When the Wind Blows (7 page)

In her own room Diana’s bed suddenly seemed enormous to her, and lonely. She thought of Christie, sleeping alone on the floor above.

What if she woke up?

Wouldn’t it be terrifying for her? But as the wind rattled the old house, Diana remembered when she had been a child, and how much she’d loved the nursery. Though its pink and white cheeriness had never brought her peace, she had liked the fact that it was high up, away from the rest of the house. Sometimes she had felt almost safe, tucked snugly up under the eaves.

But there had been other times, too.

She put the memories out of her head, turned over, and buried her face in her pillow.

She couldn’t remember. She
wouldn’t
remember. It was all so long ago, and the memories were dim, and
she would leave them where they were, undisturbed, forgotten.

Except, she knew, they weren’t really forgotten. Just put away to be taken out some other time. But not now.

   In her own room Edna Amber also lay awake, listening to the wind and the creaking of the stairs. Diana, she knew, was trying to deceive her, but it wouldn’t work.

Diana had always tried to deceive her, ever since she was a baby, but it had never worked. Tonight was no different from any other night.

An hour ago, unable to sleep, she’d gotten up and gone to the nursery. It had been empty, and she’d known immediately that Diana had taken the child to her own room. She’d crept to Diana’s door and listened. Even through the heavy oak she’d been able to hear them breathing, Diana’s breath rasping, that of the child smooth and even. As she’d listened, her heart had pounded, and fury had raged through her veins.

The child was going to take Diana away from her.

Already it was happening.

Diana, her Diana, was already pretending that the child was her own.

For tonight she had decided to do nothing about it.

But tomorrow she would think, and soon she would know what to do. Diana, of course, would have to be punished. All her life Diana had needed punishment. But what about the child?

   Christie’s aching body woke her the next morning. She tried to stretch, but the confines of the crib wouldn’t allow it. Her eyes opened and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was.

Above her paint was flaking from the ceiling, and the sky was obscured by the dirt on the window a few inches from her face. She moved stiffly, sitting up.

What was she doing in a crib?

And where was she?

This wasn’t her room. Her room was brightly painted, and yellow and blue, and it was decorated with her collection of Pooh animals.

Slowly it all came back to her.

Yesterday.

Her father had died yesterday.

She was at the Ambers’, in the nursery. She remembered it only dimly from the day before, and now, in the bright light of morning, she stared at its peeling paper and rotting curtains, the dust balls drifting across the floor. In the corner, she thought something moved, but when she looked again, there was nothing there—only a scurrying sound that seemed to come from inside the wall.

She looked around the room for a clock.

There was none.

She climbed out of the crib and went to the door.

It was locked.

Fear gripped her, and she started to call for her father, but then she remembered that her father couldn’t come to her. Not now, not ever again. She began to cry, then sank down onto the bed just inside the door and let herself go. She sobbed loudly, her small body shaking, but still no one came. Finally, shivering in the chill of the morning, she pulled a blanket around herself and, curling up once more, lay still.

Her sobbing slowly subsided, and her body began to relax. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew she couldn’t.

She got out of bed and went to the window. Up the hill, and off in the distance, she could see the mine. She looked down. Beyond the window ledge the roof sloped away, dropping off abruptly to the peak overhanging the kitchen. For some reason she thought that was sort of exciting. If she needed to, she could get
out. Her fear began to abate, and she looked around the room more carefully. It looked like a baby’s room. There was a cradle, and the crib, and some stuffed animals, and one of those things you used to change a baby. What did they call it? She couldn’t think of the word.

Once more she rattled the door and tried to think why it would be locked. She listened carefully, hoping to hear Miss Diana moving around downstairs, but all was silent. She wished she could go down, but then decided it was just as well that she couldn’t. If Diana—she remembered vaguely that she was supposed to call her Aunt Diana now—wasn’t up yet, she might run into Miss Edna.

She didn’t like Miss Edna, and even though Miss Edna had barely spoken to her, she knew that Miss Edna seemed to be mad at her, but Christie couldn’t figure out why.

