Comes the Blind Fury (11 page)

“You mean below the graveyard?” Sally asked. “That would be creepy. There’s a ghost out there.”

“There isn’t either,” Jeff objected.

“Maybe there is,” Michelle interjected. Suddenly she was the center of attention; even Susan Peterson turned to look at her curiously. “I dreamed about the ghost last night,” she went on, launching into a vivid description of her strange vision. In the brightness of the day her terror had left her, and she wanted to share her dream with her new friends. Caught up in the tale, she didn’t notice the others’ silent exchange of glances. When she was finished, no one spoke. Jeff Benson concentrated on his sandwich, but the rest of the children were still staring at Michelle. Suddenly she felt worried, and wondered if she should have even mentioned the nightmare.

“Well, it was only a dream,” she said, as the silence lengthened.

“Are you sure?” Sally asked her. “Are you sure you weren’t awake the whole time?”

“Well, of course I wasn’t,” Michelle said. “It was a dream.” She noticed that some of the girls were exchanging suspicious glances. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Susan Peterson said casually. “Except that when Amanda Carson fell off the cliff, she was wearing a black dress and a black bonnet, just like the girl you dreamed about last night.”

“How do you know?” Michelle demanded.

“Everybody knows,” Susan said complacently. “She always wore black, every day of her life. My grandmother told me, and
her
mother told her. And my great-grandmother knew Amanda Carson,” Susan said triumphantly. Her eyes challenged Michelle. Once again a silence fell over the group. Was Susan telling her the truth, or were they all teasing her? Michelle looked from one face to another, trying to see what each of them was thinking. Only Sally met her eyes,
and she merely shrugged when Michelle looked to her for help. Jeff Benson continued eating his sandwich, and carefully avoided Michelle’s gaze.

“It was a dream!” Michelle exclaimed, gathering her things together, and getting to her feet. “It was only a dream, and if I’d known you were going to make such a big deal about it, I’d never have mentioned it!”

Before any of them could make a reply, Michelle stalked away. Across the playground, she could see a group of younger children playing jump rope. A moment later she had joined them.

“I wonder what’s wrong with her?” Susan Peterson said when she was sure Michelle was out of earshot. Now her friends were staring at her.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong with her?” Sally Carstairs asked. “Nothing’s wrong with her!”

“Really?” Susan said, sounding annoyed at the contradiction. “She tattled on you yesterday, didn’t she? Why do you think Miss Hatcher changed the seating around? It was because Michelle told her what you did yesterday morning.”

“So what?” Sally countered. “She just didn’t want you to be mad at her, that’s all.”

“I think she’s sneaky,” Susan said. “And I don’t think we should have anything to do with her.”

“That’s mean.”

“No, it’s not There’s something really strange about her.”

“What?”

Susan’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, I saw her with her parents the other day, and they’re both blond. And everybody knows blonds can’t have a dark-haired baby.”

“Big deal,” Sally said. “If you want to know, she’s adopted. She told me so herself. What’s so strange about that?”

Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that settles it.”

“Settles what?” Sally asked.

“Settles
her
, of course. I mean, nobody knows where she really came from, and my mother says if you don’t know anything about somebody’s family, you don’t know anything about the person.”

“I know her family,” Sally pointed out. “Her mother’s very nice, and her father treated my arm, along with Uncle Joe.”

“I mean her
real
family,” Susan said, looking at Sally contemptuously. “Dr. Pendleton isn’t her father. Her father could be anybody!”

“Well, I like her,” Sally insisted. Susan glowered at her.

“You would—your father’s only a janitor.” Susan Peterson’s father owned the Paradise Point Bank, and Susan never let her friends forget it.

Hurt by Susan’s meanness, Sally Carstairs lapsed into silence. It wasn’t fair of Susan to dislike Michelle just because she was adopted, but Sally wasn’t sure what she should say. After all, she’d known Susan Peterson all her life, and she’d only just met Michelle Pendleton.
Well
, Sally decided,
I won’t say anything. But I won’t stop being Michelle’s friend, either
.

June finished her lunch, and put the dishes in the sink. For now, she would go back to the studio, and try to finish sketching in the seascape.

