Winter Shadows (10 page)

I
woke to the sounds of wind whistling through cracks in the windows, along with distant hammering from the workmen in the kitchen. My nose was still stuffed, my ears still ached. It was dark out, but my light was on.

That’s when I remembered the dreams – the classroom full of girls and the young teacher appearing in this very room, staring down at me lying in bed.
Was she Beatrice? Was this her room?

I know she recognized me both times – I could see it in her eyes. I groaned.
Recognized me?
She was a dream ghost! My inner voice murmured,
But think, Cass. Were you possibly awake and seeing a ghost?

I caught my breath, coughed, then sneezed loudly just as the door opened and a man walked in. My heart stopped, until I realized he was dressed in a modern coat, carrying a doctor’s bag. It was our new GP, Dr. Graham – a friend of Jean’s. I’d met him only a few times, but he seemed nice. Mom’s longtime family doctor, who’d
looked after her when she was sick, retired soon after she died. I was glad. Seeing him only reminded me of that awful time.

Dr. Graham grinned. “Hi, Cass. How’s it going?” His deep voice didn’t match the soft jowly face. Jean walked in behind him.

“I’m okay, I guess,” I croaked.

“You don’t look it.” He felt my head, snapped open his case, thrust a thermometer in my mouth, then peered in my ears with a lit instrument. He smelled of spicy soap.

“It’s just a cold, Peter,” Jean said. “But as her father scrapes and bows to her every whim, she’s playing it up for all it’s worth.”

Dr. Graham looked at her for a moment before taking the beeping thermometer out of my mouth. He told me to open wide and, using a flat stick, gazed down my throat.

“My dad scrapes, huh? Scrapes what?” I said, as he straightened up. “As for whims, I didn’t think I was allowed any whims in this house.”

“That’s what I have to put up with, Peter,” she said. “She fights me tooth and nail.”

“Well, Jean, she’s not playing it up this time.” He threw the plastic stick into the garbage. “You’ve got strep, Cass. I suspect the infection has gone into your ears. I don’t want it heading to your chest. So I’m going to give you a dose of antibiotics now and a prescription that someone can pick up for you.”

Jean sighed heavily. “I hope Daisy doesn’t get this before Christmas. That’s all I need.” She frowned at me like getting sick was
my
idea.

“I’m sorry I’m under the weather, Jeannette May,” I said. “I’ll rise above it soon and try not to rub you the wrong way while I work on it.”

Dr. Graham tried hard not to smile. “The meds will begin as soon as you take them, Cass. You’ll be better soon. And, Jean, this illness is serious – not something
to be sneezed at.”
I snorted, and he winked at me.

“Oh, very droll, Peter,” she said. “I’ve got to get Daisy ready for school. Thanks so much for coming, though.” And she marched out of the room.

“I think
you
may have rubbed her the wrong way,” I said, swallowing the pills.

He laughed. “I’ve known Jean a long time, Cass. She has trouble with change. She loves your dad. I can see that. I bet you see it, too.”

“I don’t see anything, except someone who doesn’t want me around.”

He snapped his bag shut. “She’s focused on your dad and Daisy right now, I bet. Jean’s one of those people who is almost too easy to tease, though. Like shooting fish in a barrel.” He grinned at his own wit. “She’s a good person. She’ll figure it all out eventually.”

I closed my eyes. It was too much effort to explain about Mom, the dollhouse, the cat, having to put Mom’s treasures out of sight, Jean hating me – and I could never talk about the other thing, the one I kept locked away
and didn’t think about.
What would this nice doctor think if he knew about the guilt that sat like a shard of glass in my chest, ready to stab me whenever I thought of Mom’s last day?

“Remember, Cass, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Give Jean time.”

“Rome went belly-up, didn’t it?” I murmured. “Are you trying to help me get better or just rubbing salt in my wounds?”

He laughed. “You’re so sharp, one day you’ll cut yourself.”

