Legacy (26 page)

“Why would an arsonist?” Gram countered.

“I heard someone in the crowd saying they thought I was the one who set the fire,” I put in.

“You!” Gram sounded appalled. “Good grief, what nonsense!”

Just then Jonathan came over, sooty-faced and grinning. “Doesn’t look too bad, ladies. Hey there, witchlet, come for the show?” He tousled my hair.

“Can I help, Jonathan?” I asked. “I’ll do anything.”

“Nah, most of the damage is cosmetic. Nothing a coat of paint and a little airing out won’t fix, eh, my girl?”

Agnes blushed despite the seriousness of the situation. “There really isn’t any more to be done, Katy.”

“But where are you going to stay? I could ask my father—”

“Oh, gracious, no,” Gram said. “A number of people have invited us to stay with them. We’re not completely friendless, you know.” She ruffled her shoulders like a roosting hen.

“You won’t have to be gone long,” Jonathan said. “In a week, I’ll have the place cleaned and smelling like a rose. Fortunately, Mrs. Ainsworth here called the firehouse as soon as it started.” He tipped his hat to her.

Gram blushed with pride. “Well, I did make the call, but I’m sure I would have slept through everything if it hadn’t been for Katy’s friend Peter.”

“Peter?” I asked stupidly. “Peter Shaw?”

“He walked through the ring of fire to get me. I’d been dozing at the time, and Agnes was at the grocery . . .”

“Is he here now?”

“Over there, with the paramedics.” She pointed to the ambulance. “The flowering pear tree caught fire and part of it fell on us as we were coming out of the house. He used his arm to protect me, poor thing. The medical people told us . . .”

I never heard the rest of what she was saying. Fighting my way through the crowd I finally saw him sitting, shirtless, in the back of the ambulance. A paramedic was wrapping gauze around his forearm.

“Peter,” I whispered.

When he looked up at me, he smiled. I must have looked stricken, because he closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Don’t freak,” he said. “This is no big deal, really.”

“He’s telling the truth,” the paramedic said with a grin. “He’s fine. But I’ve got to have something to do, now that we’ve been called here.”

“Really, Katy, no worries, okay? I got hit by a branch off a tree. A small branch. Mrs. Ainsworth and your aunt are all right.”

“I know. I’ve seen them. How . . .” I looked around. “How did you happen to be here?”

“Hattie sent me out for some things from the drugstore. On my way back I saw the . . .” He glanced at the paramedic, who was obviously trying not to interfere with our conversation while he took care of Peter’s arm. “. . . the fire . . .”

“It’s made a black ring around the house,” I said.

“Crazy, man,” the paramedic said, evidently unable to contain himself any longer. “A ring of fire, huh? I heard you talking to the cops.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “A ring of fire.”

“Could be arson,” the man speculated. “If it was a ring, like you say, that could have been some nut with a gasoline can. Ever think about that?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Peter said, looking at me.

“I hear you. Got enough on your plate with the arm, right?”

Peter smiled. “Really, this is nothing. You shouldn’t even have been called out.” He reached out with his uninjured arm and took my hand.

“The old lady was worried. This your girlfriend?”

Peter squeezed my hand. “Maybe,” he said, teasing. “Want to be my girlfriend, Katy?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, filled with happiness.

The paramedic put the last bandage over the gauze. “Okay, you’re good,” he said. “I just want to check out something before you . . . Whoa.” He was leaning over Peter’s back. “What’d you do here?”

“Must have gotten scraped by some branches,” he said, scrambling to put on his shirt.

“You kidding me? This ain’t from no tree.” He yanked the shirt back off Peter’s arm. “Dude, I got to tell the police about this.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the fire,” Peter said.

“Yeah, I know. This wasn’t done today. But it’s been done a lot.”

“What is it?” I asked, craning around behind Peter.

He pushed me away. “It’s nothing. Sports injury,” he told the paramedic.

“You don’t play sports,” I said. “Not since your brother—”

“This from your old man?” the paramedic interrupted.

“My father’s dead,” Peter said. “Look, I told you—”

“You’re how old? Seventeen, was it?”

“Peter, please tell me what’s wrong!” I shrilled.

They both ignored me.

