THE LOVE TALKER

The night was so beautiful that she lingered, though the cold air made her shiver. Clouds had gathered in again while they sat in the drawing room, and now snow was falling, softly, silently, out of a sky like dark-gray silk. Already it had covered the scars made earlier on the lawn by booted feet, and the dim, soft snow blanket reflected the gray of the sky. Rather apprehensively Laurie looked at the enclosing circle of trees, but though she strained her eyes for several minutes there was no sign of the strange light she had seen the night before. She got into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
Snug in her nest of blankets she soon grew warm, but sleep did not come. Her mind flickered from one subject to another as her hands had flipped through the pages of the book. “Black as a sloe…” A vegetable? Like an eggplant, perhaps? Checkers was a stupid game. Black pieces, like round empty black eyes. The fleshpots of Frederick… roadside taverns, with neon jukeboxes and bars made of glass blocks, and bored high-school girls in tight skirts… “I met the Love Talker…”
She was drifting off when a sound penetrated the last crack of consciousness in her mind. At first it blended with her final waking thoughts — jukeboxes, fairy pipes in lonely glens. Laurie sat bolt upright, straining her ears. She had not been dreaming. There was music out in the cold white night — thin, ethereal music, bell-like single notes repeating a theme over and over.
The blankets had become twisted around her legs. She untangled herself and ran to the window.
The music was faint and far away, but surely the sound could not carry so clearly all the way from the distant woods. Yet the wide stretch of lawn appeared to be unmarked. The curtain of falling snow blurred objects, but she would have seen anything that moved.
The floor under the open window felt like ice. Laurie hopped from one foot to the other. She couldn’t decide what to do. She had no desire to go out into that chilly emptiness alone. Even if some human agency was producing the unearthly music…
She stopped herself in the middle of that thought. Of course it was a human agency. The sound could not have been made by wind or water; it was too regular. The repeated motif was a tune, of sorts. So the musician must be human. Maybe Jefferson was a flautist and tootled himself to sleep after his arduous labors, like Sherlock Holmes playing the violin. Maybe Uncle Ned had taken up the recorder. Maybe Aunt Lizzie…
She was about to say the hell with it and get back into bed when she heard another sound. This one did not come from outside. It was closer at hand — inside the house.
The first thump and rustle were followed by a series of soft noises, some of them unmistakably the patter of unshod feet. Laurie’s scalp prickled. The sounds were so close, almost as if they were right in the room. Something invisible, padding softly on bare feet…
Then she remembered the register in the floor.
The room below hers belonged to Aunt Lizzie. She had never noticed noises before, but that was to be expected; the old lady went to bed before she did, and apparently she was a quiet sleeper. Laurie dropped to the floor and pressed her ear to the register just in time to hear Lizzie’s door open. It did not close.
This time Laurie did not hesitate, at least not mentally. She knew what she had to do, but she was shivering, and she had no intention of pursuing her aunt through the night-cooled house without a robe. It took her a while to find hers, thanks to her slovenly habit of dropping it on the floor when she retired, and she was still groping for her slippers when the silence belowstairs erupted into pandemonium — shouts, crashes, the barking of a dog. She abandoned the slippers and ran.
The upper hall was dark, but she knew every inch of the way. She had crept down to the kitchen often enough for a midnight snack. A light which had been left burning in the hall below, no doubt in anticipation of Doug’s return, shed a faint glow on the stairs. Laurie went faster. The battle was still in progress. As she reached the landing, someone let out a high-pitched shout. Though falsetto with pain or fury, it was a man’s voice.
She followed the sounds to the kitchen. By the back door a large dark mass writhed and moaned. Her rational mind knew that it was a group of intertwined bodies, two or more, but it looked perfectly ghastly. “Does some strange survival of the ice ages…” That same rational mind told her to stand still and get some light on the subject.
A number of fantastic theories had flashed through her brain as she ran, but none of them was as wild as the tableau that met her astonished eyes. Doug leaned against the wall, his hand covering the lower part of his face. Crimson dripped from between his fingers. The door was wide open. Snowflakes and a chilly breeze blew in. In the doorway stood Jefferson, snow frosting his disheveled black hair. Hanging over one of his outstretched arms was the limp body of Aunt Lizzie. Her feet were bare, her white hair bristled with curlers, and she was enveloped in an enormous flannel nightgown printed with puce roses and green leaves. Lace formed a frill around her face and fell from the wrists of the gown over her dangling hands. Her eyes were wide open.
Laurie’s horrified gaze registered one last incongruous detail — a long, feathery golden tail sticking out from under the kitchen table.
Before her heart had missed more than three beats Aunt Lizzie, still dangling, remarked querulously, “What on earth am I doing here?”
“If you don’t know…” Laurie began. Her voice failed. Lizzie frowned. “I do think,” she said, “that I might be allowed to stand. This is a most uncomfortable position.”
Jeff let out a long breath. Laurie saw that he appeared to be as thunderstruck as she was. Tentatively he moved his free arm and shifted Lizzie to a more decorous position.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “You scared the living daylights out of me, Miss Lizzie.”
“Yes, dear, I’m quite all right,” Lizzie said placidly. “But I do wish you would put me down. And close the door, please. No sense heating up all outdoors.”
Handling her as if she were made of glass, Jeff sat her down in the nearest chair. He turned to close the door and saw Doug, who was still dripping blood. His eyes widened.
“Good God,” he said.
Doug lowered his hand. The blood, as Laurie had suspected, came from his nose. As a child he had been susceptible to nosebleed, an infirmity she had often taken advantage of.
“Is that all you can say?” he demanded thickly. “I owe you one, you son of a—”
“Douglas!”
Ida stood in the doorway, her severe navy wool robe clutched tightly around her. She had spoken out of instinct, to save Doug from uttering a vulgarity; but although she was as straight and dignified as ever her face was so ghastly that Laurie started toward her. She looked sicker than either Doug or Lizzie, who was now humming quietly to herself and swinging her feet in time to the music.
“I am quite all right,” Ida said, answering the question implicit in Laurie’s outstretched hands and worried face. “Though it is a wonder, considering the frightful outburst that awoke me. What is going on? Douglas, you are bleeding onto the floor.”

“Sorry.” Doug reached for a handful of paper towels. He applied them to his nose and said in a voice whose outrage was scarcely muffled by the paper, “That — uh — guy hit me! I was coming in the back door when somebody ran into me and then that—”
“Just a minute.” Jeff, relaxed, his hands in his pockets, surveyed the others with a faint smile. “I think I know what happened. Let me talk, okay?”
“Urgh,” Doug said, through the paper towels.
“Please do so,” Ida said. She went to the sink and dampened a towel, which she handed to Doug. Laurie took off her robe and tucked it around Lizzie’s bare ankles.
“Oh, my dear,” Lizzie said in a shocked voice. “You mustn’t appear in your nightgown in front of young men.”
“Be still,” Ida said.
“Well, I think it isn’t proper. And that gown is really quite… it is rather…. Where did you get it, darling? The color isn’t right for me, but perhaps in a pale green or blue instead of that dark amber shade—”
“Elizabeth!”
“Oh, goodness gracious, a person can’t breathe around here,” Lizzie said crossly. “Why don’t you put on the kettle, Laura dear. So long as we are all here, we might as well have—”
“Right. I will.” Laurie looked significantly at Ida, whose face had turned from gray to scarlet. The easiest way of shutting Lizzie up was to do as she suggested.
“Now then, Jefferson,” Ida said with a martyred sigh.
“Yes, ma’am.” Jeff was trying not to smile. His casual air aggravated Laurie. She was still breathing quickly from shock.
“I heard Doug drive in and thought I had better check to make sure he closed the gate.” Jeff explained. “It was a nice night. I like to walk in the snow. I was coming back along the drive when I heard bloody Cain break loose in here. Thought maybe Doug had run into a burglar or something. I came along as fast as I could. Found the two of them” — his gesture indicated Doug and Lizzie — “kind of mixing it up in here. The door was wide open; I recognized them in the light from outside. I grabbed Miss Lizzie and she went limp. Scared me, like I said. Sorry, old chap, but it wasn’t me that slugged you. Must have been Miss Lizzie.”
“Oh, Jefferson.” Lizzie’s mouth formed into a tremulous circle. “Oh, I would never do such a thing as strike Douglas. Oh, I can’t imagine why you are telling such lies.”
“I was just kidding.” With the feline grace so characteristic of him, Jeff dropped to one knee and took the old lady’s hands. “I’m sorry, Miss Lizzie; I didn’t mean it. He probably ran into the door. You know how men are when they get in late, after a night in town.”
The knowing twinkle in his eyes won a smile from Lizzie.
“Oh, naughty,” she said. “I’m sure Douglas would never… Would you, Douglas?”
“Never,” Doug said. “Aunt Lizzie, you had better get back to bed before you catch cold. Let me carry you.”
“Oh, you needn’t carry me,” Lizzie said, her good humor quite restored. “You’d have a hard time of it, darling boy, strong as you are. I can walk perfectly well. But I think a nice hot cup of tea before—”
“No tea, it is full of caffeine,” Ida said firmly. “You won’t sleep a wink. Come along, Elizabeth.”
“Oh, very well… spoilsport!”
But she took her sister’s extended arm. Ida glanced over her shoulder at the others.
“Be sure you lock up, Douglas,” she said. “Good night to all of you.”
The three who were left maintained silence until the sound of the old ladies’ feet on the stairs had died away. Then Jeff picked up Laurie’s discarded robe and held it for her.
“I hate to be instrumental in covering up that nightgown Miss Lizzie rightly admired,” he said. “But you’ll catch cold if you don’t put this on.”
Eyes black as sloes — whatever they were — met hers with a candid, friendly gravity. Laurie let him help her into the robe. She dropped limply into the chair Lizzie had vacated, and Jeff turned his attention to Doug.
“You okay? Want an ice cube down your back?”
“No, thanks.” Doug dabbed at his nose. The bleeding had stopped, but he looked terrible. Laurie was reminded of certain medieval paintings that depicted, with bloody accuracy, victims of massacre, murder, and assault.
“We may as well have that cup of tea,” Jeff said. He reached the kettle just before it started to shriek and made the tea with quick efficiency. After he had served it he lifted the cloth and peered under the table.
“It’s okay, you can come out now,” he told the dog.
Duchess emerged, her wary eyes sweeping the room. When she saw only friends she erupted into exuberance, jumping up and down and waving her tail.
“Sit down,” Jeff said. The dog instantly obeyed, her eyes fixed adoringly on Jeff’s face.
Duchess’s response was the last straw for Doug.
“You listen to me,” he began.
“That’s what I plan to do.” Jeff turned to him. “Don’t get me wrong, Doug; I’m just doing the job I get paid to do. I’m fond of the old folks. They’ve been damned nice to me and I’m one of those peculiar people who appreciates a favor. I guess maybe I… Well, as I said, I like them. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t take your place in their affections.” Then he added, with a flash of pride Laurie found even more attractive than his humility, “If you want to move in and take over my job, that’s fine with me. You’ve got a better right, but you’ve got no obligation. I do.”
“Okay,” Doug said quietly. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Then let’s sit down and talk. What happened tonight worries me, and I’m sure it worries you too. Has Miss Lizzie ever walked in her sleep before?”
“Not that I know of.” Doug pulled up a chair. “You think that’s what happened?”
“I don’t see what else it could have been. She wouldn’t go out on a night like this — undressed, in bare feet.”
“My God,” Laurie said, appalled at the idea, “she’d catch pneumonia in five minutes. Or if she fell, and lay there unconscious for any length of time…”
Doug’s face lost some of its healthy color.
“She was starting out the door,” he admitted. “I didn’t know who it was; I just saw a dark shape and grabbed it. I suppose I scared her. She started to scream and wave her arms…” His hand went to his nose. “She must have been the one who slugged me, at that. It hurt like hell.”
“I read somewhere you aren’t supposed to wake a sleepwalker,” Jeff said. “It’s a shock to their nervous system. She didn’t know where she was or who you were.” He smiled rather maliciously at Doug, who was gingerly testing the afflicted member. “I have to admit I swung at you before I saw who you were. Don’t know whether I connected or not. If I did, I’m sorry.”
“My jaw hurts too,” Doug muttered. “But I guess it’s a good thing you came along when you did.” Needing some vent for his irritation he turned a hostile eye on Duchess, who was still sitting at attention. “You were a helluva lot of help,” he told her. “Some watchdog!”
Duchess wagged her tail.
“Let’s get back to the subject,” Laurie said. She was pleased — of course she was; why shouldn’t she be? — that the two men seemed to be getting along more amicably, but the futile exchange of courtesies designed to salve one male ego or the other irked her. “If Aunt Lizzie is walking in her sleep, something has to be done about it. It could be dangerous.”
“I bet Ida knows,” Doug said. “She was upset, but she wasn’t surprised now was she? If this had come as a shock to her she’d have talked it over with us instead of saying good night in that final way. She’s avoiding questions.”
“But why would she do that? This is serious. Wouldn’t she want us to help?”
Jeff shrugged. “She’s a proud woman,” he said slowly. “And people of her generation are funny about… well, about anything that suggests…”
“Mental illness?” Laurie supplied.

