The Presence (10 page)

He shook his head. Stop it, Noah. Soon you will have your heart's desire. You will have Catherine.

Some poems he knew by heart, like that one by William Allingham. He sat in Maureen's swivel chair and said softly,

"
Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for years—
To remember with tears!
"

He had no sweet place like that to remember, even with tears.

He whirled himself faster and faster in the chair.

"
It is good to be merry and wise," he told the old calendar on the wall, the one with the black dog and the white kitten playing together.

"
It is good to be merry and wise.
It is good to be honest and true.
It is best to be off with the old love
before you are on with the new.
"

Once, he hadn't followed that advice, and it had almost ended in disaster. But now he would have Catherine. He would have another chance.

He thought about how he would treat her. How he'd share his books and music and the feelings he had inside of him. With Catherine, everything would be perfect.

June 3, the diary began. No year. Then a sentence in block letters.

TODAY I MET HIM
. His name is Noah Vanderhorst, and, of all places, I met him in St. Matthew's. He's 11, same as me. And so handsome I could swoon. He's mysterious, too, and exciting, so exciting. He goes to art school, and he says Reverend Maxwell allows him to use a little apartment downstairs in the church. That way, he can save on rent. An impoverished artist, not in an attic but a basement. How romantic. Maybe he'll let me see his rooms when I know him better.

How strange this was, reading the words of the girl who was the same age then as I am now. Today she was old and frail. Why did she want me to read her diary? Why was she so frantic that I should read all this about my Noah's grandfather?

My
Noah! What was I thinking?
I came to the church this afternoon to meet him. Mother had flowers to deliver to decorate the altar for tomorrow's service. She was pleased when I said I would take them. Ooh-la-la! Lottie taking such a sudden interest in the church! I only hope and pray that Noah doesn't find out about me. But how could he? I won't let myself spoil this by worrying.

I looked up from the pages. A mother pushed a stroller along the path and smiled at me as she passed. She and the baby were both wearing Christmas red.

I was wondering what secret Lottie had that she didn't want Noah to discover. And I was thinking how many strange coincidences there were. I looked like Lottie. I'd met her Noah's grandson, and I had a secret, too. Of course, Kirsty had told him mine. And then there was poor Donna Cuesta and the ring and more coincidences.

I checked my watch. Twenty minutes to three. I had time to read on.

June 15

I know I'm in love. Noah and I have been meeting every chance I get. He is always there in the church, and he is so mysterious about what he does there. On Tuesdays and
Thursdays, Mother goes to her bridge afternoons and social club. I go to Noah. He hasn't invited me to his rooms. I would love it if he did. If that is shameful, I don't care. It excites me the way he looks at me. There is such passion in his eyes. Did I mention that his eyes are big and dark and deep? Inscrutable. Sometimes I think there is no light in them at all. He looks like Rudolf Valentino. He strokes my hair and I tingle. I have not felt so alive since before I did that awful thing to the baby.

I had to stop reading. A tree filled with tiny golden leaves rustled behind my bench. The leaves sighed and whispered, shocked as I was at the words in the diary. I could hear my heart pounding. She had done some awful thing. And me? I had done an awful thing, too.

Did I mention that Noah has the coldest hands? Poor Noah! I know they embarrass him. Sometimes he wears gloves. "Cold hands, warm heart," he says.

Something really strange here. Those cold hands. Were there just too many coincidences? And if they weren't coincidences, then what were they? Of course, the coldness could be genetic, passed down from grand-father to son to grandson.

I began flipping pages, needing to find out more, quickly. Here and there I'd pick up a phrase.

I asked if we could meet somewhere else, not in the church, but he said no. It's private there. He shouldn't be seen with a member of the congregation. The Reverend might ask him to give up his apartment, and he couldn't afford that.

I flipped again.

He hasn't kissed me yet. I've been forward enough to suggest it, not in words, but by the way I lean toward him. It has been embarrassing when he moves away. But I admire him. It would be so easy to take advantage of me here in the privacy of the church. And he has given me the ring that was his grandmother's. This must be significant.

