Bitter Eden (64 page)

"Lord, yes! Hell have the whole neighborhood up. Listen to him, will you!" Callie scolded and opened the door herself.

"Hello, Callie darlin. We're bringin you a party," Jack crowed.

"Hello, Callie," Stephen parroted and stumbled through the door.

"Go home, Jack. Is your driver outside?" Callie asked, trying to turn him toward the door as she watched Mary Anne squealing and playing dodge 'em with Stephen in fine fettle.

"Driver's drunk. Can't trust anybody." Jack grinned.

"If he got you this far, he can get you the rest of the way home." Callie pushed Jack into the doorway. "Mary Anne, walk him to his carriage . . . see that he gets in it too." Callie released her hold on Jack to grab hold of Stephen's arms so Mary Anne could get past him. "Hurry up!"

"In my nightclothes!" Mary Anne gasped.

"Come kiss me, Mary Anne," Stephen said, lurching open-armed toward her. Mary Anne dashed over to Jack who was placidly being propped up by the wall. "Come along, Mr. Tolbert. You're goin' home."

Stephen turned his attention to Callie, having a difficult time keeping track of the three figures who bobbed in front of him. He pulled her down on the steps, unbraiding her hair as she slapped at his hands and scolded him.

"Mmmm," he said and took the long strands, coiling them around his neck until he had drawn himself to her. "You cant blame me for what I do now. I'm tied."

"You're drunk." She laughed, untangling herself. She got up, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet. "Come on. Party's over. It's upstairs with you now."

"Come dance with me, Callie. We haven't danced. You always say no to me. Don't say no tonight. Dance with me." At the top of his lungs he began to sing. He grabbed her around the waist and began twirling wildly through the hall.

They were both lying on the floor when Mary Anne came back in, Stephen feeling very ill and Callie laughing so hard she was crying.

"Oh, mercy!" said Mary Anne.

"Help me get him upstairs."

Together they got Stephen to his feet, not quite so lively as he had been. As they went up the stairs, he recovered somewhat, singing again. "Everybody loves me . . . nobody loves me . . ." In turn he kissed Callie and Mary Anne.

"Oh, mercy, Mr. Stephen," Mary Anne breathed. "He is affectionate when he's in his cups, ain't he?"

Callie giggled and shoved as they maneuvered him toward his room. They stood him at the edge of the bed. With one finger on his chest, Callie pushed, sending him over laughing and grabbing the air as he reached for her.

"Let's take his coat and boots off. Hell do till morning if we get him that far," Callie said and began to

take his boot off. "Help me, Stephen," she yelled as he stiffened his foot making it impossible to remove the boot.

"Stand over his leg like the men do," Mary Anne prompted. Callie straddled Stephen's leg, tugging at the boot. Laughing and enjoying the sight, Stephen let her struggle before placing his left foot on her hind end and pushing.

"Oh, damn you, Stephen Berean!" she shouted as she sprawled.

He sat up on the bed. "Come to me love," he half sang, half said, and flopped back, reaching for her. He got a fistful of Mary Anne's nightdress. As it rose to indecent heights, Mary Anne scrambled to keep up with it, landing partly on Stephen and partly on the bed. "Oh mercy! Mr. Stephen!"

"Oh, mercy! Mary Anne!" he roared, laughing. Nose to nose he looked cross-eyed at her. "Do you care, Mary Anne? Callie doesn't. Maybe I'll marry you."

"Miss' Callie!?" Mary Anne asked close to panic. "What should I do?"

Callie took Stephen's hand from inside Mary Anne's nightdress, only to find herself entangled in his other arm. He let out a cry of triumph. "I've gotcha now!"

Callie squirmed around, trying to free herself, pounding at his chest and arms, making him laugh. He wrapped his arm more securely around her. She was pressed tight against him. "Calliekissme callie kiss me calliecallie kissme," he said until it was a gaggle of sounds he found hilarious.

Mary Anne looked over at her and then at the tangle of the three of them on the bed. "Miss Callie . . . he won't let me go."

Callie put her head down, and Stephen began kissing her hair and her temple. "Just lie still for a minute. He can't last long," she said giggling.

