Suffer the Children (10 page)

“Can we take her home with us,” Rose asked, “or has she already gone in the van?”

“She’s waiting in my room,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “One of the aides is with her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

But Sarah wasn’t waiting in Marie Montgomery’s room.

In the house on Conger’s Point, Elizabeth poured the last of a glass of milk into the cat’s dish, and watched as Cecil lapped it up. Then she picked up the animal and listened to him purr.

“Come on,” she said to the cat. “Let’s go outside.”

Scratching Cecil’s ears, Elizabeth carried him from the house.

As she crossed the field, Elizabeth pulled the rubber band out of her ponytail and shook her head. The blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her step quickened.

No one saw her disappear into the woods.

The room was a shambles: desks and chairs were overturned; the items that were normally arranged across the top of Marie Montgomery’s desk had been swept from it and now lay scattered and broken across the floor to the left of the desk.

“Jesus,” Jack breathed. Before anyone could say more, they heard the sounds from the cloakroom—scuffling noises, as though whatever struggle had taken place in the classroom was now continuing in the small room behind the blackboard. The sounds were muted but somehow desperate. There were no cries, none of the shouts that should accompany the sort of battle that must have taken place. Led by Mrs. Montgomery, the three of them raced through the room.

In the back corner of the cloakroom the aide struggled with Sarah. The battle had come to a stalemate.

When she spoke, Mrs. Montgomery’s voice was very low and completely controlled, but it held a note of authority that Rose Conger was sure had cut through worse confusion than confronted her now.

“Philip,” she said, “what’s happened here?”

Immediately the struggle stopped. The aide, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, straightened and stepped away from Sarah.

The child was a mess. Her shirt was torn in several places, and she was covered with some sort of yellow substance. As soon as the aide let her go, Sarah’s hand
moved to her mouth, and she began chewing. Rose stared at her, and it was a few seconds before she realized what her daughter was doing. The yellow substance was chalk, and Sarah was chewing on a piece of it. Philip watched her for a second before turning to the small group that hovered in the doorway. Rose started to move toward her daughter, but Marie Montgomery’s hand held her back.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “A little chalk isn’t going to hurt her.”

“It’s not a little,” Philip said. “She’s been at it ever since you left. She must have eaten almost a full box by now.”

“And you tried to stop her?” Marie asked.

The young man nodded. He looked miserable. “I couldn’t do it, though. I was afraid of hurting her.”

“You probably scared her half to death,” Marie said. “If you’d let her alone, she might have stopped of her own accord. A little chalk won’t hurt her.”

“But a whole box?” Jack said. He took a step toward Sarah. The child shrank back farther into the corner of the tiny room, and began to gnaw on another stick. Her teeth made a strange grinding sound as she crushed the chalk into powder. She swallowed some of it, but most of it cascaded, mixed with saliva, into her lap. Jack felt a queasy feeling developing in his stomach.

Rose broke free from Mrs. Montgomery’s grip, and quickly moved past her husband to pick up her daughter. Sarah let herself be lifted, but refused to open her hand when Rose tried to remove the chalk she clutched. Rose seemed to be about to struggle with her when Mrs. Montgomery spoke again.

“Let her have it, Mrs. Conger. Really, it won’t hurt her. If she’s had too much, she might throw it up. Otherwise, it’ll pass right through her. If it could hurt her, we wouldn’t use it here. Our kids do that all the
time.” She looked accusingly at the aide, who seemed to wither.

“It just seemed like she was eating so much of it.”

“So you scared her half to death, and wrecked the room?” the teacher inquired drily. “Don’t you think the cure was a bit worse than the illness?”

“I guess I just …” Philip trailed off. “Didn’t think,” he finished lamely.

“I guess you didn’t,” Marie said, but the chill was gone from her voice, and she was smiling again. “Well, next time, keep in mind that chalk doesn’t hurt children, and that desks cost money. And you can think about it while you clean up my room.” She turned and led the Congers out of the room, walking with them to their car.

“Are you sure it won’t hurt her?” Jack asked again as he turned the key in the ignition.

Mrs. Montgomery shook her head. “She might throw up, but that’s all.” She waved to them as they drove away, then turned back to the building. She’d changed her mind, and was about to help Philip clean up the mess.