“You don’t have to take this, man. The cops, they can help, I’m telling you,” the paramedic said.

“No, you don’t understand. No one’s responsible. That’s the truth.”

“Fine, if you say so. But I still have to make a . . . Hey!” He reached past Peter to try to stop me from climbing into the ambulance, but he was too late.

The interior was lit as brightly as an operating room, so there was no mistaking what I saw: Peter’s back was covered with deep welts, slash marks, and bruises.

I gasped.

“Katy, please,” Peter said miserably.

But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even look away.

The wounds were placed exactly where I’d seen them in my nightmares.

It felt as if the whole world had suddenly gone silent. There was the paramedic, his bushy eyebrows raised, pointing at me, his mouth moving. And in the distance, my father, looking lost. Aunt Agnes had spotted him, and looked as if she were deciding whether or not to speak to him.

Then there was Peter, alone with me in this silent shell, meeting my eyes with something like shame.

What are you keeping from me?
I wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he tell me?

“Katy!” My father’s voice cut through the bubble of silence, bringing back all the other noises.

“Honey, I mean it. Get out of the ambulance,” the paramedic shouted, pointing at me. Dad was on his way.

“Go,” Peter said.

“I love you,” I whispered.

I hadn’t meant to say that, not there in the ambulance with the paramedic next to us in a crowded, noisy place with my angry father stomping toward me. But it was true. I loved Peter Shaw, and I would love him until the day I died.

I jumped off the back end of the ambulance.

“Thank you,” the paramedic said sarcastically as I walked away. Peter didn’t say anything.

My father had that
I’m gonna kill that kid
look on his face.

“Dad—” For a horrible moment I was afraid he wouldn’t
stop, that he would keep walking until he reached Peter and did something awful to him. I grabbed his arm.

“You came here to see that boy, didn’t you?” he accused.

“No. I didn’t even—”

“I
saw
you, Katherine.”

“He was hurt, Dad. He’s the one who discovered the fire.”

“The
arson
fire?” Dad asked pointedly. “Isn’t that interesting.”

He was so beside the point that he wasn’t even worth talking to, and I really would have walked away from him if Aunt Agnes hadn’t come up to us.

“Hello, Harrison,” she said. It was a dutiful greeting, guarded, exploratory.

He took a step backward, clearly astonished. It must have been like looking at my mother all over again. “Agnes,” he said formally. “I’m sorry about your misfortune.”

“We’ll manage.”

“I understand you’ve been . . . looking after my daughter.”

The stiffness of the exchange worried me. Dad was lapsing into his stern-professor persona, and Aunt Agnes was every inch the Yankee spinster. “My grandmother and I have done what we could to make Katy’s stay in Whitfield a pleasant one,” she said.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure the school is prepared to provide whatever may be necessary.”

“On the contrary, Dr. Jessevar,” Agnes said, coloring ever so slightly. “There have been several occasions for which the school has provided neither accommodation nor amusement.”

“And exactly what sort of amusement have
you
provided, Miss Ainsworth?”

It was too much. “Stop it, Dad. This isn’t—”

“When your opinion becomes necessary, I’ll ask for it,” he said, his voice rising. He turned back to face Agnes. “Actually, I was thinking of Katherine’s indulgence in sexual activities with one of her schoolmates. Is that the sort of amusement you’ve been accommodating?”

Agnes’ face flushed a deep, horrified red.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “That was swell of you.”

“Well, what do you expect? The moment you’re out of the house, you immediately fly into the arms of some boy whose major ambition seems to be to relieve himself on you—”

“Shut up!” I screamed, indifferent to the fact that we were in public. “Just because
you’re
crude and disgusting and hang out with tramps—”

He slapped me. Slapped me across the face in front of everyone. Total strangers turned to stare at us.

My eyes were so full of tears that I could barely see. When I turned to leave, I bumped right into my great-grandmother, who apparently had just noticed us. I hugged her so fiercely that a little jet of air whooshed out of her mouth. “Gracious, dear,” she said, patting my back. “Whatever can be the matter?”

I couldn’t answer. I just cried into her lacy chest that smelled of lavender and comfort and home. This was my home, with her and Aunt Agnes and people who were like me. This was where I belonged, and it was crazy to think I could live anywhere else.