Jeff looked at her gravely. “You wouldn’t be so quick to say that if you didn’t know something, Laurie.”
“Don’t you know about the fairies?” Laurie asked, and then blushed as she realized how idiotically she had phrased the question.
“Hey,” Doug began. Laurie turned to him.
“We have to tell him, Doug. He’s right; this is his responsibility as well as ours. He can’t help if he doesn’t know the facts.”
“Fairies?” Jeff’s face was a blend of bewilderment and amusement. “You mean fairies — with transparent wings, like that?”
“There wouldn’t be any other kind around here,” Doug said sourly.
“Thanks.” Jeff made him a mocking bow.
“Stop being so cute,” Laurie snapped. “Aunt Lizzie probably doesn’t know the slang meaning of the word, or what it implies. And as a long-time reader of Andrew Lang, let me say I personally resent that use of a perfectly good old Anglo-Saxon word.”
“French, I think,” Jeff said gravely.
“Oh, go to hell.”
“Naughty, naughty. Your Aunt Ida wouldn’t like that.” Jeff’s smile disappeared. “I guess it isn’t funny. Seems to me I do remember Miss Lizzie chattering on about elves or something… I’ve got to admit I don’t always listen to what she says. Do you really think she was on her way out to search for fairies on a snowy winter night?”
“She was…” Laurie hesitated. Then, in a rush, she finished the sentence. “She was called out by the music. I heard it too.”
The men stared at her, and then at one another. Then they looked back at Laurie.
“I did hear it,” she insisted. “Far-off piping, like a flute or recorder, or something. I was standing by the window trying to figure out where it came from when I heard Lizzie get out of bed. Her room is right under mine, and there is a register in the floor.”
“So there is.” Doug nodded. “You sure you weren’t half asleep?”
“Standing up? It would be something of a coincidence, surely, if two of us started sleepwalking on the same night. I tell you, I heard it; and there was nobody out here. Nobody at all.”

Chapter 5


“You were imagining things,” Doug said feebly.
“I suppose I imagined this!” Laurie’s agitated gesture included the kitchen door and his battered nose.
“Wait a minute.” Jeff frowned, his dark brows meeting in the center of his forehead. “It could have been a bird, Laurie.”
“It wasn’t any bird I ever heard. It played a tune.”
“A tune? Can you repeat it?”
“No, I’ve no musical sense whatever. And it wasn’t much of a tune; just four or five notes, repeated endlessly.”
“Anyhow,” Doug objected, “birds don’t sing at night.”
“Nightingales do.”
“Oh, come off it,” Doug said. “Nightingales in Maryland, in the winter?”
“It’s unlikely, but it’s not impossible. And the other alternatives are.” Jeff pondered. “I’m not insisting on a nightingale. I wouldn’t know one if I heard it. But suppose an exotic bird had escaped from a zoo or an aviary and had somehow managed to survive. It could be something like that, couldn’t it? And if Miss Lizzie had heard it before, it might have stimulated her — uh — peculiar ideas about fairies.”
“It’s possible,” Laurie admitted. She couldn’t help contrasting the reactions of the two men. Jeff had believed her statement, without question or doubt. Using it, he had formulated a very sensible theory — almost the only sensible theory. Whereas Doug… She scowled at him. He scowled back.
“I still say you were imagining things.”
“Well, thanks a lot for—”
“That’s really not the point,” Jeff interrupted. “Don’t you see, it doesn’t matter why Miss Lizzie went rambling in the middle of the night; the problem is to keep her from doing it again. There’s no ‘could be’ about it; it is damned dangerous. She could kill herself.”
“So what do you propose?” Doug asked sarcastically. “You seem to have all the answers.”
Jeff refused to take offense. “I haven’t got any answers. I could sit up all night and watch; but I couldn’t cover all the exits. And I can’t lock the doors from the outside; not only have I no authority to do such a thing, but if there were a fire you’d be roasted in your beds.” He looked at Laurie, his dark eyes somber. “I’ve no authority to do anything. This is up to you two.”
“Hmph,” Doug said more amiably. “You’re right. I think the first step is to quiz Aunt Ida, don’t you, Laurie?”
“Definitely. She knows, or at least she has suspicions. That’s your job, Doug. She’s more apt to confide in you — the big strong stalwart man of the house.”
Doug made a rude face at her. “And what’s your job?” he inquired.
“To talk Aunt Lizzie into showing me the photos of the fairies,” Laurie said.

It took her until the middle of the following afternoon to corner Lizzie.
When she came down that morning she found only Doug, brooding over a cup of coffee.
“They’ve gone grocery shopping,” he explained, as she surveyed the silent, spotless kitchen. “The big expedition of the week.”
“Uncle Ned didn’t drive, did he?” Laurie poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down.
“No, Jeff took the girls. Ned is out bird watching or badger watching, or whatever.”
“So you weren’t able to talk to Ida?”
“No. They were bustling around getting ready to leave when I came down.”
“Did Aunt Lizzie say anything about last night?”
“She asked me how I hurt my nose.”
Laurie studied that feature. It did show signs of wear and tear.
“A reasonable question,” she said.
“But don’t you see? She’s forgotten the whole incident — or is pretending she has. Poor Aunt Ida looked like hell warmed over.” Doug’s sympathetic tone softened the comment, which would certainly have horrified his aunt. “No wonder she’s haggard; I bet this has happened before.”
“So you noticed.”
“The bags under her eyes? Sure I did.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ve got to do something.” Doug stared moodily into his cup. “If we don’t, that Jefferson character will. He’s practically running the place now.”
“Why don’t you like him?”
“Who says I don’t? Oh, hell, I guess I’m jealous. He sounds like a decent guy, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Laurie said.
“I guess we should be glad there’s somebody like that around to watch over them.”
“Yes,” Laurie said.
“He talks as if he really cares about them. If,” Doug added, “you say ‘yes’ again, I’ll slug you.”
“You and who else? Okay, I see your point. We’ll take action today — if we can pin the old darlings down.”
But the shopping trip to town was the big excitement of the week, and the shoppers did not return until almost noon. By the time the groceries had been put away and Aunt Lizzie had delightedly displayed the fashion magazines she had bought, it was time for lunch. And after lunch it was time for naps. And after the naps…
“We are dining with the Schotts this evening,” Ida said, pausing on her way upstairs. “I’m sure you will be glad to see them again, Laura.”
“The Schotts,” Laurie repeated.
“Hermann is now with a bank in Hagerstown,” Ida said. “Quite a personable young man. You need not dress formally, Laura, but I hope you have a pretty frock.”
“Pretty frock,” Laurie said stupidly. Doug, standing next to her, placed his foot over hers and bore down. She yelped.
“Ow! I mean, yes, Aunt, I’ll wear… something.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Ida, and proceeded on up the stairs.
Laurie turned to her brother, who had covered his face with both hands in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle his unseemly laughter.
“Stop that, you ghoul. Don’t they ever give up?”
Tears of amusement seeped from Doug’s eyes.
“They want you to settle down,” he gurgled. “Right here in the old neighborhood, safe from the wiles of the wicked world. You ought to be flattered.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you remembered Hermann as well as I do,” Laurie groaned. “Doug, you’ve got to talk to Ida. Grab her the minute she comes out of her room. She’s avoiding us.”
“Fair enough, if you do the same thing to Lizzie.”
Laurie spent the next hour lying on the floor by the register. She was stiff and disgusted by the time she heard the bedsprings creak, and the long exhalation of Lizzie’s yawn.
“Now where did I put that box?”
Laurie went downstairs and tapped on the door.
“Are you awake, Auntie? Can I come in?”
“Oh… just a minute, darling. Just a…”

There was a delay before the door opened. Lizzie’s topmost chin showed a suspicious smudge, which might have been chocolate. Laurie did not comment.
“I stopped by for a sneak preview,” she said, smiling. “What are you going to wear tonight? Something gorgeous, I’ll bet.”
Lizzie, who had been eyeing her warily, relaxed a trifle.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said.
“You’ll dazzle the men, whatever you wear. But I couldn’t wait.”
“Well…”
“Dazzle,” Laurie decided, was the right word. Her aunt had a childish fascination for garments that shone and twinkled and glittered. Sequins, gold braid, fake gems trimmed the flowing garments she took from her closet. Only their obvious expensiveness saved them from bad taste, and in some cases even the fancy labels didn’t do the trick. Laurie admired and exclaimed and asked Lizzie to try on some of the clothes. And Lizzie, with touching generosity, tried to give a few to Laurie.
“… if we fastened the sash tightly…”
“Oh, Auntie, I couldn’t.”
But as she studied herself in the full-length mirror Laurie was surprised to find herself weakening. As an adult she had never been able to afford expensive clothing, and this bejeweled, fur-trimmed, golden garment was the last thing she would have selected, even if she had been given carte blanche. It was pretty, though, in a barbaric way. The heavy brocade dropped straight from a gathered yoke, so the differences in their girths didn’t really matter. The robe was too short, though. It barely reached her ankles.
“All I need is a horned headdress and I’d look like Isabeau of France,” she said aloud. She twirled.
“Wear it tonight,” her aunt urged. “It looks adorable on you, sweetheart.”
Laurie came back from the fourteenth century. So that was in Lizzie’s mind, was it? She was supposed to lure Hermann with her new finery.
“No, I’m not going to get dressed up tonight,” she said shortly.
“Well, take it anyway. It looks—”
“Adorable?” Softening, Laurie bent down to give her aunt a kiss. “Honey, I couldn’t look adorable unless I chopped off my feet. I’m too tall. Tell you what; if I have a heavy date, I’ll borrow this.”
Turning to restore the robe to Lizzie’s closet she realized that dusk was gathering in. The snow had subsided to a few vagrant flakes. It had been necessary to lull Lizzie into a state of relaxation so that she would be more amenable to questioning, but time was getting on and she had not yet come to the purpose of her visit.
“Did you hear the music last night?” she asked.
As she had hoped, her shock tactics were effective.
“You heard it too?” Lizzie asked.
“Uh-huh.” Laurie’s voice was casual. “It was so pretty. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“You’re the only one besides me who has heard it,” Lizzie said. “Ida says I’m making it up.”
“I certainly heard it. You were not making it up. Shall I tell Aunt Ida?”
“No. She’s hopeless. She only hears what she wants to hear.”
Laurie had to admit there was some truth in that. If Aunt Lizzie was losing her marbles, she still had a few left. The innocent old face, surrounded by a halo of white hair, disarranged by the trying-on, almost made her ashamed of her sneaky tactics; but she reminded herself that it was for Lizzie’s own good.
“Maybe you and I are more sensitive to such influences,” she suggested.
“Oh, I do think that is so true! You always were sensitive as a child; such a delicate, wistful, dreamy little girl.”
Privately Laurie questioned this evaluation. She didn’t remember being particularly sensitive — pudgy was more like it, thanks to Aunt Lizzie’s cookies — and she had vivid recollections of tomboy pranks for which her aunt had gently scolded her. However, it was not for her to question such a convenient lead.
“I loved fairy tales,” she said, with a sigh. “I was looking over the collection last night; such nice memories. I don’t think you missed a single one, Aunt Lizzie.”
“I tried not to.”
“It was such a thrill to see the light the other evening, and hear the music,” Laurie gushed. “Now you must show me the photographs, Auntie. I’m dying to see them.”
Lizzie gave her a suspicious look. “Ida is so nasty about it,” she said querulously.
Laurie threw her oldest aunt to the wolves without a qualm.
“You know how she is. A wonderful woman, but no imagination.”
“Well…”
“Please, Auntie.”
“Well…”
Laurie had to hide her eyes and promise not to peak while Lizzie disinterred the photos from a secret cache. Her hands obediently over her eyes (she was later to regret this scrupulousness, but at the time she had no idea it would be important), Laurie wondered what else the old lady kept among her treasures. A box of chocolates, certainly, though why she would bother to hide it when no one tried to curtail her eating, Laurie could not imagine. Perhaps it was like Uncle Ned’s flask — forbidden fruit, or an unreasonable facsimile thereof.
After much scrabbling and gasping Lizzie told her she could look. Shyly, like a child offering to share a prize, she held out a few colored snapshots.

