her eyes were flat. She had enough to worry about without Lily having a tantrum. The teakettle screeched, and she jumped up and went to the stove. "We won't talk about it tonight." She brought Lily a cup of tea. "How long was he there?"

  Lily stared at the tendrils of steam rising from the cup. "He left right after..."

  "What time was that?"

  "I don't know. The sun was shining."

  "This afternoon? And you waited until midnight to come to me? Are you sure he left right away? Or did he stay until you got used to him, maybe got to like it, and then you came to me because he left you?"

  Lily dropped the cup. It broke into shards, and the steaming tea flowed over the table in a red pool, and onto her lap, darkening her raincoat. She did not notice. She was shaking. She began to strike the

  table with her fist, helplessly banging it harder and harder, her hand slipping in the spilled tea, the shards of china bouncing as she struck the wood. 'Tou can't say that, you can't, you can't, you can't. You promised to take care of me, you said you'd understand, you said you were all I need." She struck the table, again and again, unable to stop. 'Tou lied to me!"

  ^^7 never lieF' Sybille took long steps to the end of the kitchen. Her body felt ungainly, as if she could not completely control it. "Stop acting like an infant! Behave yourself! I can't deal with you if you're hysterical!"

  'Tou think I liked it! How could you think that? You don't know anything about me!"

  "I know everything about you! Maybe you didn't like it; what difference does it make? When you calm down you'll forget it—it's amazing how much you can forget if you put your mind to it—and then you can concentrate on your preaching. If you'd done that all along, this wouldn't have happened." She came up behind Lily and put her hands on Lily's shoulders. "Listen to me," she said carefully. "I said I'd take care of you; you know that wasn't a lie. Look how many years I've done it, and you've been happy and making other people happy. It's all worked out the way I planned it; you don't want to ruin that, do you? It's been fine for you, Lily; you know that. And it will be again, I promise, but only if you stay close to me. You've got to forget this idea that you can experiment with sex, play around on the side, and then come back to me for—"

  'T)on^t say that!" Lily leaped from her chair and ran around the table, keeping it between them. She was still wearing her raincoat, tied tightly around her narrow waist, and she looked small and lost in it, her fragile neck and white pinched face rising from its wide collar, her eyes wide and fearful. "I don't experiment, I don't play around, I'm not even sure what that means. I wanted someone to love me. I thought you did, but you don't... Do you know who you sound like? Him! When he was on his knees, holding my hands and talking... oh, God, oh God..." She gasped as if she were strangling. "I hate it! I hate it and I hate you!"

  "Shut up! You don't hate me, you couldn't hate me, I'm all you have in the world. You've had a shock, a bad one, but you don't have to overdo it; you'll forget in no time. These things don't even leave scars. You think you'll never be the same, but you will be; nothing is so important that it leaves scars, you know, Lily; we're too tough for that, you and I. We'll go back the way we were; you'll do exactly what I say,

  you won't go sneaking around anymore like a teenager instead of a preacher who has millions of—"

  With a loud wail, Lily turned and opened the door behind her and flung herself through it.

  "God damn it!" Sybille exploded, and ran after her. "Lily, come back here!" She stood in the rectangle of light from the kitchen, looking into the darkness. "Come back, I said! You can't leave; where will you go? You haven't anyone but me!" She stood still, hstening. There was no sound but the rusding of leaves in a light breeze. "Lily, I order you to come in here!" She stood there, breathing hard, her shadow stretching before her like a long, thin finger, pointing at Lily.

  Standing behind a lilac bush, Lily shrank from it. Tou haven't anyone but me. It was true. There was nowhere she could go. She could get into the small car that Sybille had bought for her birthday, and drive and drive and not find one person who cared about her. Millions of people watched her every week; thousands came to the Cathedral of Joy to hear her, but to them she was a preacher, distant, pure, all in white, with answers to their questions. They wouldn't want to know what a sad, soiled creature Lilith Grace had turned out to be. They wouldn't want to comfort her and love her; they expected her to do that for them.

  She blinked back the tears that kept coming; there seemed to be no end to them. She wondered why she wasn't a dry husk by now, all the tears squeezed out, nothing left.

  Nothing left. Tou haven't anyone hut me. Sybille's shadow pointed at her.

  "God damn it, I gave you an order!" The voice shrieked across the darkness. "You get back in this house!" There was a pause; then the voice, sounding strained, was lower. "You need a good night's sleep, then you'll feel better. Get in here; I'll put you to bed." There was another pause. ^'^Get in here?'

  Lily shivered. / can't go hack; I'll die. Very slowly, one careful step at a time, she walked away from the house, making a wide circle to the driveway in front. She inched open her car door and sat inside. In-standy, her eyes closed. If she could just sleep awhile...

  "Answer me! Where are you?"

