Fox River (8 page)

Since she wasn’t sure, she couldn’t answer directly. “I need people I love around me. You work hard. You won’t be home much, and Mrs. Taylor will end up taking care of me.”

“I can take time off.”

She tried to imagine Bard preparing meals and making certain utensils were in reach. Bard mopping up spills. Bard leading her to the bathroom, or picking her up if she stumbled.

“You would hate it,” she said, and he didn’t deny it.

“How long do you plan to stay?”

She had no plans. Her loss of sight was so mysterious, so precipitous, that it defied logic. She might wake up tomorrow, her vision as clear as crystal. She might spend the rest of her life in a world as dark as a starless winter night.

“I don’t know how long I’ll stay. As long as I need to.”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I need my wife.”

She waited for him to mention Callie. He didn’t. “For what, exactly? I can’t be much of a hostess right now. And the foxhunting season will have to start without me.” Bard often acted as honorary whipper-in for the Mosby Hunt, and the thrill of the chase was one of the primary joys they shared.

“You make me sound shallow.”

“Then tell me why you want me there.”

His angry tone intensified. “What’s the point? You’ve obviously made up your mind. I’m the bad guy here. I tried to get help for you, and you rejected it. I asked you to come home, and now you want me to grovel.”

She lowered her voice to counteract his. “I don’t want you to grovel. I just want you to realize there’s no point to my going back to Millcreek except to keep people from talking. You can visit me here anytime you want. You can visit Callie.”

“That’s not a marriage.”

She wondered what exactly he would miss. Sex? She couldn’t imagine Bard making love to a woman who was less than perfect. But even if she was wrong, sex was only a small part of their marriage. For all his masculinity, he was a man who seemed to need little, and she had never insisted on more.

“What is a marriage?” She was genuinely curious to know his answer.

“What’s the point of this?”

“You have very little time for your family. If anything, this will give you an excuse to work longer hours.”

“You never complained before. Is that what this is about? You’re getting back at me for making money to support you?”

“Bard, you could support a harem. Already. Let’s be honest. You work because you love it. You have to work. You have too much energy to sit still for more than a minute.”

“And you never asked me to slow down. Maybe you liked it that way. You didn’t have to put up with me as often. You didn’t have to give up your dreams of another man!”

She was stunned as much by his words as his vehemence. “That’s not true!”

“No? You think I haven’t noticed how cold you are? You think I don’t know why? And you think I don’t know how much you hate it when I try to be a father to Callie? My name’s on her birth certificate, but as far as you’re concerned, I don’t have any real right to put my stamp on her. She’s your kid. Yours and a murderer’s.”

“Keep your voice down!”

“Oh, that’s right. Nobody’s supposed to know.”

“I have never tried to keep you from spending time with Callie.”

“As long as I spend it the way you want me to. You direct every facet of our lives, Julia. You have, right from the beginning. And you call me controlling!”

For a moment she felt dizzied by regrets. They had been married nearly nine years, and he had never expressed any of this. She had tried to be a good wife. She had not allowed herself to mourn for Christian Carver. She had believed her profound gratitude to Bard had quietly turned to affection. She knew his faults and limitations, but she knew her own, as well. She had believed that their marriage, even though it was built on a secret, was solid.

“She has
never
been my child.” His tone was bitter. “You’ve never let her be my child. I’m as much your prisoner as Christian is the state’s.”

She was suffused with guilt, even though she didn’t know if it was deserved. Her head was ringing with his words. “If you’re trying to make me come back to Millcreek, you’re your own worst enemy. We shouldn’t be living together. Not with all this between us.”

“We aren’t going to fix anything with you living here. It’s the next step toward a divorce. Is that what you want?”

She was saved from having to answer by Callie’s voice floating up from the barn. She lowered hers again. “If you want to see Callie tonight, this is your chance. And we’ve said enough, don’t you think?”

“Not nearly.”

“She’ll know you’re here. She’ll see your car. You can’t ignore her.”

“Fine, Julia. I’ll go see her. But you stay here until Maisy comes to rescue you. For once, let me be her father without your help.”

“Bard…”

“Save it.”

A cool breeze fanned her side where he had been sitting, and leaves crackled under his feet. “Tell you what, if you can think of any reason to see me again, you know where to reach me. I’ll wait for instructions.”

She heard his footsteps on the cobblestone path. She lowered her chin and stared sightlessly at the ground.

