The Road Through the Wall (25 page)

“Not yet,” Mr. Merriam said.

“I only saw her for just a minute this afternoon,” Mrs. Roberts said. “I just caught a glimpse of her. Neither of the boys saw her either. She doesn't play with the children, of course. But we didn't see her.”

“We're going to go out hunting for her, I guess,” Mr. Merriam said heavily. “I guess all the men had better get out and look for her.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Roberts said. Then she said, “Oh, you want Mike, then. Wait a minute.” She went indoors a few steps and called, “Mike? Come here a minute.”

Mr. Roberts said querulously from the living-room, “What the hell do you want now?” and Mrs. Roberts said, “Mr. Merriam wants you. Just a minute,” she said again to Mr. Merriam.

Mr. Roberts came to the front door a little unsteadily, walking with his feet carefully put down. His hair was mussed and he scowled at his wife as he came past her to lean against the doorway. “Evening, Merriam,” he said. “Want me?”

Mr. Merriam was embarrassed. “I don't suppose it's anything, really,” he said. “It's just we thought we ought to get everyone we could.”

“The little Desmond girl's gone,” Mrs. Roberts said. She looked at her husband coldly, her smile righteous, her eyes triumphant. “She disappeared this afternoon.”

“Gone?” Mr. Roberts said in horror. “Kidnapped?”

•   •   •

Harriet waited on the sidewalk with Johnny and the Byrnes for a minute, and then said, “Excuse me,” and slipped away up the street. She was surprised to see lights in the Perlmans' house, until she realized that, late as it seemed, it was hardly ten o'clock. She ran quickly up the front steps and rang the doorbell.

“Mrs. Perlman,” she said breathlessly, “has Mr. Desmond been here?”

Mrs. Perlman nodded her head, looking surprised and disapproving. “You shouldn't be out so late,” she said. “Come in and wait till Mr. Perlman gets back, and he'll take you home.”

“I can't,” Harriet said. “No one's home at my house. I mean,” she went on confusedly, when Mrs. Perlman frowned openly, “I mean, if Mr. Desmond hasn't been here yet you don't know.”

“He was just here,” Mrs. Perlman said.

“Everyone's out hunting for her,” Harriet said.

“You shouldn't be out alone,” Mrs. Perlman said. “Oh, that poor woman. Come in for a minute, and Marilyn and I will come with you. Unless,” she added, looking at Harriet, “unless you think your mother would mind if you came in Marilyn's house.”

•   •   •

James Donald went to get his mother and sister from the Ransom-Jones house. The front door was open and he went into the hall and called, “Hello?”

Miss Tyler came to him from somewhere, probably her bedroom, because she was wearing a filmy nightgown under a Japanese kimono. “How do you do?” she said formally. “May I help you?”

“I'm looking for my sister,” James said, unable to tell this woman that his mother was here too.

“They're all out in the kitchen,” Miss Tyler said. She added with a faint touch of malice, “I think they're having breakfast.”

“I'm sorry I disturbed you,” James said, not thinking of anything except how to get into the kitchen and out again. “Is that the way?”

He started for an open doorway and was halted by Miss Tyler's faint eager laughter. “That's my bedroom,” she whispered, and ran past him into the room and slammed the door. “Right straight down the hall,” she said from inside. “Naughty man.”

James went hurriedly down the hall; as he came nearer the kitchen he heard voices, his mother's shrill. “One quart of coffee coming up,” she was saying.

James pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen, and his mother screamed, “It's my son! Look, everyone, here's my little boy!”

They were all sitting around the kitchen table, Mr. and Mrs. Ransom-Jones and Mrs. Donald and Virginia. Virginia and Mr. Ransom-Jones were talking earnestly and did not look up when James came in, but Mrs. Donald ran over and threw her arms around him.

“Come and have some coffee, honey,” she said. She looked at Mrs. Ransom-Jones and said unhappily, “Can my honey have some coffee?”

“Mother,” James said, regretting the voice that came out boyish, “Mother, I want you to come home. Right away.”

“Listen to him,” Mrs. Donald said, and Mrs. Ransom-Jones added caressingly, “The dear boy.”

