Comes The Blind Fury Part 5

He started the engine, then impulsively reached over and patted Mich.e.l.le on the leg. "Don't be too disappointed if Sally doesn't make it tomorrow, princess," he said gently.

"Why?" Mich.e.l.le asked, her face filled with concern. "Is something really wrong with her?"

"I don't know," Cal replied. "Neither of us could find anything particularly wrong."

"Maybe she sprained it like you said," Mich.e.l.le offered.

"That would hurt either the elbow or the shoulder, depending on which she sprained. But the pain seems to be between between the joints, not the joints, not in in them." them."

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait until morning," Cal said. "If she isn't much better, and I don't think she will be, we'll take some X rays. I suppose there could be a hairline fracture." He gunned the engine and pulled away. Mich.e.l.le turned to look back at the house.

Something caught her eye-a movement, or a shadow, very close to the house. She had a feeling-the same feeling that she had had earlier in Sally's room. A feeling of someone being there. Nothing she could see, or hear, but something she could sense. And it wasn't, she was sure, an elm tree.

"Daddy! Stop the car!"

Reflexively, Cal's foot moved to the brake. The car came to a quick halt. "What's wrong?"

Mich.e.l.le was still staring back at the Carstairses'. Cal's gaze followed his daughter's. In the darkness he could see nothing.

"What's wrong?" he said again.

"I'm not sure," Mich.e.l.le said. "I thought I saw something."

"What?"

"I don't know," Mich.e.l.le said hesitantly. "I thought there was somebody there-"

"Where?"

"At the window. At Sally's window. At least I think it was Sally's window."

Cal pulled the car over and shut off the engine. "Stay here. I'll go take a look." He got out of the car, shut the door, and started to walk the few steps back to the Carstairses', then returned to the car.

"Princess? Lock the doors, will you. And stay in the car."

Mich.e.l.le looked at him with disgust. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Daddy. This is Paradise Point, not Boston."

"But you thought you saw something."

"Oh, all right," Mich.e.l.le said reluctantly. She reached across and locked the driver's door, then her own.

Cal tapped on the gla.s.s, pointing toward the back door.

Making a face at him, Mich.e.l.le stretched over the seat and pressed the b.u.t.tons locking the other two doors of the car.

Only then did Cal go to investigate the Carstairses' yard.

A few seconds later he was back, and Mich.e.l.le dutifully unlocked the door for him.

"What was it?"

"Nothing. It must have been a shadow."

He restarted the car and began driving home. Mich.e.l.le sat quietly beside him. Finally, he asked her if anything was wrong.

"Not really," Mich.e.l.le said. "I was just thinking about Sally-I really want her to come over tomorrow."

"Well, as I said, don't count on it, princess." Once again, Cal affectionately patted his daughter. "You like it out here, don't you?" he asked.

"I love it," Mich.e.l.le said softly.

She snuggled close to her father, the strange shadow she had seen outside Sally's window quickly forgotten.

And I like it out here, too, Cal told himself silently. I like it just fine I like it just fine. The housecall had gone all right. He hadn't done much, but at least he hadn't done anything wrong. And that, he reflected, was a step in the right direction.

The next morning, Sally Carstairs appeared at the Pendletons' front door. She explained that the pain in her arm had completely disappeared overnight, but Cal looked the arm over anyway and questioned Sally carefully.

"It doesn't hurt at all?"

"It's fine, Dr. Pendleton," Sally insisted. "Really it is."

"Okay," Cal sighed, reluctantly giving in to her. "Run along and have a good time." As Sally left the front parlor, Cal scratched his head, then went to the phone.

"Josiah? Have you talked to Bertha Carstairs this morning?"

"No, I was just going to call her."

"Don't bother," Cal said. "Sally's here, and she's fine. The pain's completely cleared up."

"Well, that's fine," Josiah Carson replied.

"But it doesn't make sense," Cal said. "If it was a bruise, a sprain, or a fracture, it would still hurt. It just doesn't make sense."

There was a long silence at the other end. For a moment Cal wasn't sure Josiah Carson was still there. Then the old doctor spoke.

"Sometimes things don't make sense, Cal," he said quietly. "That's just something you're going to have to accept. Sometimes things just don't make sense." Sometimes things just don't make sense."

CHAPTER 4.

