"Do you know about Mrs. Fowler's book?" Peggy was scribbling furiously.
"The ghost book? Yes, sure. Lot of lies in it," Mrs. Madison said calmly.
"She mentions a Screaming Lady."
"Oh, yeah, that was another one of Tyrone's stories. I don't know where he heard 'em. He was the oldest."
"You never heard anything, or felt anything—in the house or elsewhere?"
Mrs. Madison frowned thoughtfully. "Hard to remember now what really happened and what's imagination. I was real little . . . We didn't go in the main part of the house much. We weren't allowed to, you see. Tyrone said there was some awful scary statue in the cellar, but I never saw it; Mama wouldn't let us young ones go down there, it was all mud and mess, she said. But Tyrone managed to have a look. He was a real curious youngster, and not scared of anything."
"Tyrone sounds like quite a guy," Peggy said with a smile. "What's he doing now?"
"He died in Vietnam."
"What a waste. I'm so sorry."
"Thank you." Mrs. Madison got to her feet. "Excuse me just a minute. I think I hear—"
Karen hadn't heard anything, but when Mrs. Madison opened the closed door, the sound came clearer—a wordless whine, like the complaint of a sleepy baby. A faint but unmistakable, unpleasant odor accompanied it.
"Excuse me," Mrs. Madison said again. She closed the door, but Karen had already seen the big bed and its occupant. The body under the heaped up blankets was invisible, too wasted even to lift them; the face might have been that of a man or a woman or a waxen mask, vacant and sightless. A stream of saliva trickled from the open mouth.
Peggy had seen it too. Karen heard her breath catch. Then she said softly, "For once Lisa seems to have understated the case."
"Good God," Karen breathed. "You sound so—
"Don't lecture me about compassion, Karen. I've just seen my worst nightmare—the thing all aging people dread most. To be a prisoner in your own rotting body ..."
"Let's go. I can't stand this."
"You can't stand it?"
"Surely she doesn't know—"
"We can hope she doesn't, can't we? Sit down. We'll take a gracious, well-bred leave when Mrs. Madison returns. I think I've got most of what I wanted from her."
Peggy studied her notes. Karen studied her. After a while Peggy said, without looking up, "Sorry I snapped at you. Your kind heart does you credit. You'll toughen up as you get older."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
The walls of the old house were thick and solid. They had no warning of his approach; the door opened, and there he was.
The words of greeting froze on Karen's lips. She had once wondered what it would be like to see Cameron lose his temper. Apparently she was about to find out.
"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was soft, but so distorted by anger it was barely recognizable.
"Why, Cameron," Peggy began.
He turned to face her, muscles squirming under the stretched skin of his cheeks and jaw. "You, too. Of all the contemptible, filthy tricks! Forcing yourself in here, invading the privacy of a woman who's too sick to protect herself—"
The bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Madison said quietly, "Oh, hello, Cameron. I thought I heard your voice. You're early."
He stared at her, struggling for breath as if he were choking on the words he wanted to say. At last habitual good manners—or Mrs. Madison's air of conscious virtue?—prevailed. He muttered, "I—I had to make a few phone calls. Go home, Jenny, there's no need for you to stay."
"I have to wait for Tanya to pick me up," Mrs. Madison said.
"We'll be happy to drop you off, Mrs. Madison," Peggy said.
Cameron offered to call Tanya, and refused to let Mrs. Madison clear away the tea-things; he was obviously desperate to get rid of them, so Mrs. Madison agreed. "I changed her and got her settled down," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "You should have a couple of hours to yourself."
Peggy cleared her throat. "Is it still on for tomorrow morning, Cameron?"
"Uh—yes. Right. Thanks, Jenny."
He stood in the open door watching them as they picked their way along the treacherous surface of the walk. They were in the car and on their way before Karen ventured to speak.
"I hope we didn't ... He won't be angry with you, will he, for letting us come?'
"Oh, no," Mrs. Madison said placidly. "He doesn't like people seeing her like that, is all. But he'll get over it—two nice ladies like you. Some people in this town, not naming any names, aren't so understanding."
"It's very good of you to take on that job," Peggy said warmly. "Not everyone would."
"She's just like a poor little baby," Mrs. Madison murmured. "No harm in her at all. There but for the grace of God . . . Anyhow, poor Cameron's got enough to worry about. I'm only there eight, ten hours a day. He's got her the rest of the time. And it's harder, you know, when it's one of your own."
They dropped her off and headed for the motel. Neither spoke for some time. Finally Karen murmured, " 'Sometimes it is better not to see what lies hidden in the dark.' "
"Very philosophical. What brought that on?"
"Just thinking."
Peggy did not pursue the subject. To judge by her expression, her thoughts were running along the same uncomfortable lines as Karen's. But she's not the one who should feel guilty, Karen told herself. I interpreted his reserve, his refusal of my offer of friendship, as a personal affront. I despised him for being greedy and money-mad. In my consummate selfishness, it never occurred to me that he might have good reasons for behaving as he did, reasons that had nothing to do with me.
She twisted uncomfortably and raised one hand to shield her flushed face from Peggy's curious glance. "What's bugging you?" Peggy asked.
"I hate feeling like a jerk."
"So do I. You'll get used to it," Peggy
