Queer Patterns

by Lilyan Brock

  Time went slowly on, and the household settled into its new routine with Allison skillfully cared for by Randall, his new attendant, leaving Jo free to be with Sheila.

  Spring blossomed into a perfect New England summer, and with it came a slight change in Allison. Apparently he was growing more gentle, and the whole household felt an ease in the tension. But Randall still had almost the entire care of the patient; he and Jo Trent were both far too experienced to relax vigilance lightly.

  It had been a beautiful spring for Jo. All day every day she had spent with Sheila, loving her more as time passed— holding her in her arms at night telling her of the wealth of affection in her heart for her—kissing her soft lips gently, then fiercely. Yet as she held Sheila close, Jo Trent, opportunist that she was forcing herself to be, was ever conscious of the ghost between them: nothing could erase the memory of Nicoli that she knew lived always in Sheila’s heart, Sheila’s mind. Sometimes at night Jo would slip quietly from her bed, and going downstairs would carefully open the outer door and walk out into the night, her bewildered mind not knowing where to turn for surcease from the anguish of loving Sheila so completely. It was heartbreaking to accept her surrender, knowing that all of her soul cried out for Nicoli—yet how to govern her own desires that wanted Sheila at any price? Constantly Jo searched for the answer—deciding always that she could not give up Sheila so long as she granted her even a portion of her love.

  The days were more or less happy ones for them all in spite of the hushed room upstairs where Allison lay.

  One night on her way upstairs Sheila was surprised to see his door open. As she passed along the hall, Randall stepped out into the corridor: “Miss Case, Mr. Graham has been asking for you for the first time since I have been with him. It might be well for you to see him.”

  Sheila was taken aback by the man’s statement, but she answered immediately, “I’m so glad! Of course I’ll go in.”

  Sheila walked across the room to Allison’s bedside, and in a gentle voice said, “Allison, darling, I’m so glad you wanted me.”

  She seated herself beside him and talked for a few moments. He was calm and gentle, like the man he had been when she had first met him. Her spirits rose as she looked upon him. But Randall voicelessly warned her against remaining too long, and she left with Allison pleading for her to stay on, imploring her to come in again in the morning.

  Sheila sought Jo to tell her of the remarkable change in Allison: how like himself he seemed and how he had told her he loved her and never wanted her to leave him. Jo’s face clouded during her recital of her visit with Allison and his reaction; but Sheila, radiant over the apparent improvement, failed to notice it. Jo was afraid. Was the man really better, or was this sudden interest in Sheila the result of a deranged mind that in its cunning way planned to do her harm ? Somehow she could not make herself believe that things were really as they now appeared.

  The next morning Sheila was up early, humming as she went about the room dressing, or sitting at her dressing table brushed her hair and arranged its soft waves becomingly about her radiant face. Jo, as she came into the room, thought she had never seen Sheila more lovely.

  “Is Allison awake yet?” Sheila questioned. “I promised him I’d come in and have breakfast with him this morning. Oh, Jo, it’s wonderful to see him so like himself again! I’m so thankful.”

  “I believe I heard his voice as I passed the door,” Jo replied. “I shall miss you at breakfast, but I am happy for your sake. To see you so gloriously alive is worth anything, Sheila, and you do look wonderful this morning. You slept like a baby last night—I don’t believe you even knew when I kissed you good night.”

  Sheila rose, and crossing to Jo, said, “But I do know you haven’t kissed me good morning!”

  Jo’s arms closed about the slender form, and in a low voice she answered, “We’ll remedy that right now.”

  After a moment Sheila released herself. “I must go now—Allison will be waiting.”

  Jo flashed a bright smile which she did not feel, and gave Sheila a gentle push toward the door. As Sheila left the room, Jo thought to herself darkly, “I don’t like it.”

  *

  “I’ve been awake hours, it seems, waiting for you, dearest,” said Allison as he drew Sheila down to him and kissed her.

  “You should have sent for me,” replied Sheila, as she seated herself in the winged chair beside the bed just as Mrs. Mason entered with their breakfast tray. “I’ve been awake for an hour.”

