Wicked Forest (46 page)

Once inside, he let himself fall to the side, his eyes closed, his body sinking into the seat.

"I'll come along to help you," Miguel said.

He was right behind us all the way back to Jaya del Mar. Linden slept during the drive and I had a chance to cry. When we arrived. Jennings came out to help, and between him and Miguel, they were able to get Linden up to his room. They put him to bed. I waited downstairs, pouring myself a good shot of whiskey. Joan and Mary lingered, expecting people to arrive to pay their last respects, but no one did.

When Miguel came down, he asked about the windows in Linden's bedroom.

"They've been painted black?"

I told him why Linden had done it, and he shook his head, his eyes filling with concern.

"Maybe now, now that he has seen her interred in her grave, he will no longer have those visions." I said "In an ironic and sad way, being at the funeral was probably good for him."

"Maybe." Miguel said, but he still looked concerned.

We had something to eat, then sat out on the loggia. There were a few soft and puffy clouds now, but other than that and a little increase in the breeze, the day had remained one of the most beautiful.

"Mother would have loved this day. She would have spent most of it out here and walking on the beach."

"It's so beautiful here." Miguel said. "I imagine she never really felt neglected or denied much, despite what you tell me about the social world that locked her out."

"I'm sure you are right."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Eaton," we heard. and I turned to see Mary and Joan, dressed to leave, their suitcases in hand. "Since there aren't any people coming, we thought we might as well be on our way."

Mary said.

"Everything has been cleaned up and put away properly. and Jennings says he can see to anything that you might need the rest of the day."

"Okay," I said.

"We left a forwarding address with Jennings where you can mail us our final pay and anything else that comes for us." Joan said.

"Fine."

"We're sorry about it all. Mrs. Eaton." Mary said.

"Thank you, and good luck to you both," I said.

They flashed small smiles, then turned and left.

"What's that all about?" Miguel asked. and I told him. "So you're going to be left with no help here?"

"I'll start on that in a day or so. We don't need very much at the moment."

"Couldn't they have the decency to wait a week or so more?" Miguel asked, shaking his head after them.

"I suppose I don't blame them." I said. "I should go and let you rest."

"I'm fine." I said. "but I don't want to keep you from anything you need to do."

He smiled.

"Don't be a big shot. You're carrying a lot." he said, nodding at my stomach.

I smiled.

"I promise not to be a big shot," I told him.

He held my gaze, and then he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.

"Take care of yourself. Willow. I'll be by soon to make sure you do."

"I hope so," I said.

"Don't get up unless you're going up to rest. I can let myself out."

"I'll just sit here awhile." I told him. He held my hand for a few more seconds, then pulled his away and walked into the house.

I sat looking at the sea.

Upstairs, behind blackened windows. Linden had retreated to the deepest places in his troubled brain. I had no such escape, nor did I want one.

If my baby and I were to survive, it would be because I had grown stronger from all this trouble and pain. I thought. When you had no one but yourself as Linden had, you could afford to withdraw. I could not.

Little Hannah was waiting to be greeted with smiles and joy and hope, not tears, and certainly not gloom and doom.

I don't know why I did it exactly, or even where I drew the strength to do it. but I got up and walked the beach until I reached the dock, and then I went out to the end and stood where Mother had stood so many nights and gazed out at the sea, waiting for my father, waiting for a promise to be fulfilled.

In a real sense. Thatcher's betrayal had left me in the same place that Mother had been. I would be alone here with my child. I would be as unwelcome in the same society out there beyond our walls. Why had she stayed? I wondered. Why hadn't she gone somewhere else to start anew? Wouldn't that have been better for both of them?

Would it be better for me and for Hannah?

I searched my mind, looking for my father's much-needed wisdom.

What do I do now, Daddy? Do I stay or do I go?

What do you want to do?

I'm not sure.

Then why don't you -wait until you are?

What if I never am?

Daddy?

What if I never am? I asked more desperately.

But there was only silence in my mind, silence replaced with the sound of the sea and the whispering of the breeze past my ears.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow I would know.

19

Alone with Linden

.

Our lives changed in so many ways during the days and weeks that followed Mother's death.

Jennings left soon after, as he had previously announced. I had not done much to find new household help, so we were still without any maid.

Instead. I closed down as much of the main house as I could, shutting up Mother's suite and all of the guest suites and bathrooms and confuting our existence to my suite, the room that would serve as Hannah's nursery. and Linden's suite and studio.

To my surprise, Linden welcomed this

shrinking of the property. He said it made our home feel cozier to him, closer to the way he and Mother had lived in the beach house, even though we still utilized the grand dining room and the large den, as well as the rear loggia.

The departure of our servants also had an unexpected positive effect on him.

"Grace and I lived a long time without maids and butlers," he declared when I told him Jennings was leaving us, too. "We survived then, and you and I will survive now."

I was pleased with his new optimistic attitude.

A dramatic change came over him. No longer the introvert who spent most of his day locked away in his darkened studio, he decided he would fulfill most of the duties and asserted he would run the house, even cook and do our shopping. His whole demeanor went through a striking metamorphosis. He looked and behaved like a college freshman who was excited about being on his own for the first time in his life, being the one most responsible for himself. Every new responsibility he assumed was exciting to him.

"You're going to cook for us?" I asked with a smile when he declared he would take on the kitchen duties. too.

"Absolutely. I cooked for Grace and me on occasion. and I've been reading up on foods a pregnant woman should be eating. too. And things she should avoid eating and doing!" he added, wagging his right forefinger at me.

"Oh?"

"Yes. After all," he declared with a regal air of authority, we have more than just ourselves to worry about now. We have our baby, our baby Hannah."

