Comes The Blind Fury Part 12

Cal came back into the room, carrying a tray with three steaming cups of tea. "Only this once," he announced. "From now on, just because Jennifer gets hungry it doesn't mean we're going to have a picnic. And you, young lady, are supposed to be in bed. You have to go to school tomorrow."

"I'll be all right. I just got lonely." She took a sip of her tea, then stood up. "Will you tuck me in?"

Cal grinned at her. "I haven't done that for years."

"Just tonight?" Mich.e.l.le pleaded.

Cal glanced at his wife, then nodded. "All right," he said. "Finish your tea, and let's go."

Mich.e.l.le drained her cup and leaned over to kiss her mother, then followed her father out of the room and down the hall to her own bedroom.

Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers snugly around her chin, and offered her cheek to her father. Cal bent down, kissed her, then straightened up.

"You'll be asleep in no time," he promised. He was about to turn off the light and return to June and the baby when Mich.e.l.le suddenly asked him for her doll.

"She's on the window seat. Could you get her for me?"

Cal picked up the ancient doll, and glanced at its porcelain face. "Doesn't look very real, does it?" he commented as he handed the doll to Mich.e.l.le. She tucked it protectively under the covers, its head resting on her shoulder.

"She's real enough," Mich.e.l.le told her father. He smiled at her, then turned off the lights. Closing the door quietly behind him, he started down the hall.

Once again, Mich.e.l.le was alone in her room, listening to the silence of the house. As the darkness gathered oppressively around her, she drew the doll closer, and whispered softly to it.

"It isn't like I thought it was going to be. I was looking forward to having Jenny so much. But now she's here, and everything's so different. They're all in there together, and I'm all by myself. Mommy has Jennifer to take care of now. But who do I have?"

Then a thought came to her.

"I could take care of you, Mandy. Really I could..."

She snuggled the doll closer, and a tear trickled down her cheek. "I'll take care of you, just like Mommy takes care of Jenny. Would you like that? I'll be your mother, Amanda, and give you anything you want. And you'll stay with me, won't you? So I'll never be lonely again?"

Crying quietly, with the doll pressed close against her, Mich.e.l.le fell asleep.

CHAPTER 9.

Mich.e.l.le awoke on Sat.u.r.day morning to the soft sound of birds chirping. She lay still in bed, enjoying the knowledge that this morning she didn't have to hurry, this morning she could stay in bed for a few minutes and enjoy the sun flooding her room, its warmth seeping through the blankets and filling her with a sense of well-being. Today was going to be a good day.

Today was the day of the picnic at the cove.

Until this morning, Mich.e.l.le hadn't been sure she would go to the picnic.

The pain of Susan Peterson's taunting had begun to fade after three days; even the memory of the strange girl who had appeared first in her dream, then in the graveyard on Tuesday, was fading. And since the arrival of Jennifer, Mich.e.l.le's mind had been too full of other things to dwell on the black-clad image that had seemed to want something from her.

Now, surrounded by sunlight, she wondered why she had been worrying, why, when Sally Carstairs had called her last night, she had said she might not be able to go. Of course she would go. If Susan Peterson tried to tease her, she would just refuse to let it get to her.

The decision made, Mich.e.l.le scrambled out of bed and put on a pair of well-worn blue jeans, a sweat s.h.i.+rt, and her sneakers. As she was about to go downstairs, her eyes suddenly fell on her doll, still resting on the pillow where she always kept it now at night. Picking it up, Mich.e.l.le carefully propped it up on the window seat.

"There," she said softly. "Now you can spend the day sitting in the sun. Be a good girl." She bent over and kissed the doll lightly, as she had seen her mother kiss her baby sister, then left her room, closing the door behind her.

"Looks like somebody's planning to help her father," June said as Mich.e.l.le came into the kitchen. She glanced up from the eggs she was frying, and, seeing the look on Mich.e.l.le's face, smiled at her. "Don't look at me that way-I'm going right back to bed after I finish breakfast. But I have to start getting up-I need the exercise, I've been in bed for three days, and I'm going out of my mind up there!" Then, to prevent Mich.e.l.le from protesting, she pointed to the refrigerator. "There's orange juice in there."

