Comes the Blind Fury (39 page)

And, finally, silence.

Only then did Jennifer go downstairs.

June was standing in the hall, perplexed.

“What happened, sweetheart? Why did everyone leave so suddenly?”

“I asked them to,” Jenny said. “It was a crummy party, so I told them all to go home.”

June’s Bostonian breeding, her sense of propriety, a sense she thought she had left behind her years ago, came flooding back. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said sharply. “You were their hostess—if the party wasn’t going smoothly, you should have done something to make it right. Now I want you to go to your room, and think about it, then this evening you can call up every one of those children, and apologize. Do I make myself clear?”

Jenny stared at her mother. She’d never talked like this to her before—never in her life. And it hadn’t even been her fault—it had been Carrie Peterson’s fault! Hurt, Jenny burst into tears and fled up the stairs.

As soon as she got to her room, she saw the package.

It was sitting on her bed, wrapped in silver paper, with an immense blue bow on it.

Jenny frowned.

Why hadn’t she seen it before?

Then she figured it out. While her mother had been lecturing her, her father had slipped into her room and left it on the bed—a special surprise.

Jenny was grinning as she opened the package, and as she lifted the gift out of the box, her grin turned into a smile.

It was a beautiful doll—and old! Jenny realized it must be an antique, and wondered where her parents had gotten it. She’d never seen anything like it.

It had a blue dress, all ruffles and lace, and a perfect porcelain face, surrounded by dark curls held in place by a tiny bonnet.

Jenny hugged it close. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “You’re so beautiful.” Her hurt and anger completely dissipated by the gift, she rushed downstairs.

“Mom? Mom! Where are you?”

“I’m in the kitchen,” June called. “What is it?”

Jenny burst into the kitchen, and threw her arms around her mother. “Oh, Mother, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! It’s beautiful. Just perfect!”

Puzzled, June disengaged herself from Jenny’s arms.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” she laughed. “But would you mind telling me what you’re talking about?”

“My doll,” Jenny cried. “My beautiful doll.” Then,
as June stood looking at her in amazement, Jenny had an inspiration. “I know what I’m going to name her! I’ll call her Michelle! It’s such a beautiful name, and I’ve always wished Michelle and I could have been friends. She was beautiful, wasn’t she? With dark hair, and beautiful brown eyes? Ill bet the doll looks just like her! So now we
can
be friends. Oh, Mom, it’s just wonderful. Where’s Dad? I’ve got to find Dad, and thank him!”

And then she was gone, out of the house, searching for her father.

June stood quite still, trying to put it all together. A doll? What doll?

What was Jenny talking about?

Slowly, a thought beginning to grow in her mind, June left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

It couldn’t be true.

She knew it couldn’t.

It was quite impossible.

But Jenny was going to name the doll Michelle.

June started up the stairs.

She paused at the door to Jenny’s room.

The room she hadn’t wanted Jenny to have.

But Jenny had insisted, and she had given in.

She opened the door hesitantly, and stepped inside.

The doll was on the bed, and as she looked at it, June felt a scream build inside her.

She had burned the doll. She clearly remembered burning it, twelve years ago.

But it was there, and it was not burned, and its sightless, glassy eyes stared blindly up at June.

As the beginnings of panic began to grip her mind, a memory welled up inside her, a memory from her youth.

It was a bit of poetry, from Milton:

Comes the Blind Fury with th’abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life.

Very quietly, June Pendleton began to cry.