She sat down on the bed again and tried to decide what to do. The best thing, she guessed, was just to wait quietly and hope Aunt Diana came soon. She lay down again and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. A terrible loneliness came over her and, once more, she began to cry.

She was still crying when Diana came into the room an hour later.

   Diana touched the key gingerly. Who had locked the door? Her mother? Had Edna come upstairs during the night and locked Christie in, as she had locked Diana in so many years ago? Diana’s flesh crawled as she remembered those nights when she had lain awake, terrified by the locked door but never daring to let herself cry.

She opened the door. Christie was sitting on the bed, looking at her fearfully, tears streaming down her face. The sight of the tears touched a nerve in Diana, and she was suddenly angry.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Why aren’t you in the crib? And why are you crying? Good little girls don’t cry.”

Christie shrank away from her, and Diana suddenly reached down and grabbed her arm.

“Good girls don’t cry!” she said once more. She whirled Christie around and swatted her across the buttocks. Christie, shocked and terrified, shrieked and tried to wriggle free, but Diana held her firmly by the arm. Then she sat down on the bed and stood Christie in front of her.

“Now, listen to me,” she said. “I know you’re frightened, and I know you’re upset. But you have to be a brave little girl and make me proud of you. And I can’t be proud of a little girl who cries, can I?”

Christie numbly shook her head.

“Then you won’t cry anymore, will you?”

Christie shook her head no.

Finally Diana smiled at her and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Now, I want you to get back in your crib and wait there till I come for you. All right?”

Still too shocked by what had happened to do more than nod her head, Christie crossed the room and climbed back into the crib.

“Maybe you’d better stay there all day,” Diana said.

“But I’m not sick,” Christie protested.

“Of course not, baby,” Diana told her, her voice reasonable but her tone relentless. “But you’re terribly tired. Let Mama take care of you today, and you’ll be better tomorrow. All right?”

Christie frowned. If she wasn’t sick, why did she have to stay in bed? And what was going on? Her real mother had never treated her like this. Or had she? Christie couldn’t remember. It was all very confusing and frightening, and suddenly Christie didn’t want to get up after all. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.…

*  *  *

Jeff Crowley woke up that morning with a sense of excitement. He was remembering the night before, when he and Eddie and Steve had gone up to the mine. He knew they shouldn’t have. If his parents found out, his father might whip him. Or at least give him a long lecture—he couldn’t remember the last time his father had actually hit him. Sometimes, in fact, he wished his father
would
hit him. Then at least he wouldn’t have to feel so lousy about being a disappointment to him. He could just take his punishment and forget about it, like Steve Penrose did. The lectures, he decided, were worse. Still, maybe his parents hadn’t discovered what he’d been up to last night.

Maybe Juan Rodriguez would believe Steve’s threat. Of course, they wouldn’t really kill him, but if he thought they would, maybe he wouldn’t tell.

He got out of bed, pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt, and went into the kitchen. While he was eating his cereal Steve Penrose appeared at the back door.

Steve stood on the back steps, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. For a moment Jeff was sure that something had gone wrong. He glanced over his shoulder nervously, waiting for his mother to move out of earshot.

“Did your mom find out what we did last night?” he asked when he was sure he wouldn’t be overheard.

“Naw,” Steve replied. “Juan won’t tell. I scared him too good. I just gotta do somethin’ this morning. You want to help?”

“What is it?” Jeff asked warily.

“My mom talked to Kim’s mom and Mrs. Gillespie, and they say Kim and me and Susan have to go out to the Ambers’.”

“What for?”

“We’re supposed to pick some flowers and take them to Christie Lyons. ’Cause her dad died. You wanna go?”

Jeff turned the matter over in his mind. He knew
that when someone died, you were supposed to take flowers to their family, but he thought that was only at the funeral. Maybe when a kid’s parents died, it was different.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Let me tell my mom.” He disappeared into the house and reappeared a couple of minutes later, carrying a pair of tennis shoes. He sat down on the back steps and put them on. “I don’t see why I have to wear shoes,” he complained. “Mom’s always afraid I’ll step on a snake or something.”

“I know,” Steve agreed. “My mom’s the same way.”