“Katherine, we’re going home now,” my father said.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” I spat, still hanging on to Gram. “I don’t care—”

“Darling!” With her usual impeccable timing, Mim launched herself into my father’s arms, her breath reeking of alcohol thinly disguised by mints.

“Go with your father,” Gram whispered, gently disentangling my arms from her. “You must.”

“Hello, ladies,” Mim said brightly. “Tragedy about the fire, isn’t it?”

Dad and Aunt Agnes both closed their eyes in exasperation at the same moment.

“Er . . . Katherine and I were about to leave for home,” he said.

“I’ll go with you,” Mim said. “As soon as I meet whoever lives here. It’s company policy. When it’s a big disaster, Wonderland donates blankets and things, but this doesn’t look like much of anything.”

Agnes gave her a cold stare. Gram fanned herself with a handkerchief.

“Madison,” Dad said softly, “these are the women whose house caught fire.”

“Oh, my God, how
terrible
,” she gushed, not missing a beat. “It must be horrific to see your life go up in a blaze.”

“That was hardly the case,” Agnes said, but Mim apparently didn’t hear her.

“How can I help? More to the point, how can
Wonderland
help? Of course, we’ll provide a hotel room for starters. A caring company doesn’t let its neighbors live on the street.”

“We were never in danger of that,” Gram said drily.

“Do you need blankets? Towels?”

“I assure you, Miss Mimson, we are quite capable of surviving this without the aid of
Wonderland
.” Agnes said the
store’s name as if she were speaking about used condoms. Then she took Gram’s arm and led her away. My great-grandmother turned back to look at me, her face sadder than I’d ever seen it.

“Well, how was I to know?” Mim asked belligerently. “This place is like a circus.” She gestured broadly at the assembled crowd. “At least I made it here before the news crew left.”

“Thank God for that,” I said. My father narrowed his eyes at me, but Mim wasn’t paying attention.

“You know, the people here are weird,” she added in a whisper. “Do you remember that horrible groundbreaking ceremony?” she asked as she put her arm around me. “The whole place was like one big mudhole. I actually lost my shoe in it. Ugh!” Then she laughed, high and tinkling.

Good thing I was already a pariah, since the other most despised individual in Old Town had just put her arm around me. To everyone watching, I was Madam Mim’s junior buddy, going off to her lair with her after possibly setting fire to my great-grandmother’s home. To make things worse, my father had given my extremely respectable relatives the impression that I was some kind of sweating, rutting harlot before slapping me in public. Worst of all, the person I loved had been beaten so badly that the paramedic wanted to file a police report about it, and I wasn’t even allowed to see him.

It had been the worst single hour of my life.

I shrugged off Mim’s arm. Instantly she transferred her affections to my father, leaning on his shoulder, clasping his hand as if they were taking a stroll in the park.

“Please, Madison,” he muttered, trying to slide her off him.

“Oh, don’t be so stuffy. It’s good that they see me as human.”

He stopped in his tracks, astonished. “Has it ever
possibly
occurred to you that not everything I do, think, feel, or say is about you?”

She let go of his hand. “Well, if you’re going to be
that
way about it . . .”

Clenching his jaw, Dad dragged me over to the car, leaving Mim behind on the sidewalk. “Get in,” he said, holding open the door.

“What if I don’t? Are you going to hit me again?”

He sighed. “Katherine, please . . .” He let the sentence drop.

I looked him in the eye. “I hate you,” I said levelly.

He didn’t answer for a long time. Finally he said, “I can’t help that.” Then he got in the driver’s side and waited.

Back at Mim’s house, I noticed that both wine bottles had been cleared away, and no cigarette butts or ashes were in sight. She could get it together when she needed to. Then I stomped upstairs and slammed the door to my room.

To make things even worse, it was my birthday. Earlier, I kept thinking that Dad was waiting for dinner to say Happy Birthday or give me a card or something, or maybe even that he and Mim were planning to take me out somewhere. In the past, sometimes Dad would take me to a restaurant. Of course, I’d had to remind him for about a week ahead of time that my birthday was coming. I guess I should have reminded him this year.