Rose, holding a now passive Sarah on her lap, was still trying to get the scene out of her mind when the vomiting began. She wasn’t sure it was going to happen at first; she felt a couple of involuntary flinches in her daughter, but then Sarah lay still again in her mother’s arms. Then, without warning, it came.

The yellowish stream shot out of Sarah’s mouth and ran down into her lap, where it overflowed. Rose could feel the heat of it as it soaked through her wool pants. She felt more than saw Jack glance over to see what had happened.

“Don’t look,” she said tightly. “Just keep your eyes on the road and get us home as quickly as you can. Mrs. Montgomery said this might happen.” She was
trying to reach into her purse for the package of Kleenex that was always there, when the second convulsion hit. As she felt more of the vomit flow over her legs, she realized the Kleenex would be futile. Instead, she used her free hand to roll the window down.

The cold air hit her face and cut through the sickening sweet-sour smell of the vomit, and Rose began to fight down her own nausea. Then Jack had opened his window, too, and she felt more fresh air. It wasn’t until Sarah began to throw up again that Rose realized their mistake. There was a window open, and Sarah was struggling to reach it.

“Dear God, this can’t be happening,” Rose said to herself as the mixture of freezing air and vomit washed over her face. She was sure she was going to lose her own battle with nausea as she began to struggle to get Sarah’s face out of the wind.

The girl was crying now, and Rose began to panic as she realized what could happen to Sarah if she began to choke on her own vomit.

“Jack,” she said. “I think you’d better try to stop the car. Don’t look. Just stop the car.”

“There’s a rest area just up ahead. Can you make it?”

“I’ll have to,” Rose said.

She felt the car surge forward, then swerve to the right and brake sharply. She had the door open before the car had quite stopped. She swung out of the car and set Sarah on the asphalt of the parking lot She was just able to get off the lot and onto a patch of bare earth when the first retching began. Mortified, she stood with her forehead resting against the trunk of a tree, her own vomit mixing with Sarah’s as it splashed against her legs. In a couple of minutes, it was over.

She turned back to the car, and her teary eyes told her that for her daughter it was not yet over.

Sarah sat miserably in the spot where Rose had left her, and the convulsions were beginning again. Frantically,
Rose looked for her husband. For a second he seemed to have disappeared, but then she saw him coming from the men’s room, a sodden paper towel in his hands. Ignoring her, he went directly to Sarah, knelt beside her, and began bathing her face with the dripping towel. Rose watched the scene in silence, then began making her way to the women’s room.

For a long time she ran cold water, scooping it up and pouring it over her face, as if the water could wash away the experience that preceded it. Finally she returned to the car.

They saw Mrs. Goodrich standing on the porch when they turned into the driveway. The Congers glanced at each other, and their eyes held for a moment There was a sudden warmth between them that neither of them had felt for a year. When Rose spoke, it was not to wonder why Mrs. Goodrich was on the porch.

“I’m sorry about all that,” she said quietly.

“It’s all right,” Jack replied, his voice gentle. “It’s nice to know that I’m still good at something, even if it’s only looking after my sick womenfolk.”

Rose saw the pain and tenderness flash in his eyes. She looked away, her gaze coming to rest on Sarah, who had fallen asleep in her arms.

“Do you think I ought to call the doctor?” She shifted Sarah’s weight so that the child’s head was cradled on her shoulder.

“If it’ll make you feel better. But I suspect it’s all over now. She’s got all that crap out of her system. I think we can wait till she wakes up at least. Then we’ll see.” He stopped the car in front of the house, got out, and went around to open the door for his wife. Mrs. Goodrich had left the porch and was coming toward them, her ample figure moving as quickly as her age would allow. As Jack pulled open the passenger door, she stopped.

“Lord have mercy,” she muttered, her eyes taking
in the mess that covered the inside of the car, Sarah, and Rose. Involuntarily she took a couple of steps backward.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Goodrich,” Rose said, disengaging herself carefully from the car so as not to disturb Sarah, in her arms. “We had a little trouble, but it’s over with now.”

Mrs. Goodrich surveyed the mess stoically. If she wondered what had happened, it didn’t show in her face. “I’ll have to take a hose to the inside of that car,” she said, almost making it sound like a threat.