Janet Jennings, who had been known as Jay-Jay since the day she was born, was waiting with Kim Sandler and Susan Gillespie when the two boys met them in front of the drugstore, and Jeff groaned to himself. He didn’t like Jay-Jay, mostly because she had a habit of always getting him into trouble, then blaming it on someone else. Besides, Jay-Jay was fat, and Jeff always thought she looked dirty.

“Why don’t we just buy some flowers?” Jay-Jay suggested. “Then we won’t have to spend all day hunting for them.”

Kim, who didn’t like Jay-Jay any better than Jeff did, shot her a scornful look. “It won’t take all day. The Ambers’ field is full of them. All we have to do is pick them.”

The five children started out of town, Jeff and Steve kicking at rocks and cans, while the girls chattered among themselves.

“How come she’s staying at the Ambers’?” Susan asked of nobody in particular.

“Because her father worked for them,” Kim replied. “Where else would she stay?”

“Well, if you ask me,” Jay-Jay offered, “anyplace would be better than out there. My mother says Miss Edna’s crazy as a loon.”

“Then why’d she let you come with us?” Steve taunted.

“Who said she knows I came?” Jay-Jay shot back. “The only reason I’m coming is that I want to see what that old house looks like inside. Mom says nobody’s been inside it for years.”

“Well, your mom’s full of it,” Jeff put in. “Dr. Henry and Marshal Gurley were there yesterday, and Christie’s dad used to go out there all the time.”

“What do you suppose is going to happen to her?” Steve asked.

“They’ll prob’ly make her go live with her uncle,” Kim suggested. “That’s what happened to Billy Simons.”

“Mom says she doesn’t have any uncles,” Jeff said. “Mom and Dad think they’ll have to adopt her out.”

“I thought they only adopted babies out.”

Now it was Jay-Jay’s turn to be scornful. “Anybody can be adopted out,” she told Kim. “That is,” she added spitefully, “if anybody wants them.”

They turned off the road and began picking columbine, daisies, and Queen Anne’s lace, until each of them was holding a large bouquet. Then, cutting cross-country, they started toward the Amber house, looming in the distance.

“What if Miss Edna answers the door?” Susan, the shyest of the group, asked.

“She won’t,” Jeff assured her. “Dad says she never does anything but sit in the parlor and boss Miss Diana around. Anyway, she’s just an old lady.”

“Well, she scares me,” Susan admitted. “She always looks like she’s mad about something, and the way she looks at you is weird. Like she wishes you were dead, or something.”

“Maybe she does,” Steve teased. “Maybe she’s just waiting to catch you by yourself, then—” He sliced his finger across his neck and hung his tongue out. Susan glared at him.

“That’s not funny, Steve Penrose,” she said, then retreated into silence as her friends all laughed.

*  *  *

Edna Amber stood at the parlor window, holding the lace curtains back so she could watch the children’s progress across the field. They seemed to be coming toward the house. She called out to Diana, reaching up with her cane to punctuate her words by thumping the ceiling.

“Diana? Diana, I want you!” She waited a moment, and when she failed to hear Diana’s footsteps hurrying along the upstairs corridor, thumped again.
“Diana!”

A moment later Diana appeared at the door. “I was in the kitchen, Mother.”

Edna glanced at the clock standing in the corner. “It won’t be lunchtime for at least an
hour.”

“I was making some cookies for Christie,” Diana said hesitantly, sure of what was going to come with the admission. Her mother didn’t disappoint her.

“I don’t want you getting attached to that child,” Edna said. “She won’t be here but another day or so, and there’s no sense you getting yourself all worked up.”

Diana sighed impatiently. “Mother, it’s only a batch of cookies. That’s hardly what I’d call ‘getting myself worked up,’ whatever that means.”

Edna glared at her. “Don’t you sass your mother, young lady,” she snapped. Then she pointed toward the window with her cane. “You’d better take care of
them,”
she said. “I don’t want them on the property.”

Diana went to the window and looked out. She recognized all five of the children coming through the gate. She knew Jeff Crowley best, though she had spoken to each of them at one time or another. But never before had any of them come to the house. She hurried to the door to meet them.