  Allison seemed in fine spirits and talked rapidly, laughingly telling her of all the things they would do together when he was able to be about again.

  He looked wonderfully well, Sheila thought, as she studied him sitting back against the pillows eating the food before him. The dark silk dressing gown with white scarf at the throat was exceedingly smart, and reminded her of his usual immaculate attire. The old Allison? There was no doubt in her mind that Allison was really on the road to complete recovery. At the thought of recovery, Sheila suddenly realized that any release she might have thought would come must be definitely cast aside now, for with Allison well again her life would necessarily resume its old road. That would mean giving up Jo! It couldn’t be. Jo had grown to mean much to her during the time they had been together, and she knew how Jo in turn loved her. It wasn’t right that always she must bring pain into the hearts of people whose lives she entered. Sheila felt ashamed for having for a moment placed her liberty before Allison’s recovery and forced herself to talk with him about their future plans. Yes, they would sail for Europe as soon as he was able, she agreed with him… yes, yes, yes, she told herself—face it—that is the way it will have to be.

  *

  Within a week Allison regained strength enough to make it possible for him to go downstairs throughout the day, where he would sit for hours talking to Sheila in the high, walnut-paneled rooms furnished in the fashion of a gentler day; or, joined by Jo and Randall, they would pass the time in a quiet rubber or two of bridge.

  He was steadily regaining his former bodily strength, and as the weeks passed and Fall was once more approaching, he was able to walk with Sheila for short distances through the woods close by. Jo, her heart heavy, would watch them pass out of the gate and into the lane beyond, ever conscious of the day when she must lose Sheila. Yet in her mind persisted the thought that Allison was not as he seemed. She had spoken of her feelings to Sheila, but she in turn had laughingly cast the idea aside, saying, “You’re morbid, Jo—of course Allison is all right. Why, if anyone could detect a change in him, surely it would be I!”

  So Jo kept her fears to herself after this one attempt, but she began to watch Allison more closely than ever, never allowing him to go too far away from the house with Sheila without Randall in attendance—relieved always when she saw their familiar figures returning, as arm in arm they strolled back to the house.

  *

  The trees and shrubs about the Alden place were radiant in their coats of red and brown and gold, and the air was filled with the soft rustle of the drying leaves as they stirred in the first chill winds of the coming winter.

  Jo was sitting curled up reading on a lounge before the open fire whose logs crackled cheerily as they gaily burned, when Sheila, dressed in tweed suit and tiny beret, appeared in the doorway.

  “Allison and I are going for a walk now, Jo. We shan’t be gone long,” and with an intimate smile and a promise of “I’ll see you later,” she was gone.

  Jo stared into the fire thoughtfully. Was the air really getting chillier, she asked herself, or was she aware of a strange foreboding in her heart?

  Ring stirred from his place on the hearth and whimpered; Jo quieted him gently. He rarely followed these days—instinctively he avoided Allison, sensing, perhaps, the dislike the man felt for him. But now he was restless, his keen senses alert.

  Jo’s first impulse was to slip into her loose walking coat and follow Allison and Sheila; but telling herself she was b
eing foolish, she settled herself back on the cushions again, picked up her book and resumed reading. She had been sitting there for only a short time when Randall entered the room.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, Miss Trent,” he began, “but something has happened that, while it may not be important, worries me.”

  “What is it, Randall?” Jo questioned, springing to her feet and facing him in instant alarm.

  “Simply this,” Randall continued; “in straightening Mr. Graham’s room, I’ve been unable to find among his things the white scarf he wears mornings with his robe. I remember seeing it on the bed beside his dressing gown just before he left with Miss Case, and I know he did not wear it, as I gave him a light woolen one myself and I remember seeing him place it around his neck. It may not be significant, but just the same… it worries me.”

  During Randall’s recital Jo’s face had gradually become pale, all of the color draining out of it as she realized to what a ghastly end that band of cloth might be used. All of her premonitions of something threatening in the air rushed back. She snatched up her coat which lay on a nearby chair and exclaimed commandingly, “We must find them at once! I’m afraid—horribly so.”