She left the house, but as she walked to the studio, she found herself glancing north, and thinking about
what Constance Benson had told her that morning. And then something struck her.

If Constance Benson was worried about that part of the bluff collapsing into the sea, why hadn’t she told June to keep Michelle off the beach as well? And why didn’t she keep Jeff off the beach? Better to be on top of the cliff when it went, than underneath it.

With sudden determination, June started along the path toward the cemetery. As she walked, another thought occurred to her: If it’s unsafe, why did Mrs. Benson use the path herself? Why didn’t she come down the road? June’s pace quickened.

She stood on the path, staring at the old graveyard. It would make a wonderful painting. She could use moody colors, blues and grays, with a leaden sky, and exaggerate the collapsed fence, the dead tree, and the overgrown vines. Done properly, it could be positively frightening. For the life of her, she couldn’t see why Michelle and Sally would have wanted to come here.

Curiosity, she decided. Just plain curiosity.

The same curiosity that had drawn the children to the graveyard now drew her. She left the path and picked her way carefully over the collapsed fence.

The old gravestones, with their antiquated inscriptions and their odd names, fascinated her immediately, a succession of markers that told a tale. She began tracing the history of the Carson family as they had lived and died on the bluff. Soon she forgot entirely about the condition of the ground, and was only aware of the headstones.

She came to Louise Carson’s grave.

DIED IN SIN—1880

Now what on earth could that mean? If the date had been 1680, she would have assumed the woman had been burned for a witch, or some such thing. But in 1880? One thing was certain: Louise Carson’s death could not have been a happy one.

As she stood looking down at the grave, June began to feel sorry for the long-dead woman. She was probably born too soon, June thought.
Died in Sin
. An epitaph for a fallen woman.

June chuckled at her own choice of words. They sounded so old-fashioned. And unfeeling.

Without quite realizing what she was doing, she lowered herself to her hands and knees, and began pulling the weeds from Louise Carson’s grave. They were well rooted. She had to tug hard at them before they reluctantly gave way.

She had almost cleared the weed growth from the base of the headstone when the first pain struck her.

It was just a twinge, but the first wrenching contraction followed immediately.

My God
, she thought,
it can’t be
.

She struggled to her feet, and leaned heavily against the trunk of the dead oak.

She had to get back to the house.

The house was too far.

As the next contraction began, she looked frantically toward the road.

It was empty.

The Bensons’. Maybe she could get to the Bensons’. As soon as the pain let up, she’d start.

June lowered herself carefully to the ground and waited. After what seemed like an eon, she felt her muscles begin to relax, and the pain eased. Once again, she started to get to her feet.

“Stay where you are,” a voice called out. June turned, and saw Constance Benson hurrying along the path. Sighing gratefully, June sank back to the ground.

She waited there, lying on Louise Carson’s grave, praying that the baby would wait, that her first child would not be born in a cemetery.

Then, as Constance Benson knelt beside her and took her hand, June lay back.

Another overwhelming contraction convulsed her, and she could feel a spreading dampness as her water broke.
Dear God
, she prayed,
not here
.

Not in a graveyard.

CHAPTER 7

The three-ten bell rang. Michelle gathered up her books, shoved them into her green canvas bag, and started out of the room.

“Michelle?” It was Sally Carstairs, and though Michelle tried to ignore her, Sally took her arm and held her back.

“Don’t be mad,” Sally said plaintively. “Nobody meant to hurt your feelings.”

Michelle stared suspiciously at her friend. When she saw the concern in Sally’s eyes, she let her guard down a little.

“I don’t see why everybody kept insisting I saw something I didn’t see,” she said. “I was asleep, and I had a nightmare, that’s all.”

“Let’s go out in the hall,” Sally said, her eyes shifting to Corinne Hatcher. Understanding Sally’s glance, Michelle followed her out into the corridor.

“Well?” Michelle asked expectantly.

Sally avoided her gaze. She shifted uncomfortably
from one foot to the other. Then, staring at the floor, she said so quietly that Michelle could barely hear her, “Maybe you did only have a dream. But I’ve seen Amanda, too, and I think Susan Peterson has.”

“What? You mean you’ve had the same dream I had?”