  Her eyes jerked open. She had left the key in the ignition; she felt it with her fingers in the darkness, and turned it at the same time as she slammed the door. The car leaped forward, skidding as she turned the wheel hard to follow the bend in the driveway. I'll find a place to £fo. Somewhere...

  Tears blurred her vision and she slowed until she was barely moving. She stared at the two beams from her headlights, converging in the pitch blackness, leading her on. But they don't lead to anyone, or anything, she thought. I have no future. I'm just an ordinary person. I'm not a virgin, I'm not pure, I'm not special, an
d I have nowhere to

  But I am special. Sybille always said I was. She said I was chosen. I walked away from that plane crash without even a scratch. Carlton was killed, everyone else was injured; I was the only one who walked away, untouched, in God's embrace.

  But... Sybille. I can't be sure of anything Sybille told me. Not anymore. And I can't remember how I got out of the plane. I don't remember anything but walking away. And if I'm really not special, not different... what if I'm wrong about the crash too?

  And then she knew what she had to do. She put her foot on the accelerator, speeding up, following her lights. She had to find out what happened in the crash. She had to talk to Valerie.

  "I'll tell you anything I can," Valerie said, "but not tonight. You're more asleep than awake and I was asleep, so we're going to wait until morning."

  "I don't need to sleep," Lily said doggedly. She was sitting on the edge of a chair. "I just have to know—^"

  "Come on," Valerie said gendy. "It's two o'clock in the morning and you and I are going to sleep."

  Lily let herself be pulled up. "Where?" "In my bed. There's plenty of room for both of us." "Oh," Lily said. She followed Valerie up the narrow stairs and into her bedroom, and let Valerie help her take off her raincoat and the slacks and loose shirt she wore underneath. And then she crawled into the still-warm bed and curled up as tight as she could, so she would not take up too much room. She felt Valerie slip into the other side, and she began to shiver. She didn't know why; she wasn't cold; but her whole body was shaking. "Lily," Valerie said sofdy, and moved closer, sHding her arm beneath Lily's shoulders. She pulled Lily to her, and cradled her. "It's all right, Lily, it's all right." Her voice was soothing, like a warm caress. "Don't be afraid, Lily, you're safe here, we'll take care of you." Lily pressed her body to Valerie's, snuggling against her within the tight embrace of Valerie's arms and the warmth of their bodies so close together, like a mother and child. In a few moments

  Lily's shivering stopped. "I love you, Valerie," she murmured. And then she was asleep.

  When she woke the room was bright with sunlight, and the bed was empty. "Valerie.>" Lily said. In a minute she raised her voice. "Valerie.>"

  "Downstairs," Valerie called. "Breakfast whenever you're ready. There's a clean set of towels in the bathroom."

  Lily showered and dressed in her pants and oversize shirt, and went downstairs. "Good morning," Valerie said. "This is my mother, Rosemary Ashbrook. Lily Grace."

  They were sitting at the dining-room table. "Good morning," Rosemary said. "Will you have toast? Coffee?"

  "Yes, thank you," said Lily. She avoided looking at Valerie, embarrassed by the memory of behaving like a baby in bed.

  "I'm going to the office late," Valerie said, as casual as if nothing unusual had happened. "So if you want to talk, now's the time to do it."

  Lily took a bite of toast, then another. Suddenly she was ravenous. "I'm sorry I woke you last night." Her mouth was full, and she waited until she had swallowed the last bite. "I didn't know where else to go." She began to spread jam on another slice. "Something happened, something awfiil, and I went to someone for help and that was awful, too, and I had to go somewhere, so I came here."

  Valerie nodded, as if it were perfecdy clear. "Why don't you tell us what happened?"

  Lily did. She had thought she could never talk about it, but in that crowded, sunny room, with the memory of Valerie holding her through what was left of the night, and with Valerie sitting beside her now, so beautifiil and interested, Lily felt as if she had come home. Her embarrassment was gone; she felt comfortable and trusting, and so she began to talk. And then she could not stop. She kept eating toast and drinking coffee as the words came, all of them, all the way to Sybille's last shriek across the yard as Lily fled in the dark, and the long ride through the empty countryside and all the small towns, searching for a pharmacy or gasoline station with a telephone directory, to look up Valerie's address, and then another search, through the streets of Falls Church, until she found the coach house and leaned against the door, her finger on the bell.

  When she finished, Rosemary had tears in her eyes. "You poor child. But why didn't you report him to the police? You should have called them right away; it's harder, the longer you wait."

  "No!" Lily cried. Vehemently, she shook her head. "I can't talk about it to anybody else. Not to stranpfers! I'm so ashamed... I'm so dirty, and they'll look at me and..." She started to shiver again.

