Harvest Home Part 18

"How's Kate?" It was always her first question.

"O.K. Want a martini?"

"Afterward." She hurried up the stairs. Kate's bedroom door opened, then closed. I could hear the exchange of greetings and the drone of the women's voices. The kitchen door slammed and in a minute I saw Worthy hunching in the shadows at the opposite end of the hallway.

"You all right?" I asked before stepping past him into the kitchen.

Silently he followed me in, watched while I got ice from the automatic dispenser, the gla.s.s martini pitcher, the gin, and the vermouth. Soon I heard the Widow's footstep on the stair. I mixed the drink, poured it into a stem gla.s.s the way Beth liked it, and put it on the refrigerator shelf.

The Widow came in tying up the strings of her bonnet. As she smoothed her skirts, I noted her shears were not in their accustomed place at her side. She turned to Worthy, who stood behind the table yanking his finger joints, which cracked loudly. "Why such a long face, boy? You look like you was off to Armageddon for the final battle." She picked up the black valise.

Again I felt compelled to express myself. "Thank you for your prayers."

"Try some of your own. Sunday's Corn t.i.thing Day. Worthy, don't s.h.i.+rk your duty to your Lord. You want things, come to church and ask for 'em." He looked down, still cracking his knuckles. "Leave off them anatomical detonations and hand me my basket, I'm late."

He came around the table and gave her the splint basket. She folded the linen napkin over its contents and went to the doorway, then turned.

"Sunday. Church. t.i.thing Day. Don't forget."

"I won't forget!"

I whirled, shocked at Worthy's tone. He stood with his shoulders hunched, the lock of hair falling down over his brow. He made no move to push it aside; his hands hung limp at his sides, and I could see the muscles in his jaw working as he glared angrily at the Widow.

"Very well," she replied evenly, and went out. The buggy springs creaked as she mounted; she clucked up the mare and the wheels ground along the drive. Worthy went to the sink tap, filled a gla.s.s, and drank.

"Bad taste," I remarked, meaning the two herbal doses he had swallowed. He nodded, wiped his mouth.

"Are you still planning to leave?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"I can't go till-" He broke off. "Soon. I'll go soon." His eyes narrowed as he stared into the sink. "I've got something to do. One last thing, then I'll get out and never come back."

He went upstairs, and when Beth came down a few moments later I carried her martini and my Scotch into the bacchante room. The sofa had been taken away to be recovered, and we sat on either side of the fireplace, she in the Salem rocker, I in a Windsor ladder-back.

"The Widow says Kate can come down for a little while tomorrow," she said, rubbing her finger around the edge of the gla.s.s.

"That's good."

"But only for an hour or so."

"Fine."

The Tiffany clock ticked, filling the silence between us.

"Beth."

"Mm?"

"Why are you acting this way?"

"I'm not acting any way. I just-"

"Just what?"

"I just didn't think it was possible."

"Possible for what?"

"Possible for you-" She took a sip of her drink. "Please, Ned, I don't want to fight-"

"I don't want to either. There's nothing to fight about."

"Then can't we leave it at that? Kate's going to be all right and-"

"Yes. Kate's going to be all right. But are we?"

"Yes. I guess so. I don't know."

"Look at me." She raised her head and returned my gaze. "I went to Tamar Penrose's, yes. But nothing happened. I promise you that nothing happened."

"Then it must have been a wasted visit." She drank again, and asked, "Why did did you go?" you go?"

"I didn't go with her, I went with the kid-Missy. I-" I broke off. How could I explain to her why I had gone with Missy that afternoon? Or what it was I was trying to find out from her. Or my fears, which I considered foolish ones but which, nonetheless, I had failed to rid myself of. "It's true," I maintained stolidly. I felt hot and confused, hating the distance between us, wis.h.i.+ng we could put down our gla.s.ses and hold each other. "It's true," I said again.

"You went home with a little girl at six o'clock in the evening? For what possible reason?"

"To find out something."

"From a thirteen-year-old child?" Her smile was the one she used when she wanted me to feel like a fool. And I did. How could I tell her about the red pointing finger, the mad child prophesying in her mother's kitchen, the b.l.o.o.d.y chicken, guts spilled all over the floor?