I turned more pages, then stopped abruptly on July 2—stopped because the first two words were in heavy black letters and underlined.

He
knows
.
But how does he know? Nobody does except Reverend Maxwell, who counseled me and who promised me that my confession was between a minister and one of his flock, sacred and secret unto death.
So how does he know?

He held my hands, his thick in those gray woolen gloves. And looked at me with such compassion. "I believe you didn't mean to hurt the baby," he said. "It was an unfortunate accident.
"

My heart just about stopped beating. I thought it better to tell him the truth, if we are going to move forward with our relationship. "The baby was crying so hard," I said. "My aunt Cissie had told me to give her a bottle of water and sugar, but she kept spitting it out and crying and crying and crying. I had one of my headaches.
"

Noah kept murmuring things like, "Poor Lottie. Poor little Lottie.
"

I told him how I shook her. "I didn't mean to be rough. I didn't think I was—
"

"
Shh, sweetheart." He whispered those words so close to my ear that I could feel his breath, so cold. Why is he always so cold?

"
The baby went into a spasm and then she lay still, and I didn't know what to do, so I left her in the crib, and
when my mother and Aunt Cissie came home, I told them she was sleeping, and I never, never...
"

"
It's all right, little one," he said, and I felt sure then that he'd take me in his arms and I could cry and he'd comfort me, but all he did was pat my shoulder. And then he said the strangest thing. "Death isn't the worst thing that can happen, you know. Death and forgetting and peace. I recommend it.
"

That startled me so much. I thought I hadn't understood him. He couldn't mean that death was good? And recommending it, as if he knew?

The diary shook in my hands. Shivers trembled across my skin. She'd killed a baby! A baby! My God, a baby!

I put on my jacket, which I'd left on the bench beside me. The pigeons I'd seen earlier had come back around my feet. They were pecking through the fallen golden leaves, stopping now and then to crane their shimmery necks and stare at me.

There was such a horrible familiarity to Lottie's story, as if I'd heard it before or lived it myself. We'd both killed someone.

Stop it, Catherine. Just stop it.

It was five minutes to three. I needed to go, but the urge to keep reading was so compelling that I couldn't. I decided two more pages, that was all.

He says he can let me talk to Baby Joan. "What?" I asked. "How can I talk to a baby? A dead baby.
"

"
That was four years ago," he said. "She's a little girl now and wise. Do you think time stops when you're dead?
"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"
I have this gift," he said. "I'm able to reach those who have passed on. You can speak with little Joan and tell her how sorry you are. She'll forgive you. Death is not that bad. Believe me, Joanie is happy, and she carries no grudge.
"

"
You've talked with her already?" I asked.

"
Yes," he said.

I know I must have looked as frozen as I felt.

"
Are you a psychic?" I asked.

"
Not a psychic. I just have this God'given ability.
"

I slammed the diary shut and stood up. No more! No more! I could hardly breathe. The same questions I had asked, the same answers. I stood, holding the diary against my chest, then slid it back into the envelope. What was going on?

My legs were so weak, I had trouble cycling back to Grandma's. No way could I go to the church and face Noah. My thoughts tumbled round in a crazy circle. Warned! Warned! But I couldn't get myself to believe that
this
Noah and
that
Noah were the same person. That would be totally insane. Lottie's Noah had been young way back in time. What was I letting myself imagine?

I parked the bike in the garage, ran in and up the stairs. I slid the package carefully under my pillow, then took it out and put it in a drawer. Too close under my pillow. Too personal. Later I'd have to lay my head there and sleep and dream.

Grandma was baking cookies. The kitchen was a mess. There were bowls and scrapers and mixers and open bags of this and that. Chocolate chips had spilled on the counter.

"Why am I doing this?" she asked me in a distracted way. "I think it must be a grandma thing, and I don't get to be a grandma up close all that often. Anyway, they smell good, don't they? I won't guarantee how they'll taste."

