Comes the Blind Fury

offended Constance Benson.

“You mean Michelle and Sally Carstairs?” At the expression of concern on June’s face, Mrs. Benson smiled slightly, the first warmth she had displayed since coming into the studio. Her face was suddenly almost pretty.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said hurriedly. “They haven’t done anything wrong. I just wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me?” June repeated, now totally baffled.

“It’s the cemetery,” Constance said. “The old Carson cemetery, between here and my house?”

June nodded.

“I saw the girls playing there yesterday afternoon. Such pretty girls, both of them.”

“Thank you.”

“I was just about to go out and talk to them myself when they left, so I decided not to bother with it until this morning.”

“Bother with what?” June wished she’d get to the point.

“It isn’t safe for children to play there,” Constance said, “Not safe at all.”

June stared at Mrs. Benson. This, she decided, was just a bit too much. Apparently, Constance Benson was the local busybody. It must make life hard for Jeff. She could imagine Constance coming up with an objection to everything Jeff might want to do. For her own part, she could simply ignore the woman. “Well, I’ll admit, I don’t think playing in a cemetery is the most cheerful thing in the world,” she said, “but it couldn’t be particularly dangerous …”

“Oh, it’s not the cemetery,” Constance said too quickly. “It’s the land the cemetery’s on. It’s not stable.”

“But it’s granite, isn’t it?” June’s voice was smooth, giving no hint that she’d picked up on the other woman’s apparent fear. “Just like this?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Constance said uncertainly. “I don’t know much about things like that. But that part of the bluff is going to wash into the sea one of these days, and I wouldn’t want any kids to be there when it happens.”

June’s voice was cool. “I see. Well, I’ll certainly tell the girls not to play there anymore. Would you like a cup of coffee? There’s some on the stove.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Constance glanced at a watch strapped firmly to her left wrist. “I’ve got to be getting back to my kitchen. Canning, you know.” The way she said it gave June the distinct impression that Constance Benson was quite sure June didn’t know, but should.

“Well, do come back again, when you have more time,” June said weakly. “Or maybe I could drop in on you.”

“Now that might be nice.” By then the two women were standing at the open door to the studio, and Constance was staring at the house. “Pretty house, isn’t it?” she said. Before June could reply, she added, “But I’ve never really liked it. No, I never have.” Then, without saying good-bye, she began walking purposefully along the path toward her own home.

June waited for a moment, watching her, then slowly closed the door. She had a distinct feeling that she was done painting for the day.

The noon sun was warm, and Michelle sat in the shade of a large maple, eating her lunch with Sally, Jeff, Susan, and a few of her other classmates. Though Michelle was trying hard to make friends with Susan, Susan was having none of it. She ignored Michelle completely, and when she spoke to Sally, it was usually to criticize her. But Sally, with her sunny disposition, seemed unaffected by Susan’s apparent grudge.

“We ought to have a picnic,” Sally was saying. “Summer’s almost gone, and in another month it will be too late.”

“It’s already too late.” Susan Peterson’s voice had a superior sound to it that annoyed Michelle, but everyone else seemed to ignore it. “My mother says that once Labor Day’s past, you don’t have picnics anymore.”

“But the weather’s still nice,” Sally said. “Why don’t we have one this weekend?”

“Where?” Jeff asked. If it was going to be on the beach, he’d be sure to be there. It was as if Michelle had heard his thought.

“How about the cove between Jeff’s house and mine?” she said. “It’s rocky, but there’s never anyone there, and it’s so pretty. Besides, if it rains, we’ll be close to home so we can go inside.”

“You mean below the graveyard?” Sally asked. “That would be creepy. There’s a ghost out there.”

“There isn’t either,” Jeff objected.

“Maybe there is,” Michelle interjected. Suddenly she was the center of attention; even Susan Peterson turned to look at her curiously. “I dreamed about the ghost last night,” she went on, launching into a vivid description of her strange vision. In the brightness of the day her terror had left her, and she wanted to share her dream with her new friends. Caught up in the tale, she didn’t notice the others’ silent exchange of glances. When she was finished, no one spoke. Jeff Benson concentrated on his sandwich, but the rest of the children were still staring at Michelle. Suddenly she felt worried, and wondered if she should have even mentioned the nightmare.

“Well, it was only a dream,” she said, as the silence lengthened.

“Are you sure?” Sally asked her. “Are you sure you weren’t awake the whole time?”

“Well, of course I wasn’t,” Michelle said. “It was a dream.” She noticed that some of the girls were exchanging suspicious glances. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Susan Peterson said casually. “Except that when Amanda Carson fell off the cliff, she was wearing a black dress and a black bonnet, just like the girl you dreamed about last night.”

“How do you know?” Michelle demanded.

“Everybody knows,” Susan said complacently. “She always wore black, every day of her life. My grandmother told me, and her mother told her. And my great-grandmother knew Amanda Carson,” Susan said triumphantly. Her eyes challenged Michelle. Once again a silence fell over the group. Was Susan telling her the truth, or were they all teasing her? Michelle looked from one face to another, trying to see what each of them was thinking. Only Sally met her eyes, and she merely shrugged when Michelle looked to her for help. Jeff Benson continued eating his sandwich, and carefully avoided Michelle’s gaze.

“It was a dream!” Michelle exclaimed, gathering her things together, and getting to her feet. “It was only a dream, and if I’d known you were going to make such a big deal about it, I’d never have mentioned it!”

Before any of them could make a reply, Michelle stalked away. Across the playground, she could see a group of younger children playing jump rope. A moment later she had joined them.

“I wonder what’s wrong with her?” Susan Peterson said when she was sure Michelle was out of earshot. Now her friends were staring at her.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong with her?” Sally Carstairs asked. “Nothing’s wrong with her!”

“Really?” Susan said, sounding annoyed at the contradiction. “She tattled on you yesterday, didn’t she? Why do you think Miss Hatcher changed the seating around? It was because Michelle told her what you did yesterday morning.”

“So what?” Sally countered. “She just didn’t want you to be mad at her, that’s all.”

“I think she’s sneaky,” Susan said. “And I don’t think we should have anything to do with her.”

“That’s mean.”

“No, it’s not There’s something really strange about her.”

“What?”

Susan’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, I saw her with her parents the other day, and they’re both blond. And everybody knows blonds can’t have a dark-haired baby.”

“Big deal,” Sally said. “If you want to know, she’s adopted. She told me so herself. What’s so strange about that?”

Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that settles it.”

“Settles what?” Sally asked.

“Settles her, of course. I mean, nobody knows where she really came from, and my mother says if you don’t know anything about somebody’s family, you don’t know anything about the person.”

“I know her family,” Sally pointed out. “Her mother’s very nice, and her father treated my arm, along with Uncle Joe.”