Читать книгу In Search Of Her Own - Carole Page Gift - Страница 13

Monday, May 18, 2:00 p.m.

Believe it or not, I’m packed and ready for the drive to Middleton—ready outwardly, but inside I’m filled with doubts, terrified of facing Mrs. Hewlett again. I keep wondering what horrible secrets she’s keeping. And what if she guesses the truth about me? Could I make matters worse for Joshua by blundering into his life like this, by playing this bizarre charade?

I’ve always been such a cautious person, conscientious to a fault, never stepping outside my boundaries, never testing the limits, except once, of course, with Rick Lancer—and look at the trouble that got me into! But I can’t compare this situation with that one. I’m doing what I have to do to find my son. I must keep reminding myself of that. I can’t rest until I know what happened to him.

The thought that he might be dead haunts me. What kind of mother was I to let him go without knowing what kind of life he would have and what kind of people would raise him? How could I have trusted others so completely to do what was best for my son? And how could I have had so little faith in my own ability—and right—to care for him?

Not that I have great reserves of faith in myself even now. When my parents were alive my life was so simple and straightforward I tried relentlessly to be their obedient daughter, to make them proud of me; and even though I often failed, I was consumed with trying.

Now that I’m alone, my life is in chaos. I don’t know who to try to please, except God—and all too often He has my father’s voice, so that I can’t distinguish between the two; I can’t tell what God wants for me and what my father would have wanted I don’t want to hear my father’s voice anymore, but it’s there; I can’t get it out of my head.

I know I ought to think about pleasing myself for a change, but even that idea is distressing, because I don’t know what I want. I’ve spent too many years denying my desires. I want my son, but I have no idea where my search for him will lead me, nor what it will cost—not in dollars, but the emotional drain.

And to complicate matters even further, there’s Phillip. Without meaning to, he’s turned my life upside down and thrown my mind into the worst sort of turmoil and confusion. Even as I value his help and friendship, I find myself longing for more from him—yearning for him to see me as a woman, to cherish and caress me and make me feel loved And at the same time, the idea of a romantic relationship strikes terror in my heart. In the very same breath I want to pull him close and push him away. How can I give my love to another man after what Rick Lancer did to me? How can I trust him? Or myself?

Even though I’m filled with doubts, I can’t let Phillip see my misgivings, or he’d never let me drive to Middleton alone. When he comes to say goodbye this afternoon, I must put on a brave, smiling face and pretend that I have every confidence in the world.

Dear God, help me to put my confidence in You!

“I still don’t like you going,” Phillip told Victoria shortly after four o’clock as he carried her suitcases out to her car. “It’s just too risky.”

Victoria followed with her pillow, makeup case and a sack of crackers and cheese. “Really, Phillip, you’re thinking like a detective now. What risk is there in spending a few weeks with an elderly couple who just happen to be my son’s grandparents?” Now if only she felt as brave as she sounded! She prayed Phillip wouldn’t see through her bravado; if he guessed how frightened she was, he’d never let her go.

“It’s not that simple and you know it,” he told her, his dark umber eyes shadowed as he looked at her.

Victoria felt warmed by his concern. If only he were going with her! She had known him for such a short time and already she felt lost without him. “I’ll be fine, Phillip, believe me,” she assured him. And if he believed that, she was a better actress than she thought. “I’ll keep in touch, I promise. And if I find out anything at all, I’ll let you know.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I—lI can’t let you go.”

Softly she said, “You can’t stop me, Phillip.”

His brows furrowed. “I wish I could go with you.”

“You can’t. You have your work. I’m sure you have lots of other clients needing your help.”

“You’re the only client on my mind right now.” He pushed her hair back gently from her face and moved his knuckles slowly over her cheekbone. He lowered his face to hers and she had the impression that he wanted to kiss her goodbye, but instead he brushed his lips against her forehead and released her. “Be careful, you hear?”

She managed a tremulous smile. “I will.”

He squeezed her hand tightly as she slipped into the driver’s seat. “Call me when you get there.”

“It’ll be late,” she warned.