“Something
terrible
has happened,” James said.

•   •   •

They gathered, eventually, almost everyone, on what was traditionally their forgotten village green—the sidewalk in front of the Donald house. For once the children were not separated from the adults; nearly every mother kept her hands on her children, and stood next to her husband. The children themselves were silent, afraid to meet each other's eyes.

“The poor woman,” Mrs. Perlman said companionably to Mrs. Byrne. She had Marilyn in front of her, held by both shoulders. “It's so terrible to think about, that poor woman.”

Mrs. Merriam was still at the Desmond house, but Harriet stood very close to her father. “All the men,” he was saying, “all the men get flashlights.”

“He called the police from our house,” Mrs. Byrne said. “I suppose they'll send someone to look for her.”

Mrs. Donald and Virginia stood apart from the rest, with James beside them. “If we'd known,” Mrs. Donald wailed, “if we'd only
known
in time.” Mrs. Ransom-Jones stood beside her, and she turned and said to Mrs. Ransom-Jones, “If we had only known in time.”

Nothing that anyone said had any purpose; they were waiting for something, for an act on someone's part that would clarify the situation. No one could do anything at all until the occasion was identified—either it was a great climactic festival over nothing, in which case they would all go quietly home, or else it was an emergency, a crisis, a tragedy, in which case they were all called upon to act together as human beings, to be men and women in a community, the men out on dangerous business, the women waiting, going to the window, wringing their hands.

Mr. Desmond stood in the center; he was frightened, and he said over and over, “It will kill her if we don't find her right away, I don't know what else she wants me to do, it will kill her.”

Mr. Ransom-Jones and Mr. Merriam were both trying to take charge. Mr. Merriam was saying, “If all the men get flashlights, we can go around,” and Mr. Ransom-Jones was saying, “The police will be right along, I called them again myself.”

The prevailing mood was one of keen excitement; no one there really wanted Caroline Desmond safe at home, although Mrs. Perlman said crooningly behind Marilyn, “The poor, poor woman,” and Mrs. Donald said again, “If we'd only known in time.” Pleasure was in the feeling that the terrors of the night, the jungle, had come close to their safe lighted homes, touched them nearly, and departed, leaving every family safe but one; an acute physical pleasure like a pain, which made them all regard Mr. Desmond greedily, and then turn their eyes away with guilt.

“All the
men get flashlights
,” Mr. Merriam said.

James Donald left his mother and came over to Mr. Merriam, saying, “I've got a couple of flashes. I think we ought to start looking right away.”

“Good idea,” Mr. Merriam said, as though it had never occurred to him. Mr. Desmond said, “Who's that—James?” He put his hand on James's shoulder and said, “It will kill her if we don't find her.”

James's voice was, for once, low and steady. He said again, “We ought to start right out.”

It looked as if James were going to take charge, with Mr. Desmond on one side of him and Mr. Merriam on the other, both looking at him and nodding. Mr. Byrne said, “Right away,” and Mr. Ransom-Jones said, “As soon as the police get here.”

In the pale street light, James's head was with the other men's heads, held as tall as most of them, and his voice mingling with theirs in stern masculine comment; Pat Byrne broke suddenly away from his mother's hand, and said loudly, “Did anyone tell them about Toddie?”

“Toddie?” Mr. Desmond said vaguely.

“Toddie?” Mrs. Donald said. She looked around her. “Toddie?”

Suddenly everyone was looking for Toddie; Pat Byrne was allowed to walk over to the group of men forming, and say in his deepest voice, “Tod Donald; he came trying to sell me his bike tonight and he acted awfully funny.”

Frederica Terrel stood on her front steps; Beverley was wakeful, and Frederica did not dare leave her house, but she craned her neck to see, and when voices were raised she could hear. She saw Mr. Desmond isolated for a minute, while the group of men stirred, walking up to one another and speaking, and Mr. Desmond was twisting his hands and looking up and down the street eagerly.
That's
no way to find her, Frederica thought wisely; you never find someone who's running away by just
standing
there.