  "But how can they punish—"

  "Mother, it's up to Lily," Valerie said quiedy. She put her hand on Lily's. "It's a nightmare. It's terrible that you had to go through it, and that you have to learn how to deal with it now. We'll do what we can to help you, but in the end no one can do it for you; you'll have to confront it yourself."

  Lily looked at her, her eyes wide. Sybille had always told her she'd take care of everything. But I'm twenty-three years old, Lily thought. I can't curl up in someone's house, or someone's bed, forever.

  "One thing," Valerie went on. "I wish you'd try not to be ashamed, Lily. A terrible thing was done to you, but that hasn't changed you from the person you were. You're not dirty, Lily. He is. You're as good and decent and loving as you've always been. We can talk about that any time you want. Or anything else. You just let me know."

  Lily was still gazing at her, her eyes wide and a little startled. Valerie saw the beginning of worship in them. "You wanted to ask me something last night," she said. "What was it?"

  "Oh. Yes. It was about the crash, when Carlton was killed. I have to know what happened to me. I mean, I know I walked away from the plane and wasn't hurt, I didn't have a scratch or a bruise or anything, but I can't remember it. How did I walk out of the plane?"

  "You didn't," said Valerie. "Alex and I got you out."

  "You couldn't have." Lily shook her head. "I walked away from the plane and then I must have fainted, because I woke up a litde way from it, and it was burning, and I ran away from the fire. I looked for all of you but I didn't see you, and I walked around the plane, not close, I was in the trees because the fire was so hot—I remember it was so strange, my feet were freezing but my face was hot; the air around the plane was so hot it was all wavery from the heat, and the snow was melting—and then I saw Carlton, lying down, and I was with him when you came back. But I was walking the whole time; I walked out of the plane and I walked until I found you and there was nothing wrong with me; I wasn't hurt at all."

  Valerie gazed out the window, remembering the scene as Lily described it. "You must have been walking around the plane when Alex and I were looking for you. But you didn't walk away when we crashed, Lily. You were unconscious, and Alex and I got you out first

  because you were next to the door and we couldn't drag the others out over you."

  Lily stared at her. "I was unconscious?"

  "Lily, you said you didn't remember walking away from the plane."

  "No, but I know I did. Not alone; God was protecting me. He kept me untouched when everyone else was hurt and Carlton died; and he gave me the power to walk away. Sybille said that was what happened. She always talked about it before I gave a sermon, especially when I used to be so nervous; she said I should never doubt that I'd been chosen for something special and she'd help me do it..." Her voice trailed away. "But I don't know what to believe about Sybille, anymore." She bent her head, then looked up at Valerie. "I was unconscious in the plane? You're sure of that?"

  "I'm sure," Valerie said gendy. "Alex and I got you out, and took you a litde distance away, and went back for the others."

  There was a silence. Lily bit her lip. "Then I'm not different, I'm not special, I'm not chosen. Everything I believed... I was wrong about everything. All those people, believing in me, trusting me... I haven't any right to tell them anything; everything about me is a lie."

  "It's not a lie that you care about people," Valerie said quiedy.

  Lily looked up. "No, but..."

  "Give yourself
a litde credit. You may be right that you're not different or special, but I doubt it. Everyone has some kind of specialness and yours may be very different from anyone else's; you may find you're quite extraordinary. You may not, but take a while to make a judgment about it. Don't damn yourself right away, Lily; it's hard to make a comeback from that and feel good about yourself again."

  Lily was frowning. She was used to Sybille telling her she was special and wonderfiil. Rudy had done the same, and Quentin too. None of them had told her to do her own thinking about herself... and maybe discover she wasn't extraordinary at all. "I just don't know," she said helplessly. "If you're right about the crash... well, you have to be, you know what you did that day. You saved my life. And all this time I thought... Did Sybille know you did that?" she asked suddenly.

  "I don't know," Valerie replied. "I may have told her when she came to see me in the hospital, but I don't remember."

  "I'll bet she did." Lily's voice was very young and very hard. "I think she finds out everything and then does what she wants with it."

  There was another silence. Rosemary began to clear the table. Valerie sat quiedy, wondering how much Lily knew about the finances of

  Graceville and about Sybille and Carl. She had held the information about the two of them to herself, trying to decide what to do with it. There was no reason to confront Sybille; they had nothing to say to each other. Unless Sybille knew what Carl had done with the money; it was possible he had talked to her about it. That was probably a good reason to talk to her, but the prospect was so unpleasant she kept putting it off.

  Carl and Sybille; it was still so hard for her to comprehend it. She really did want to know more about them. Lily, she thought. She could ask Lily, in some kind of roundabout way. And of course she'd ask her about Graceville. Two completely separate stories, but the chances were that Lily might know something about Carl; she would surely know a great deal about Graceville. But she couldn't ask her yet. Lily had too much of her own to deal with right now.