SIX
LITTLE FEARS
Bird song filled the morning air along McClain Terrace, and fingers of sunlight moved in the forest beyond Kay's kitchen windows as she started breakfast. Laurie wasn't yet awake, but that was okay because starting next week she'd have to be getting up around seven-thirty to go to the day-care center while Kay drove on to George Ross Junior College, a few miles north of Ebensburg. Evan was showering upstairs, and as Kay put the water on to boil for coffee, she heard the noise of the shower cease.
When she was getting the cups - white with a dark blue band around the rim - out of the cupboard, her hands suddenly trembled and she dropped one of them onto the linoleum-tiled floor. It cracked, teethlike chips flying out in all directions, and she called herself a stupid ass and put the broken cup into the trash can.
But the truth was that a spring had begun winding itself tight within her.
She envisioned the inside of a pocket watch her grandfather Emory had once shown her, all the tiny gears clicking and turning, the mainspring coiling itself tighter and tighter as he wound it with his age-spotted hand. Won't it break, Pa-Pa? she'd asked him. And then it won't be good anymore? But he'd only smiled and wound it as tight as it would wind, and then he'd let her hold it and watch the gears go around, choking in what seemed to her a mechanical frenzy.
Perhaps now, she thought, the main spring that controlled her nerves and heartbeat and even the workings of her mind was being wound by an invisible hand. An invisible Pa-Pa. Wound and wound and wound until she could feel the first threatening throb of pain erupt at her temples. She opened a drawer, searched through it for the bottle of Bufferin she'd placed there the day before; she took two with a glass of water. That helped a little bit. But they were tension headaches, stubborn and painful, and very often so bad the Bufferin did nothing against them. She shrugged her shoulders to ease the tight band across her back. The water began to boil on the stove. To her the kettle's whistle sounded like a shriek. She reached for the pot, feeling the heat on her hand, and lifted it off the glowing eye. At the same time she concentrated on dismissing the nagging fears that seemed to have crept up around her, vaporish things that might have stepped through the woodwork. Things that had followed them from LaGrange and now sat watching her, grinning and chuckling, from perches atop the counter or the cupboards. In the war of nerves they always won.
In another few minutes she heard Evan coming down the stairs.
He came into the kitchen wearing a pale blue short sleeved shirt and gray slacks, and kissed her on the cheek as she fried bacon. He smelled of soap, and his hair was still damp. "Good morning," he said.
" 'Morning." She swept a mental hand across the kitchen, and those little fears scuttled away into nooks and crevices to wait. She smiled and returned his kiss. "Breakfast is almost ready."
"Great," he said, and looked out the windows across the sun-and-shadow-dappled woodland. "It's going to be a pretty day. Isn't Laurie awake yet?"
"No," Kay said. "There's no reason for her not to sleep late."
Evan nodded. He glanced toward the sky, half-expecting to see looming factory chimneys and a reddish tinge of industrial smoke, but there were only the distant clouds against a soft blue. How many mornings, he wondered, had he stood at the single kitchen window in that LaGrange house and seen that smudge of blood in the sky?
Those cramped, low-ceilinged rooms had been like a cage, except the bars were of wood instead of bamboo. And in that dark brick building far beyond the company parking lot the Gentleman waited, except this time the Gentleman had a name and his name was Harlin.
Evan's mind sheered away from all that, and he let the sunlight reflected off the trees warm his face; but in backing away from those thoughts he remembered the nightmare, with its Bethany's Sin road sign and its shadowy thing emerging from a cloud of dust.
Something tightened suddenly at the base of his spine. What could that dream-form have been? he wondered; what evil, twisted thing reaching for him? Only the Shadow knows, he told himself. And even the Shadow can be wrong.
"Here we are," Kay said, putting the breakfast dishes on the small circular table in the kitchen.
Evan sat down, and Kay joined him. They ate in silence for a few minutes; in an elm tree in the backyard a blue jay screeched and then wheeled for the sky. After a while Evan cleared his throat and looked up at her from his plate; he caught her gaze and held it. "I'd like to tell you what my dream was last night..."
