Leave Well Enough Alone (8 page)

“It’s nice,” Jenny agreed. “I don’t really remember it from before. I was too little. I don’t think Lisa was even born then. Mom’s talked about coming back here before but she’s never yet had the courage to leave Daddy. She was trying to get him to spend more than two nights a week here but he’s too busy in the city. She’s been away from him all during the time she was...pregnant. I hate that word. She was down here and he was mostly in Buenos Aires and we had to go to boarding school. I hate boarding school. Anyway, if you ever catch Mom crying it’s because she misses Daddy. Are you poor?”

“What?” asked Dorothy.

“Are you from a poor family? Does your father have to have a job in a factory and everything?”

“My father’s a policeman,” said Dorothy. “He certainly doesn’t work in a factory and we certainly are not poor.”

“There’s nothing wrong with poorness,” said Jenny.

“Poverty,” Dorothy corrected.

“My daddy wastes money,” Jenny went on conspiratorially. “Least Mom says he does. He goes to Las Vegas and he’s always talking about making more money. I hear through their door. Once he told her he needed her love and support and she said she tried to be a good wife but he was asking too much and gonna ruin everything. Lisa heard that too. Mom was crying. That made Lisa cry and she got sick and I had to sleep with her in bed all night so she wouldn’t cry. So she shouldn’t push me into pools, I’ll say.”

“Jenny, you shouldn’t tell people about your parents like that. It isn’t respectful.”

“You wanna know what Mom said once to Daddy about the money that...

A shadow fell over the top of the Monopoly box. “Hi!” said a voice.

Dorothy looked up, squinting in the afternoon sun. “Yes?” she said, rising to her feet.

“I’m Carol Baldinger. You can call me Baldy.” A nice solid hand was extended. Dorothy shook it. Its owner looked to be not much older than she. Baldy was chunky and muscular, and very curly-haired. She was not pretty. She wore horn-rimmed glasses and smiled a very big smile.

“I’m Dorothy Coughlin and this is Jenny,” said Dorothy, wondering suddenly if this person had been asked to replace her because she’d done so badly with the girls that Mrs. Hoade had given up. “You’re not...going to take care of the girls, are you?” Dorothy asked.

“No. I answered an ad for riding instructor. I’m to drive the girls to the stable starting next week. You can come too. Mrs. Hoag said it would be okay. I came down to say hello,” said Baldy.

“Well, hello,” said Dorothy, noticing at that moment the beautifully cut riding pants and the soft brown leather boots on Baldy’s feet. They were not cowboy boots. They were something much much nicer. “It’s Hoade, by the way, not Hoag,” she added.

“Oh. I’m so bad at names. I don’t know anyone here, much. My uncle’s away buying stock in France and Ireland. I’m taking care of his stable. It’s just a few miles away. I’m glad there’ll be someone around to talk to,” Baldy said with another big smile. “It’s lonely here.”

“Stock?” asked Dorothy.

“Horses. Race horses. He goes every summer. Where’s the other little girl? I thought there were two.”

“She just ran out,” Jenny said calmly. “While you were talking.”

“Lisa!” Dorothy yelled. No answer. “Please watch Jenny for a sec? Please, would you?” she asked Baldy, and without waiting for her reply, she charged off across the lawn.

She didn’t want to call too loudly for fear of Mrs. Hoade overhearing. Mrs. Hoade was busy with Dinna on one of the interminable “secret” recipes, known only to Dinna and her Pennsylvania Dutch family, that was going to be in
Pennsylvania Surprise!
, which was the title of Mrs. Hoade’s book.

There was no Lisa to be seen, either darting among the trees or running anywhere across the lawn. The grounds of the house and the woods beyond looked larger to Dorothy than they ever had before. Dorothy ran down toward the overgrown drive that led to the pond on one side and the cottage on the other.

“Lisa! Li
sa
!” she yelled, now that she was out of range of the big house. No answer came from the surrounding brambles, scrubby oaks, and pine trees that lined the path.

Dorothy discovered she was annoyed at Lisa for running away and just as much annoyed at Mrs. Hoade for making such an issue of watching the girls every minute. After all, when she, Dorothy, had been younger even than Lisa, she had been allowed to walk to and from school alone. There were certainly more dangers on Newburgh, New York, streets than on this quiet estate.

