A Cry In the Night (8 page)

I
never slept here after Mother died,” Erich explained. “When I was little I used to love lying in bed, listening to the sound of her moving around in her room. The night of the accident I couldn't stand to come in here. To calm me down, Dad and I both moved to the two back bedrooms. We never moved back.”

“Are you saying that this room and the master bedroom haven't been slept in in nearly twenty-five years?”

“That's right. But we didn't close them off. We just didn't use them. But someday our son will use this room, sweetheart.”

Jenny was glad to go back into the foyer. Despite the cheerful quilt and warm maple furniture there was something disquieting about Erich's boyhood room.

Beth tugged at her restlessly. “Mommy, we're hungry,” she said positively.

“Oh, Mouse, I'm sorry. Let's go to the kitchen.” Beth raced down the long hall, her footsteps noisy for
such little feet. Tina ran behind her. “Wait for me, Beth.”

“Don't run,” Erich called after them.

“Don't break anything,” Jenny warned, remembering the delicate porcelain in the parlor.

Erich lifted the mink off her shoulders, dropped it over his arm. “Well, what do you think?”

Something about the way he asked the question was disturbing. It was as though he was too eager for approval, and she reassured him now the same way she answered a similar question from Beth. “It's perfect. I love it.”

The refrigerator was well-stocked. She heated milk for cocoa and made ham sandwiches. “I have champagne for us,” Erich said. He put his arm over the back of her chair.

“I'll be ready for it in a little while.” Jenny smiled at him and tilted her head toward the girls. “As soon as I clear the decks.”

They were just about to get up when the doorbell rang. Erich's scowl changed to a look of pleasure when he opened the door. “Mark, for heaven sake! Come on in.”

The visitor filled the entry. His windblown sandy hair almost touched the top of the doorway. Rangy shoulders were not hidden by his heavy hooded parka. Piercing blue eyes dominated his strong-featured face. “Jenny,” Erich said. “This is Mark Garrett. I've told you about him.”

Mark Garrett.
Dr.
Garrett, the veterinarian, who had been Erich's closest friend since boyhood. “Mark's like a brother,” Erich had told her. “In fact if anything had happened to me before I married, he would have inherited the farm.”

Jenny extended her hand, felt his, cold and strong, cover hers.

“I've always said you had good taste, Erich,” Mark commented. “Welcome to Minnesota, Jenny.”

She liked him immediately. “It's lovely to be here.” She introduced the girls to him. They were both unexpectedly shy. “You're very, very big,” Beth told him.

He refused coffee. “I hate to barge in,” he told Erich, “but I wanted you to hear it from me. Baron pulled a tendon pretty badly this afternoon.”

Baron was Erich's horse. Erich had talked about him. “A thoroughbred, flawless breeding, nervous, bad-tempered. A remarkable animal. I could have raced him but prefer having him for myself.”

“Were any bones broken?” Erich's voice was absolutely calm.

“Positively not.”

“What happened?”

Mark hesitated. “Somehow the stable door was left open and he got out. He stumbled when he tried to jump the barbed-wire fence on the east field.”

“The stable door was open?”
Each word was precisely enunciated. “Who
left
it open?”

“No one admits to it. Joe swears he closed it when he left the stable after he fed Baron this morning.”

Joe. The driver. No wonder he had looked so frightened, Jenny thought. She looked at the girls. They were sitting quietly at the table. A minute ago they'd been ready to scamper away. Now they seemed to sense the change in the atmosphere, the anger Erich wasn't bothering to hide.

“I told Joe not to discuss it with you until I had a chance to see you. Baron will be fine in a couple of weeks. I think Joe probably didn't pull the door fast when he left. He'd never be deliberately careless. He loves that animal.”

“Apparently no one in his family inflicts harm
deliberately,”
Erich snapped. “But they certainly manage to inflict it. If Baron is left lame . . .”

“He won't be. I've hosed him down and bandaged him. Why don't you walk out and see him now? You'll feel better.”

“I might as well.” Erich reached into the kitchen closet for his coat. His expression was coldly furious.

Mark followed him out. “Again, welcome, Jenny,” he said. “My apologies for being the bearer of bad news.” As the door closed behind them, she heard his deep, calm voice: “Now, Erich, don't get upset.”

It took a warm bath and bedtime story before the children finally settled down. Jenny tiptoed out of the room exhausted. She'd pushed the beds together with one against the wall. Then she'd shoved the steamer trunk against the exposed side of the other one. The room that an hour before had been in perfect order was a mess. The suitcases were open on the floor. She'd rifled through them hunting for pajamas and Tina's favorite old blanket, but had not bothered to unpack properly. She was too tired now. It could wait till morning. Erich was there just as she came out. She watched his expression change as he surveyed the untidiness inside.

“Let's leave it, darling,” she said wearily. “I know it's every which way but I'll put it right tomorrow.”

It seemed to her that he made a deliberate attempt to sound casual. “I'm afraid I couldn't go to bed and leave this.”

It took him only a few minutes to completely unpack, to stack underwear and socks in furniture drawers, to hang dresses and sweaters in the closet. Jenny gave up trying to help. If they wake up they'll be around for hours, she thought, but was suddenly too tired to protest. Finally Erich pushed the outer bed so
that it was lined exactly with its twin, straightened the small shoes and boots, stacked the suitcases on an upper shelf and closed the closet door which Jenny had left ajar.