She shook her head. "Please. I don't want to hear it..."
"Kay," he said quietly, "I want to talk about it. I've got to get it out in the open where I can see it clearly and try to understand it."
He put his fork down and sat silently for a moment. "I know my...
dreams frighten you. I know they make you uncomfortable. But they frighten me much, much more, because I have to live with them. I wish to God I didn't; I wish I could turn my back on them or run away from them or...something, but I can't. All I'm asking is that you help me understand."
"I don't want to hear it," Kay said firmly. "There's no sense in talking about your dreams with me, because I refuse to see them as you do. For Christ's sake, Evan, you torture yourself with them!" She leaned slightly over the table toward him, ignoring that haunted, pleading look in his eyes that she had seen so often. "And you insist on trying to torture Laurie and me with them as well! Everyone has dreams, but not everyone believes that their dreams are going to influence their lives somehow! When you start doing that, you" -
she searched carefully for the correct words - "make them come true yourself!"
Evan sipped at his coffee and put the cup back in its saucer; there was a tiny chip on the rim. "I don't dream like a normal person does," he said. "You must realize that by now. I'll sleep without dreaming for months at a time, and when they finally come they're...
very strange. And real. Terrible and threatening; different from ordinary dreams. And always they try to tell me something..."
"Evan!" Kay said sharply, more sharply than she'd intended.
Slashed, Evan looked at her and blinked, and she dropped her fork down onto the table. "I don't care what you say or think," she told him, trying hard to keep herself under control. Her temples throbbed.
Oh, no! she told herself. Damn it damn it here come those headaches! "They are not premonitions. There are no such things as premonitions." She held his gaze, wouldn't let him look away. "You make those things come true by your own actions, don't you see that? Can't you realize that it's you?" Bitterness rose in her throat, tasting like an amalgam of salt water, bile and blood. "Or are you too blind to see it?"
He kept staring at her, his face frozen into the mask he wore when she struck out at him. In the backyard a robin warbled on and on.
Kay rose and took her plate over to the sink. There was no use in talking to him about this thing; of all the tiny day-to-day thorns that pricked their marriage, this was the largest and the sharpest.
This had drawn blood and tears. And what was most terrible, Kay thought, was that it was a hopeless situation: Evan was never going to stop seeing his dreams as a window onto some other world, and she was never going to agree with his often utterly ridiculous
"premonitions." Those things that had come true in the past had come about due only to him, not to anything supernatural. Not to Destiny, nor to Evil, but only to Evan Reid. And the simple truth of the matter was for her the most painful: he had allowed those dreams to shape his own life and, worse, their life together. Middle class gypsies, she told herself, almost humorously. Carrying our crystal ball with us. Living in fear when the dreams told Evan there was going to be a fire in the apartment building - he'd left the electric heater on one morning, a frayed wire had shot sparks, a lot of smoke but not much damage. His fault again. Living in fear under Eddie Harlin - don't think about that! - and so many other times.
And now it's begun again, she told herself. Only one day here, where there are so many opportunities for all of us, and it's already started. And why? Yes. Because he's afraid. Isn't that what the Veterans Administration psychologist, Dr. Gellert, had said years ago? Evan has a problem trusting people, the doctor had told her in one of those terrible sessions. There's a great deal of stress within Evan, Mrs. Reid; it's a result of the war, his feelings about himself, his idea that he's personally responsible for many of the things that happened. It seems to be a complex problem; it goes back to his relationship with his parents and, especially, his older brother, Eric...
Evan finished his coffee and brought the plates over to the sink.
"Okay," he said. "I know they disturb you; I know they frighten you.
So we won't talk about them anymore." He waited for her response, and finally she turned toward him.
"They do scare me," Kay said. "And you scare me when you believe in them so much. I'm sorry I get upset, Evan; I'm sorry I don't understand, but...we've both got to put those bad things behind us." She paused for a moment, watching his eyes. "All right?"
"Yes," Evan said, nodding. "All right."