Stephen turned his head, kissing the one eye of Cal-lie's he could reach. "You think Tm going to pass out," he said happily. "I won't"

"What do you think you're going to do then?" He chuckled evilly.

"Thoughts like that will bring you shame in the morning," she said, suppressing laughter.

Mary Anne wriggled out of his grasp as he turned his full attention to Callie. He got up on one elbow. "No, they won't," he said, shaking his head vigorously at her. "I'm going to make a grand exit," he said magnificently, and then wished he hadn't moved so quickly. He felt sick and very dizzy.

Mary Anne looked on fascinated, then she said, "Uh oh! He's gone green. Get the mop!" She laughed and ran past Peter in the doorway to get the mop.

Stephen's moment of lively exhibition was over. He lay still and pale, completely unknowing as Callie easily removed his boots and loosened his shirt, belt, and tie. He was snoring when she finished and looked up to see Peter. "How long have you been there?"

Peter leaned on the door thinking of what he had witnessed, and of what a blind idiot he had been not to have seen it sooner. "A while," he said.

She laughed, glancing back at Stephen. "You might have helped."

"He didn't seem to need help," Peter said strangely, and she realized he had been drinking too.

"I didn't mean him," she said.

Peter followed her down the hall to her room, stopping there, looking at her pensively. "He loves you, Callie."

"He loves everyone when he's drinking," she said. "Good night, Peter."

Peter shook his head. "You weren't listening to him, Callie." He walked slowly toward his own room as

Callie stood watching and wanting to cry for all three of them.

Callie didn't expect to try to awaken Stephen. He wouldn't be fit company for bears all day. She was better off with him sleeping past noon, and beyond if he would. She went to the kitchen. Perhaps by dinner, with a blueberry pie to bribe him, he might be tolerably tempered. She looked up amused and a little surprised to see Jack Tolbert mincing his way through the back door. He slithered in one long motion into a chair.

"What's the matter, Jack? You dont look too well."

"Oooh," he moaned. "Callie, darlin', have you a sling for a broken head?"

"You'd do better with a sling for your bendin' arm."

"Umm. Where's Stevie?"

"Still asleep. I haven't seen him all morning."

"Asleep nothin'," Bea chimed in. "He come through here an hour ago snarlin' and bitin' at everyone. You want me to call him? Though I don't see why any-one'd want him."

"Yes, please, Bea."

Bea went out back, first calling Stephen and then clanging the bell they used to call him from the fields.

"Ohh," Jack groaned, getting up. "StopI You're breakin my head."

Callie shrugged. "If he doesn't answer that, then I don't know where he is."

"Doesn't matter. Tell him I brought his horse home. He left it at my place last night. Ill see him later. I think I'll go home and die some more."

Callie finished her pie and stuck it in the oven. ""Watch it for me please, Bea. I think I'd better go see where he is," she said, grabbing her shawl and going out.

"I'd steer clear. He's not his lovin best," Bea shouted after her.

Callie laughed. "He was last night." She looked in all the sheds and the outbuildings, and then feeling stupid for not having thought of it first, went down to his favorite spot by the stream.

He was lying on the ground, his head propped up by a log. He played aimlessly with his hand in the water.

She looked at him, coming up quietly behind him. The November sun came through the last tenacious leaves on the trees, making bright spots on his face and hair. But Stephen looked tired and unhappy.

She sat down on the log, putting her fingers in his silky, sun-warmed hair. He smiled, his eyes still closed. "Jack was here." Stephen remained silent. "Didn't you hear us calling you?" "I heard."

"Why didn't you answer?" "I didn't want to." "What's wrong, Stephen?" "I'm atoning for my sins."

"It's no wonder; but there's more than that You never act like this." "There's nothing else."

"Why are you out here alone like this if there's nothing? Aren't you cold?"

"Nothing is wrong!" he said, wincing as he moved too quickly to get up. He went to a tree across from the log on which Callie sat. He reached up, breaking off a dead twig and snapping it into bits. One by one he threw the pieces of twig into the stream. "I didn't mean to make you angry." "Oh, for God's sake, Callie, let go of it You're like a

dog with a bone. Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to be alone for a while. Do I have to report to you?"

Callie got up, wiping her hands against the big apron that covered her dress. "Well, I cant say Bea didn't try to warn me."