  They rushed hurriedly from the house, calling to Mrs. Mason as they left to stay with Mr. Graham constantly should he and Sheila return before they got back.

  Ring, eager for a run, dashed ahead.

  Jo’s heart was beating wildly as she and Randall, half walking, half running, followed the path Sheila and Allison had taken, the man’s serious eyes telling Jo that he too was fearful, perhaps reading her own thoughts as they rushed onward into the woods. Still no sight of Sheila and Allison.

  The setter’s frantic barks reached their ears—he’d found something.

  Suddenly Jo stopped and with a hand that trembled indicated a spot in a small clearing beyond. Then with a cry she ran blindly forward, with Randall close behind her. On the ground lay Sheila, her hat off, her clothes disheveled and torn, and around her slim white neck in a vise-like grip the missing white scarf.

  Jo dropped to the ground, taking Sheila’s hands in hers and rubbing her wrists briskly, while Randall raised her head gently and quickly untied the knots that bound the scarf.

  “Is she alive?” Jo asked frantically as the man listened for Sheila’s heart beat.

  “Yes, Miss Trent—but we must get her back to the house quickly.”

  Together they lifted the limp body, and with a hasty glance about them started back through the woods bearing the almost lifeless body of the woman who but a short time ago had been so pulsatingly alive.

  Ring followed mournfully at their heels, giving vent to an occasional small, uncertain bark.

  Arrived at the gate, Jo called to Mrs. Mason to turn down Sheila’s bed and bring restoratives at once.

  Carefully they carried her upstairs and placed her on the bed; then Randall ran below to telephone for a doctor while the two women gently undressed the still form.

  Randall returned shortly, saying, “Dr. Taylor will be over from town immediately. In the meantime he has given me instructions as to what he wishes done. Also, I called the constable, and he is organizing a search party to look for Mr. Graham.”

  Through the long hours that followed, Jo worked prayerfully beside the doctor in an attempt to kindle into a reviving flame the few faint sparks of life which were left. At long last her prayers were answered, and Sheila’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Then, as if remembering the full horror of the previous hours, she cried out, and sinking back, lapsed again into unconsciousness.

  In response to Jo’s frantic queries, the doctor replied that she need have no further fears for Sheila’s life, but that there was, of course, a serious case of shock to the nervous system from which only time and care would effect recovery. The sedative he had administered would give her rest and temporary forgetfulness.

  Jo sat beside the bed, her eyes forever watchful—eyes whose pained expression clearly showed the anguish in Sheila’s heart. The long hours passed… seemingly endless hours. Darkness shrouded the world outside… then after what seemed to Jo an eternity of waiting, the blackness began to fade. Gray dawn silvered the woods beyond the house; the pale glow of the rising sun brought a flush to the heavens, and the first melodious notes of a waking bird broke the enveloping stillness.

  Jo stirred in her chair. Yes, Sheila was apparently resting quietly. The door of the room opened. Randall entered, his footsteps light as he came toward her.

  “Mrs. Mason has some coffee for you,” he whispered. “I’ll stay with Miss Case.”

  “Thanks, Randall, you’re kind, but I think I’ll stay—you see, she might waken.” Weariness marked the words. Randall insisted. “You’d better go, really. She’ll be all right—if she does wake up, I’ll call you.”

  Unwillingly Jo left the room and started downstairs. Mrs. Mason met her. “Come along now, Miss Trent. I have some hot breakfast waiting for you. A good cup of hot coffee will make you feel better.”

  Jo followed the motherly woman without protest to the table prepared for her. Mrs. Mason busied herself bringing steaming dishes to her, and wearily Jo forced herself to eat. What could anything mean, she pondered, when Sheila lay so white and still in the room above? What promise could life have held if she had been taken away—if she were taken away? Jo shuddered at the morbid thought.

  “Is Miss Case still sleeping?” the housekeeper inquired.

  Jo raised her head to look into the woman’s sympathetic face. “Yes—she’s quiet. The sedative Dr. Taylor gave her will give her some rest for at least—”

  The shrilling of the telephone bell interrupted. Quickly the housekeeper turned to answer it.