“That’s all right I’m a night owl at heart.”

As she waved a last goodbye and pulled out of the driveway, she felt a disconcerting reluctance to go. She dreaded the long drive down the coast alone, but even more so she hated leaving Phillip.

“I can’t let myself feel this way,” she chided herself as she turned onto the freeway heading south. “My involvement with Phillip was supposed to remain strictly professional. All right, who am I kidding? We’ve become friends, but that’s all it’s going to be. Neither Phillip nor I are ready for an emotional entanglement. It’s the last thing either of us wants.”

She sounded so certain, so positive. Why then wasn’t her heart listening?

The drive down the coast was longer than Victoria remembered. It had seemed so short last Saturday riding with Phillip. They had been so engrossed in conversation that the miles had flown by. Now the miles dragged with a dull, grudging sameness.

The closer Victoria got to Middleton, the more her son weighed on her mind. Would she be able to solve the mystery of Joshua? Would she find him? And what would she find? Dear God, please let me find my boy, and please let him be all right Let him be alive! Give me a chance to see him, and know him, and love him!

When at last Victoria pulled into the Hewlett driveway on Blackberry Street, her head throbbed and her back ached. Was it the long drive or the anticipation of her stay with the Hewletts? In the heavy, fog-shrouded darkness, the rambling old house looked more ominous than ever. Victoria shuddered. If Phillip were with me, I wouldn’t be afraid, she thought, and immediately cast the idea aside. Forget Phillip, she scolded silently.

As she climbed out of the car, she arched her shoulders, then strode purposefully up the walk to the porch. Lights were on inside, so someone was home. She knocked soundly, her heart pounding. It was ridiculous to feel so nervous. There was nothing to fear. She had come to find the answers about her son Nothing else mattered now.

After a minute the door opened and a tall, angular man in glasses and a striped work shirt stared down at her. He was bald except for a patch of gray-black hair on each side of his head His long, thin, hangdog face merged unceremoniously with his neck. “Miss Clarkin?” he muttered.

“Carlin,” she corrected.

“In your letter you said you was arriving today. I didn’t expect you meant after dark.”

“It was a longer drive than I remembered.” She looked past him into the living room. “May I come in?”

He stepped back slowly and nodded, but his small, dark eyes remained fastened on her through his thick lenses. “Make yourself at home.” His voice was monotone.

“You must be—” she began.

“Sam Hewlett.” He looked over at the heavyset woman in the kitchen doorway. “You already met Maude.”

Victoria nodded and forced a smile. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Hewlett”

“You missed dinner,” snapped the woman. “It’s at six sharp. I can’t keep things sitting, getting cold.”

“I picked up a bite on my way,” Victoria told her. “I’m really very tired. I’d just like to bring my things in and go to my room.”

Maude’s expression softened. “It’s too late for dinner, but I got some herb tea brewing. It’s called Almond Pleasure. Smells real good, don’t it?”

Victoria smiled relentingly. “It smells wonderful.”

Maude gestured to Sam. “You go help her bring in her stuff. I’ll pour the tea and set out some glazed doughnuts.”

With Sam’s help, Victoria quickly transferred her belongings from her compact car to the old-fashioned bedroom that would be hers. Now, sitting across from the Hewletts in their cozy, Early American kitchen, Victoria wondered why she had felt so nervous. Although the Hewletts were rather gruff, unschooled people, they seemed like decent, unpretentious folk. Perhaps it had been nothing more than Victoria’s overactive imagination that had aroused her suspicions about them in the first place.

“You want another doughnut, Miss Carlin?” asked Maude.

“No, thank you,” said Victoria. “But I will have more tea. It’s delicious.”

“It’s just tea bags I get at the grocery. They got all kinds of fancy stuff these days.”

Sam sat back and rubbed his large hand over the fine network of bluish veins in his forehead. The pouches under his eyes puffed slightly as he worked his mouth into a curious grin. “You an authoress, Miss Clarkin? The wife says you came here to write a book or something.”