"Callie—I'm sorry," he said earnestly, coming over to her. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He pulled her against him.

"I know you didn't, but you're unhappy, and I . . • I wanted to know why."

He pushed her away from him so he could look at her face. He was grinning; the merry twinkle that she * counted on was in his eyes. "I drink too much."

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Not much."

"Well, you should have seen yourself last night!"

"I probably would rather not have."

"My word, I thought we'd never get you to bed. You tried to take Mary Anne in with you."

"I must have been drunk if it was Mary Anne/'

"You were."

"I think I still am. Three heads should mean something," he said and cupped his hands over his ears.

"Why don't you come in and lie down for a while?"

"I want to stay here."

"It's cold."

"Not that cold, and I like it here."

"I'll call you in time for supper."

"Why don't you stay here with me?" he asked, coaxing.

"I have a blueberry pie in the oven. You wouldn't want it burnt."

"Burnt berry pie would be just as good," he said earnestly, pulling her toward him again.

She laughed, pushing him away. "I'll call you."

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I won t be here for dinner tonight"

"oh?"

"I'll be staying at Jack's for a while."

"Jack didn't mention it."

"Does Jack have to tell you everything?"

"Stephen? Why?"

He shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. "Ah, Callie, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

He laughed. "Sometimes Callie, you make me want to choke you."

"I love you, Stephen."

He turned to face her angrily, hearing her no more than she had heard him the night before. "I know, but not the way I love you. I want you in every way a man can want a woman. So let it go. You have your truth, and I'm leaving. You've got Peter and that's the way it should be. But don't ask me to stay. I can't"

Chapter 43

Stephen packed his clothes that afternoon. He told Peter that he would be helping Jack with some problems he was having with the farm. It seemed easier and wiser to tell him he was leaving in stages, rather than try to think up a plausible substitute for the truth. He was gone from the house before dinner.

In the days that followed Callie found an emptiness in everything she did. All the things she had always loved doing became chores so bothersome and tedious she had to force herself through each day.

She knew Stephen went to the brewery daily, and she knew that he was at the farm some part of every day, but with four hundred acres it was easy for him to avoid her.

Alone and faced with the responsibilities of Jamie, Natalie, and Peter, Callie divided her time among them, unsuccessfully trying to hold a worsening situation steady.

Natalie was her main concern. Believing Callie would really have her put out of the house and therefore away from Jamie, Natalie said no more to Jamie

about Peter; but she was in such an excited state Cal-lie often found herself wishing for the return of the verbal abuse. At least she had known what Natalie was thinking.

With Callie closing her off, Natalie took to her own irrational defenses, slipping through the house like a wraith, keeping track of Peters every move. Whether she believed she could move unseen or not, Callie didn't know, but Natalie's figure could be seen flitting down the halls or emerging from the draperies at any time. It was nerve-wracking and frightening.

As Callie went to the parlor, mending in her hand, Natalie darted out from behind the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "I have him fooled! He doesn't know I watch."

"Don't jump at me like that, Natalie—please!" Callie gasped, her hand pressed against her throat

"I thought it was him."

Callie picked up the sewing she had dropped. "Peter?"

"Him. Peter's dead. I always know where he is."

"Natalie, stop it!" Callie cried, putting her hands to her temples. "Stop!"

In desperation Callie locked Natalie in her room and went to Sam Tolbert's wife. Mrs. Tolbert was one of the few people Callie could turn to. The rest of the neighbors, fed by gossip and curiosity, regarded the Bereans as freaks. Several hate letters had arrived at the house. Notes were shoved under the front door condemning them for harboring a murderer. But Sam's wife had remained a friend, as had Sam and Jack.

"I don't know what to do with her anymore," Callie cried. "She gets worse all the time."

"I'm sure you realize she is completely mad, or you wouldn't be here," Mrs. Tolbert said.

"Of course, I know, but what do I do about it? I keep her confined to her room as much as possible," Callie said fretfully. "But I can t keep her in there forever, and she manages to get out anyway."

"You could have her put away"

Callie rubbed her forehead. "I have thought of it, but Mrs. Tolbert . . . those places . . . there's nothing any doctor can do for them and . . . they are let to live like animals ... chained and dirty .. . and . . ."