"She fell out of a tree-I went to see if she was all right-I followed her-we were sitting on the porch, in the swing. We were playing cat's cradle-"

"Ned."

"It's true. She tied my hands. Tamar came home."

"Tamar..."

"What should I call her-Miss Penrose?"

"That's what you used to call her. Until things got on a different-footing."

I rose angrily. "Look, I'm trying to tell you the truth. I'm trying to tell you what happened."

"You said nothing did."

"It didn't."

"I didn't bother saving your s.h.i.+rt. I threw it out."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't feel required to sew back the b.u.t.tons some other woman had ripped off my husband's clothing in her eagerness to avail herself of his body."

"I kissed her."

"Once."

"No-"

"More than once."

"Yes-"

"And you had a few drinks and got a little stinko, and she was there and she was so inviting you couldn't help yourself-isn't that the way it went?"

"I__"

"You couldn't help yourself. The male instinct. Loin l.u.s.t. What did you do about the child?"

"She wasn't there. She went out."

"Nice. The mother sends the child out to play while she-"

I crashed my gla.s.s into the fireplace to silence her. "You can believe me or not, however you choose, but I'll say it once more. Nothing happened beyond a couple of drinks and a kiss."

"I'd better get a broom," she said.

I watched her go into the kitchen, and above the ticking of the clock I heard Kate coughing upstairs. I took my car keys from the hook and left the house.

When I got home, it was after three o'clock in the morning. I tiptoed into the kitchen and put two quart cartons into the refrigerator, turned off the light Beth had left for me, and moved up the stairway. Outside Kate's door, I stopped and listened. I could hear the sound of her easy breathing. I went across the hall and opened the door to our bedroom. Beth was asleep in the four-poster bed. The light on the bureau was still burning. I undressed, and laid my things on the chair. For some reason I was thinking of Ca.s.sandra, the prophetess of Troy. Having spurned the love of Apollo, it had been given to her to speak with his tongue, but, speaking, it had been her fate that no one should believe her. But the hollow horse came, and the walls of Ilium were tumbled.

And the walls of Cornwall Coombe? It was Missy Penrose's fate that everyone should believe her, every last villager. I switched off the light. Outside, there was no moon. All was still and dark. A quiet night. I wondered what and who could make it "all-prevailing."

19.

Even after I had had only four hours' sleep, the yellow bird managed to wake me the following morning at my accustomed hour. I could hear Beth in the shower, and when she emerged from the bathroom, pink and flushed, I wanted to pull her back into bed. She put on her robe, removed the towel she had wrapped around her, and sat at the dressing table brus.h.i.+ng her hair.

"Morning," I said.

"Good morning." From her tone, I felt it was not. I yawned widely.

"You'd better roll over and have another six hours."

"Why?"

"You didn't get very much last night."

"No."

She brushed crisply for ten or so strokes. "I suppose the urge was irresistible."

"No."

"What, then?"

"I went for a drive."

"Oh?" She gave me a look in the mirror. "Till three in the morning?"

"Yes."

"That's a long drive, over to Main Street. They say the murderer always returns to the scene of the crime."

"I drove to New York."

She swiveled on the bench, brush poised at the downstroke. "You what?"

"I said I drove to New York."

"What on earth for?"

I threw the covers off and headed for the bathroom. "To buy Kate some proper chili."

When I got downstairs, my breakfast was cooked and in the warmer. There was a note saying Beth had gone to Mrs. Brucie's to pick up some quilts. When I opened the refrigerator door to get the cream for my coffee, I found another note pinned to one of the paper cartons from Pepe's Chili Palor. It read: Not for breakfast!!!

(and watch for the man with the sofa) The recovered sofa was returned about midmorning, and was ready for Kate when I carried her downstairs at noon. I laid her on it, with pillows and a blanket, then pulled the rocker up and sat beside her.

"Want the T.V. on?" I asked.

"In a bit. Not just now. Doesn't that bird know winter's coming?"

"He waited till you got better."

She nodded an absent affirmative to my remark, scrunching up her nose like a rabbit. Then she sniffed, and turned to me wide-eyed. "That smells like chili! chili!"

I went into the kitchen, dished up a bowl, and brought it back on a tray with a gla.s.s of milk. "Pepe sends love."

"Oh, Daddy-" I settled the tray on the table and held the bowl and spoon.