Maisy watched her granddaughter run to her father, then stop several feet away, as if she was aware he might not want to see her.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Callie.” He nodded his head. He didn’t reach for her, but he didn’t move away, either. “Your mother said you were checking on Feather Foot. She’s doing all right in there?”

“It’s so neat. Jake works there every day, and he can keep her company while I’m in school. She has everything she needs.”

Bard looked at Maisy. “Sounds like you have my family all tucked in here.”

Maisy didn’t take the bait. “We’re glad to lend a hand.”

“I made a
B
on my history report.” Callie moved a little closer. “The one about Mosby’s Rangers.”

“That’s good.” He sounded neither critical nor enthused. Clearly his mind wasn’t on the conversation.

Callie tried again. “A
B
is good. It’s better than last time, right?”

“That’s not the way to look at it, Callie. A
B
is okay. An
A
would be better.”

Callie didn’t seem surprised. She made a face. “You mean I’m not supposed to be happy?”

“You can be happy.” He seemed to focus on her. “A
B
is good enough to be happy about.”

“Did you always get
A
s?”

“Pretty nearly all the time.”

Her face fell. “Maybe I’m not that smart.”

Maisy was angry enough at this exchange to intervene, but his next words stopped her. “You’re smart enough to make
me
happy.”

Callie giggled. He stepped forward and smoothed her hair. “Walk me to my car.”

“Where’s Mommy?”

Maisy frowned. Where was Julia?

Bard turned to her. “Julia’s sitting in the garden. It’s getting colder. She’ll need some help getting back inside.” He started toward the black BMW, which was parked near the barn, and Callie tagged along beside him.

“He looks like he ran into a hornet’s nest,” Maisy said when Jake joined her. “He left Julia in my garden.”

“He’s a man with a number of strengths. Dealing with feelings isn’t one of them.”

“I want to slap him when he makes Callie ashamed of herself.”

“Maisy, he struggles. Anyone can see that.”

She felt reprimanded, and it wasn’t the first time. Lately she had felt the subtle sting of Jake’s disapproval more and more. “She’s just a little girl.”

“She’s a lot stronger than you give her credit for. They have to work out their own relationship.”

“I know that.” She sounded hurt, although she had hoped not to.

“Do you? You protect everyone you love. Some people would say you smother them.”

“Do I smother you, Jake?” The hurt was still there.

“Only when I let you.”

She knew there was nothing else she could say. He squeezed her arm, as if to comfort her. “I’ll get Julia. I know you’ll want to help Callie get ready for bed.”

Maisy watched him walk away. Finally she drew a deep breath and realized it was the first she had taken since his answer.

“M
ommy, when I shut my eyes, I can still see light. Can you see light?”

“I don’t think so. Turn me toward the lamp.”

From the noise she made, Callie thought that was funny. She stood on the bed and put her small hands on Julia’s shoulders; then she guided her. “Can you see it?”

“When you close your eyes, you’re still getting light through your eyelids. Whatever is wrong with my eyes, the light doesn’t penetrate.”

“Daddy says something’s wrong with your head. But not because you hit it.”

Julia was glad Bard had reassured Callie of that much, at least. “It’s hard to understand.”

“If you just try real hard, maybe you can see.”

Julia heard Bard in her daughter’s words. She positioned herself to sit on the bed. “Remember when you were learning to read, and no matter how hard you tried, you still couldn’t make any sense out of all those letters? Remember how you had to have a special teacher who knew what your problem was and how to help you with it?”

“I’m not even nine yet, Mommy,” Callie said with exaggerated patience. “I remember.”

Julia put her arms around her daughter, or rather, she put her arms around empty space until Callie snuggled against her. “Well, it’s the same way for me. No matter how hard I struggle to see, I can’t. I’m going to need a special teacher to help me see again, somebody who knows what my problem is.”

“A seeing teacher?”

Julia wished it were that easy. “A psychologist. A counselor.”

“I’m learning to read. Maybe you’ll learn to see, too.”

“You’re doing very well with your reading. And because it’s harder for you, it’ll mean more.”

“I had to read out loud in class yesterday.”

Julia had an agreement with Callie’s teacher that this would never happen. “Why?”

“We had a substitute. Mrs. Quinn was at a meeting. I just told her it was hard for me, so she let me stop. But the other kids laughed.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t have time to do much. Leroy Spader got up to read and fell over somebody’s foot. Then they laughed at
him,
instead.” Callie paused. “But I didn’t laugh. I helped him get back up.”