The first time he said that. I thought nothing much of it. It was all part of his new and wonderful enthusiasm about life and our future, But I began to have a worried feeling about it when he pronounced

"our Hannah" or "our baby" with a real sense of possession in his voice every time he repeated it Of course. I told myself I was overreacting and should be grateful for this new demonstration of joie de vivre. It was only rarely that I'd seen Linden enthusiastic and jubilant about anything. and I certainly had feared that after Mother's death, I would never see anything like that in him again.

Now he not only insisted on doing our driving and all of our shopping, he refused to permit me to carry anything and was continually watching me to be sure I didn't do too much in the house, even though I wasn't quite halfway through my second trimester. If I began to clean something, he immediately took the cloth or the mop away from me and promised to do it all himself.

"Just do your walking." he ordered. "A pregnant woman should do a lot of walking, but no lifting and not so much bending."

"Yes, Dr. Montgomery." I kidded, but he had no sense of humor about it.

"I'm not a doctor, but you would be surprised at how much I know that they don't, or don't care about.

They never really care," he stated with conviction.

"Not the way I care.‖

Of course. I thanked him for his concern.

"Why shouldn't I be concerned? You don't have to thank me for that." he practically shouted at me.

Although he moved about with more energy

and dressed and took better care of himself than before, he was still susceptible to instant explosions of anger and long periods of pouting if I challenged or seemed critical of anything he said or did. It was truly like walking on thin ice or navigating through a room filled with tissue-thin china. terrified I might bump into something and send a good and happy moment crashing into smithereens.

Nothing, however, seemed to bother him as much as Miguel's now frequent appearances at Joya del Mar. I had decided to take my sabbatical from my college earlier than I had first intended. It seemed to me I had to spend more time at home caring for Linden, although he was convinced it was he who was caring for me, and, of course, handling all the legal problems Mother's death engendered, as well as my pending divorce from Thatcher and my pregnancy.

"How can this college professor come around here so often?" Linden asked me after one of Miguel's visits. "Doesn't he have papers to correct, tests to create. work at college?"

"He doesn't work around the clock. Linden.

Don't you think it's nice of him to take the time to see if we are doing all right?" I asked.

"He's not coming here to see if we're all right,"

he declared. -"He's coming here to see if you're all right. It's disgusting. You're a pregnant woman and you're— you're not even legally divorced from Thatcher. He's like some buzzard waiting to pounce."

-"Oh no," I said, disagreeing as gently as I could. 'He's not at all like that. Linden."

He simply glared back at me, then huffed and puffed away to do some preparations for our dinner.

.

One afternoon. Miguel remained longer than usual. He and I sat on the rear loggia talking, mostly about college and his classes. He discussed his students in general and how, even after the few years he had been teaching, he could see a definite decline in their skills and their work habits.

"Everyone wants everything quickly. If they could take a pill that would enable them to learn all they needed in order to get that degree, they would line up for days. No one seems to enjoy the pursuit.

the work, the challenge anymore. It’s all bottom line: What's in it for me and how fast can I have it? Most of all, how can I get it with the least amount of effort?

"Someday, happiness will be distributed through vending machines— and college degrees, too!"

I laughed at his vehemence, and then he

laughed at himself as. well.

"I'm on my soapbox again. It takes someone like you. Willow, someone sincere and perceptive, to set me off."

"I don't think it's a soapbox. Miguel, and there is nothing wrong with being enthusiastic about the things that matter the most to you." I said.

He smiled and reached out to take my hand.

"You are truly a lovely, wonderful person.

Willow. You don't deserve all these problems."

We held each other's eyes for a few moments, during which he kept my hand closed gently in his.

Then I heard a French door slam, and saw Linden standing behind it looking out at us. I let go of Miguel's hand and turned to him.

"Linden, why don't you come out and sit with us for a while?" I suggested.

After a hesitation, he opened the door.

"I have something on the stove," he said.

"Oh, what are you making. Linden?" Miguel asked him. "It's a pasta dish, a primavera."

"Oh. Sounds good," Miguel said.

"-Why don't we invite Miguel to dinner.

Linden?" I suggested. He stared for a moment.

"I didn't make that much," he said.

"Neither of us eats that much. Linden." "It's all right," Miguel said "I have to be going. I'm meeting my parents for dinner. Perhaps you will permit me to take you both to Havana Molena one night this week."

"That would be nice. Wouldn't it. Linden?"

"Yes," he said. "but it depends on the night."

"Well, you will let me know what night is convenient, okay?" Miguel said.

Linden nodded and stepped back inside, closing the French door.

"I know you think he's doing better. Willow, but you have no idea how deep some of his mental troubles go." Miguel said, looking after him.

"You're right, of course. Now that the smoke has settled a bit. I'll contact his therapist and get him back into treatment."

"That's wise." Miguel said. He stood. "I'll call you tomorrow, if that is all right."

"Certainly it's all right. I'll be looking forward to it," I said, and he beamed.

Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. I held on to his shoulders tightly, keeping him from pulling completely away. He looked into my eyes, and then he kissed me softly on the lips.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly.

―For what? Making a pregnant woman feel

attractive?" He laughed.

"I hope that wasn't meant to be charity," I added. His smile froze, and he took on a look of deep seriousness as he came at me again, this time his lips lingering longer on mine.

"Believe me," he whispered. "It isn't charity."

I could feel my eyes brighten. He turned, walked to the door, turned back, smiled, and then left me trembling with happiness I had almost come to believe was forbidden.

A few hours later, we had our reason to go out to celebrate. My attorney phoned to tell me. Thatcher had agreed to her proposals for a divorce settlement.

"Because of the reference to adultery. he realizes he will lose. It will all be far easier than I first feared," she said.

"Oh, how wonderful. I wasn't looking forward to a prolonged battle with him."