“Not exactly a book,” said Victoria. “I’m a university instructor in American literature I’m working on my doctoral thesis.”

“That sounds pretty highfalutin to me,” he replied. “What you writing about?”

Victoria hesitated. Should she tell him or get by with an evasive answer? “I’m doing a comparison study,” she said.

“Whatcha comparing?”

“The lives and works of Flannery O’Connor and Sylvia Plath “

“Never heard of them,” he scoffed.

“They were American writers who died in the early sixties,” she explained patiently

“So why bother about them?”

She felt as if she were back in her lecture hall at the university. “They both wrote intensely and perceptively about the dark side of human emotion.”

“The dark side?” Maude echoed suspiciously. “Sounds like devil talk to me.”

Victoria shrugged. “I suppose you could put it that way Both women explored the dark, disturbed or evil side of human nature. I want to demonstrate how their God-consciousness, or, in one case, lack of it, influenced their lives and work.”

“God-consciousness?” Sam grunted, as if she had said something stupid.

“Yes,” replied Victoria, wishing she hadn’t pursued this very personal subject of her thesis with the Hewletts. Her thoughts and ideas were still in an embryonic stage, fragile, vulnerable. She didn’t want to damage them by exposing them to the Hewletts’ scorn or contempt. Still, she had begun this conversation; she might as well finish it. “O’Connor embraced God heartily,” she explained, “and her faith shows in her work just as it showed in her life. In spite of a long, debilitating illness, O’Connor managed to achieve a fulfilled, abundant life.”

“So?” snapped Maude. “What was she? Some saint? We all got our crosses to bear, you know “

Victoria cleared her throat imtably and pressed on. “Plath, on the other hand, desperately longed to believe in God, but ultimately she rejected Him In spite of career success, marriage to a famous poet and two healthy children, Plath succumbed to despair and committed suicide when she was thirty.”

“That don’t mean nothing,” said Sam. “Lots of people do that. What’s your point?”

“My point is,” persisted Victona, quelling her exasperation, “a person’s God-consciousness affects and, in fact, determines his or her earthly and eternal destiny.” She considered adding a word about Christ and redemption, but witnessing about her faith was still a new and terrifying prospect for Victoria. She had already said more than she intended. She didn’t want to come across as a pious prude or a bookish, intellectual boor

“It’s all a lot of hogwash, if you ask me “ Maude snorted. “The way I see it, the devil’s the one you gotta watch out for. I learned that at my mama’s knee “

Victoria managed a smile. She carefully pushed back her chair and said, “I’m really tired. I think I’d better get to bed.”

Maude stood, too. “Suit yourself, Miss Carlin I’ll show you the way “ She led Victoria down the hall to her room and opened the door. “Everything’s ready. There’s extra bedding in the closet. Sam plugged in an extension phone for you. Of course, you pay for any long-distance calls you make.” She looked around as if trying to recall something else, then added, “The bathroom next door is yours. You get fresh towels and sheets twice a week.”

Victoria gazed appreciatively around the neat, homespun room. How inviting the bed looked with its fluffy eiderdown quilt! “Thank you, Mrs. Hewlett. I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here.”

Maude nodded. “You should be. It’s a good, comfortable room. Belonged to my daughter when she lived at home.” She stepped back out of the doorway. “I’ll leave you be now. Breakfast is at seven sharp.”

As soon as Victoria shut the door, she sank down on the bed with delicious relief and let her aching muscles relax. If she wasn’t careful, she would fall asleep in her clothes. I promised to call Phillip when I arrived, she remembered suddenly. He’ll worry if he doesn’t hear from me tonight.

She sat up and reached for the phone on the night table. Phillip answered on the first ring. The sound of his voice sent a tickle of excitement through her She missed him already. “Were you sitting on the phone?” she inquired lightly.

“Just about,” he admitted. “Frankly, I was beginning to think I should have driven you, after all.”

“I was beginning to wish that, too.”

“The trip that bad?”

“That long.”

“I’m sorry. I really would like to have been with you.”

“Me, too. You have a way of making time pass more quickly.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it as one.” His voice lowered a notch as he asked, “Have you found out anything yet?”