When Laurie asked to see the photographs she was not sure how she meant to deal with them. She knew it was futile to point out the falsity of an image to a true believer, but she hoped the pictures would be so bad — blatantly blurred or conspicuously unrecognizable — that carefully expressed skepticism would dim her aunt’s enthusiasm. She was in no way prepared for what she saw.
There were four pictures. All seemed to have been taken by an ordinary cheap camera, like the popular Instamatics. The first showed an unidentifiable patch of coarse grass and a rock — an ordinary rock. Sitting on the rock was a fairy.
It was not a hummingbird or a queer configuration of a natural object. It was a small winged creature wearing tights, or else its own scaly hide. It was green — not only its limbs and paler, transparent wings, but its face and… hands? Tentacles was more like it. The fingers, surely more than five of them, were inordinately long and flexible. The face was half hidden, as if the creature were looking over its shoulder, but what Laurie could see of its features made her catch her breath. They were human, in a way, but the eyes were too large, almost insectlike, and the nose came to a sharp point. Most disturbing of all was the malicious half-smile that crooked the corners of the creature’s mouth.
Laurie knew Aunt Lizzie was waiting for comment, but she was incapable of speech. She turned to the next photo.
This fairy was perched on the branch of a fir tree. A pine cone, nearby, gave a good idea of its size. It had wings and long hair and was unquestionably female. Its face was even more unpleasant than that of the first creature. The hair was Medusalike, resembling strands of thick wool or multitudinous antennae. Some of the strands were blurry, as if they had been moving when the picture was taken. Hair, hide, and face were pale lavender.
Hastily Laurie flipped through the remaining photos. One had turned out badly; the creature had moved and would not have been identifiable if she had not seen the other pictures. The last of the collection was the best — or the worst; a whole bevy or band or pride of the creatures in what appeared to be animated conversation on a maple branch. Their bodies were partially concealed by the brilliant scarlet and gold leaves, and Laurie was glad she didn’t know what they were talking about.
The pictures had been taken several months before. The autumnal leaves and green grass proved that.
It was with some reluctance that Laurie forced herself to meet her aunt’s waiting eyes. Lizzie looked apprehensive and triumphant at the same time. She did not need Laurie’s verbal comment to know that she was impressed; her face must have shown her shock and surprise.
“Amazing,” Laurie muttered.
“Aren’t they? If Conan Doyle could have seen these!” Lizzie’s eyes sparkled. “I met him once, you know. A man of great sensitivity, but…” She lowered her voice as if about to impart a great secret. “But I suspect just a teeny bit gullible. His pictures were nothing like these. I hate to say it, but I think he was taken in. Cutouts, my dear; obviously paper cutouts.”
“Really?” Laurie scarcely heard what she was saying. Her mind was in a whirl. She looked through the pictures again and found them even more disturbing the second time. “Auntie, can I borrow these?”
“No!” Lizzie snatched, so quickly that one of the snapshots bent in her hands. “No, you promised. They are very rare. I can’t take a chance of their being mislaid.”
“I understand.” Humor them, Laurie told herself. You are supposed to humor crazy… Crazy, my eye, she thought. If she’s having hallucinations, so am I.
“Well, then, couldn’t you get copies of them? I promise I won’t publish them or—”
“Oh, you couldn’t do anything like that! It would be dreadful. I promised to keep them a secret.”
“Whom did you promise? Who took these?”
In her urgency she forgot to guard her voice, and Lizzie retreated, clutching her photos, with an exaggerated expression of terror on her wrinkled face.
“Now stop that, Auntie,” Laurie exclaimed. “You know I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to. I’m sorry I spoke so brusquely, but I’m very interested.”
“Well, perhaps I can get copies of them.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“I’ll try. You can see, can’t you,” Lizzie said, rather pitiably, “why I was so interested?”
“Yes,” Laurie said. “I can see.”

She left Lizzie rummaging in her wardrobe and went down the hall to Doug’s room. He was not there. A tap on Ida’s door received a rather grumpy response.
“I am dressing, Laura. We are leaving shortly. Are you ready?”
“I will be.”
Laurie went downstairs. The family inhabited only the central portion of the house; the west wing was not used, though its antique-filled rooms were meticulously cleaned at regular intervals. The heat was kept to a minimum in that area, however, and Laurie hoped she wouldn’t have to track Doug through the chilly corridors. She found him in the parlor, in his favorite position on the sofa. A half-empty glass stood on the floor by his trailing hand; his eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily through his nose.
Hands on her hips, Laurie stood looking down at him. He was her mother’s son, her half-brother; but the traditional blood tie did not color her feelings toward him. He was virtually a stranger. A man, certainly, but it wasn’t the Morton brand of good looks. He didn’t in the least resemble their delicate, fine-boned mother. Maybe he looked like his father. Laurie had no way of knowing. There were no pictures of Mr. Wright in Anna’s house. Perhaps Anna had slashed them to bits; such was her engaging habit whenever she shed a husband.
Laurie wished she could draw. It would be fun to do a caricature of Doug as a modern knight, recumbent on his tombstone. The casual modern clothing would be a funny contrast to the stiff position, ankles crossed like a dead Crusader’s, arms folded on his chest.
Doug’s eyes opened. They were a bright, clear brown with little flecks of gold, not the dark Morton brown.
“I was not asleep,” he said.
“Of course not.” Laurie pushed his feet off the couch and sat down. “Did you talk to Ida?”
“Yep.”
“Well?”

Doug reached for his glass. How he could drink without spilling when he was practically prone Laurie did not know, but he managed it.
“Lizzie used to walk in her sleep when she was a kid,” he said. “Then the habit stopped — until a few months ago. Ida caught her one night, heading out the kitchen door. She didn’t think too much of it until last week. Lizzie got out again and they didn’t find her until the next morning.”
“My God,” Laurie gasped. “But she looks all right — didn’t she get sick?”
“The Lord looks after fools and children,” Doug answered. “It had rained earlier that evening, but after midnight the rain stopped and the temperature rose. That’s one of the reasons why she didn’t even catch cold. That, and the fact that Duchess had gone with her. They found the two of them curled up under a tree, warm as toast.”
“My God,” Laurie repeated helplessly.
“Uncle Ned usually leaves Duchess loose in the house at night,” Doug went on. “Under the fond delusion that she’s a watchdog. She is insatiably curious — and Lizzie left the back door wide open when she went out. Duchess went along for the walk.”
“That must have been when Ida wrote us,” Laurie said. “I’ll bet the poor old dear has been sitting up nights watching Lizzie. Why didn’t she tell us about it?”
“You know how she is — tough as rock. She was ashamed of her panic after she had written. I think she was trying to make herself confide in us, but it’s hard for her to admit there is a situation she can’t handle — or that one of the marvelous Mortons has become senile.”
Laurie shook her head. “It’s more than that, Doug. Lizzie isn’t seeing things. Or, if she is, I’m seeing them too.”
“The photographs?”
“Yes. I tried to get them away from her so I could show you, but she’s like a child with a favorite toy. Doug, I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Not hummingbirds, or shadows?”
“Not by a damned sight.” Laurie went on to describe the snapshots, aware that she was not doing them justice. “It was their faces,” she ended. “Half human, half… something else. And filled with malice. They were disturbing, Doug.”
“I’ve got to see them.”
“I asked Lizzie if she could get copies. She said she’d try. Doug, no child took those photos. Either they were faked by someone a lot smarter than I am, or—”
“Come on. You don’t really believe that.”
“I don’t believe in fairies, not after seeing those snapshots,” Laurie said vehemently. “Goblins, gnomes, evil spirits, maybe.”
“Aren’t there bad fairies as well as good ones?”
“Fairies are soulless,” Laurie said. “Neither good nor bad. Some are benevolently disposed toward mortals, however, while others are definitely malicious. The book I was reading last night talked about a group called the Unseelie Court—”
“Un-sealy?”
Laurie spelled the word. “It comes from an old Celtic word meaning ‘holy.’ The Seelie Court was the good guys, and the Unseelie—”
“I get it. I guess I should have a look at those pictures. They must be remarkable to shake you up this badly.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Get ready to go out to dinner,” Doug said. “You better hurry.”
“But I can’t—”
“Of course you can. Tomorrow we’ll pay a call on the Wilsons. I’d like to talk to those remarkable children; they seem to be at the bottom of this in some way. But we can’t do it tonight; nice little kiddies spend the evening doing homework and go to bed early. We’ll take turns watching Lizzie’s door after she goes to bed, to make sure she doesn’t go for another late stroll. I told Ida we’d take on that job.”
“Of course.”
“Then what else is there to do right now?”
“Nothing, I guess. Why don’t we ask Jeff to share the watch?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a suspect.”
“A…” Laurie’s voice failed her. “What are you talking about?”
“It follows, doesn’t it? If somebody faked those photos, then Jeff is an obvious candidate.”
“But why would he —
“Why would anybody? Since there is no sensible motive immediately apparent, Jeff is as good a prospect as anyone.”
“But…” Laurie stopped. “You’re jealous,” she said.
“Of whom?” Doug cocked a lazy eyebrow at her. “You or Lizzie?”