Kay reached out and took his hand, drawing him toward the windows. "Look at that," she said. "A whole forest for us to wake up to in the mornings. And that clear, blue sky. Did you ever make cloud-pictures when you were a child? What does that large one over there look like to you?"
Evan looked at it. "I don't know," he said. "What do you think?"
"A face," Kay said. "Someone smiling. See the eyes and the mouth?"
To Evan it looked like an archer, but he didn't say anything.
"I wonder what the rain looks like through these windows? Or the snow?"
Evan smiled and put his arm around her. "I doubt if we'll see very much snow this summer."
"It must be entirely white," Kay said. "And the branches thick with icicles. And in the spring and the fall it'll be different again."
She turned toward him and looked into his eyes; he'd pushed away the haunted darkness, for a little while at least, and for this she was grateful. She put her arms around him. "It's going to be good," she said. "Just like we've always wanted every thing to be. I've got my teaching position, you'll be writing, Laurie's going to be meeting new friends and having a real home; that's very important to her right now."
"Yes, I know it is." He held onto her and looked out across the forest. It would be beautiful under a cover of snow. And then in the spring, as the first green buds appeared on the thousands of bare brown limbs, there would be nothing in sight but fresh green and the slow and sure growth of new thicket; and in the autumn, as the weather cooled day by day, the trees would take on the appearance of fire, the leaves scorched with gold and red and yellow, slowly turning brown and curling, dropping to the earth. Beyond those windows Nature would be constantly changing her colors, like a beautiful woman with many dresses. It pleased Evan that there was so much beauty to look forward to, for in the past few years there had been achingly little.
There was a sudden bing-bong! from the entrance foyer. The doorbell, Evan realized.
"I'll see who it is," Kay said; she squeezed her husband's hand briefly and then turned away from the kitchen windows, going out through the den and a connecting corridor to the entrance foyer.
Through the panes of frosted glass set into the door she saw the head of the person on the other side; she unlocked and opened the door.
It was a woman, perhaps in her late thirties, wearing a canary yellow tennis outfit; a locket initialed with the letters J and D hung around her neck. Her flesh sun-tanned but amazingly unlined, she looked as if she practically lived outdoors, and in her rather square-jawed but attractive face her gaze was steady and calm. She held a basket of tomatoes. "Mrs. Reid?" she said.
"Yes, that's right."
"It's so good to meet you. I'm Janet Demargeon." The woman motioned with a tilt of her head. "Your next door neighbor."
"Oh, yes," Kay said, "of course. Please come in, won't you?"
She stepped back and the woman came into the entrance foyer.
The aroma of freshly mown grass wafted in through the open door, reminding Kay of wide, luxuriously green pastures.
"I see you're all moved in," Mrs. Demargeon said, swinging her- gaze in toward the living room. "How pretty."
"Not quite," Kay told her. "there's still some furniture to buy."
"Well, it's coming along nicely." The woman smiled again and offered her the basket. "From my garden. I thought you might like some fresh tomatoes this morning."
"Oh, they're beautiful," Kay said as she took them. They were, too; large and red and unblemished. Mrs. Demargeon walked past her into the living room and looked around. "Just a hobby," she said. "Everyone should have a hobby, and gardening's mine."
Kay motioned for her to sit down, and she did, in a chair near the picture window. "it's so nice and cool in here," Mrs. Demargeon said, fanning her face with a red-nailed hand. "My air conditioning has been breaking down since the first of June; it's a real problem getting the Sears serviceman over from the Mall."
"Can I get you something? A cup of coffee?"
"I'd love some iced tea. With plenty of ice."
Evan, hearing the voices, came through the foyer into the living room. Kay introduced them and showed him the tomatoes; Evan took the woman's outstretched hand and shook it, finding it as hard and dry as a man's. Her eyes were very attractive though, green veined with hazel, and her dark brown hair was swept back from her face. Glints of blond showed in it. Kay took the tomatoes back to the kitchen and left them alone.
"Where are you and your wife from, Mr. Reid?" Mrs.
Demargeon asked him when he'd settled himself on the sofa.
"We've been living in LaGrange; it's a small mill town near Bethlehem."