Mrs. Tolbert fidgeted with her handkerchief, then refilled both their tea cups. "I don t know what should be done, Callie. It's too easy for me to sit here and tell you she belongs in an institution. If she were my child ... or cousin, I don t know that I could bring myself to put her in one of those godforsaken places either. I'm no help to you at all with Natalie. Perhaps if I took Jamie for a time? Sam is going to take our boys to the mountains in a few days. Jamie is welcome to come."

"Oh, he'd love that. And it would help. These spells of Natalie's have never lasted too long before. Mostly she is content to stay in her room. It's only been lately that she won't. Perhaps by the time Jamie comes home she'll be all right again."

"Natalie will never be all right, Callie. It's time Stephen did something about her. What is he doing living with Jack anyway? You'd better get him to come back where he belongs and begin mending his fences. I don't know what should be done about her, but something must. You can't manage this alone and he shouldn't be allowing you to."

"Stephen doesn't know about it, Mrs. Tolbert. I haven't told him," Callie said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "When may I bring Jamie?"

"When are you going to tell Stephen? And why haven't you? She is his sister."

Til tell him." "When?"

"Soon . . . tomorrow. Tonight, if I see him. When may I bring Jamie?"

Mrs. Tolbert studied her, worried and dismayed, then decided it was futile to say more. It had been said; if Callie would listen at all, she already had. "Friday will be fine. Early afternoon is best. It will give the boys some time to visit before supper. Oh, and don t forget to send his heaviest clothes. There is already snow in the mountains," she added. "It's going to be a snowy winter this year."

Mrs. Tolbert walked with her to the door. "Take care, Callie, and don t hesitate to come see me. I don t seem to be much help, but I can listen."

Callie went home. She looked up at the house, its windows glowing soft amber from the lights within, promising the warmth and happiness that had once been and was no more. She turned away toward the woods. If Stephen were ever to come to her again, she was certain it would be in that clearing by the stream. She had been going there daily since he left. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her as she sat down on the log at the stream's edge. She remained there looking into the water, wishing he would come and hoping he would not. She loved Stephen, but she knew as well as he that no matter how often they met or how deeply they loved, she'd return to Peter and Jamie.

At nightfall she walked slowly back to the house, feeling she had left behind at the stream's edge the joy of life, the laughter, the quiet joyous peace that lived tranquilly inside her, making each day bright as long as she knew he was nearby.

Supper was over. No one had eaten at the table because she hadn't been there to see that they did. Jamie

had eaten in the playroom. Natalie was closed within her rooms. Peter sat alone in his study as locked away by his terrifying memories as Natalie was by her phantoms.

"Hello, Peter," she said as she came from hearing Bea's account of the afternoon. "Bea said you didn't eat Would you like something now?"

"You look tired, Callie."

"It's been a long day. Sam Tolbert asked after you."

"How is Sam?"

"He's fine. He's going to take Jamie with his sons on a trip to the mountains."

"I should be taking him," Peter said quietly. "I don't know how to do the things I want . . . it's always there with me . . . stopping me. I . . ."

"You will."

Peter leaned forward against the windowsill, staring blankly at the barren trees robbed of their autumn colors, sapless and dormant in winter stillness.

"I was just going up to tell Jamie about the trip. Perhaps you would like to tell him."

Peter shook his head, remaining at the window.

Callie went to Jamie's room, prolonging her visit Jamie happily repeated the stories Peter had told him of England and of the Cantii that had first lived-roaming the Weald and the chalk hills and the forests. He blissfully mixed the Kentish countryside in atrocious confusion with bits of information about New York and the Hudson valley. He chattered incessantly, interspersing questions about the coming trip with Sam. Callie smiled as he listened. However Peter failed to free himself, he was building in Jamie an awareness of a bright world filled with promise and expectation.

Callie stayed until Mary Anne stood cross-armed and stern-visaged at the side of Jamie's bed. "How

long are you going to keep this child from his rest?" she scolded.

Callie got up, still smiling. "We've been naughty, Jamie," she said, kissing him and helping him into bed. "Sleep well."

"Aunt Callie?"