"They'll taste good, too," I murmured. The smell was making me sick because I was sick already.

"You're back early, child," she said.

I nodded.

"Was it helpful?"

I nodded again, not trusting myself to speak.

Grandma scraped cookie dough off her fingers and into the garbage disposal. She looked over her shoulder at me as she washed her hands. "What's wrong, Catherine?"

Her soft, caring voice was too much, and I began to sob.

"Sweetie! Sweetie." Her arms were tight around me. "I expect it was hard, talking about everything to Dr. Miller, living it all again. But it will be easier now. I know it will."

I clung to her as if she was my last sane hope in an insane world.

She patted my back, her still-wet hands damp through my light jacket. "I know something to cheer you up." She held me away from her and smiled. "Collin called. He wanted to know if he could see you tonight. And then, nice boy that he is, he asked if I could spare you since your time is so short. And selfish old lady that I am, I told him I saw no reason why he and I shouldn't share you." She fished a tissue out of the pocket of her jeans and gave it to me. "So he's coming for dinner."

She yawned an exaggerated yawn. "Since I didn't get my reading nap today, and now that I've done all this cooking or baking or whatever you call it, I expect I'll go to bed early and leave you two youngsters to your own devices."

"Oh, Grandma!" I gave a choked-up laugh. "I hope you didn't tell him that!"

"Of course I did. Why do you think he's so eager to come?"

The doorbell rang. "Who?" Grandma began, and I thought, "Could it be Noah?" Had he come to find out why I hadn't gone to St. Matthew's? Why did the thought of Noah terrify me now? Because ... because...

I stood, not wanting to go into the living room and open the door. Grandma moved quickly past me.

"My goodness," I heard her say in a happy voice. "What a lovely surprise!"

She spoke over her shoulder to me. "It's Maureen and Rita and Arthur, come to call. And bearing gifts."

Rita laughed. "Sorry, Eunice. They're for Catherine, not for you."

"Well, I'm definitely sorry, too," Grandma said. "But come in. We have chocolate-chip cookies."

She was so normal. Everything was so normal and so unreal.

I let out a deep breath. Had I really thought it might be Noah? He wouldn't want to come visit Grandma. How did I know that? I just did.

Our three visitors were filled with Christmas cheer. They smiled at me, asked how I was enjoying my stay, and each presented me with a small gift-wrapped package.

Grandma admired Maureen's green fingernails with holly berries painted on them. "Very festive," she said.

I touched Arthur's hand. "This is so nice of you. I haven't seen you for a couple of days." That was when I'd gone up the stairs to the gallery to check if there was someone there because I'd heard a voice—Noah's voice. Where had Noah hidden himself that day?

I stood, holding the three little packages, trying hard not to let my mind jump again to those awful suspicions. "Shall I open them now?" I asked.

"Do," Rita urged. "It's more fun for us."

They beamed with anticipation as I unwrapped.

There was a pretty chain with garnets spaced around it, from Maureen. "This is so pretty," I told her.

"The stones aren't real," she said. "But it's quite tasteful. I would have liked to have gotten you something more showy, but Rita said I'd better not."

That made me smile for real.

"This is perfect," I said.

From Rita, I got matching garnet earrings, and from Arthur, a sparkling butterfly clip to hold back my hair.

"I thought it would be jolly for the holidays," he said shyly, and I lifted two wings of my hair and clipped them back. "Lovely," he said.

I managed to hug all three of them at once.

"How am I going to go home and leave you guys?" I asked and added, "Wait, I have something for you."

I'd brought hologram cards with me from the Field Museum to give as small gifts if I needed them. They showed Sue the dinosaur. When you moved the card, Sue's neck of bones stretched toward you.

The cards were on top of the dresser. In the drawer below was the diary. I had to look at it again. It couldn't,
couldn't
be as bad as I thought. I slid the drawer open.