On Dorothy’s right, a short walk through leg-searing grasses, was a pond. It seemed stagnant and didn’t appear to be deep. Lisa had told her a monster lived in it, just like the Loch Ness monster. Dorothy stared, out of breath now. The muddy green surface answered no shouts. “Lisa!” she called to the trees. There were so many places for a child to hide here. Matthew was not around. He wouldn’t have noticed Lisa anyway. Perhaps Miss Borg had seen her. Perhaps Dorothy could convey her question without too much trouble. It was worth a try.

She stamped back through the brambles and poison ivy until she reached the grassy path again. Dorothy guessed Miss Borg might ask her in for a cup of tea. Nice, grandmotherly persons always did that. It was too bad she hadn’t time for it. She would have liked some of Miss Borg’s quiet company. Better not to, anyway. Had Mrs. Hoade told her not to go to the cottage or was it just the girls who were not supposed to go? Dorothy, for reasons she hadn’t puzzled out, had not told Mrs. Hoade about her walks with Miss Borg.

The little house itself was certainly different from the main building. Dorothy could tell easily that it was fairly new and a cheap building at that. Instead of clapboard, it was built of inexpensive siding meant to look like clapboard, same as in all the developments around Maureen’s neighborhood. The roof was done out of unpleasant purplish shingle, so much in contrast to the curved red and brown tiles on the roof of the big house. She knocked a little timidly on the door.

A chair scraped against the floor. Miss Borg’s pink face appeared between the curtains of the window for a moment. The door opened, allowing the odor of something that reminded Dorothy of a Salvation Army store or her great-aunt Ruth’s parlor to emerge. Miss Borg shut the door firmly behind her and said, “
Was
?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Dorothy said, sensing that indeed she had bothered Miss Borg. “Have you seen Lisa? Lisa? The little girl, Lisa?” she asked very slowly, amplifying her words with gestures for see and little.

“
Was
?” asked Miss Borg again in a no more obliging tone. Dorothy shook her head. Miss Borg’s word sounded like
Vuss.
It probably meant What-are-you-trying-to-say-you-idiot? “How’s the baby?” Dorothy asked conversationally.

Miss Borg looked sharply at Dorothy’s broad, innocent smile and empty, cradling arms.

“
Sie ist in ihrem Bad
,” said the nurse and immediately went back into the house, closing the door with a firm click. Dorothy stared stupidly for a minute at the closed door. I guess it’s just not my day, she thought. When is it going to be my day? She turned and walked back up the path. When I collect my four hundred George Washingtons on Labor Day. That’s when.

“Dorothy,” said Mrs. Hoade. “I would like a word with you.” Dorothy sat down in the nearest chair, a straight-backed one in the hall. She folded her hands, swallowed hard, and looked up as sincerely as she could. If she hadn’t known she was going to be severely reprimanded she would have had a difficult time not laughing, for Mrs. Hoade was covered with much more than the usual amount of flour that coated her apron and clothing after one of her sessions in the kitchen with Dinna. This time there was flour in Mrs. Hoade’s hair, and she had evidently dropped an egg on or in her shoe. Her right hand had fought another unsuccessful battle with yet another leaky Esterbrook fountain pen.

“I hardly know where to begin,” Mrs. Hoade began.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Hoade,” Dorothy began.

“Lisa, by the way, is upstairs or was upstairs watching
Frankenstein
on television. I understand she was out of your sight, that you had no idea where she was for over an hour while you played Monopoly with Jenny. Is that true?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hoade. Well, sort of. She was in the pool house.”

“Where she could have hurt herself on numerous rusty objects.”

“I guess so, Mrs. Hoade.”

“And you disturbed Miss Borg, I understand? And went down where I specifically told you not to go?”

“But...

“That area is full of old foundations and rotting wood. There are black widow spiders and holes in the ground. If you injured yourself, your clever lawyer brother could sue us. Not that he would, but he could. You are not to go there again.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hoade.”

“And you are not to let Lisa watch horror movies or any television during the day. Her...little problem at night has cleared up in the past two weeks, and if it starts again I will have only you to blame, Dorothy, for threatening her with spankings, for using words like shut up, and for virtually imprisoning her in a dark, dangerous place like the pool house.”

“But...

“Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hoade, but...

“Now for the worst thing,” Mrs. Hoade rubbed her floury nose with the back of her inky hand. “What you said to Jenny.”

“What did I say to Jenny?”