The Schotts’ home was not far away. Doug drove the family Lincoln; as he pointed out, it was ridiculous to ask Jeff to take them and come back for them when he was quite capable of handling the car. The night was cold and overcast. As they descended the steps their breaths made meeting patches of whiteness in the air.
Doug stowed his ladies carefully in the back seat. Even Laurie did not disdain his helping hand; she was wearing the highest, most tottery high-heeled shoes in her possession, for reasons known only to herself. Uncle Ned, in his duffel coat and red knit cap, got in the front beside Doug and helped him drive.
“Watch out for the bridge. It always freezes before the road. Fifteen miles an hour is plenty fast enough. Make sure you look both ways when we come to the intersection. The trees block your vision. This next curve, there’s a family of raccoons that crosses the road sometimes. I always make Jeff slow down when we come to…”
Laurie had to admire Doug’s patience. He followed Ned’s instructions to the letter, without so much as a snarl.
Like the Mortons, the Schotts were “old family.” The area had been settled by two different national groups, the Scots and the Germans. If they had ever been antagonistic, their enmities had long since been forgotten as the “old families” drew together against the newcomers. Mary Schott had been a MacGregor. Though she was younger than Lizzie by about ten years, they were good friends. She greeted them all with cheerful cries.
“So good to see you two children again! Hermann was thrilled when he heard you were back, Laurie. And Doug, how you have grown!”
“People do,” Doug said moderately, surrendering his jacket to George Schott, who slapped him on the back with such hearty goodwill that he staggered.
“Sure does make a fella feel old,” George said. “Seems like only yesterday you and Hermann were fishing in the creek down there, playing ball—”
“And trying to gouge each other’s eyes out,” Doug said. “We fought a lot, as I recall.”
George threw his head back and roared with laughter.

You sure did. Boys will be boys. Best thing in the world, learn to defend themselves.”
“Balderdash,” said Uncle Ned distinctly. “Fighting never makes any sense.”
“Good old Ned.” George let out another shout of laughter. “Always the peacemaker, eh? Remember the time you came down and wanted me to thrash Hermann because he gave Doug a bloody nose?”
From the contemplative expression on Doug’s face Laurie thought he remembered the occasion quite well. She didn’t; but she did recall that Hermann was three years older than Doug, and that he had always been heavy for his age. Doug had been wiry and slim.
Balancing on the unaccustomed stilt heels, she swayed, and Doug caught her arm.
“What are you wearing those stupid things for?” he whispered. Thanks to her added three inches, his mouth was now on a level with her ear.
“Never mind.”
When the visitors’ outdoor clothing had been carried away by the maid, the Schotts led them into the living room. The house, like that of the Mortons, was very old. The gracious room, with its wide carved moldings, was furnished in impeccable taste. Every piece looked as if it had been selected by the editorial staff of a “beautiful house” magazine, and Laurie had a feeling that if a single object had been moved so much as an inch from its designated place, the Schotts would have called in a decorator to replace it.
Hermann was busy with ice and bottles. The gilt buttons of his tartan waistcoat strained across his rotund tummy. Laurie was happy to see that her guess had been correct; in her high heels she was a full inch taller than Hermann.
“Excuse me for not greeting you right away,” Hermann said. “But I always say the best hospitality is to have the drinks ready, isn’t that right? And… here… we… go! Sit yourselves down, folks, and the waiter will pass among you.”
He was even worse than she had anticipated. Laurie was ready for a drink — perhaps alcohol would numb her critical faculties — and she was annoyed to observe that Hermann had not bothered to consult her tastes. The Schotts drank Old-Fashioneds, so everybody drank Old-Fashioneds. There were a few glasses of sherry for the ladies, who were served in strict order of age, so one glass of wine was left on the tray when Hermann came to Laurie. Bending with some difficulty from the region of his waist — that feature could not be more closely defined — he proffered the tray and grinned horribly.
“It’s been too long, my dear,” he whispered.
“Since what?” Laurie hesitated for only a moment. She did not like Old-Fashioneds, but anything was better than sherry. She took one of the fat, squat glasses with some difficulty. It was so draped with bits of fruit she could scarcely get a grip on it.
Hermann’s smile wavered, then reappeared broader than ever.
“Little devil,” he whispered, winked, and moved on.
Laurie saw that Doug had been watching. The muscles in his thin cheeks twitched. He was trying not to laugh. She took a firm grip on her glass and of course did not throw the contents at him.
Laurie was sitting on a loveseat. Now that it was too late, she realized she had been maneuvered into this position, and she had a strong hunch that when Hermann finished serving the drinks, he was going to occupy the place next to her. She grimaced at Doug and jerked her head sideways, hoping he would get the hint and sit beside her. He gave her a blank stare. She suspected he knew quite well what she was trying to convey.
However, retribution was about to fall on Doug’s unsuspecting head. The pitter-patter of dainty feet was heard without. As one man the Schotts stopped what they were doing and turned, like well-trained extras, to stare at the open archway. The Emperor comes, Laurie thought. His Majesty approaches…. And then, as she saw who it was: Here she is, Miss America!
The newcomer wore a long taffeta gown of a bilious shade of green. It was exceedingly low cut and quite inappropriate for a quiet family evening, particularly since none of the others were in evening dress. The contours displayed by the low-cut neckline were worth the display — if, Laurie thought, you liked lots of pink, plump, healthy flesh. The girl’s face was pretty — if, thought the same critic, you didn’t mind a complete absence of intelligence, humor, and amiability.
George Schott rose ponderously from his chair.
“Here she is,” he boomed. “Our little Sherri. You all remember Sherri, I’m sure. Grown, hasn’t she?”
Sherri pouted prettily.
“Oh, Daddy!” she said.
She whirled into the room, nodded at the Morton ladies, and snatched Laurie’s limp hands. “I bet you don’t remember me,” she said.
“You were twelve,” Laurie said. “Always…” She stopped just in time and substituted “busy with Four-H or something,” for what she had started to say: “…always whining and following me around.”
Laurie had not forgotten that Hermann had a younger sister, but since the subject of Sherri Schott interested her less than almost any other conceivable subject in the world, she had not thought about the girl for years. Maybe she had assumed the little brat would not live to grow up. But she had; she certainly had. Laurie turned a benign smile on Doug and purred.
“Just look at Sherri, Doug. Hasn’t she gotten to be a big girl!”
Caught off guard, Doug had the look of a man with one leg in a bear trap, and the bear advancing rapidly toward him.
“Oh, yes, she has,” he said feebly.
Sherri plumped herself down on the arm of his chair, obliterating him in green taffeta. He fought his way out of the rustling folds.
“I bet you wouldn’t have recognized me,” Sherri said.
“No, indeed,” Doug said.
“Coke for my baby sister,” Hermann said, offering a glass. “She doesn’t drink, Doug. Or smoke.”
Doug’s fascinated gaze was riveted on Sherri’s bosom, which, to be honest, was the most conspicuous object in his field of vision.
“Or go out with boys?” Laurie asked sweetly.
Hermann took the question seriously.
“Not much, no. She’s pretty fussy. And I’m even fussier, aren’t I, honey?”
“You mean you okay her dates?” Laurie demanded.
“Why, sure. That’s what a big brother is for, eh, Doug?”
“Isn’t it nice,” said Mrs. Schott loudly, “to see four young people so handsome and so well matched.”
The hideous evening dragged on. Laurie was too annoyed by Hermann’s ponderous advances to enjoy the spectacle of Doug being pursued by Sherri. Surely, she thought, none of the elders really believed any romantic — much less matrimonial — alliances were going to come of this! Probably they figured it was worth a try. When Hermann wasn’t hinting broadly at his hopes of advancement in the bank, and his intention of building a nice new split level, with all the modern conveniences, as soon as he got another couple of thousand saved, he was telling Doug of Sherri’s virtues. Most of these seemed to be negative. She didn’t drink, she didn’t smoke, she didn’t drive a car or believe in Women’s Lib or allow her Pekingese to sleep on her bed. Hermann didn’t mention her most conspicuous asset, but Doug scarcely removed his dazzled eyes from it. Well, be fair, Laurie told herself; it’s all the girl has got.
After about a million years Ida decided they had better be getting home. Ned nodded agreement.
“There’s that one bad patch on the hill,” he remarked. “You know where I mean, George; solid ice by now, solid ice.”
The Schotts tried to dissuade them, but to no avail. As they drove away, Laurie looked back. Sherri was framed in the doorway, her hair lit from behind, her wide skirts carefully arranged.
“Wave bye-bye to Sherri,” she said to Doug.
“Funny,” said Doug.

Chapter 6



Laurie slept late again next morning. She would have slept even later if Lizzie had not tiptoed noisily into the room and rearranged her bedclothes. The twitching and patting finally roused her, and she opened her eyes to find Lizzie’s anxious face close to hers.

“Well,” said her aunt, with a prolonged sigh of relief, “I was beginning to worry about you, darling. It’s almost noon. Don’t you feel well?”

“I’m fine. I sat up late last night… reading.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t do that.” Lizzie settled down in a chair and folded her hands. “It isn’t good for you. Early to bed and early to rise—”

“I know. You look healthy, I must say. Did you sleep well?”

“Beautifully.” Lizzie’s face was innocently serene, which was no proof that she had had a quiet night. But Laurie assumed Doug would have awakened her if anything had happened. “It’s a lovely day,” Lizzie went on. “You missed breakfast, so I have prepared an extra large lunch. And Hermann called. Twice. I told him you had gone out.”

“Why did you tell him that?”

“Oh, but I didn’t want him to think you slept so late. It isn’t… I mean, it doesn’t look…”

Laurie suppressed a desire to pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep.

“What did he want?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me, naturally, but I suppose—”

“Never mind. Forget I asked. I’ll be down in a few minutes, Auntie.”

“I’ll just get lunch on the table.”

Lizzie trotted out. Laurie muffled her mouth with the covers and swore. Hermann certainly wasted no time. What lie could she tell him, to get him off her back? She couldn’t say she was engaged or married; the word would get back to the aunts and they would be all a-twitter. Some undesirable trait — perhaps a hereditary disease? How about insanity in the family? Laurie grinned unwillingly. That was too close to the bone.

She went down to one of Lizzie’s mammoth lunches. Doug and Uncle Ned had not yet returned from their morning walk. Laurie allowed herself a malicious grin when she heard that. Ned would whip Doug into shape if he stayed long enough. He probably had not gotten back to bed last night.

The aunts kept her company while she ate, chatting about this and that. Didn’t she think it would be a good idea to have a quiet family evening, after the dissipations of last night? Unless she had a previous engagement… Oh. She didn’t. Well, then, they could look at some pictures of the good old days, when Laurie and Doug were children. Doug would have to operate the projector, Ned always broke it.

Ordinarily Laurie would have objected to this nauseating suggestion, but she merely murmured faintly, being absorbed with the more serious problem of inventing an excuse for Hermann. How about alcoholism? No, that would get the aunts in a tizzy. No use hoping Hermann could be sworn to secrecy; as a child he had been the worst tattletale in the neighborhood, and there was no reason to suppose he had changed. A hint — just a hint — that her mother and father had not been married?

Fortunately for her she had finished eating before the telephone rang again. She leaped to her feet as if the sound had engendered an electric shock, and snatched at her coat.

“Walk,” she babbled. “I think I’ll run out and see if I can find Doug and—”

“You had better wait, darling, it might be for you,” Lizzie said, with a giggle and a meaningful glance. Ida had gone to answer the telephone. Her measured stride, and the length of the hall, made it unlikely that she would reach the instrument quickly, but Laurie was taking no chances.

“No, no, Auntie, I’ve got to — need some fresh air — walk…”

As she bolted out the door she heard Ida calling her name; but since Ida never succumbed to the crudity of shouting, Laurie was able to pretend she hadn’t heard.

She didn’t stop running until she had crossed the garden and was safely hidden behind the boxwood hedge. Then she paused to catch her breath.

It was cold and sunny. The garden looked forlorn under its cover of slushy snow, spiked with the dead brown branches of rosebushes. Hands in her pockets — she had forgotten her gloves, as she always did — Laurie started along the path between the high green hedges. The box was Ned’s pride — over a hundred years old, most of it. Its thick, healthy growth made a rather dismal shade, which had kept the snow on the gravel path from melting. It was crusted hard. Laurie took a few quick running steps and slid. It was glorious. She did it again, throwing her arms out for balance.

She saw Jeff long before she ran into him, but there was nothing she could do except yell a warning.