“If I do, at least I’ll be taking enough meds to cut off the infections!” Despite his need to defend Jean, I liked him.

He handed me a big red sucker on his way out. He’d made me feel better. For about fifteen minutes – until Jean brought me a tray. Tea, a poached egg, and a muffin.

“Peter says you can’t go to school yet. He’s phoned in the prescription. How much further behind will you get by missing school?”

“I’m not behind.”

She looked unconvinced. “I never see you do any homework.”

“That’s ’cause I do it up here, when Daisy’s downstairs watching TV and not doing hers.”

“Well … I’ll get someone to bring work home for you anyway.”

“Everything’s up to date for the holidays, except the English assignment due after Christmas. Martin Pelly’s my study partner. I’ll call him when I feel better.”

“So you aren’t behind in anything?”

I slid the tray to one side of the bed. “I’m not hungry. I’ll eat this in a bit.”

“Your tea and egg will get cold.”

“I like cold tea.” I turned over on my side. “And hate poached eggs.”

I could feel her standing there looking at me. “If you’re up to date in school, maybe you could get back to your piano lessons again. I could work out a plan for you.”

“Not interested.”

Silence for twenty counts, then a huge exaggerated sigh. “I’ll get that prescription filled.” The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

My stomach was tight. I should just leave, go and live with Aunt Blair. The idea had been floating through my mind a lot lately. Maybe it was the only way to be free of Jean. She would never let up on me. Take the piano lessons, for instance. One day, I heard her telling Dad that by not playing the piano anymore, I was cutting off my nose to spite my face.

“She has a piano teacher in the house, for heaven’s sake, Jonathan. I could do a lot for her, but she refuses to play. Just to get at me, I’m sure.”

I heard Dad try to say how losing Mom had been hard on me, but she cut him off. “She can’t
always
use her mother as an excuse for not doing something that would
benefit her future. You’ve spoiled her, Jon! Made her impossible to deal with.”

I hadn’t stopped playing because of Jean – I just didn’t have the heart to do it anymore. Having her around made it easier to avoid.

Dad had let her dismantle our real home and change it into some kind of sterile hotel space. Jean’s new furniture was modern and plain – all brown or cream. The walls were coffee-colored. Mom’s mahogany dining-room furniture had been replaced by a plain oak table and chairs. The only decorations in the living room were three stoneware pots on the hearth and some generic modern art on the walls. It was all safe and all boring. Like Jean.

A few days before I got sick, I’d looked through the living-room door and realized, with a jolt, just how changed everything was, and something had clicked inside me.
This was my house, too!
Maybe I’d feel closer to Mom again – feel her near me – with a few of her things back where they belonged. I went upstairs and filled a cardboard box with the stuff I’d kept aside in the blanket box, then staggered back down. I put two of Mom’s Art Nouveau candlesticks at one end of the mantel and a matching vase, covered in swirling silver irises, at the other. In the middle, I placed her figurine of a skater in a long dress, tiny fur hat, and muff. Perfect for Christmas.

The coffee table was bare except for a few magazines, so I put Mom’s favorite mint green bowl, streaked with
curving black lines, in the middle. With great care, I’d put ten family treasures back into the room.

The antiques glinted in the afternoon light. A big framed picture of Mom and Dad remained in the box. I would have loved to rub Jean’s nose in their happy marriage, but I just couldn’t use Mom like that. Looking down at her smiling face, the shard of glass in my chest slid deeper. One day I’d put the picture out. Not yet.

I looked around the room and shook my head. Mom’s things didn’t belong. Not in Jean’s beige world. Jean had won. She’d finally got rid of Mom. I would not cry.

I’d just decided to remove everything when Jean walked in. Her eyes narrowed.

“I put some of our special things out,” I muttered. “I didn’t think you’d mind. But you don’t need to –”

“I do mind, actually, Cassandra. This sort of outdated stuff clutters the place. I don’t like clutter. And these things are yours now. Keep them for your own future home.”

