Comes the Blind Fury

“Huh?” Michelle, surprised at the observation, finally tore her gaze from the window, and met Sally’s eyes.

“I said you must look like your mother. You sure don’t look like your father.”

“I don’t look like Mom, either,” Michelle replied. “I’m adopted.”

Sally’s mouth opened. “You are?” There was a note of awe in her voice that almost made Michelle giggle.

“Well, it’s no big deal.”

“I think it is,” Sally said. “I think it’s neat.”

“Why?”

“Well, I mean, you could be anybody, couldn’t you? Who do you think your real parents were?”

It was a conversation Michelle had been though before with her friends in Boston, and she had never been able to understand their interest in the subject. As far as she was concerned, her parents were the Pendletons, and that was that. But rather than try to explain it all to Sally, she changed the subject.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

Sally, easily diverted from the subject of Michelle’s ancestors, rolled her eyes up in an expression of disgust. “I tripped, and twisted it or something, and now everybody’s making a big deal out of it.”

“But doesn’t it hurt?” Michelle asked.

“A little bit,” Sally conceded, unwilling to let her pain show. “Are you really your father’s assistant?”

Michelle shook her head. “Dr. Carson asked him to bring me along.” She smiled. “I’m glad he did.”

“So am I,” Sally agreed. “Uncle Joe’s neat that way.”

“He’s your uncle?”

“Not really. But all the kids call him Uncle Joe. He delivered almost all of us.” There was a pause, then Sally looked at Michelle shyly. “Could I come out to your house sometime?”

“Sure. Haven’t you ever been in it?”

Sally shook her head. “Uncle Joe never had anybody over there. He was really weird about that house — always saying he was going to tear it down but never doing it. And then, after what happened last spring, everyone was sure he’d tear it down. But I guess you know all about that, don’t you?”

“Know about what?” Michelle asked.

Sally’s eyes widened. “You mean nobody told you? About Alan Hanley?”

Alan Hanley. That was the name of the boy in the hospital in Boston. “What about him?”

“Uncle Joe hired him to do something to the roof — fix some slates or something, I guess. And he fell off. They took him to Boston, but he died anyway.”

“I know,” Michelle said slowly. Then: “It was our house he fell off of?”

Sally nodded.

“Nobody told me that.”

“Nobody ever tells kids anything,” Sally remarked. “But we always find out anyway.” She shrugged the matter aside, eager to get back to the subject of the Pendletons’ house. “What’s it like inside?”

Michelle did her best to describe the house to Sally, who listened in fascination. When Michelle was finished, Sally lay back against her pillow, and sighed.

“It sounds like it’s just the way I always thought it would be. I think it’s the most romantic house I’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” Michelle agreed. “I like to pretend it’s just my house, and I live there all alone, and — and.…” Her voice trailed off, and she blushed in embarrassment.

“And what?” Sally urged her. “Do you have … love affairs?”

Michelle nodded guiltily. “Isn’t that terrible? To imagine things like that?”

“I don’t know. I do the same thing.”

“You do? What’s the boy like, when you pretend?”

“Jeff Benson,” Sally said immediately. “He lives right next door to you.”

“I know,” Michelle said. “I met him the day we moved out here, down on the beach. He’s really cute, isn’t he?” A thought suddenly occurred to her: “Is he your boyfriend?”

Sally shook her head. “I like him, but I guess he’s Susan Peterson’s boyfriend. At least that’s what she says.”

“Who’s Susan Peterson?”

“One of the kids at school. She’s really kind of stuck-up. Thinks she’s special.” Sally paused. Then: “Hey, I have a neat idea.” Her voice dropped into a whisper, and Michelle leaned closer so she could hear what Sally was saying. The two of them began giggling as each of them added details to Sally’s plan. When Bertha Carstairs came into the room a half hour later, they exchanged a conspiratorial glance.

“You two behaving yourselves?” Bertha asked.

“We’re just talking, Mom,” Sally answered with exaggerated innocence. “Would it be all right if I go over to Michelle’s tomorrow?”

Bertha looked at her daughter doubtfully. “Well, that depends on how your arm is. Doctor thinks you might have sprained it—”

“Oh, it’ll be fine by morning,” Sally cut in. “It doesn’t hurt much at all. Really it doesn’t.” There was a pleading tone to her voice that Bertha Carstairs chose to ignore.

“That’s not what you said when you made me call the doctor away from his dinner,” she said severely.

“Well, it’s gotten better,” Sally announced.

“Let’s see how it is in the morning.” She turned to Michelle. “Your dad says it’s time to go home.”

Michelle got up from the bed, said good-bye to Sally, and went to the kitchen to find her father.

“Have a nice visit?”

Michelle nodded. “If she’s better, Sally’s coming out to our house tomorrow.”

“Great,” Cal replied. Then he turned to Carson. “See you in the morning?” The old doctor nodded, and a moment later Cal and Michelle left the Carstairses. But as he opened the car door, Cal had an odd feeling, and glanced back toward the Carstairses’ front door. There, like a dark shadow against the lights inside, stood the tall figure of Josiah Carson. Though he couldn’t see the old man’s eyes in the darkness, Cal knew they were fixed on him. He could feel them, boring into him, examining him. Feeling a sudden chill, he quickly got into the car, and slammed the door.

He started the engine, then impulsively reached over and patted Michelle on the leg. “Don’t be too disappointed if Sally doesn’t make it tomorrow, princess,” he said gently.

“Why?” Michelle asked, her face filled with concern. “Is something really wrong with her?”

“I don’t know,” Cal replied. “Neither of us could find anything particularly wrong.”

“Maybe she sprained it like you said,” Michelle offered.

“That would hurt either the elbow or the shoulder, depending on which she sprained. But the pain seems to be between the joints, not in them.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait until morning,” Cal said. “If she isn’t much better, and I don’t think she will be, we’ll take some X rays. I suppose there could be a hairline fracture.” He gunned the engine and pulled away. Michelle turned to look back at the house.

Something caught her eye — a movement, or a shadow, very close to the house. She had a feeling — the same feeling that she had had earlier in Sally’s room. A feeling of someone being there. Nothing she could see, or hear, but something she could sense. And it wasn’t, she was sure, an elm tree.

“Daddy! Stop the car!”

Reflexively, Cal’s foot moved to the brake. The car came to a quick halt. “What’s wrong?”

Michelle was still staring back at the Carstairses’. Cal’s gaze followed his daughter’s. In the darkness he could see nothing.

“What’s wrong?” he said again.

“I’m not sure,” Michelle said. “I thought I saw something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said hesitantly. “I thought there was somebody there—”

“Where?”