“That was nice.” Julia remembered Leroy. Usually when the class laughed at Callie, cocky little Leroy was the leader.

“Then I pushed him.”

“You didn’t!”

“Just back into his seat. That’s all. So he wouldn’t fall again.”

Julia hugged her daughter harder. “No more pushing, Callie. I know Leroy provokes you, but that’s not going to help anything.”

“Why, because I’m supposed to be a lady?”

Bard’s words again. “Not at all. Because it’s the right thing to do. Girl or boy.”

“Pickles!”

“Pickles?”

“That’s what Tiffany says when she’s mad.”

“You’d better get under the covers now, sweetums.”

“Can’t. You have to stand up first. You’re on my blanket.”

Julia got to her feet. “I’m going to tuck you in. Just let me know if I succeed.”

“I like your room. I’m glad I’m sleeping here.”

Julia had always liked this room, too, and it hadn’t surprised her that Callie chose it. The bedroom was large and airy, with windows on two sides and climbing trees just out of reach. At Callie’s age, she had asked Maisy to paint it a sunny yellow, and it had remained that way until she was a teenager. Then Julia couldn’t darken the walls enough to suit herself. In an uncharacteristic moment of parental defiance, Maisy had refused to let her paint them black, so she and her mother had compromised on navy blue.

Now the room was a soft lavender, or had been last time she’d been able to see it. “What color are the walls in here, Callie?”

“Purple.”

“Light purple?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I painted it this color my first year in college.”

Christian had helped, and so had Fidelity. Julia felt a fresh stab of pain. Callie would never know her biological father had painted the ceiling just above her head. Or that her mother’s best friend had painted the trim, carelessly slopping more on the walls than the window frames until they’d made her sit and supervise.

Callie wouldn’t know that she had been conceived inside these very walls, just days before Christian was convicted of Fidelity’s murder and sentenced to a life away from the daughter he didn’t know he had.

“Purple makes me sleepy,” Callie said. She sounded like a child drifting to the land of Nod.

“I can’t read to you, but I could tell you a story.”

“I don’t think I can…stay awake.”

Julia sat on the side of the bed again and felt for Callie’s face. Then she landed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “I’ll tell you a longer one tomorrow to make up for it.”

“You two ready for lights out?”

Julia hadn’t heard her mother’s approach. “This is one tired little girl.”

Maisy’s footsteps ringed the bed. “Good night, princess. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night…Leave the door open.”

“We will.” Julia felt Maisy take her hand.

In the hallway, Maisy put her arm around her daughter. “You’re ready for bed, too, aren’t you?”

“I am tired.”

At the bottom of the stairs, after a long, slow descent, Maisy spoke again. “How did things go with Bard?”

Julia realized her mother needed to know at least part of what had occurred. “Bard’s taking this personally. And I guess I antagonized him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t want your life to be any harder than it already is.”

“He pulled out all the stops.” And inside she was still trembling from the dissonant roar.

“Julia, whatever you decide, you know it’ll be all right with me, don’t you? I’m not trying to make you do anything.”

Julia thought about that. Maisy had always been a permissive parent. Sometimes Julia thought the absence of rules had been a sneaky but useful form of control. With few parental limits, Julia had been forced to choose her own so carefully that when she’d erred, it had usually been on the side of caution.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do, but you want me here, Maisy. You’ve made it clear.”

“I won’t lie. I love it.”

“Am I imagining it, or have you been clearing out the hallway?”

“I’ve just been making paths. Lord knows, we’ve needed them for years.”

Julia allowed herself to be steered slowly toward the downstairs bedroom. Since finding her way through the halls of Gandy Willson, she had grown more confident. She still shuffled, but no step was an anxiety attack.

“I’ve laid out a nightgown for you. All your bathroom things are in a row on the shelf above the radiator. Will you need help?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Then how about if I leave you in the bathroom first, then come back for you in a few minutes? Unless you’re planning to take a bath?”

“I’ll shower in the morning.”

Julia found everything she needed and got ready for bed. Back in her room, she felt along the foot rail of the bed for her nightgown.

“I can leave you alone to undress and come back later,” Maisy said.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going right to sleep.”

“Actually, I need your help with something.”

“Then stay while I change.”

Julia heard the bedsprings creak. The bed, like nearly everything else in the house, was an antique, which Maisy had always called “preloved.”

Maisy was silent while Julia undressed, until she got down to her bra and panties. “Honey, you’re so thin.”

“I’m at a disadvantage here. I can’t see you, remember?”