My ears grew hot. “This will always be my home. Long after you’re gone.”

“I’m not going anywhere fast. And, meanwhile, it is my home – and your dad’s. I can do whatever I like with it.”

“These are Dad’s things, too! They stay.”

She walked around the room. I could tell she was thinking hard. “Of course it’s your home, Cassandra,” she said with a tight smile. “Let’s live with these knickknacks for a little while and see. Okay?”

“They belong here,” I said, knowing they didn’t fit at all.

“Fine. Leave them for a bit then. We may have to move things around later on, though, as Christmas is coming and there are decorations to go up.”

Of course, I knew what she’d do. She didn’t even wait until the Christmas things were put out. Each day, when I returned home from school, something was gone. The vase and green bowl were stuck in one of the built-in corner cabinets in the dining room. Mom’s figurine was given a place in another, hidden by the silver candlesticks. I gathered everything up and packed them away. I didn’t want her touching them ever again.

One day, to my surprise, Dad asked why the skater figurine wasn’t out on the mantel anymore for Christmas. I told him why. He called Jean and me into the kitchen.

Jean said, “Cassandra is more than welcome to display these things. We’ll have shelves built in her room for them. What I’m trying to do with the house is …” I tuned out of her desire for a “fresh updated” (i.e., dreary and beige) look for the house and watched Dad’s reaction.

He seemed harassed and defeated at the same time.
How could I tell him I couldn’t feel Mom in the house anymore, and that’s why I’d put her things around?
As it happened, putting them out hadn’t made a bit of difference.

“You don’t want them around because you’re jealous,” I said to Jean.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not jealous of you.”

“No, you’re jealous of
Mom
. Her things remind you that if she was still alive, she’d be here with Dad, not
you!
He still loves her, and you can’t stand that. Look in his
wallet. There’s a picture of them dating in high school and another one of Mom and me –”

“Cass, stop it,” Dad said.

“But it’s true. You still love Mom. And Jean acts like she never existed. And if I even mention Mom, she gets all tight-mouthed and sneery.”

“Of course I still love your mom. But I also love Jean, and I’ve started a new life with her. Jean knows all about my marriage with your mom.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“Your mom was a wonderful person, Cass. But she wasn’t perfect, was she? You’ve put her on some kind of pedestal. She wouldn’t like it there. And it stops you from allowing Jean in and –”

“How can you say anything negative about Mom? You were crazy about her. You told her all the time! And now you’re pretending to love Jean. But I don’t have to pretend – not even for you.”

“That’s right. You don’t,” Jean said. “Okay, maybe I was a bit unfair. If you’d like to choose one special thing of your mom’s, we’ll put it in the living room. There’s that nice piece of turn-of-the-century pottery that might look good on the coffee table.”

“Forget it,” I said, scraping my chair back. “Daisy would deliberately break it. When I finally get this place to myself, I’ll put everything back where it belongs.” I looked at Dad. “You don’t want them. You don’t care about them anymore.”

As I walked out, I heard Jean say, “You didn’t deserve that, Jonathan. Do you see what I mean now?”

From that moment on, I made it my mission to get good and deep under her skin.

Listening to the workmen banging around downstairs, I removed the star brooch from my sweater and pinned it to the waistband of my pajamas. My fingers tingled. The hammering sounds grew muffled, and the light in the room softened.
Was something about to happen?
I waited.

Nothing.

My throat was still raw, but the pain in my ears was easing a bit. The half-light blurred around me. Something fluttered past – the pale figure of someone leaning over beside my bed.
A workman?
I sat up with a jolt. He was large, with a bushy beard, and when he stood up, he was holding a woman in his arms! Behind them, I saw the old native woman in her antler chair, speaking to him. I couldn’t hear her, but the young man nodded in response. The girl struggled to her feet and pushed the man away.
It was Beatrice!

Hard as I tried to keep them in my sight, they faded. I hovered above a gulf of gray nothingness, then let myself slide into safe, empty darkness.