Clinging to one another, they swayed back and forth until they had attained a precarious balance. Laurie was whooping with laughter. The sight of Jeff’s anxious face, as they tottered, only made her laugh louder.

She was unaware of what an attractive picture she made as she stood there, cheeks red with cold, dark curls wind-blown; but she was too experienced to miss the change in Jeff’s expression as he looked down at her. His arms tightened.

“Sorry,” she gasped.

“I’m not.”

The words were trite enough, but Jeff’s deep baritone invested them with glamour. He drew her closer.

A romantic moment would certainly have ensued if Laurie had not remembered something. “I met the Love Talker…” Nonsensical, meaningless memory — but her smiling lips tightened and her body stiffened. Jeff’s arms released their hold.

“What were you running from?” he asked lightly.

“How did you know I was running from something?”

“Male intuition. Weren’t you?”

“The telephone,” Laurie admitted.

“Ah. The worthy Mr. Schott?”

Laurie shoved her hands in her pockets and turned away.

“Do you know everything that goes on around here?” she asked. She meant it as a joke, but her tone was petulant.

“Hey, don’t get mad. You know what small towns are like — gossip, nothing but gossip. Shall I challenge him to a duel, or waylay him in a dark alley?”

Laurie’s momentary annoyance evaporated.

“No need to go that far,” she answered, smiling. “But you could help me to think of a good excuse to get rid of him. I had already considered insanity and alcoholism.”

“Not nearly good enough,” Jeff wrinkled his forehead and appeared to ponder deeply. “Tell him you’ve been converted to Buddhism or some other eastern sect. Stare into space and talk about the Light.”

“Not bad.”

“You’re cold,” Jeff said, as she blew on her fingers. “Come on to my place, if you’re still on the lam.”

Laurie eyed him askance. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling.

“There’s no spot on earth where you’d be safer from my advances, lady. I took a girl there once; every time I — er — started making progress, my guilty mind conjured up an image of your aunt, staring at me in frozen disapproval. The thought paralyzed every muscle in my body.”

“I’d like to see your pad,” Laurie said with a smile. He took her arm — to keep her from slipping — and they walked on.

“Or,” Jeff said suddenly, “you could tell him you’d expect him to adopt your illegitimate baby.”

“What illegitimate—”

“I see your problem,” Jeff said thoughtfully. “You’re too literal-minded. If you could just dismiss the feeling that your remarks to Hermann have to have even the slightest foundation in fact—”

“But he’d tell his mother and she’d tell the aunts,” Laurie protested. “Ida would have a heart attack.”

“You’ve got a point.”

He continued to produce increasingly absurd “excuses for Hermann” as they crossed the yard. They finally decided that the best was a vague, unfounded accusation. “I know about you, Hermann; you don’t suppose I could ever be serious about a man who has done what you’ve done?”

“That’s perfect,” Jeff said gleefully. “How can he disprove something that never happened? Although,” he added, after a moment of thought, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned pale and ran. He must have something nasty on his conscience.”

The little cottage where Jeff lived had once been one of the slave quarters. The small stone buildings had stood in a line behind the stables, on a tiny street of their own. All but three had tumbled into ruin years before. Jeff’s was the largest of the lot. Built of the same pale stone as the main house, it had two small windows, one on either side of the door, and an even smaller window above. Jeff flung the door open with a flourish and stood back.

Laurie had expected something small and low-ceilinged and dark. The glare of light that met her eyes made her blink.

The whole lower floor was one large room. The back half of the roof had been replaced by glass, like a skylight. Stairs led up to a loft, open at one end. The furniture was sparse: only a low bed, covered with a bright modern spread, a few chairs, a table, a desk, and a typewriter. Cupboards lined the end wall, which also had a tiny sink, stove, and refrigerator.

Chapter 7



It was raining hard. They had to circle the house to reach the car. Laurie had propelled her infuriated brother through the nearest door rather than remain in the house a moment longer. Oh, well, she thought; maybe the rain will cool him off.

Doug didn’t speak until they were in the car. His lean face had remained calm and expressionless throughout the conversation with Wilson. It was still impassive when he raised his fist and brought it down on the steering wheel with a crash.

“Feel better?” Laurie inquired.

“Not much. My God! That monster ought to be locked up. He’s sick!”

“He’s probably a hard worker and a pious member of the church.”

“He’s a monster. What he is doing to those kids—”

“Vessels of iniquity, you mean.”

“I guess that’s why he’s so much tougher on Rachel than on the others,” Doug said, in a calmer voice.

“I guess. Oh, he’s sick all right, by your definitions and mine. In Puritan New England he’d have burned witches. In biblical times, he’d have been a bosom buddy of Saint Paul’s. Some men feel threatened by women. And Rachel is a woman, physically, if not legally. That’s why people like Wilson turn to religion; it’s so nice to be able to justify your neuroses by means of Scripture.”

“You can justify almost anything by means of Scripture,” Doug said. “It is a compilation, after all. He sure has those women beaten down.”

“He seems to have a sneaking fondness for Betsy.”

“God, what a revolting child! The way she fawned on him—”

“I agree, she’s awful; but you can’t blame her for buttering up to Daddy. It’s a defensive strategy. Mary Ella defends herself by becoming a lump. Sadists don’t enjoy torturing victims unless they respond. And Mrs. Wilson—”

“Thoroughly cowed,” Doug said.

“I’m not so sure. She’s got more control over that gorilla than even he realizes. Did you notice how he shut up when she made that remark about what good neighbors the Mortons were?”

“Hey, that’s right. Wilson wouldn’t shut his big mouth to keep on good terms with neighbors; there must be some other factor. Do you suppose Mrs. Wilson meant ‘landlords’?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Laurie glanced uneasily out the window. “Let’s go, Doug, before we get trapped by floodwaters. I’d hate to spend any more time here.”

“Okay.” The car swung in a circle, skidding in the mud. “I hope Wilson doesn’t beat those kids.”

“Why use the plural? You’re worried about Rachel.”

“I wonder how old she is,” Doug muttered.

“Young enough so you could get arrested for what you’re thinking.”

“I do not know which is worse, your grammar or your low, vicious, evil—”

“I’m sorry.” Laurie slid down in the seat. The dismal, soggy, gray landscape matched her mood. “She is lovely, and she is pathetic. I feel very sorry for her. I’m depressed. Do you realize we didn’t learn anything? What a waste of time.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You mean that Rachel denied taking the pictures?”

Doug’s face was still bedazzled. Laurie chose her words with care. “I wouldn’t blame her for lying, Doug. She’s terrified of her father. Where are you going? The house is—”

“I know where the house is. We’re overdue for a conference, and it’s impossible to have a private conversation in that place.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a little place down the road—”

“It’s too early for a drink,” Laurie said.

“Never too early for a beer, my dear. Vi’s will be empty this time of day; the good buddies don’t come in till after work.”

As Laurie had surmised, the “little place” was a tavern — a tacky-looking, gaudily painted cinderblock structure on the outskirts of the small town that was the nearest metropolis to Idlewood. The interior was a decorator’s nightmare of cheap plastic and outhouse-humor posters; but at least it looked fairly clean and was, as Doug had promised, virtually empty. Vi, a big, gray-haired woman with a prominent red nose, greeted Doug by name.

“Early for you, isn’t it? And who’s your friend?” She winked.

“My sister,” Doug said quickly.

“Your… Oh — oh, yeah. I heard you was here on a visit, Miss — uh—”

“Make it Laurie. Good to meet you, Vi.”

“Likewise,” Vi said heartily. “I remember you, from years back; my dad owned the grocery store in town, and your Uncle Ned used to bring you with him sometimes. I sure wouldn’t have known you.”

They had to chat for a few minutes before Vi let them retire to a booth. The only other patron was at the far end of the room, in a semirecumbent position. His eyes and mouth were open, but it was obvious that he was totally uninterested in the outside world.

“Good beer,” Doug said, after a moment.

“Not bad. What do you want to talk about?”

“Aunt Lizzie, of course. I’m beginning to think we got on our horses and rode off in all directions on a wild-goose chase.”

“Talk about mixing your metaphors—”

“Oh, you know what I mean. What have we got, really? A sweet little old lady, who has never been known for her logical mind, showing signs of senility. At her age that’s not surprising. The only problem I can see is what steps we ought to take to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself wandering—”

“No,” Laurie said.

“No what?”

“No, that isn’t all we have.” Laurie ticked the points off on her fingers. “One, the lights I saw in the woods. Two, the music. Three, the photographs. When you talk about senility you’re talking about subjective hallucinations. Those are three separate, objective phenomena — witnessed by an outside observer…” She broke off with a gasp as an outrageous idea occurred to her. Doug was staring intently at the dregs of his beer and refused to meet her eyes. “By me,” Laurie said, controlling her voice with an effort. “Is that what you think? I’m the only one who has seen those things—”

“Hey — hey, take it easy, will you? I never suggested—”

“It was implicit in what you said.”

Doug’s eyebrows soared till they all but vanished amid the tumbled hair on his forehead.

“I guess it was at that,” he said, mildly surprised. “But I didn’t mean it that way — honest. Damn it, this is the most peculiar situation I’ve ever been involved in. There’s nothing solid. Every time I try to grab hold of a fact it turns to smoke and melts away.”

“I know what you mean. Any outsider would react just as you did. On the face of it, it’s just a case of a crazy old lady and an impressionable female who doesn’t want her auntie put away. Look, I’d be willing to discount the lights and the music, either or both. I can invent logical explanations for them, if I must. But those snapshots were something else.”

“Then who took them?”

“Rachel,” Laurie said.

She expected Doug to look outraged or skeptical. Instead he nodded thoughtfully. “I agree, we can’t take her denial literally. But you’ve overlooked a suspect.”

“Who?”

“Mary Ella.”

“Mary Ella! Why, she didn’t even…” Laurie considered the idea. “How old do you suppose she is? Thirteen, fourteen? Yes, I guess she could be a dark horse. She doesn’t react, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t feeling emotion.”

“Let’s have another beer,” Doug said.

“Don’ min’ iffah dew,” came a sepulchral echo from the far end of the room.

“Good Lord,” Laurie exclaimed, peering around the edge of the high partition that formed the back of the seat. All she could see was an arm waving high in the air. Thanks to her current overdose of fantasy, she was reminded of Arthurian legend — though this arm was clad in faded denim instead of white samite, and it brandished a beer stein in lieu of a magic sword. King Arthur a la Monty Python.

“Never mind him,” Doug said. “He’s programmed to respond to only one word. Where’s Vi? I want—”

“Don’t say it. And don’t call her, not yet. There are one or two other points I want to make, while we’ve got some privacy. First, I — well, I don’t blame you for being somewhat skeptical about my evidence. You haven’t seen me for years. You don’t really know me. I might be one of those emotional types who imagine things.”

His arms folded on the table, Doug listened intently.

“You might be,” he said, when she paused.

Laurie had expected him to deny the charge, if only out of politeness. Oddly enough, his candor pleased her.

“Let me point out, however, that my room is directly over Lizzie’s, on the same side of the house; and that you are a heavy sleeper. If the lights and the music are aimed at Lizzie, I’m the only other person in the house who is in a physical position to see and hear them.”

Doug nodded. “Good point. Go on.”

“It’s none of his business,” he snapped.

“No.” Ida had been sitting like a carved image, her only comment so far the direct order to her sister. Now she shifted position and spoke with her usual authority. “I am afraid that it is Jefferson’s business, Douglas. I had intended suggesting that he be invited to join us. However, he has no authority to prevent us from insisting that Elizabeth produce those photographs. Nor, when he has learned the truth, will he have any desire to do so.”

Jeff looked bewildered, as well he might, but it didn’t take him long to see where the path of duty led.

“Miss Lizzie, you know I’d do anything in the world for you, but if the rest of the family agrees, I’m certainly not in any position to argue with them. You know they love you and want whatever is best for you. So do I.”