Mich.e.l.le opened the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of juice. "Help Dad with what?" she asked.

"The butler's pantry. Today's the day the remodeling starts."

"Oh."

"Don't you want to help him?" June was puzzled. Usually Mich.e.l.le couldn't be kept away from her father's side, but this morning she sounded almost disappointed at the prospect.

"It's not that," Mich.e.l.le replied hesitantly. "It's just that some of us were planning a picnic-"

"A picnic? You didn't say anything about a picnic."

"Well, I wasn't sure I was going. Actually, I only just made up my mind when I got up. I-I can go, can't I?"

"Of course you can," June replied. "What are you supposed to take?"

"Take where?" Cal asked, emerging from the stairway that led to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"There's a picnic today," Mich.e.l.le explained. "Me, and Sally, and Jeff and some other kids. Sort of the last day at the beach, I guess."

"You mean you're not going to help me with the pantry?"

"Would you give up a picnic?" June divided the eggs onto three plates, and led her husband and daughter into the dining room. "Maybe I'll take Jenny, and join in."

"But it's just us kids," Mich.e.l.le protested.

"I was only kidding," June said quickly. "How about if I make some deviled eggs?"

"Would you?"

"Sure. What time's the picnic?"

"We're all meeting down at the cove at ten."

"Oh, great," June moaned. "Really, Mich.e.l.le, couldn't you have given me just a little more warning? I'll hardly have time to make the eggs, let alone chill them."

"You won't make them at all," Cal announced. He turned to Mich.e.l.le. "I only let your mother get up to fix breakfast if she promised to go right back to bed again. If you want deviled eggs, you'll have to fix them yourself."

"But I don't know how."

"Then you'll have to learn. You're a big girl now, and your mother has a baby to take care of." At the look of dismay in Mich.e.l.le's eyes, Cal relented. "Tell you what," he offered. "After breakfast we'll send your mother back to bed, you do the dishes, and I'll see what I can do about the eggs. Okay?"

Mich.e.l.le's face cleared-everything was going to be all right after all. But everything's different, she thought as she began to clear the table. Now that they have Jenny, it's all different.

She decided she didn't much like it.

Mich.e.l.le hurried down the trail to the cove. It was already ten-thirty, and she was going to be the last one there. In one hand she clutched the bag containing the deviled eggs. They were still warm, as her mother had predicted. Well, maybe no one would notice.

She could see them, a hundred yards north, scrambling over the rocks, following the ebbing tide, staying close to Jeff as he moved easily over the granite outcroppings. Only one person was still on the beach, but even from the trail, Mich.e.l.le recognized Sally Carstairs's blond hair. As she reached the beach, Mich.e.l.le began running.

"Hi!" she called out. Sally looked up and waved to her.

"I'm sorry I'm late. Daddy just finished the eggs. Do you think anybody'll notice that they're not cold?"

"Who cares? I was afraid you weren't coming."

Mich.e.l.le looked at Sally shyly. "I almost didn't. But it's such a nice day...." Her voice trailed off, and Sally saw her staring out to the shelf of granite, where Susan Peterson was kneeling down next to Jeff. "Don't worry about her," Sally said. "If she starts teasing you again, just ignore it She teases everybody."

"How'd you know that's what I was worried about?"

Sally shrugged. "I used to worry about her, too. Just because her father's a big shot, she thinks she is, too."

"Don't you like her?"

"I don't know," Sally said thoughtfully. "I guess I don't think about it, really. I mean, I've known her all my life, and she's always been my friend."

"That's neat," Mich.e.l.le said. She sat down on a blanket next to Sally and picked up a c.o.ke. "Can I have a sip of this?"

"Take the whole thing," Sally said. "I can't drink any more of it. What's neat?"

"Knowing somebody all your life. There isn't anybody I've known all my life." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder who I really am."

"You're Mich.e.l.le Pendleton. Who else would you be?"

"But I'm adopted," Mich.e.l.le said slowly.

"Well, so what? You're still you."

Suddenly wanting to change the subject, Mich.e.l.le got to her feet "Come on, let's go see what they found." Far out on the rocks, everyone was cl.u.s.tered around Jeff, who was holding something in his hand.