"Yes?"

"How long till Friday?"

"Three days. Three little days that will pass before you know it."

Peter spent most of the night in his study. In the morning he was tense and pale when he came to breakfast with Callie. She hadn't seen that look on his face for a long time, and she didn't know what had caused it. It was the same expression of dreading determination he had had when Stephen had first told him he must join them at supper.

When Jamie joined them, Peter's tension eased as though some great milestone had been passed. He told Callie he'd be taking Jamie for the day—out of the house. Callie approved, and Jamie had the good sense not to mention school if the adults did not.

Peter spent most of the next three days with Jamie, walking the farm, hunting in the woods, and fishing in the cold streams.

"I think you'll be showing Mr. Tolbert's boys a thing or two on this trip," Callie said as they both came home slightly damp and very cold the third evening.

Jamie danced in place, warming his feet. He had his secret smile all over his face as he kept his hands behind his back, guarding his surprise between himself and Peter. "Papa knows everything," he announced, beaming up at Peter. "He can catch fish with a spear-and I did too! See!" he chirped, thrusting the half-frozen fish at Callie.

"Ohh! It's a lovely fish. The loveliest I've ever seen caught with a stick."

"A spear," Jamie corrected.

"A spear, indeed. Suppose I tell Bea to cook your fish for supper?"

Jamie looked at Peter, smiling at the nodded assent given.

'Then get over to the fire. Ill get you dry clothes, and then we'll tell Bea to cook your fish."

"We'll go up," Peter said, getting down on his haunches so Jamie could climb on his back for a ride up the stairs.

Callie told Bea to fry the fish, then followed after Peter and Jamie.

As Peter turned to go down the upper hall to Jamie's room, Natalie stepped out of hers. "Put him down!"

Peter stopped as though an invisible leash had tightened. He glanced over his shoulder at his sister. She was hardly recognizable these days. The elfin charm was lost in the soft-fleshed distortion of her features. Only her hollow, burning eyes had any familiarity, and that of a terrible night in Kent when James Berean had died. Peter put Jamie down, then picked him up again, holding him securely in both arms. "What do you want, Nat?"

"Put him down! He's mine! Put him down!" Natalie said, crouching slightly and edging toward Peter and Jamie.

Callie heard Natalie's last screamed command. She ran the last of the steps, calling to Peter to take Jamie to his room. Peter turned hurriedly with Jamie.

Natalie ran down the hall, grabbing hold of Jamie's leg and arm. Jamie cried out in fright, pulling his arm free of Natalie and taking a strangle hold .on Peter's neck.

Peter struggled, holding fast to Jamie with one hand

and trying to break Natalie's hold on his leg with the other. Callie ran down the hall, taking hold of Natalie from behind. Between them they freed Jamie momentarily.

"Hurry, Peter!" Callie cried as she saw him hesitate, not knowing whether to help her or take Jamie to his room.

"You're evil!" Natalie hissed, lunging after Peter.

"Get in your room!" Callie grunted, dragging Natalie a step at a time back down the hall.

"I'll get her," Peter said as he ran back to Callie. Natalie flailed, clawing and writhing as he tried to pick her up.

"Get her to her room," Callie panted as Peter dodged Natalie's clawing nails until he got hold of both her hands. He carried her to the bedroom.

"Don't wait!" Callie cried, pulling at him. "Get out." She slammed the door shut, holding fast to the knob as Natalie pounded in fury from the other side.

Peter looked dazedly at the door, then at Callie. "How long has she. . . . Has she been like this ever before?" he asked breathlessly.

"No. No . . . never this bad. Ifs been getting worse recently. I don't know what to do anymore."

"She's insane," he said disbelievingly. "I always thought I had been the cause of ... I mean I never believed her when she'd tell me . . ."

"That's why Jamie is going on the fishing trip," Callie said quickly. "I had to do something. I'm afraid. I never know . . . what could happen."

Peter moved slowly toward Natalie's door. "Don't! Don't go near her. Not until I've had a chance to talk to you about her, Peter. Please. I've got to see to Jamie now, but stay away from her until we talk. Promise me."

He glanced at Callie, then at Natalie's door. "I'll be downstairs."