Mrs. Demargeon nodded. "I've heard of it. Were you with the mill?"
"In a way. I was a writer and copy editor for Iron Man, the mill's public-relations journal. Mostly I wrote headlines."
"A writer'?" She raised her eyebrows. "Well! I don't think we've ever had a writer in the village before. Have you ever had anything published?"
"A few things. I had a short story in fiction magazine in April, and before that an article on truck drivers in a CBer's publication.
There've been some other articles and short stories, all in .minor markets. Things like that."
"Interesting. At least you've seen some money from your efforts; I'm sure that's a lot more than most can say. Do you have a job here in the village, or in Johnstown?"
Evan shook his head. "I'm looking. We left LaGrange because of some...well, complications. And Kay's going to be teaching during the summer session at George Ross."
"Oh? Teaching what?"
"Basic algebra," Kay said, bringing Mrs. Demargeon's glass of tea across the room to her. The woman sipped at it gratefully.
"Strictly a summer-session course, but I'm hoping for a math concepts course in the fal1." She sat down beside Evan.
"That sounds way over my head," Mrs. Demargeon said.
"Anyone who can handle that has my immediate respect. I saw you drive in yesterday; wasn't there a little girl with you?"
"Our daughter, Laurie," Kay said. "I think she's still sleeping."
"Too bad. I'd like to meet her sometime. She looked like such a pretty, sweet little child. How old is she?"
"Just turned six in May," Kay told her.
"Six." The woman smiled, looked from Kay to Evan. "A beautiful age. Then she'll be attending first grade at Douglas in September? That's a fine school."
"Mrs. Demargeon..." Evan began, leaning forward slightly.
"Please. Janet."
"Okay; Janet. I noticed the street was very dark last night. Are all the houses on McClain Terrace occupied?"
"Yes, they are. But most of the people on the Terrace are early-to-bed, early-to-rise types. A bit sedate, if you get my meaning. Also, I believe the Rices are on vacation this month; they drive up into the Allegheny forest to do some camping every summer."
"What about the house directly across the street from us?" Evan asked her. "I didn't see any lights at all over there last night."
"Oh? Well, I suppose Mr. Keating may be on vacation, too. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen his car there for a few days. He's a widower, but I believe he has relatives living in New York; he may be visiting them. He's a very nice man; I'm sure 'll like him."
She smiled and sipped at her tea. "Oh, how cooling that is! Of course, June isn't really our hot month in Bethany's Sin. It's August you have to watch out for. That's the killer month; everything wilts.
And dry. My God, is it dry! She swung her gaze over toward Kay.
"So. Have you met many of the villagers yet?"
"You're the first neighbor we've met," Kay said. "Of course, we know Mrs. Giles, but that's about it."
"It takes time, I'm sure. I wouldn't worry. They're friendly people." She shifted her eyes to Evan. "Most of them are, at least; some of them, the ones who live in those large houses down near the Circle, stay to themselves. Their families have lived in the village for a few generations, and, Jesus Christ, they're more family conscious than the DAR!"
Kay smiled; she felt relaxed with this woman, and glad that she'd' come over to make them feel welcome. It was, after all, an indication that they were being accepted into the village, if only by one neighbor. And acceptance was always a good feeling.
"The Circle's very beautiful," Evan was saying.
"Someone's gone to a lot of trouble and expense to keep those flowers looking nice."
"The Beautification Committee does it. Let's see. Mr. and Mrs.
Holland, Mrs. Omarian, Mr. and Mrs. Brecker, Mr. Quarles. A few others. They take turns planting and watering and weeding and such as that. They wanted me on the committee last year, but I had to turn it down. That garden of mine keeps me close enough to the earth."
"I'm sure it does," Evan said. "I was wondering: what's that large house over on Cowlington? I can see its roof from my front yard."
Mrs. Demargeon paused for a moment. "Large house? Let's see.
Oh, right! That's the museum."
"Museum?" She nodded. "Built by the historical society."
"What kinds of things are in there?" Kay asked her.