“Trust me, thin is not what you’d see.”

“I haven’t been hungry since the accident. But I’ll gain it back.”

“It’s very Audrey Hepburn.”

Julia managed a smile. “Do you remember all the times we watched
My Fair Lady
when I was growing up?”

“It was one of the few things we agreed on.”

Julia would have liked to be able to argue, but Maisy was right. They had shared so little, not just during the normal turbulence of adolescence, but throughout Julia’s childhood. She had never quite understood it. They were very different people, but they loved each other. They loved Ashbourne, too, and, in their individual ways, the culture of Ridge’s Race. But for all that, Julia had never felt they stood on common ground, or even that they could reach each other across the divide.

At Callie’s birth, her first prayer had been that her own daughter wouldn’t drift from her as she had drifted from Maisy.

“I’ve thought about this a lot.” Maisy must have shifted, because the springs creaked once more. “Your hand slipped out of mine when you were little, and I never found it again.”

Julia slid the nightgown over her head and felt its familiar swish against her hips. But the whisper of silk was the only familiar thing about the last moments.

“I love you, Maisy,” she said tentatively. “You know I do.”

“That’s never been an issue.”

“I don’t know what else to say. We’re very different. Maybe I’m more like my father?”

“In little ways, maybe. He wasn’t a man to talk about his feelings.”

“Neither are you,” Julia said gently. “Although you will talk about any other subject under the sun.”

“Harry had a way of drawing people to him that neither of us has mastered. He walked into a room and the light went on. Not because he worked at being charming, because he was so confident.” She paused. “Powerful. He was powerful, and anyone who met him wanted to live in his sphere.”

Julia found her way around the bed and sat on the edge. “I don’t remember anything about him.”

“I know. Jake was all the father you ever really knew.”

“Enough father for anyone. The best.”

Julia suspected that the window into her mother’s feelings was closing. But it had been a beginning and something to ponder. “You said you needed my help?”

Maisy didn’t answer immediately. When she did, she almost sounded embarrassed. “Julia, I’m writing a novel.”

Julia supposed if any of the mothers of her friends had admitted such a thing, their daughters would have been stunned. The mothers of Ridge’s Race gave charity teas and served on committees, they shepherded children and grandchildren to horse and pony shows and steeplechase events, entertained friends, oversaw the baking of ham and the assembly of salads for tailgate parties. They did not, for the most part, pursue their muse.

Maisy had always pursued hers with a vengeance.

Julia thought back to her mother’s last creative attempts. “You got tired of sculpture?”

“I was a failure.”

“Not so. I thought some of the things you did were interesting.”

“Julia, we both know what interesting means in the art world. Spare me false praise.”

“I liked the bust of Callie. I really did.”

“You were the only person who knew it was Callie, and that’s only because you let her pose for me.”

“So you’ve moved to writing. Didn’t you try your hand at poetry when I was in college?”

“No matter what I wrote, I rhymed. I shamed myself.”

“Well, if you’re telling me this because you want my approval, you know you have it. I think it’s great.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I want to read what I’ve written to you.”

Julia sobered. “I’m not going to be much of an audience, Maisy.”

“I know you have a lot on your mind.”

Maisy had tried to be honest with her. Now Julia tried to be honest with her mother. “I feel like I’m putting my life back together, or taking it apart, I’m not sure which. I feel like I’m curled up in a hard little ball, the way a porcupine does when it’s under attack. Everything that’s happening inside me right now is centered around me and my life. I feel selfish, but there it is. I don’t know if I even have the ability to think about anybody else.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad.”

“I still would appreciate it if you listened to my story. I’ll tell you why,” Maisy continued before Julia could object. “I think you
need
something outside yourself to think about. Just for a small part of each day. I understand what you’re going through. I do, as well as anyone could. But I also know you need a break from the crisis, and it’s going to be hard to get one. You can’t read. You can’t paint. You can’t ride. You can listen to music or television, but I think while you do, you’ll be worrying and digging away at the things inside you.”

“That’s all I’m good for right now.”

“Your heart and soul need a resting place. You need to heal a little before you move on to the next thought. You need
time
to heal. Is this making any sense?”

To Julia, what made sense was that her mother, in her own confusing way, was trying to help her. Right at the beginning Maisy had offered her a home, solace, the use of Maisy’s own eyes and hands as she cared for her. Now she was offering two things more. Respite and a piece of Maisy’s own heart. Julia, as an artist, understood that every creative endeavor, even the most amateur, was a gift of self.