She stopped before entering Jamie's room to be certain Peter went downstairs as he had promised.

Mary Anne had Jamie calmed, warm, and in dry clothes when Callie came in.

"What was goin' on out there? This child was scared out of his wits!"

"Keep Natalie away from him, Mary Anne—all the time. Don't let him near her for any reason."

"Miss Natalie? Why, she dotes on the boy. What harm-"

"Keep her away from him!" Callie said shrilly.

Mary Anne's lips tightened in disapproval. "Whatever you say, miss."

Callie rubbed her head. There was no use. "Only for a day or two, Mary Anne. Please. I can't manage alone."

Jamie sniffed. "I don't like Aunt Natalie when she's mean."

"I don't either, Jamie." Callie hugged him, then asked quietly, "What name does she call you, Jamie?"

"I'm not supposed to tell," he said, shaking his head and glancing at the door. "She said I couldn't—not ever."

"Is it Bertie?"

"I didn't tell!" he howled, his face puckering up.

Callie closed her eyes, letting him climb up onto her lap. "Jamie . . ." she said softly. "You must always tell me things like that, because what Aunt Natalie did was very wrong. Did you know it was wrong?"

"Aunt Natalie said I wasn't allowed to tell you."

"It is wrong to keep secrets from people you love, Jamie. No matter what anyone says, you always tell me when something is wrong."

"But she said pretending was all right. We were pretending . . ."

"Oh, Jamie . . ." Callie breathed, sitting back limply as Jamie told her of their pretenses of Albert and Natalie and Bertie, and of the evil man who wanted to steal Bertie away. She held him close until he fell asleep.

When she came downstairs, Peter was waiting for her.

"Is he all right?"

"Yes, he's all right." She looked worriedly at Peter's anxious face. "Peter, don't go near her."

"You don't need to protect me from my own sister, Callie."

"No, no, you don't understand," she said urgently and explained to him what had begun in Kent with Natalie's miscarriage. They talked about Albert's and Rosalind's death and what Peter's thoughts had been at the time and Callie's and Stephen's. Finally she told him about the violence and hatred that seemed to have come alive in Natalie again as soon as Peter had returned home.

Both Peter and Callie fell into a deep, pensive silence, going back over the years. Then Peter said, "She's been like this since you left England?"

"Oh, no—no. It's only when she thought you were coming home. She is afraid you'll take Jamie . . . Bertie ... I don't know what she thinks really. She is far beyond me now. I can't keep her in her room, nor can I calm her this time."

Peter sat rigidly tense, staring past Callie, seeing what she couldn't imagine. "You'll put her in an asylum," he murmured.

Callie got up, nervously adjusting the figurines on the tables, dusting with the tip of her apron. "You and Stephen will have to decide," she said finally, her lips tight. "I'm going to send a message to him at the brewery tomorrow after I take Jamie to the Tolberts'.

He can come to dinner and then . . . then you two will have to decide . . . what will be done."

"Locked in an asylum," Peter murmured in revulsion.

"Peter, I went to the asylum ... to see if it was as horrible as ... I know what it's like! Do you think I want to see her there! We brought her here with us to keep her from one in England. I don't know what to do! I don't want to put her there, but she can t stay here."

He said nothing. Biting on her lip, feeling guilty at the thought of coldly locking Natalie away for the remainder of her life to slowly rot away, Callie looked beseechingly at him. "Am I wrong? Do you think it is safe for her to be near Jamie ... or you?"

"No, I don't want her near Jamie!" he said in agitation, then calmed slightly. "We'll take her away. But not to one of those places . . . not . . . one of those places."

Next morning Callie packed the bundle of clothing Jamie would need for his trip. The last thing she did before leaving for the Tolberts' after lunch was to check the lock on Natalie's door.

Natalie worked at her door, sticking into the lock anything she possessed, including a large assortment of keys she had taken from all over the house. One by one she tried them without success. Then she began to work on the hinges, trying to remove the hinge pins. Two she removed easily. The third was frozen in place as the weight of the door pulled the hinges out of alignment. She went back to the keys, trying them with less haste and a diabolical concentration. Succeeding, she took Callie's bread knife from under her mattress and slipped out through the door hanging crazily on one hinge.