“I don’t know,” Sally said unhappily. “But I’ve seen her, and it wasn’t a dream. That day I hurt my arm? Remember?”

Michelle nodded—how could she forget? That was the day she, too, had seen something. Something Sally had tried to pass off as “just the elm tree.”

“How come you didn’t tell me before?”

“I guess I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Sally said by way of an apology. “But, anyway, I saw her. At least, I think I did. I was out in the backyard, and all of a sudden I felt something touch my arm. When I turned to look, I tripped and fell.”

“But what did you
see?”
Michelle pressed, suddenly sure that, whatever it might be, it was important.

“I—I’m not sure,” Sally replied. “It was just something black. I only got a glimpse, really, and after I fell, whatever it was was gone.”

Michelle stood silent, staring at Sally, and remembering that night, when she and her father had been leaving the Carstairses’, and she had looked back.

There had been something at the window—something dark, like a shadow. Something black.

Before she could tell Sally what she had seen that night, Jeff Benson appeared at the end of the hall, waving to her.

“Michelle? Michelle! Mom’s here, and she needs to talk to you!”

“Just a second—” Michelle began, but Jeff cut her off.

“Now! It’s about your mother—”

Without waiting for him to finish, Michelle broke away from Sally and ran down the hall.

“What is it? Has something happened?” she demanded. But Jeff was already leading her out of the building to his mother’s car. A battered sedan sat by the curb, its engine running, Constance Benson fidgeting behind the wheel.

“What is it?” Michelle asked again, climbing into the car.

“Your mother,” Mrs. Benson said tersely, jamming the old car into gear. “She’s at the clinic, having the baby.”

“The baby?” Michelle breathed. But the baby wasn’t due for three more weeks. “What happened?”

Ignoring her question, Constance Benson let the clutch out, pressed on the accelerator, and moved away from the curb. As they drove toward the clinic, she chewed at her lower lip, concentrated on her driving, and maintained her silence.

Michelle sat on the edge of her chair, holding a magazine in her lap but making no attempt to look at it. Instead, she watched the door through which, sooner or later, her father would come. And then, as she willed it to happen, the door opened, and Cal smiled at her.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You have a baby sister.”

Michelle leaped to her feet and threw herself into her father’s arms.

“But what about Mom? Is she all right? What happened?”

“She’s fine,” Cal assured her. “And so is the baby. Apparently with your mother and your sister, time is
not
of the essence. Dr. Carson says this was the quickest delivery he’s ever seen.” Though he was careful to keep his tone light, Cal was worried. The delivery had been too quick. Abnormally quick. He wondered what had brought it on. Then he heard Michelle asking about the baby and put the delivery out of his mind.

“A sister? I have a sister?”

Cal nodded.

“Can I see her? Right now? Please?” She gazed appealingly up at Cal, and he hugged her close to him.

“In a few minutes,” he promised. “Right now I’m afraid she isn’t too presentable. Don’t you want to know what happened?” Cal gently pushed Michelle onto a chair, then sat beside her. “Your sister was almost born in the cemetery,” he said. Michelle stared at him uncomprehendingly, and the grin on his face faded a little.

“Your mother decided to take a walk,” he went on. “She was in the old graveyard when she went into labor.”

“The graveyard?” Michelle’s voice was low, faintly worried. “What was she doing there?”

“Who knows?” Cal asked wryly. “You know your mother—you can never tell what she might do.”

Now Michelle turned to Mrs. Benson. “But where was she when you found her? What part of the cemetery?”

Constance Benson hesitated, reluctant to tell Michelle where she had found June. But why not? “She was on Louise Carson’s grave,” she said, her voice quiet.

“On the grave?” Michelle echoed. How creepy, she
thought to herself, clutching her father’s hand. “Is the baby all right? I mean, it’s sort of like an omen, isn’t it? A baby born on a grave?”

Cal squeezed her hand, then slipped an arm around her.

“Don’t be silly,” he said gently. “Your sister was born right here, not on anybody’s grave.” He stood up, drawing Michelle with him. “Come on, let’s go take a look at the baby, then see how your mother’s doing.” Without a word to Constance Benson, he led his daughter out of the reception room.