“No, nothing. It’s too soon. I had a rather interesting chat with the Hewletts tonight, but I’m afraid I did most of the talking.”

“Is that wise?”

“Probably not. But they asked me about my thesis. Once I get going on that, I—”

“Victoria,” Phillip interrupted.

“What is it?”

“That sound in the phone. Do you hear it? Sort of a hollow, airy echo.”

“I hear you fine, Phillip.”

There was a sudden click and the echo was gone.

“Someone was listening in, Victoria,” said Phillip.

“You mean someone here.the Hewletts?” asked Victoria incredulously.

“You bet. We’ve got to watch what we say. If you have something to tell me, go to a pay phone somewhere.”

“Are you saying the Hewletts suspect something?”

“Who knows? But we can’t take a chance. Everything you do and say must be above suspicion. That’s the only way I’ll let you stay there.”

“This was my decision, Phillip,” she reminded him gently. “And I alone will decide when I leave.”

“All right, Victoria,” he replied coolly. “But let me remind you, this isn’t a game you’re playing The stakes are very real. Your life could be in danger.”

Phillip’s warning played jarringly in Victoria’s mind later as she slipped into bed and pulled the covers up around her neck. Even though her body was exhausted, she wasn’t sure her mind would let her sleep She argued silently with herself. Surely Phillip doesn’t really believe my life is in danger. But how trustworthy are the Hewletts? They’re an odd sort, but certainly they wouldn’t harm me. Nor can I believe they would do anything to hurt their own grandchild. But then, where is Joshua? One thing for sure, he’s nowhere in this house, or Maude never would have rented me this room. But why does she claim he’s dead? Is he? she wondered. The idea was unbearable. After all these years, when Victoria had finally dared to reach out to her son—he couldn’t be dead!

She thought about the photograph in the living room of Joshua with his adoptive mother. She traced his features in her mind-his soft red hair, his little impish smile, the darling freckles on his upturned nose. She imagined herself holding him in her arms the way the woman in the picture held him. Then a wrenching thought gripped her. Who was comforting Joshua now that his adoptive mother was dead? Who was wiping his tears?

Dear God, please—where on earth is my son?

Victoria found that more than her anxieties over Joshua kept her awake. Being in a strange, new place made sleeping difficult, too. She heard peculiar noises—water running through the pipes, the constant scntch-scratch of a tree limb on her window and the chill wind creaking through the weathered timber of the old house.

At last she fell into an uneasy slumber punctuated by garish dreams and heart-pounding nightmares. Shortly after midnight she woke with a start and looked around wildly. The room was dark except for the green glowing hands of the alarm clock. She had heard a sound, something more than the steady ticking of the clock. Lying still, her body tensed, she listened, waiting, scarcely breathing.

There was nothing but the rhythmic scratching of the branch on the windowpane.

Just as she was about to sink back into her dreams, Victoria heard the sound that had yanked her bolt upright out of sleep. An agonized, ear-splitting scream.

Victoria jumped out of bed and flung on her robe. She crept silently across the dark room. Trembling, she opened her bedroom door and peered out into the hall. Nothing but silence, darkness.

What do I do now? she wondered.

As she stood in the doorway, she heard the scuffling of slippers from the far end of the house. The hall light went on and Victoria blinked against the brightness as her eyes gradually focused on Maude Hewlett.

The robed woman scowled at Victoria and snapped, “What’s the matter?”

“I—I heard something,” said Victoria. “It sounded like a scream.”

“Naw,” grunted Maude. “It was them cats in the backyard. When they get going they sound like a bunch of banshees. Don’t worry. I shooed them away.”

“I see,” said Victoria, hesitating.

“Go on back to sleep,” Maude ordered.

Victoria slipped back into her room and shut the door. Even as she lay back down, she couldn’t quell the alarm she felt. It wasn’t a cat she had heard. The sound hadn’t come from the backyard. The terrible, flesh-crawling scream had broken from somewhere in the very soul of the Hewlett house.