When he was finished, the room was infinitely neater and the children hadn't awakened. Jenny shrugged. She knew she should be grateful but could not help feeling that the risk of waking the children should have overcome the need for a clean-up session, particularly on a wedding night.

In the hall, Erich put his arms around her. “Sweetheart, I know what a long day this has been. I drew a tub for you. It should be about the right temperature now. Why don't you get changed and I'll fix a tray for us. I've got champagne cooling and a jar of the best caviar I could find in Bloomingdale's. How does that sound?”

Jenny felt a rush of shame at her feeling of irritation. She smiled up at him. “You're too good to be true.”

The bath helped. She soaked in it, enjoying the unaccustomed length and depth of the tub, which was still mounted on its original brass claw feet. As the hot water soothed the muscles in her neck and shoulders she determined to relax.

She realized now that Erich had carefully avoided describing the house to her. What had he said? Oh, yes, things like, “Nothing much has been changed since Caroline died. I think the extent of the redecorating was to replace some curtains in the guest bedroom.”

Was it just that nothing had worn out in these years or was Erich religiously preserving intact everything that reminded him of his mother's presence here? The scent she loved was still lingering in the master bedroom. Her brushes and combs and nail buffer were
on the dresser. She wondered if there might not still be a few strands of Caroline's hair caught in one of the brushes.

His father had been desperately wrong to have allowed Erich's childhood bedroom to be left intact, frozen in time, as though growth in this house had stopped with Caroline's death. The thought made her uneasy and she deliberately pushed it aside. Think of Erich and yourself, she told herself. Forget the past. Remember that you belong to each other now. Her pulse quickened.

She thought of the lovely new nightgown and peignoir inside her new suitcase. She'd bought them in Bergdorf Goodman with her last paycheck, splurging extravagantly, but wanting to truly look like a bride tonight.

Suddenly lighthearted, she got out of the tub, released the stopper and reached for a towel. The mirror above the sink was clouded over. She started to dry herself then paused and began to wipe away the steam. She felt that in the midst of all the newness she needed to see herself, find her own image. As the glass dried, she glanced into it. But it was not her own blue-green eyes that she saw reflected back.

It was Erich's face, Erich's midnight-blue eyes meeting hers in the reflection. He had opened the door so silently she hadn't heard him. Spinning around, she instinctively clutched the towel in front of her, then deliberately let it fall.

“Oh, Erich, you scared me,” she said. “I didn't hear you come in.”

His eyes never left her face. “I thought you'd want your gown, darling,” he said. “Here it is.”

He was holding an aquamarine satin nightgown with a deep V cut in the front and back.

“Erich, I have a new gown. Did you just buy this one for me?”

“No,” Erich said, “it was Caroline's.” He ran his tongue nervously over his lips. He was smiling strangely. His eyes as they rested on her were moist with love. When he spoke again his tone was pleading. “For my sake, Jenny, wear it tonight.”

F
or minutes Jenny stood staring at the bathroom door, not knowing what to do. I don't want to wear a dead woman's nightgown, she protested silently. The satin felt soft and clinging under her fingers.

After Erich handed her the gown he'd abruptly left the room. She began to shiver as she looked at the suitcase. Should she simply put on her own gown and peignoir, simply say, “I prefer this, Erich.”

She thought of his expression when he handed his mother's gown to her.

Maybe it won't fit, she hoped. That would solve everything. But when she pulled it over her head, it might have been made for her. She was thin enough for the tapered waist, the narrowly cut hips, the straight line to the ankles. The V cut accentuated her firm breasts. She glanced in the mirror. The steam was evaporating now and tiny driblets of water were running down. That must be why she looked different. Or was it that something in the aqua tone of the gown emphasized the green in her eyes?

She could not say the gown did not fit and certainly it was becoming. But I don't want to wear it, she thought uneasily. I don't feel like myself in it.

She was about to pull it over her head when there was a soft tap on the door. She opened it. Erich was wearing gray silk pajamas and a matching dressing gown. He had turned off all the lights except for the one on the night table and his burnished gold hair was a counterpoint to the glow of the lamp.

The brocaded cranberry-colored spread was off the bed. The sheets were turned back. Lace embroidered pillows were propped against the massive headboard.

Erich was holding two glasses of champagne. He handed one of them to her. They walked to the center of the room and he touched his glass to hers. “I looked up the rest of the poem, darling.” His voice soft, he spoke the words slowly:

“Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in:
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me.”

Jenny felt tears in her eyes. This was her wedding night. This man who had offered so much love to her and whom she loved so much was her husband. This beautiful room was theirs. What difference what nightgown she wore! It was such a little thing to do for him. She knew her smile was as happy as his as they toasted each other. When he took the glass from her hand and set it down, she joyfully went into his arms.

Long after Erich slept, his arm pillowing her head, his face buried in her hair, Jenny lay awake. She was so
accustomed to the street noises that were part of the night sounds of the New York apartment that she was not yet able to absorb the absolute stillness of this room.

The room was very cool. She liked that and reveled in the clear fresh air. But it was so quiet, so absolutely still, except for the even breathing that rose and fell against her neck.

I am so happy, she thought. I didn't know it was possible to be this happy.

Erich was a shy, tender and considerate lover. She had always suspected that there were far deeper emotions possible than Kevin had ever aroused in her. It was true.

Before Erich fell asleep they had talked. “Was Kevin the only one before me, Jenny?”

“Yes, he was.”

“There's never been anyone before for me.”

Did he mean he'd never
loved
anyone before or he'd never slept with anyone before? Was that possible?