  “That was the constable,” she informed Jo. “He wanted to let us know that they found Mr. Graham.”

  “Where?”

  “He said they located him miles away from here!”

  “I’m so glad they did find him,” breathed Jo. “I was so afraid… he might come back. What did they do with him? Did he say?”

  “Yes. They took him into town, and he said they were going to send him to the state asylum today. I guess they’ll keep him there until Miss Case is able to tell them what she wants done.” Mrs. Mason sighed deeply. “Poor Mr. Graham—it’s a pity. He must have been such a nice man before all this happened. They say he was like a wild animal when they caught him—took two or three men to handle him.”

  Jo nodded. “I guess it did. His mind is completely gone now; there isn’t any doubt about that.”

  The nurse visualized the scene that must have taken place: Allison must have been in a wildly exultant frame of mind over what he evidently thought was Sheila’s death. His eyes had probably been ablaze with the fulfillment of his vengeance. In a word, he had been like an untamed beast after the kill. She shook off the horrible thoughts. She must get back to Sheila.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she started upstairs. At least she would have to live no longer in daily fear for Sheila’s life. Allison would shortly be where his deranged mind could never again cause him to make an attempt upon the life of the one person who meant everything to her. At last Sheila’s ties were broken and she was free. A sadness came into her eyes as she realized what that freedom might cost herself, but at least for a time Sheila needed her love and care to nurse her back to health. Seizing on this thought for the small comfort it contained, she continued on up the stairs and into Sheila’s room.

  Randall nodded assurance as she entered, then he tiptoed out. Quietly seated beside the bed Jo waited for the first sign of Sheila’s awakening. Some few hours later the sleeping form stirred and a soft murmur came from the pale lips: “Nicoli—Nicoli.”

  Jo rose and touching the face of the semi-conscious sleeper said tenderly, “Yes, darling—I am here.”

  Sheila’s lips parted in a faint smile and then relaxing were still once more.

  Jo’s heart was leaden as she kept her vigil. It was like the thrust of a knife pe
netrating her heart to hear the woman she so idolized calling for another—one whose place in her heart Jo knew that she could never hope to fill. All of her love and devotion could not make Sheila forget Nicoli. Even now in her troubled sleep she repeated her name over and over Jo wept silently as she listened to the beloved voice.

  In the days that followed she was to hear her calling Nicoli repeatedly as she tossed and turned in the throes of delirium Sheila’s nerves were shattered as a result of the terrific shod she had sustained, and mindful of the doctor’s warning that she should be soothed and comforted in every way possible Jo continued to be Nicoli to Sheila, holding her in her arms; when she pleaded to be close to her and listening to all of the outpourings of her love for Nicoli. As she held Sheila to her heart comforting her, Jo’s eyes would become suffused with unshed tears, yet she endeavored bravely to endure the pain these moments cost her.

  Weeks slowly passed and Sheila, no longer delirious, now ceased to call for Nicoli, but in her eyes was ever the racking cry that her lips failed to utter. Jo, eternally watchful, saw that suffering in those eyes and wondered desperately how to alleviate it. The answer was ever the same—only Nicoli’s presence could erase the expression that daily, hourly haunted her.

  Slowly the winter came upon them, covering the surrounding country with its goodly blanket of snow: nature at rest under her snowy coverlets. The trees that had stood so jubilant in their brilliant autumn raiment were now ghostlike in their shrouds of white, ghosts that seemed alive only when the sun lay upon their ice-laden branches causing them to glisten under its rays. Winter descended upon the strange household just as it had fallen upon Jo’s heart. Each day told her that she could not go on keeping Sheila away from the one who was the very fountainhead of her well-being; she must somehow bring them together again, even though it would mean committing her own soul to eternal Winter.

  For many days there had been growing in her mind the conviction that without Nicoli, Sheila would not recover, nor even try. Life for Sheila at the present seemed something to be cast aside as one might throw off a cloak that had become too heavy—the will to live was flagging fast.