Mrs. Demargeon smiled wryly. "Junk, dear. Just junk.Those society ladies think junk and dust make history. don't even waste your time going over there, because usually the place is locked up tighter than a drum! Do you play tennis, Mrs. Reid?"
"Please call me Kay. Oh, I used to play a little bit, but I haven't in quite some time." "Great! This place could use another tennis player! At least we do. I'm in a tennis club - the Dynamos - and we play every Tuesday morning at ten over on the courts just down the hill. There're five of us: Linda Paulson, Anne Grantham, Leigh Hunt, Jean Quarles, and me. Maybe you'd like to play some Tuesday?"
"Maybe," Kay said. "It depends on my classes."
"Of course." The woman finished her tea and put the empty glass on a table beside her. The ice cubes clicked together. She rose, and Evan and Kay did the same. "I'd better be getting on," Mrs.
Demargeon said, moving toward the front door. Stopping to look back, she asked, "Are you two bridge players?"
"Afraid not," Evan said.
"How about canasta? Poker? It doesn't matter. I want both of you over at my house on Friday night. Can you do that?"
Kay glanced at Evan; he nodded. "Yes," she said. "Of course."
"Perfect." She looked down at her wristwatch and made an irritated face. "Oops! I'm running late! Leigh's waiting for me over at Westbury. Kay, I'll call you later on in the week and we'll set up things for Friday, all right?" She opened the front door, moved out onto the steps, "Well, have a good day. And I hope you enjoy the tomatoes." She waved a hand, gave them one last smile, and then walked off along the pathway to the sidewalk. Kay watched her for a moment and then closed the door. She put her arm around Evan.
"She's very nice. I'll take something over there on Friday. How about potato salad?"
He nodded. "Okay."
There was a noise on the stairs, and Laurie came down, still in her pea green pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Hi, honey," Kay said. "Do you want some breakfast?"
She yawned. "Cheerios."
"Cheerios it is. How about some banana slices on top?" Kay took the little girl's hand and moved toward the den.
"Mrs. Demargeon didn't say anything about her husband," Evan said, and Kay looked back at him quizzically.
"Her husband? What about him?"
He shrugged. "Nothing, really. I saw him on their front porch yesterday, and Mrs. Giles told me he'd been in an accident several years ago. He's paralyzed and in a wheelchair."
"Mrs. Demargeon is probably sensitive about his condition,"
Kay said. "What kind of accident was it?"
"Car crash."
"God," Kay said softly. "That's awful." Brief flickering images of ripped metal, blank staring headlights, gashed flesh and nerves, swept over her. That could have happened to us once, she heard a voice inside her say. Stop that! "I'm sure we'll meet him on Friday."
She tugged at Laurie's hand. "Come on, honey, let's get your breakfast." They disappeared into the den, and for a moment Evan stood where he was in the corridor, surrounded by shadow and shards of sunlight. After a while he realized he was working his knuckles, and he remembered doing that a long time ago, while he'd waited inside a bamboo cage. While he'd waited for them to come for him and make him scream. He shrugged his shoulders, almost unconsciously, as if shrugging off an uncomfortable coat or an old, age wrinkled skin. He moved into the living room, stood where he could draw aside a curtain and look out the window at the Demargeon house next door.
"Evan?" Kay was calling him from the kitchen. "Where are you?"
He didn't answer, thinking numbly that she was trying to keep track of him as she would Laurie. The Demargeons' driveway was on the other side of the house, and in another moment he saw their car - a white Honda Civic - back out and then turn away in the direction of the Circle. Only one person was in it.
And as he watched, Evan thought he saw a shadow move across one of the windows facing his house. Moving slowly and with effort.
Moving in a wheelchair.
"Evan?" Kay called, the hint of disturbance in her voice barely hidden.
He looked up. "In the living room," he said. And she was quiet.
He heard Laurie ask something about how many children would be at the day-care center. Kay said she didn't know, but she was sure they'd all be nice.
The shadow was gone from the window. Evan turned away.
Out in the cradling branches of an elm in the front yard, a bird began to sing. The notes rang out across McClain Terrace and echoed away into silence.