“Oh — bah!” Lizzie stamped her foot.

“Bah?” Jeff repeated, trying to keep his face straight.

“Bah and pooh on all of you! All right, I’ll do it, but I will hate all of you forever!”

She stormed out of the room, her draperies flying.

“She won’t, really.” Laurie said. “Don’t look so worried, Jeff.”

“I sure don’t like to hurt her feelings,” Jeff said. “Miss Ida, would you care to tell me what the — what is going on? If you don’t want to let me in on this I understand, but if I can help—”

“Oh, you can,” Laurie said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it, Jeff, but…”

“I see.” Jeff’s glance at Doug was so quick only Laurie observed it. “I wondered if something wasn’t going on,” he said. “You know I’ve been worried about her sleepwalking. Are these photos the same ones you mentioned the other night?”

Laurie had to search her memory. “I guess I did mention them,” she said. “But I didn’t see them until the other day. They are really something.”

“Preposterous frauds,” Ida said.

“You saw them, Aunt?” Doug asked.

“No. I have no patience with such nonsense.”

“How about you, Uncle Ned?”

“Me?” Ned roused himself from a reverie. “Now what the hades would I be doing with pictures of fairies?”

Laurie had to admit that the idea was ridiculous.

“There aren’t any such things,” Ned explained seriously. “So if Lizzie thinks she has pictures of ’em, why, she’s wrong, that’s all.”

“She’s taking an awfully long time about finding them,” Laurie said uneasily.

Doug started to his feet. “Damn! Excuse me, Aunt Ida… We shouldn’t have let her go up there alone. What if—”

His speculation was interrupted by a long, wavering cry. Before any of them could move, they heard Lizzie’s feet pounding down the stairs. She appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide, her hair disheveled.

“They aren’t there! They are gone!”



Chapter 8



They were gone.

Lizzie’s distress appeared to be genuine. She even allowed them to examine her hiding place, which was behind one of the panels on the right of the fireplace. A false knothole in the wood proved to be a spring which, when pushed, released a catch within.

The only objects in the hiding place were baby pictures of Doug and Laurie. Since the latter could think of no sensible reason why Lizzie should hide these, she was forced to the conclusion that Lizzie had removed her real treasure before sounding the alarm. A forgotten, crumpled candy wrapper indicated the nature of one of these treasures. About the others Laurie could only speculate. But it was certainly possible that Lizzie herself had hidden the photos. Laurie was beginning to suspect that her aunt was a consummate actress. By comparison, Anna was a mere amateur.

They returned to the parlor and Jeff went to get fresh coffee. The discussion continued; but Laurie was painfully aware of the fact that she now had no real case. The photographs were the only solid evidence she had had, and she and Lizzie were the only ones who had seen them.

Lizzie was maddeningly indirect in her responses to the questions they hurled at her.

Had she taken the photographs?

Lizzie went on at some length about her inability to manipulate “machines,” and was finally stopped by Doug.

“Who did take them, Auntie?”

“One of the girls,” Lizzie said sullenly.

“The Wilson girls?”

“Well, of course. The other children don’t come to visit the way they used to. Years ago,” Lizzie said pensively, “they walked to school. I made cookies. Chocolate-chip. You remember, Laura, that recipe I got from—”

The scene took on the atmosphere of a police interrogation. Uncle Ned left, muttering disgustedly. Ida sat on one side of Lizzie, Laurie on the other; their captive cowered, her elbows pressed to her sides. Doug paced the room, turning from time to time to hurl a question at his aunt. Jeff leaned against the mantel, watching. He said nothing.

Lizzie finally admitted that she didn’t know which of the Wilson girls had taken the pictures. Betsy had given them to her. She had read fairy tales to Betsy, last summer. She had lent books to the other girls.

“The second girl, Mary Ella, is quite intelligent,” she added helpfully. “But her father will not purchase story books for her. He considers them works of the devil. The man is surely an anachronism in this day and age. He should have lived in old Salem. I felt it was my duty to encourage—”

Laurie began to feel like a stormtrooper, with a monocle and a whip. Lizzie fought her every step of the way, rambling off into one idiotic discursus after another. No, she had not seen the fairies herself. That was ridiculous! Only a child…

They interrupted her in the middle of this lecture and pressed on. Well, yes; once she had caught a glimpse of iridescent wings, moving so fast they were a rainbow blur, and Baby Betsy had said… Yes, of course she had heard the music. What else could it be but a fairy piper? No one in the house played a musical instrument, except for those piano lessons she herself had been forced to endure, years before. Really, she did not believe in forcing a child to study music against its will. Didn’t they agree? The only possible result —

It was at this point that Doug said in a very loud, very firm voice, “I am going to scream.”

“Me, too,” Laurie said wearily. “Auntie, don’t you realize we’re only trying to protect you? You could be seriously hurt if you keep going out at night.”

Lizzie opened her big brown eyes even wider. They were perfectly dry. She had given up crying some time back, when it proved to move none of her inquisitors.

“Oh, but darling, that’s absurd. What possible reason could anyone have for wanting to hurt me?”

Laurie was about to protest when she realized that the statement was not a non sequitur. It was simply the conclusion she herself had reluctantly faced that afternoon. Aunt Lizzie had leaped blithely over the intervening steps in the reasoning process, but she knew what they were. She might be crazy, but she wasn’t stupid.

Laurie was groping for an answer, when she happened to see something that robbed her of speech. Ida was a lean, thin woman, and her recent worries had made the term “haggard” not entirely inappropriate; now she looked worse than haggard. She looked ghastly. The color had drained from her cheeks and the purple rings around her eyes stood out like fresh paint.

In the ensuing silence Laurie heard footsteps approaching. Ned peered into the room.

“Telephone,” he said. “For you, Laura.”

“If it’s Hermann,” Laurie began. Her uncle smiled at her.

“He called once before,” he said calmly. “Told him you weren’t here. This is a woman. Sounds upset.”

“Thanks,” Laurie said. “You can go back to — er — work in the library, Uncle Ned.”

“All right,” Ned said amiably. “Fat men never make good husbands,” he added, and ambled off.

There were telephone extensions all over the house; Laurie herself had insisted on this, some years before, when she realized that the old people were becoming less and less capable of taking care of themselves. Ida had grudgingly acceded to the necessity, but had refused to allow one of the instruments in the parlor. That chamber, at least, should preserve its dignity, without shrill bells ringing and people wanting to sell you cemetery lots.

Laurie went to the phone in the hall, hidden in a cubicle under the stairs. She wondered who it could be. Mrs. Schott, indignant because she refused to date Hermann? Bless Uncle Ned, he was on her side anyway.

She picked up the telephone.

“Miss Carlson? Thank goodness I found you, what took you so long? I’m in a terrible hurry. It’s your mother, there was an accident and she’s in the hospital. The doctor says you’d better hurry.”

Laurie felt as if her tongue had swollen into a huge unmanageable mass that filled her mouth and made speech impossible. She and Anna had never been close, not as mothers and daughters were supposed to be, but she had a certain affection… Greater than she had known, until this moment.

“How — how serious is it?” she managed to say.

“Not good, I’m afraid. They say you better come right away. They don’t know how long… Well, I’m sure glad I reached you. Good-bye.”

“Wait. Wait, who is this?”

It was too late. The click at the other end of the wire was distinct.

Laurie stood holding the telephone. Stupid woman, she thought. Why do people get so excited they can’t make sense? But she knew she was being unreasonable; the caller must be a neighbor or friend of Anna’s; naturally she was upset, and breaking the bad news had not been a pleasant task. She returned the phone to its cradle and turned to face Doug.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“How did you know?”

“Heard you ask if it was serious. Someone you know well?”

“You know her too…. Doug, I’m sorry. It’s Anna. She’s still… alive, but they think—”

Doug’s face went white, but his voice was calm.

“They? Who? Who called?”

“Some woman. A friend of Anna’s, I guess. She was so upset she forgot to give me her name.”

“See if we can get plane reservations,” Doug muttered, reaching for the phone. “How soon can you leave?”

“Right now. I’ll just—”

“Wait a minute.”

Laurie, halfway up the stairs, turned. Doug stood holding the phone, a foolish expression on his face. “Where is Anna?” he asked. “I mean, I can’t make a reservation unless I know where we’re going.”

“Oh, Lord.” Laurie sat down on the step and clutched her head. “Let me think. Her last letter was from Los Angeles. But the TV deal didn’t work out, so she was going to spend a couple of weeks with those friends of hers at Palm Beach, unless her agent came through with something in New York…. This is ridiculous.”

“She wrote me two weeks ago from Nice,” Doug, said.

“Nice! What the hell was she doing there?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Put the phone down,” Laurie said irritably. “You look silly holding it like that.”

“I’m going to try the New York apartment,” Doug said. He began to dial.

“What for? If she’s in the hospital—”

“I don’t know where else to call,” Doug snapped.

“Are you two quarreling?” Ida’s gaunt frame appeared in the doorway. “What is it, Laura?”

“Oh, Aunt, I don’t know how to tell you—”

Doug suddenly made a wide, sweeping gesture. His eyes opened wide.

“Hello?” he said. “Hello? Who is this? Anna?” Laurie jumped to her feet.

“What? Who? Let me—”

Doug fended her off as she snatched at the phone.

“Yes, Anna, it’s me. What’s going on there? I hear voices yelling…. Oh.” His voice dropped a full octave. “A what? You’re having a party?”

Laurie staggered back to the stairs and sat down. Her aunt bent over her.

“What is going on, Laura? What is it you were going to tell me?”

“Forget it,” Laurie mumbled. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Doug said. “I’m glad you’re fine. No, I didn’t call just to ask if you were… Yes, everybody here is fine too. Anna, for God’s sake, will you shut up about everybody’s health for a minute? We just got a phone call telling us you were in an accident….”

He listened while the telephone gabbled and squeaked at him. His eyebrows rose.

“No, darling, I don’t think the woman was referring to your cutting your finger on a piece of glass. Are you sure nothing happened tonight that might have led someone to… Oh, you’ve been home all afternoon. Yes, dear, I know what your cocktail parties are like. It must have been a wrong number. Wait a minute. I think Laurie wants to talk to you. Yes, she’s here too — and she is fine.”

He handed the phone to Laurie. She was too bewildered to be very coherent; after a few comments she handed the phone back to Doug. There was certainly nothing wrong with Anna, except that she was in her normal state of cheerful inebriation. Not the result of alcohol; Anna didn’t need booze to get drunk, she had been born in that condition.

Finally Doug hung up.

“Well,” he said.

“Well,” Laurie repeated.

“Anna didn’t know you were here. I dropped her a note before I came, but apparently you—”

“No, I didn’t.” Laurie’s head was aching. She rubbed her forehead. “That never occurred to me, Doug.”

“It wouldn’t.” Doug’s voice was hard, but Laurie knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. “If someone dumps a shock like that on you, you don’t stop to think.”

“It couldn’t have been a case of mistaken identity then.” Laurie’s wits began to function again. “Because if Anna didn’t know I was here, her friends wouldn’t know either.”

Ida’s eyes moved from one of them to the other.

“What happened?”

“Poor Aunt.” Laurie giggled, a little wildly. “You keep asking that, and nobody answers you. Some woman just called me and told me Anna was mortally injured. She didn’t give a name. If Anna had been a normal mother, with a fixed habitation, we might have gone rushing out into the night hoping to be with her at the end.”

“But that is absolutely vile,” Ida said indignantly. “Of all the cruel tricks—”

“I don’t think it was a trick,” Doug said slowly. “Or if it was, it was not motivated by idle malice. Laurie, I owe you an apology. Photos or no photos, I’m ready to believe in your theory.”