It was a tiny octopus, only three inches across, and it was wriggling helplessly in Jeff's palm. As Mich.e.l.le and Sally approached, Jeff held it out to them, grinning.

"Want to hold it?" It was a dare. Sally shrank back, but Mich.e.l.le put her hand out, tentatively at first, and touched the slippery surface of the octopus's skin.

"It doesn't bite," Jeff a.s.sured her, casting a disdainful glance at Sally.

Hesitating, Mich.e.l.le took the little sea creature in her hand, and carefully turned it over. It put out a tentacle, braced itself against her finger, and righted itself.

"Won't it die out of the water?" Mich.e.l.le asked.

"Not for a while," Jeff said. "Is it holding on to you?"

Mich.e.l.le took hold of one of the tentacles and pulled gently. There was a slight tingling sensation as its suction cups pulled loose from her skin.

"Ooh! How can you do do that!" It was Susan. She stood back from Mich.e.l.le, her hands protectively behind her back, her face screwed up in revulsion. Grinning mischievously, Mich.e.l.le tossed the squirming creature at Susan, who screamed and ducked. The octopus fell back into the water, and immediately disappeared, leaving only a trail of disrupted sand swirling behind as it fled. that!" It was Susan. She stood back from Mich.e.l.le, her hands protectively behind her back, her face screwed up in revulsion. Grinning mischievously, Mich.e.l.le tossed the squirming creature at Susan, who screamed and ducked. The octopus fell back into the water, and immediately disappeared, leaving only a trail of disrupted sand swirling behind as it fled.

"Don't do that!" Susan glared at Mich.e.l.le.

"It's only a baby octopus," Mich.e.l.le laughed. "Who can be afraid of a little tiny octopus?"

"It's horrible," Susan declared. She turned, and started back toward the beach. Mich.e.l.le, suddenly sorry for what she'd done, tried to apologize, but Susan ignored her. The rest of the children looked first at Susan, then at Mich.e.l.le, as if trying to make up their minds what to do. Then, as Susan continued picking her way across the rocks, they all began following her. Ony Sally Carstairs hung back.

"Maybe you shouldn't do things like that," Sally said softly. "It makes her mad."

"I'm sorry," Mich.e.l.le replied. "It was only supposed to be a joke. Can't she take a joke?"

"She doesn't think things are funny when they're on her. Only when they're on someone else. She'll probably start teasing you now."

"So what if she does?" Mich.e.l.le asked. Suddenly she felt very brave. "I can take it. Come on-we might as well go back to the beach."

The sun was high in the sky, and the children were scattered over the beach, munching sandwiches and was.h.i.+ng them down with an apparently endless supply of c.o.kes. Mich.e.l.le was sitting with Sally Carstairs, but she was uncomfortably aware of Susan Peterson, a few feet away, sharing a blanket with Jeff Benson. Susan hadn't spoken to her, but had kept watching her, as if sizing her up. Now she put her soda down, and stared at Mich.e.l.le maliciously.

"Seen the ghost lately?" she asked.

"There isn't any ghost," Mich.e.l.le said, her voice barely audible.

"But you saw it the other night, didn't you?" Susan's voice was louder now, insistent.

"It was a dream," Mich.e.l.le said. "Only a dream."

"Was it? Are you sure?"

Mich.e.l.le glared at Susan, but Susan returned her gaze unwaveringly. Mich.e.l.le could feel anger begin to well up inside her. What is it? What is it? she asked herself. she asked herself. Why do I always make her mad at me? Why do I always make her mad at me?

"Can't we talk about something else?" she asked.

"I like to talk about the ghost," Susan said serenely.

"Well, I don't!" Sally Carstairs exclaimed. "I think talking about the ghost is dumb! I want to hear about Mich.e.l.le's little sister."

Mich.e.l.le smiled gratefully at Sally. "She's beautiful, and she looks just like my mother," she said.

"How would you know?" Susan Peterson's voice was icy; her eyes flashed with a gleeful malice.

"What do you mean?" Mich.e.l.le asked. "Jennifer looks just like my mother. Everybody says so."

"But you don't even know who your mother is," Susan said. "You're adopted."

Suddenly Mich.e.l.le could feel all the children watching her, wondering what she would say next.

"That doesn't make my parents any less my parents," she said carefully.