Beth froze, and then, very slowly, turned away from the door. Abigail’s eyes seemed to reach out to her, gripping her, drawing her inexorably back toward the bed.…
Tracy sat in the waiting room, her fury growing inside her.
It should have been
Then she remembered the conversation she’d had that afternoon when she’d told her grandmother how crazy Beth was. And her grandmother hadn’t really said anything.
But she’d gone down to the mill later on.
Was it possible that her grandmother didn’t believe Beth was crazy? Could she actually believe what Beth had been saying?
It wasn’t fair.
None of it was fair!
Everyone was paying attention to Beth, and no one was paying attention to her!
In fact, her own father hadn’t even done anything when that horrible Alan Rogers at dinner had told her to shut up. Instead of defending her, he’d actually apologized to Beth, like he was Beth’s father, instead of her own.
And now her grandmother was acting like Beth was her grandchild, instead of herself.
All of a sudden, Tracy knew what was happening. Beth was stealing her family. She was stealing her father, and she was stealing her grandmother.
Tracy clutched at the magazine she was pretending to read, and saw her knuckles turn white as her anger turned her hands into tight fists.
Well, she wouldn’t put up with it, and if any of them thought she would, they were wrong!
She’d get even. She’d get even with them all!
17
Beth sat silently in the back seat of the Mercedes, staring out the window, watching the darkness outside as the big car made its ponderous way along Prospect Street toward River Road. As it came abreast of the mill, though, she stirred slightly, and leaned forward, as if by the slight movement her eyes would be able to pierce the brick walls of the ancient building, and see into its depths.
It was impossible, though. All she saw was the blank facade of bricks. But still, as Phillip turned left onto River Road, her eyes remained on the great mass of the building, then fixed on the loading dock that extended out from behind the mill.
There.
It was in there, in the dark cold room beneath the loading dock, that Amy had died.
Unless old Mrs. Sturgess had been lying to her.
Ever since she’d left the hospital room, she’d been trying to decide if the old woman had been telling her the truth or not, and she still hadn’t made up her mind. But eventually she’d know.
Amy would find a way to tell her.
The mill disappeared into the darkness as the car moved on, and finally Beth let herself sink deep into the seat. Then, feeling eyes on her, she glanced over to where Tracy, her lips tight with anger, sat glaring at her.
“I want to know what my grandmother told you,” she whispered so quietly that Beth was certain no one in the car but herself could hear it. But from the front seat Phillip Sturgess spoke.
“That’s enough, Tracy. If she wants to tell us, she will. But she certainly doesn’t have to.”
“Why not?” Tracy demanded. “And why did Grandmother want to talk to her instead of to me?” Her eyes, which had never left Beth, grew angrier. “I’ll find out,” she said. “I’ll get my grandmother to tell me.”
Beth said nothing, only turning away to face the window once more. But this time her eyes were closed. She didn’t open them again until she heard the familiar crunching noises of the car’s tires on the gravel of the circular driveway. Wordlessly, she got out of the car the moment Phillip stopped, hurried up the steps, and was the first one through the front door.
Hannah — waiting in the foyer — spoke to her, but Beth went past the old servant as if she hadn’t seen her, and ran up the stairs. A moment later Hannah turned puzzled eyes to Carolyn as the rest of the family came into the house.
“Is Miss Beth all right?” she asked, her voice anxious.
“She’s fine,” Tracy replied before either her father or her stepmother could say anything. “Aren’t you going to ask about my grandmother?”
Hannah reddened slightly, but nodded. “I was just going to, Miss Tracy. How is she? Is she better?”
“She’s doing very well,” Phillip said before Tracy could go on. “In fact, she’ll probably be home in a few weeks.”
Hannah’s brows rose. “Shall I get one of the downstairs rooms ready?”
“Don’t bother. Mother won’t budge from her rooms until the day she dies, and that doesn’t look like it’s going to be tor quite a while yet.” Then, understanding what Hannah was really saying, he reached out and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hannah — if Mother needs extra help, we’ll bring in a nurse. I’m not going to ask you to spend all day running up and down the stairs.”
“Thank you, Mr. Phillip. I’m not as young as I used to be, I’m afraid. Would you like a nice pot of tea?”
Phillip and Carolyn glanced at each other, then shook their heads at the same time.
“I’ll have a Coke, Hannah,” Tracy said. “You can bring it to my room.” She started toward the stairs, but Carolyn stopped her.
“If you want a Coke, Tracy, you can get it for yourself.”
Tracy turned, her chin trembling. “I don’t have to. It’s Hannah’s job.”
“It is not Hannah’s job,” Phillip said quietly, but with a firmness in his voice that silenced Tracy. “Things are going to be difficult enough around here when your grandmother comes home, and it will be appreciated if you will do your part without making life even more difficult for us. All of us,” he added, nodding pointedly toward Carolyn.
Tracy said nothing for a moment, and Carolyn could almost see her calculating the effects of various responses. In the end, she produced an apologetic expression, and looked shyly at the floor. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. Then, the Coke she had wanted apparently now forgotten, she dashed up the stairs two at a time. A moment later her door slammed loudly.
Carolyn sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I suppose I should have overlooked that, shouldn’t I?”
“Why?” Phillip asked. He led her into the library, and poured each of them a stiff drink. “If you ask me, she was just testing, to see how far she could go. And I have to confess I’m getting just as tired of it as you are.” Handing her the drink, he smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid I wasn’t much of a father to her, which isn’t an excuse — only an apology.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Carolyn replied. She held the drink up in a silent toast, but as Phillip drank from his glass, she put her own back on the bar. “Pregnant ladies shouldn’t drink.” Then, feeling the built-up strain of the evening, she lowered herself tiredly into one of the wing chairs. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked.
Phillip looked at her quizzically, but said nothing.
“Come on,” Carolyn pressed. “Your mother said something to you that you didn’t want Tracy to hear. What was it?”
Phillip said nothing, but wandered over to the fireplace, where he stood leaning against the mantel, staring into his glass. Finally, instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “You don’t think I should go ahead with the mill project, either. Is it just because of the way it used to operate, or is it something else?”
