happened and asked that he tell everyone else. Poor Muriel. I had no idea she was so unhappy.”
Faith hadn't considered things from this angle, but of course Muriel was unhappy. Living in such isolation. Easy pickings for someone like Eddie Russell.
Julia continued. 'Some of us knew about James. I did, because Ellery mentioned once that there was another child. Roland lost two children on Wednesday. I don't know how he can bear it.'
“Where is he tonight?'
“Sylvia said he would look in later for a few minutes. She was able to convince him it wasn't necessary for him to be here all the time. That people understood.'
“I was glad to hear that Leandra is going to be all right.'
“Yes, I saw her yesterday. She's demanding to come home, so I'd say she's mending fast. I think I'd like to be like her—or like her in that way—when I grow up.'
“Me too,' Faith agreed, and the two women laughed.
Faith recognized some of the Pink Ladies from the Holly Ball. Denise wouldn't be waltzing in tonight, but she was going to be all right. Tom had been to see her on Tuesday and she had called Faith just this morning. Joel was staying with Joan and Bill Winter, Denise's neighbors, and visited her every day. The thing she had feared most— that he would hate and reject her—had not happened, and they were both going into therapy. She told Faith it was going to be the happiest new year of her life.
Faith finished her Dream Puff, aware of Mrs. P.'s eagle eye from across the room. She saw Sylvia Vale and excused herself from Julia to say merry Christmas. A few minutes more, then she could leave.
As she crossed the room, something that looked like a Christmas package all wrapped up in shiny paper and ribbons swooped down upon her.
“Mrs. Fairchild! So glad you could come, and I do hope we can keep you on our roster of volunteers?' It was Bootsie.
“I am going to be busy starting my catering business again, but I would be happy to help out if you get stuck.' Faith was beginn'ng to count the days until Mr. Dandy—not his real name, she suspected and hoped—of Yankee Doodle Kitchens left for Florida and she could hang her toque out.
“That's so kind of you.' Bootsie lowered hervoice and slipped her arm through Faith's, drawing her to one side, and enveloping her in a slightly nauseating cloud of Beautiful. The woman must bathe in it, Faith thought. Like mother, like son.
“And I'd like to thank you and the reverend for being so good to my boy. He's been having a hard time lately. Girl trouble, I suspect, but then a mother's always the last to know.' Faith was fairly certain this was true in Bootsie's case.
The woman was still talking, and suddenly Faith's ears opened wide and it was all she could do to stop herself from bursting into the Hallelujah Chorus. 'I'm not supposed to mention anything until he's had a chance to talk to your husband, Tom. I hope I can call him that. I always think of him that way, since that's how Cyle speaks of him. Maybe Reverend Tom, but that sounds like one of those TV shows. But Cyle has begun to have doubts. I know you'll be as shocked as I was, though I did wonder in the beginning when he had been an economics major why he wanted to go into the ministry. He's going to take some time off and think about it all.”
Faith wanted to get this straight. The torrent of words, the perfume, and maybe the combination of Dream Puffs and claret cup were starting to make her feel sick. 'Are you saying that Cyle is dropping out of divinity school?'
“Well, maybe not permanently, but for now, yes.' Hosanna.
Faith pried herself loose from Bootsie and went to find Sylvia. She definitely had to go home, or lie down, or find a bathroom, or throw up. The only other time she ever remembered feeling like this was before Ben was born.
She stopped dead in her tracks and did some counting. My God, she thought, I'm pregnant! She had never had morning sickness, just night. Her joy was slightly clouded by the memory. Then she felt happy—what a Christmas present for Tomconflicted—what about the business?—strongI'll manage—and terrified. She looked for a chair, then decided she'd better go call Tom to come get her. It was early and he could pop Ben in the car. There was no way she could drive feeling like this.
She left the room, which was now filled with all the residents, volunteers, family, and friends. There was plenty of laughter, and couples were starting to dance.
Tom answered on the fourth ring. It must be a close game.
“Honey, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you think you could come and pick me up? I'm not feeling well. A bit mal de mer.'
“Faith! Do you think this could be—'
“Possibly' His elation leaped over the wires, but the room was beginning to spin and she wanted him to come quickly. 'In fact, more than possibly. We'll talk about it later. I'm going to go upstairs and lie down until you come. I'll come down in, what, about twenty minutes? No, thirty—you've got to get Ben into his snowsuit.'
“Oh, darling, this is the best news. I can't believe it. I won't keep you. Go take care of yourselfand we'll be there as fast as we can. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Faith hung up the phone and staggered to the elevator. She'd go into the annex and find an empty room. The guest room had lost whatever appeal it might have once had. First she got her coat. She seemed to be freezing.
Upstairs nothing was stirring, not even a mouse. She opened a door and peeked into the darkened room. Something white and filmy was silhouetted against the window. It was hovering over the bed.
Farley's ghost!
She started to back out of the door and run. The ghost stood up. It wasn't Christmas Past. It was Roland Hubbard.
Roland Hubbard in a turn-of-the-century nurse's uniform complete with wimple.
Ten
Dr. Hubbard raced to the door, grabbed Faith, pulled her into the room, and pushed her down in a chair by the window. He had a syringe in his hand and was clearly not indulging in just a little harmless cross dressing.
“What are you doing here, Mrs. Fairchild?' he hissed angrily.
“I was feeling a—'
“Shhh, we don't want to wake the patient.”
Faith lowered her voice to a whisper. It wasn't hard. 'I was feeling a little sick and came up here to lie down, but I'll go to another room. I'm sorry I disturbed you.”
She attempted to get out of the chair. He pushed her back down and kept his hand flat against hersternum. It was hard to breathe, and she thought she might be sick.
“What to do? What to do?' he was muttering to himself. He looked over at the sleeping figure in the bed. 'The angels will come another night, my dear Geoffrey.”
The first shock had worn off, but Faith was still having trouble believing what she was seeing—Dr. Roland Hubbard, eminent physician, dressed as a nurse and nuttier than the fruitcake Mrs. Pendergast was pressing on one and all downstairs. James had said Hubbard House was a nut house and James had been right. Only she would have preferred to verify this knowledge second, third, or tenth hand.
“Dr. Hubbard,' she whispered in what she hoped was a reasonable tone, 'please let me up. You're hurting me.”
The pressure on her chest lightened, yet he didn't remove his hand. He looked about the room and darted over to the sink for a towel. She jumped up, but he caught her before she could reach the door.
“Now, you must do exactly as I say,' he scolded her. 'I don't want to be forced to use this.' He waved the syringe in her face and she could see it was full—full of something that would not be terribly good for her, and he should know. He was the doctor.
He was tying the towel as a gag around her mouth before she had a chance to say—or whisper—anything to warn him.
There was nothing she could do. She threw up.
Dream Puffs, claret cup, the angel hair pasta with shrimp she'd had for supper—all came forth, most of it in the sink where he rushed her immediately, but some on herself and the floor. The room instantly took on that