“About the baby. I’m sure you heard me, the very first day you were here. In the car, as a matter of fact.
We are saying the baby has a cold
.”

“But...

“Jenny has already told Lisa what you said and Lisa has come to me and complained about a monster being down there. A monster!”

“Mrs. Hoade, that’s the monster in the pond. She...

“No, Dorothy. A girl in Lisa’s class had the misfortune of having a baby brother who ...who was physically...who was not at all normal. Now both girls are convinced their sister is, in Lisa’s words, a freak. I won’t go into detail.”

“But it isn’t true about the cold and Jenny knew it anyway and I couldn’t lie to her, Mrs. Hoade. I...

“Because you are a Roman Catholic, perhaps?” asked Mrs. Hoade.

“No, but...

“Does that cross around your neck give you a leg up on the rest of the world as far as truth is concerned?”

“No, but...

“Have you ever told a lie? A lie that makes it easier for people? A lie that hurts no one?”

Dorothy nodded.

“Very well. By the way. When that girl, Carol Baldinger, came back here with Jenny, Jenny had been quite happily splashing all around the pool.”

“Jenny?”

“Carol had jumped in with her, fully clothed. They had a wonderful time. Sometimes it’s better to be childlike with children instead of showing them how good you are at diving and racing. Now. I have ten apple pies to complete and the pastry is melting. Please go upstairs and see that they haven’t turned
Frankenstein
back on.”

Dorothy climbed the creaky stairs slowly. She compressed her mouth. Roman Catholic indeed. Truth. What was the truth? The truth was that she might get fired. Baldy indeed. But supposing Mrs. Hoade hired someone like Baldy? A natural with children. Mrs. Hoade didn’t seem so terrific with children, even her own kids. Look how she’d botched the whole business about a simple mongoloid baby. It was bad for Jenny and Lisa to have been lied to. They had found out anyway. And it was bad for the poor baby too. Mrs. Saxon, down at the end of the next block from Dorothy’s house, had had one of those mongoloid babies. “Over my dead body,” Mrs. Saxon had said to Dorothy’s mother numerous times, “would we ever stash Chucky away like some people do.” Mrs. Saxon always said this with a bit of relish in her voice and a glance over her shoulder as if the “some people” were right there in the living room. Hmmph! Dorothy said to herself. If Mrs. Hoade gets going again I’ll just tell her what I think about keeping a little baby hidden in some gazebo...was gazebo the right word? It sounded sufficiently sinful, at any rate...hidden away from its own sisters. Why I could even report it to some interested party. It isn’t
right
!

FAMILY SHAME EXPOSED! ran the headline in Dorothy’s imagination.

The Pennsylvania Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children today awarded its highest accolade to Dorothy Coughlin, a sophomore at Sacred Heart Academy in Newburgh, New York, for her courageous exposure of a mongoloid child, separated from its parents and sisters on an estate in Llewellyn. The child, daughter of wealthy advertising magnate John Hoade and his scatterbrained wife, Maria, has been placed in a foster home.

The Society has offered to recompense Miss Coughlin for her lost salary, but Miss Coughlin has refused, saying that although she was fired from her job after calling this paper, her salary will be more than made up in speakers’ fees. Her first address will be given to the assembled students and Sisters at Sacred Heart.

“You really got it, didn’t you?” asked Lisa from the top of the stairs.

“Someday, Lisa, you’re going to learn to mind your own business,” Dorothy snapped. “What’s on that television?”

Dorothy watched for a minute as Frankenstein teetered back and forth on the screen. She switched the channel to a cartoon program.

“I guess I got you into trouble, didn’t I?” Jenny asked.

“I guess you did.”

Jenny paused. “I didn’t mean it,” she said almost angrily.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Did you see it? Her?”

“Nope.”

“How’s that old nurse? What’s she like?” Jenny went on in an easier tone.

“She doesn’t speak English. She just said...what did she say to me? Something that sounded like
Zee iss innair baht.

“I know what that means,” Jenny began.

“Smarty,” said Lisa, “I speak twice as good Spanish as you do. You do not know what that means.”

“It isn’t Spanish, Lisa,” said Dorothy calmly. The cartoons jumped crazily around the screen in front of her. Dorothy turned to look out the window. Matthew was driving Dinna home. The gravel crunched in the driveway.

“It means... Jenny screwed up her face in concentration. “It means she’s in her bed...no, in her
bath.
That’s what it means.”