Mr. Donald, next door, was standing in his open doorway. Occasionally he moved a little toward the group in the street and then moved back again. He had a book in his hand, with his finger between the pages marking the place, and now and then he looked longing at his own house, at the lighted living-room window. Why doesn't he go indoors, Frederica thought, they've got enough people standing down there. Suddenly James Donald broke away from the group of people in the street and came up to his father. “Where's Toddie?” he called as he came up, “is he inside?”

Mr. Donald shook his head and James ran past him into the house and came out again after a minute and said, “He's not there.” He saw Frederica and said to her, “Have you seen my little brother?”

“I saw him yesterday,” Frederica said.

“Today, I mean,” James said. “Tonight.”

“No,” Frederica said. “Not since yesterday.”

Suddenly Mrs. Donald raised her voice down on the street. “Toddie,” she wailed. “My little baby.”

The women standing near Mrs. Donald all moved away from her quickly, and Virginia said roughly, “Be
quiet
, Mother.”

Down on the street Pat Byrne stood with the men while James waited in front of his own house. “He acted so funny that I was surprised,” Pat said insistently.

Then Mr. Perlman, who had been so quiet until now, waiting with a flashlight in his hand for someone to start off into the dark, said the thing which everyone realized then had been in their minds. “If the two children are together,” Mr. Perlman asked reasonably and softly, “why didn't the boy bring her home?”

They were all silent, realizing that the first person who spoke now would have to say something worse, something else they were all thinking, something which, whether true or not, would be the most horrible thing that had ever happened on Pepper Street.

It was Mr. Desmond, rightfully, who cracked the tense film of comprehension that lay like the pale yellow of the street light over all the people waiting, keeping even the smallest children taut and expectant. “Toddie!” was all Mr. Desmond said. He walked over to the sidewalk and called up to James, standing on his own front walk, “What has he
done
to my little girl?”

Frederica crushed herself back against her own front door. She was afraid to open it for fear the slight noise and the movement would catch Mr. Desmond's attention. The people in the street behind Mr. Desmond had gathered closer together so that it was impossible to single out any one of them; Frederica could see their faces in the light, and their hands, but they were so close together that there were no names for any of the faces, and the hands might be clasped tight in the hands of strangers.

•   •   •

Pat Byrne and Mr. Perlman were with the two policemen who went up to the creek to hunt for Caroline. On the way up there Pat, who was along to show them the way and to tell them what he knew about Tod, walked with long strides, putting his feet down manfully just as the other men did, and he talked using words he would never have dared use before.

It was dark along the road and even darker in the trees around the creek, and Pat had to steel himself to walk alone, ahead of the rest, as though he were really showing them the way, instead of falling back shoulder to shoulder with Mr. Perlman, who seemed faintly nervous and spoke tremblingly when he spoke at all. Once among the trees, Pat was silent; the two policemen communicated in monosyllables, words like “there,” or “in here.” Mr. Perlman came slowly behind, stumbling. Pat looked more at the darkness, the strange black unfamiliar places; he passed the fallen log without recognizing it and lost his bearings, so that the steady searching movements of the policemen lost meaning for him, their voices were rhythmic in their short words, none of the lights ever shone where Pat could see the way, and he was horribly afraid.

Finally, one of the policemen said, “Down there,” and the other said, “Right,” and Pat followed the light blindly, not yet ready to accept any end to the darkness, an object to the search. Mr. Perlman, saying, “My God,” peering over his shoulder, made Pat look ahead to where the policemen held their lights converged, but there was nothing to see except Caroline Desmond lying on the ground; Pat saw her clearly, and said, “There's Caroline Desmond.”

She was horribly dirty; no one had ever seen Caroline as dirty as she was then, with mud all over her yellow dress and yellow socks and, of course, Pat understood perfectly, what was all over her head must be blood, unconvincing as it looked in the flashlight. It was absolutely unthinkable at the creek, not twenty feet from the fallen log Pat could walk across, and the really dreadful thing, lying right there next to her as though it might be hers, was the rock with blood on it; part of the creek, belonging to it, a rock which had probably been sitting there as long as Pat had been coming to the creek, a rock he might have stepped over or lifted with his two hands. Even though Pat had never noticed the rock particularly before, it should have been left alone.