Laurie leaned against the wall and enjoyed nostalgia. Six years… had it been that long? High schools had not changed. Except for a few minor differences in decor she might have been standing in the hall of Nathan Hale High, or Father Serra High, or… she had forgotten the names of the others. Thanks to Anna’s peripatetic habits, Laurie had attended five different high schools, three of them in one year. It would have been easier for Anna to put her in a boarding school, but Anna had her fads; one of them was a baseless sentimentality about the good old democratic public high school, which had been good enough for her in her day.

“Starving,” Vi said. She and Doug both sighed.

After Vi had gone, Laurie allowed herself to laugh.

“Vi doesn’t have a good opinion of your profession. Why couldn’t you have taken up something sensible, like carpentry or animal husbandry? What is animal husbandry, by the way?”

“I’ll explain it to you when you’re a little older. All the same,” Doug said seriously, “I bet an architect could do all right here. The area is growing, and the old houses are being renovated. There’s good money in restoration.”

“You aren’t thinking seriously of it, are you?”

“Not really. But it might not hurt to let the word get around that I was.”

Laurie folded her arms on the table and gazed thoughtfully at her brother. “You’re taking this pretty seriously, aren’t you? I’m not trying to beat a dead horse or anything, but not long ago you were ready to dismiss the whole thing as a wild-goose chase. What made you change your mind?”

“Your metaphors,” Doug said, “are becoming zoological. Must be Uncle Ned’s influence. What made me change my mind? The telephone call, of course. You’ll forgive me for mentioning this—”

“Oh, don’t spare my feelings.”

“I never have, have I? Up to the time the unknown lady called to tell us of Anna’s apocryphal accident, we had no concrete evidence whatever. You had seen the photos and the lights and heard the pretty music, but you were the only one who had. I had no reason to consider you a reliable witness. Then the photos conveniently disappeared. That made me wonder. But Lizzie could have hidden them, or you…. Well, I won’t belabor that point. Then came the phone call. I have racked my brains, but I can only come up with one explanation that makes sense. That call was meant to get us away from here.”

“It couldn’t have kept us away long,” Laurie said. “Sooner or later we’d have found out Anna was all right.”

“That’s what worries me. Sure, we’d have found out, and sooner rather than later. If Anna were a normal, sedentary-type mother, with a fixed address, we would have rushed off, found her healthy and blooming — and then what?”

“We would have realized the call was a hoax,” Laurie said. “We’d have come back—”

“In a state of considerable agitation,” Doug added. “The situation being what it is. But even if we took the next plane back here we would have been gone for twenty-four hours, give or take a few hours. A lot can happen in twenty-four hours.”

His normally affable face was grim. Laurie stared at him.

“No,” she said, denying, not the statement itself, but its implications. “No, Doug.”

“I don’t like it either.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. Suppose this character is in a panic? If this thing started as a joke, it’s gotten out of hand. Maybe he’s scared. Maybe he’s trying to — to cancel the joke.”

“Maybe. But can we afford to take that chance?”

Laurie jumped to her feet. “Let’s go home. Right now.”



They emerged from the artificial twilight of the tavern into the glow of a spectacular sunset. Long strips of slate-gray cloud crossed the western sky; as the sun dropped down behind them it rimmed their edges with molten bronze and cast a pale rosy wash over the landscape. More snow had come overnight, and it lay like strawberry frosting on the chocolate-brown furrows of the fields. From the crest of the ridge, mile on mile of rolling farmland spread out, enclosed by the dim purple-red curve of the far-off mountains. Houses and barns and silos, miniaturized by distance, looked like children’s toys.

“Look,” Laurie said, as Doug slowed for a turn, “that’s one of my favorite views. The sweep of that one stretch of dark pines, up and over the hill, and one bright red barn, to the left of center — it’s so perfectly designed it looks like a painting.”

“Ugh,” said her brother.

The sun hid behind the flanks of the hills and all light died. The fields were somber gray, the trees were black, the sky was the color of shadows. Laurie’s spirits dropped again, after their momentary resurgence. Is there really someone out there in that pretty, peaceful countryside who wants to injure Aunt Lizzie? she wondered. And why do I find that idea so hard to believe when the sun is shining, and so horribly plausible after dark? I’m as bad as any savage, worshiping a primitive sun god. I’m afraid of the dark.

Doug was no help. Gloom and depression fairly radiated from him. He didn’t speak the rest of the way home.

If Laurie had known what was awaiting her she would have been even more depressed. Having no premonitions, she did not sneak in the back, but walked boldly through the front door just in time to hear Lizzie announce in ringing tones, “Wait, I hear someone coming. I’ll just see if it’s Laura.”

Laurie turned to flee, but she was too late. Lizzie peeped around the corner of the stair, saw her, and returned to the telephone. “Yes, it is Laura. You called at just the right moment. Now you wait, and I’ll get her.”

“Tell him I just dropped dead,” Laurie said.

“Oh, darling, not so loud! He’ll hear you.”

Oh, well, Laurie thought, I may as well get it over with. I can’t go on dashing out of the house every time the telephone rings. She took the phone from her aunt’s hand. What an obscene shape it was, all black and curved and waiting….

“Hello,” she said.

The caller was, as she had suspected, Hermann.

Shortly thereafter she returned the telephone to its cradle and turned to her aunt, who was dusting a table in the hall and humming loudly to herself.

“Aunt Lizzie.”

“… tiptoe through the tulips….” The humming formed words and then broke off. Lizzie turned an innocent gaze upon her niece.

“Oh, are you through talking, darling? I didn’t hear a word you said, honestly.”

“You did, too. I was caught off guard or I never would have… Aunt Lizzie, I can’t stand that man. I don’t want to have dinner with him.”

“Then why did you tell him you would?” Lizzie inquired.

Laurie yearned to tell her why. Everybody was conspiring against her, that was why. The implicit pressure and the explicit approval of the old ladies, and all those long years of trying to do what would please them… Pleasing the aunts had become a habit as hard to break as alcoholism. She had been trapped by love.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“You can wear my dress, the gold one,” Lizzie said happily. “You look so pretty in it. Oh, darling, you’ll have a nice time.”

“I’ll have a headache,” Laurie said. “I’m getting one now.”

Chapter 9



Laurie didn’t have to feign a headache as an excuse to get home early. Her temples began to throb when Hermann started on his lobster, and by the time he had dissected that repulsive arthropod the headache was well developed. There was something horrible about the way Hermann ate lobster. Oh, he was neat — too neat — dabbing genteelly at his mouth after almost every bite. His plump pink fingers gripped the silverware with the precision of a surgeon, and the crunch, as he crushed the claw…. Every sliver was meticulously coated with butter and then inspected carefully before it was conveyed to Hermann’s mouth, wherein it vanished with a slight snapping sound.

Laurie refused dessert. Hermann had cherry cheesecake.

Laurie refused a liqueur. Hermann ordered brandy, and added that it was really a man’s drink, not suitable for ladies.

Laurie ordered brandy.

At least she didn’t have to talk. Hermann did all the talking. He told her about his job and detailed the inefficiencies of the people who outranked him. He told her what was wrong with the President’s anti-inflation policy and outlined the legislation that should have been passed. One day, he explained, he might consider running for office himself. It was high time the state had some good solid conservative representation.

Laurie had had a cocktail before dinner and several glasses of wine with dinner, though Hermann had drunk most of the bottle. She should not have ordered the brandy. She didn’t even like brandy. It had an astonishing effect, however. After her first few sips she found herself staring at Hermann in mild astonishment. Why on earth had she worried about what she should say to this simpleminded egotist?

She put both elbows on the table and interrupted Hermann with a distinctly provocative statement about the ERA.

It took Hermann’s slow wits some seconds to adjust to the change of subject. He gaped at her, and then chuckled.

“What a little tease you are. You aren’t one of those feminists. You’re too sweet and — er — feminine.”

Often before, when she had been so challenged, Laurie had pulled in her horns. She didn’t want to be identified with the extremist elements of the women’s movement. As she had said, such advocates did the movement more harm than good by making it repellent, not only to men but to many women who might otherwise have supported its aims. But that wasn’t the real reason why she had backed down. She had backed down because she didn’t want to be considered unattractive and unfeminine — even by creeps like Hermann.

Now, without warning, a great gusty wave of reckless abandon swept over her.

“You’re damned right I’m a feminist,” she informed Hermann. Rising, she waved an imperious arm at the waiter. “More brandy here,” she called.

The remainder of the evening was a triumph, if a shortlived one. Laurie would have been willing to sit on indefinitely, her elbows planted, debating women’s rights. She found that by raising her voice slightly she could silence Hermann. He was afraid someone would overhear the vulgarities she was uttering. And of course her intelligence could run rings around his any day of the week, drunk or sober.

He got her out of the restaurant, finally, and dragged her to the door. Laurie knew she wasn’t drunk. If she had been, the cold night air would have sobered her. Instead it inspired her to further enormities.

“Keep both your hands on the wheel,” she said loudly, as Hermann, encouraged by the darkness and intimacy of the front seat, reached for her knee. “Men are such rotten drivers. Watch out for that patch of ice on the hill. Fifteen miles an hour is plenty fast enough. Look out, that’s a dog. Oh; it isn’t. Well, there might be a dog. The speed limit is thirty-five here; you’re going forty.”

Hermann made it fifty. He got her home in record time.

Laurie thanked him for a lovely evening and got nimbly out, while he was fumbling with his seat belt. Hermann was slow, but that final move drove the point home. He did not get out of the car. He departed, leaving Laurie standing on the steps.

Laurie giggled. She was in no mood to go in. The aunts would want to know why she was home so early and they would inquire minutely into the details of her date. Besides… She was not drunk. Not at all. It might be a good idea, however, to let the cold air steady her steps just a trifle before she confronted the aunts.

It was a beautiful night, cold and crystal clear. The stars blazed like scattered diamonds on black velvet. Her headache was gone. She felt wonderful. Even the high heels, which gave her such an admirable psychological advantage over Hermann, did not impede her walking.

Whistling between her teeth — and regretting she had not thought to display this vulgar accomplishment to Hermann — she strolled along the path that circled the house. She had no particular goal in mind, just a little walk in the lovely winter night. She would, of course, keep an eye out for elves. Laurie giggled. She seldom giggled, but tonight she felt like doing it.

At the entrance to the boxwood alley she hesitated, and a cold breath of sobriety dulled her euphoria. It was dark in there. Really, really dark. Maybe she had better go into the house.

No. Had she not announced, in ringing tones, that very evening, her devotion to the credo of the New Woman? I am strong — I am invincible! I can walk down icy graveled paths in tottery high heels anytime I feel like it.

She had not gone far before she began to regret her valor and suspect she was not as invincible as she had thought. The shoes were poorly adapted to walking on gravel. The thin heels caught and failed to find firm footing. The boxwood reached as high as her head. Not the faintest beam of light penetrated the interwoven branches. Laurie let out a gasp as the undergrowth ahead rustled. Light shaped itself into two small spots like staring eyes. She had to remind herself that the grounds were inhabited by small nocturnal animals — rabbits, possums, raccoons, rats…. Rats. She pursed her lips and produced a whistle. “I am strong, I am invincible….”

The staring eyes vanished as she approached. Perhaps they had only been a trick of her imagination. Now she could see lighted windows ahead. My goodness, she told herself with false surprise, they must be Jeff’s windows. Maybe I’ll stop in for a cup of coffee. He said he wanted to talk about the Middle Ages.

Then something came out of the boxwood and ran straight at her.

It was, of course, one of the nocturnal animals she had postulated, a little more stupid or less wary than its kind; but Laurie’s nerves failed to register this sensible theory until it was too late. The creature actually brushed against her leg. She let out a strangled whoop and began to run. After two steps she lost her balance and the run turned into a flapping, scrambling attempt to stay on her feet. She might have succeeded in that aim if an object had not loomed up in her path — a shape waist-high and squat, like a thick tree trunk, but shining faintly in the light from the window.