“I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Goodrich,” Jack began. “We can’t really ask you—”

I’ve cleaned up worse than that in my time,” the housekeeper snapped. “Besides, you’ve got other things to do.” There was an edge to her voice that captured Jack’s attention. Rose had already disappeared with Sarah into the house.

“Other things? What other things?”

“It’s Miss Elizabeth,” the housekeeper said. “I think she’s been playing where she’s not supposed to.” Jack waited for her to continue, and eventually had to prompt her.

“Well,” Mrs. Goodrich said. I saw her come out of the woods not too long ago. “I don’t know why, but I’m sure she was playing on the embankment. She denied it, of course.” The last was said with the certainty of one convinced, by a lifetime of hard experience, that children will deny anything and everything, even when caught red-handed.

“Elizabeth’s usually pretty honest,” Jack said gently. He was reluctant to nettle the old woman; when he did, it usually showed up at dinner in the form of overcooked food. Mrs. Goodrich peered at him over her glasses and stood her ground.

“I’m well aware of that, young man,” she said, and Jack prepared to give in. Ever since he had been a
child, he had known that when Mrs. Goodrich called him “young man” she meant business.

“Nevertheless,” she went on, “I think you’d better speak to her. She knows she’s not to go into those woods, let alone anywhere near the embankment And I know she was in the woods. I saw her come out.”

“All right,” Jack said. “I’ll talk to her as soon as I clean up. Where is she?”

“In the field,” Mrs. Goodrich said dourly, indicating that as far as she was concerned, the field was almost on par with the woods and the embankment She pointed off to the distance, and, following her gesture with his eyes, Jack saw his older daughter. She was squatting down, and seemed to be looking at something.

He started to move toward the house but, seeing the glare Mrs. Goodrich was giving him, turned toward the field instead.

“No time like the present,” he heard the housekeeper mutter behind him.

Elizabeth didn’t see him until he was less than twenty feet from her. She suddenly looked up, as if she had heard something, but Jack was sure he had been silent. When she saw him a smile lit her face, and Jack could feel its glow brighten his spirits. He stopped, and the two of them studied each other for a moment. With her hair flowing free, Elizabeth looked more than ever like the girl in the portrait.

“How’s my favorite daughter?” he said, breaking the silence.

“Am I?” she said, the smile growing even brighter. “Well, if I am, you deserve this for telling me so.”

She stooped, and when she stood up there was a single buttercup in her hand. She ran over to him and held the flower under his chin.

“Well?” he said. “Do I glow?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” Elizabeth laughed. “Did
you bung Sarah home with you?” He nodded, and when Elizabeth turned and began to walk toward the house, he stopped her.

“Hold on. Can’t you spend a little time with your favorite father?”

Elizabeth turned back to him. “I just thought—” she began.

“Never mind,” Jack said. “Sarah had a little trouble on the way home, and your mother’s cleaning her up. It’s nothing serious,” he added hastily as a look of concern twisted Elizabeth’s face. “Just something she ate. She had a bit of an accident on the way home.”

“Yuck!” Elizabeth said. “Does the car stink?”

“Mrs. G’s cleaning it up. She wants me to talk to you.”

“I thought she would,” Elizabeth said. “She thinks I was out on the embankment today.”

“Were you?” Jack tried to sound unconcerned.

“No,” she said. “I wasn’t I don’t know why she thinks I was.”

“She said she saw you coming out of the woods.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “And I don’t know why she thinks that either. I wasn’t in the woods.”

“Were you near them?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I thought I saw Cecil, and I was following him. But I don’t think it was Cecil. It looked like him, but then, just as he was about to go into the woods, he jumped. ‘Cecil’ turned out to be a rabbit.”

“How could you mistake a rabbit for Cecil?” Jack asked. “Of all the un-rabbitish cats I know, Cecil is the most un-rabbitish of them all.”

“Search me,” Elizabeth said. “But he sure looked like Cecil till he jumped.”

“Well, I’m glad he did,” her father said. “If he hadn’t, you might have followed him into the woods.”

“I’d have noticed,” Elizabeth said. She was silent for a moment; then: “Daddy, why aren’t I allowed to go into the woods or to the embankment?”