Unable to stop herself, Laurie plunged into it. It fell over backward with a metallic crash that echoed through the still night. Laurie followed it down onto the ground.

The echoes died. Laurie rolled over. Now that she was out of the dire shadow of the boxwood the light from Jeff’s cottage enabled her to see more clearly, and her dark fancies vanished. She looked from the ruins of her nylons to the fallen object. What was a garbage can doing out in the middle of the path? Or could she possibly be off the path? She had lost one of her shoes. When she picked it up and shook out the gravel, the heel fell off.

Laurie’s lower lip protruded. What kind of a place was this, where a person could practically break her neck and make enough noise to raise the dead, and nobody even came out to see whether everything was all right?

Jeff’s door opened.

“Is somebody there?” he asked, without much interest.

“Me,” said Laurie.

“Laurie? What the hell are you doing there? Are you hurt?”

He dragged her to her feet. Laurie tilted to one side and Jeff let out a wordless hiss of concern.

“It’s my shoe,” Laurie explained. She held it out to him. “The heel broke off.”

Jeff peered at her suspiciously.

“Laurie, are you drunk?”

“I guess so,” Laurie said placidly.

He scooped her up in his arms, bulky coat, broken shoe and all. He carried her into the house and put her in a chair. When he came back to her, after closing the door, she saw that his face was alight with laughter.

“I thought it was a coon or something,” he explained. “Animals are always knocking over trash cans looking for food. Weren’t you supposed to go out tonight?”

“I was out,” Laurie said. “Boy, did I fix Hermann! I had a wonderful time. You know, Jeff, we missed the most obvious excuse of all the other day, when we were talking about how to get rid of Hermann. All I had to do was be myself.”

“Your present self is all banged up,” Jeff said, looking her over. “I’d better give you some emergency first aid. If you go in looking like that, you’ll scare the old ladies into a heart attack. Uh — how about a cup of coffee or three?”

“I’m perfectly sober,” Laurie said.

Jeff’s eyes danced. “A few minutes ago you told me you were drunk.”

“I just said that to be polite.”

Jeff studied her, his hands on his hips, his lips twitching.

“Sit still,” he said. “Don’t move.”

“I have no intention of going anywhere,” Laurie assured him.

After two cups of coffee her mellow glow had subsided enough to make her conscious of the pain of scraped knees and bruised hands, but she still felt fine. One might be a feminist at heart, she told herself, but that didn’t mean one could not enjoy someone’s tending one’s wounds. The only thing that annoyed her was that Jeff insisted that she remove her shredded pantyhose without assistance. Grumbling, she complied. Jeff’s lean brown hands were gentle as he bathed the bloody scratches with warm water. When he had finished he sat back on his heels and contemplated his handiwork.

“So far, so good. But you can’t walk, not in those shoes. How are you going to get back to the house?”

“Carry me.”

“I guess I’ll have to. Better put on a pair of my socks. It’s cold out there.”

Kneeling at her feet he slipped the socks on. Laurie wriggled her toes.

“Pretty,” she said, admiring the bright argyle pattern of blue and crimson.

“Your aunt made them for me. Okay, let’s go.”

He picked her up. Laurie looped an arm around his neck.

“You’re in an awful hurry to get rid of me,” she said.

“Laurie — don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His lips were warm and hard and experienced. Laurie’s head spun — but her eyes remained wide open. Bob had complained of this habit, probably, Laurie thought, because he liked his women to be swooning and semiconscious when he deigned to kiss them. Once she had asked him how he could tell her eyes were open if his were closed. He had not answered, and he had continued to be unreasonably annoyed even though she kept telling him she couldn’t help it; it was an uncontrollable reflex, she didn’t really see anything….

On this occasion, however, she did see something, over Jeff’s shoulder — a flash of movement and of color at the back window. Her muscles went rigid. Jeff let out a yelp of pain as her nails dug into his neck.

“Now what?” he demanded.

“Out there—” Laurie gestured. “Outside the window.”

“What was it?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“It had golden hair,” Laurie whispered. “And… and wings.”

Jeff’s grip relaxed. For a moment she thought he was going to drop her.

“I really saw it,” she said. “Really.”

“Okay.” Jeff started toward the door.

Laurie knew she had affronted, not only his ego, but his intelligence. As soon as they were outside she stared wildly around, trying to catch another glimpse of the unbelievable thing she had seen.

“Stop wriggling,” Jeff grumbled.

“I’m sorry. I really—”

“Okay, okay. I believe you.”

He didn’t, and she didn’t blame him. It had moved so fast she had not gotten a good look, but she knew she had seen it; a flash of translucent, gauzy lavender, and a face distorted by staring eyes and a squared-off mouth into something not too unlike the faces in Lizzie’s photographs.

As they approached the kitchen door it burst open and Laurie saw her brother. The very outlines of his body bristled with fury.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“She fell,” Jeff said briefly.

“Uh-huh.” Doug grabbed at Laurie. Jeff resisted. For a moment she hung ludicrously between them, with Doug clutching her shoulders and Jeff retaining his grip on her knees.

“Hey,” she said in feeble remonstrance.

Somehow — she was not quite sure how — Doug managed to get a firm hold on her. Jeff let go.

“I’ll take care of her,” Doug said.

“Thanks, Jeff,” Laurie added.

“Any time.” Jeff politely closed the door for them.

“He’s mad,” Laurie said. “You hurt his feelings.”

“I’ll hurt more than his feelings, if he…” Doug broke off. He peered more closely at her. “What’s the matter?”

“I just saw a fairy, ‘Tripping hither, tripping thither, nobody knows where or — ’”

“Sshhh. Do you want to wake the whole house? Thank God the aunts are in bed.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after eleven.” Doug started up the stairs. “You’ve had quite an evening, haven’t you?”

“I fixed old Herrrrrman,” Laurie said with satisfaction. “Want me to tell you how?”

“I don’t want you to tell me anything until you’ve slept it off.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Oh, yeah? Not that I blame you.”

“You’re sweet,” Laurie said. His grip was a little too hard for comfort, but at least it had some emotion behind it. Not like old wooden Jeff, she told herself, ignoring the fact that her own inappropriate comment had been responsible for Jeff’s coolness. She nestled her head against Doug’s shoulder. “You’re a nice brother,” she told him. “It’s nice to have a brother. I never knew how nice it was to—”

“Oh, shut up.” Doug dumped her on her bed.

“Help me off with my coat.”

Doug did so. Then he stood stiffly with the coat over his arm like a well-trained butler.

“Now help me off with my dress.”

“Drunks,” said Doug viciously, “deserve to sleep in their clothes.” He dragged the blankets over her and stalked out.

Laurie framed several witty, caustic retorts in her mind, but she fell asleep before she could say them.



She woke in the dead hours of the morning, every sense tingling.

With the unreasonable luck that often attends drunks and children, she was wide awake and in full possession of her wits, without the slightest trace of the hangover she fully deserved. She knew what had awakened her, and as she sat rigid, her ears cocked, she heard it again: music. The same minor, haunting melody that had drifted out of the dark woods once before.

She shot out of bed as if propelled by a spring and reached for the light switch. The clock on the mantel said three thirty-five. The music went on, rising and falling in unending monotony. Its lack of resolution scratched at the nerves.

Laurie had no trouble remembering the events of the previous evening, a scant four and a half hours ago. The annihilation of Hermann, Jeff’s kiss, the fairy at the window, Doug’s anger…

She didn’t blame him for refusing to help her undress. If Ida had walked in on them during that process, the poor old lady would have fainted dead away. Apparently, though, Doug had relented and returned after she fell asleep. The window had been opened a few inches. The icy breeze made her shiver, which was no wonder, because she was wearing only her bra and panties. Good old Doug…

The music rose to a pitch of plaintive appeal, and Laurie heard — or thought she heard a rustle of sound from below, like bedclothes being thrown back. She snatched at the first garment that came to hand. It was the flowing, fur-trimmed golden robe Lizzie had tried to lend her for her date with Hermann. Laurie dropped it over her head and fumbled for her slippers. She would have preferred more practical attire, but apparently Doug had hung her dress up in the closet, for it was nowhere to be seen.

At least the robe wasn’t too long. It hit her a good two inches above the ankles and did not impede her speed as she hurried down the stairs. Lizzie’s door was closed. Laurie eased it open, and heard, with relief, the sound of slow, tranquil breathing. She must have imagined the sound of rustling bedclothes — or else Lizzie had stirred, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.

If the old lady had not wakened by now there was a good chance she might sleep on. Laurie had to hope for the best; there was no way of barricading the door. Dimly, through the closed window, she could still hear the plaintive music.

Holding tight to the rail, she ran down the stairs. Maybe if she hurried she could catch the musician and put an end to the whole business. Where the hell was Doug? There was a light in the kitchen, so she headed in that direction.

Head down on the table, his cheek resting on his arm, Doug slept the sleep of the just and weary. A gaudily jacketed paperback book lay beside his hand. Laurie considered trying to wake him and decided it would take time she could not spare. No wonder he was exhausted; she was supposed to share the night watches, and she had copped out on him. Snatching a coat from among the garments hanging in the entryway, she opened the door and went out.

The icy night air made her catch her breath. She fumbled in the pockets of the coat. No gloves, but there was a scarf, and she put it over her head, knotting the ends under her chin.

A pale, passionless moon slid through banks of gathering cloud and the shadows on the ground below shifted with it, shaping monstrous moving patterns on the snow. The bare black branches of the dormant roses stretched up like skeletal arms groping from a grave. Nothing moved except the shadows, but the music continued, so close now that it seemed impossible she could not see its source.

Laurie went forward. Instinct kept her in the shadow of the hedge — the old, primeval instinct that moves man to seek cover in the face of the inexplicable. She was fairly sure the musician was not hidden in the woods. They were too far away. He must be concealed in an outbuilding, or behind the boxwood. Laurie shivered. If something crouched in those shadows, piping music to the moon, it could continue its serenade undisturbed by her.

The windows of Jeff’s cottage were dark. Naturally he was asleep at this hour. Any sane person would be. So what did that make her? Crazy. No question about it, she was out of her mind to prowl the night alone, while some maniac tootled on a flute. She should have awakened Doug.

Laurie came to a decision. She would go to Jeff’s place. It was closer than the house. She need not traverse the boxwood alley, she could go around, past the garage and the toolshed.

Her slippers had rubber soles, good for walking on the slippery crust of snow, but not warm enough for a winter night. Her feet were already cold. She was grateful for the warmth of the long robe around her calves, especially since the coat she had taken appeared to be one of Lizzie’s. It barely reached her knees. She hugged it closer around her body and went on, trying to move quietly. She reached the toolshed and stopped to catch her breath. Her pulse was racing, though she had not walked fast. Then a nasty chill ran through her as she realized that the music was now very close.

It was not her imagination. The unseen musician must be within a few yards of her.

Her heart sank down into her slippered feet. Jeff’s cottage was only a few yards away.

She didn’t want Jeff to be guilty. But if he was the trickster, this was the time to catch him in the act. She didn’t dare go back for Doug. The music had been playing for a long time, it might stop any second. Gritting her teeth, she tiptoed on.

She had almost reached the garage before she saw it. The empty square of darkness where the closed doors should have been would have warned her if she had not been so intent on her suspicions of Jeff. She stopped to stare and to wonder, and as she did so the darkness took shape and rushed toward her.Part of her mind shrieked in wordless archaic terror. Another part recognized the object for what it was, but the knowledge did nothing to relieve her fear. At the last possible moment she forced her paralyzed muscles to move; the fender of the car brushed her arm as she threw herself to one side.