Mich.e.l.le's eyes devoured every detail of the Paradise Point school as she waited for Sally Carstairs to arrive. It was nothing like Harrison had been-nothing at all. There was no trace of Harrison's dingy paint, no graffiti in the halls, and the trash containers, neatly s.p.a.ced along the length of the corridor, were not chained to the walls. Instead, Mich.e.l.le found herself in a brightly lit corridor, painted an immaculate white with green trim, filled with happily chattering children-children who seemed eager for a new school year to begin. She searched the crowd for Sally's familiar face, spotted her, and waved. Sally waved back, then beckoned to Mich.e.l.le.

"Down here," Sally called. "We're in Miss Hatcher's room!"

Mich.e.l.le felt curious eyes watching her as she moved toward Sally, but when she met the glances of one or two or her new schoolmates, she saw only friendliness in their faces-none of the suspicious hostility that had hung like a dark cloud over the old school in Boston. By the time she reached Sally, Mich.e.l.le was sure everything was going to be fine.

"Now, you remember what to do?" Sally asked. Mich.e.l.le nodded. "Okay. Let's go in. Jeff's already here, but I haven't seen Susan-she's always always late." She started inside the cla.s.sroom, but Mich.e.l.le stopped her. late." She started inside the cla.s.sroom, but Mich.e.l.le stopped her.

"What's Miss Hatcher like?"

Sally glanced at her, then grinned at the sudden uncertainty in Mich.e.l.le's face.

"She's neat. She tries to pretend to be an old-maid schoolteacher, but she has a boyfriend and everything. And she lets us sit wherever we want. Come on."

Sally led Mich.e.l.le into the cla.s.sroom as they had planned. They moved directly up to the front row where Jeff Benson had seated himself in the center of the room. Making a great show of innocence, Sally took the seat on Jeff's left, and Mich.e.l.le took the one on his right. Jeff greeted both of them, then began talking with Sally while Mich.e.l.le tried to look surrept.i.tiously at her new teacher.

Corinne Hatcher seemed to be the image of a smalltown schoolteacher. She wore her light brown hair in a tight chignon, and on a chain around her neck, a pair of gla.s.ses dangled. Though Mich.e.l.le did not yet know it, no one had ever seen her wear the gla.s.ses-they simply hung there. But Mich.e.l.le did notice that there was something behind the spinsterish appearance of Miss Hatcher. Her face was pretty, and her eyes had a warmth to them that softened her severe appearance. Mich.e.l.le was sure she knew why Miss Hatcher was a great favorite with her students.

At her desk, Corinne Hatcher was aware of Mich.e.l.le's curious gaze, but made no move to acknowledge it. Better to let the new girl size things up for herself. Instead, she fixed her eyes on Sally Carstairs and tried to figure out what Sally was up to. Obviously, Sally and the new girl, whose name she knew, but not much else, were already friends. But why weren't they sitting together?

It wasn't until Susan Peterson came in that Corinne realized what the game was: Susan started toward the front of the room, her eyes on Jeff Benson. Mich.e.l.le and Sally exchanged a glance, Sally nodded, and the two of them began giggling. As she heard the giggling, Susan stopped, realizing that the seats on both sides of Jeff were already taken, and that it wasn't a coincidence. Susan glared at Sally, glanced contemptuously at the stranger in the room, then took the seat directly behind Jeff.

And Mich.e.l.le, seeing Susan's quick anger, immediately began to regret having fallen in with Sally's plan. It had seemed funny at the time, to keep Susan away from the boy she wanted to sit next to, but now Mich.e.l.le realized that she had made a mistake. And Susan didn't look like the kind of girl who would forget about it, either. Mich.e.l.le began to wonder what she could do to make things right.

As the bell rang, Corinne rose and faced the cla.s.s.

"We have a new student with us this year," she said. "Mich.e.l.le, would you stand up?" She smiled encouragingly at Mich.e.l.le, who blushed a deep red, hesitated for a moment, then haltingly stood up next to her seat. "Mich.e.l.le is from Boston, and I imagine this school must look very strange to her."

"It's nice," Mich.e.l.le said. "It isn't like the schools in Boston at all."

"You mean they aren't nice?" Sally teased.

Mich.e.l.le's blush deepened. "That's not what I meant-" she began. "Miss Hatcher," she appealed, "I didn't mean to say I didn't like the school in Boston..."

"I'm sure you didn't," Corinne said quickly. "Why don't you sit down, and we'll let everyone introduce himself to you."

Gratefully, Mich.e.l.le sank back into her seat, and leaned over to glare at Sally, who was grinning back at her mischievously. Her sense of humor overcoming her embarra.s.sment, Mich.e.l.le began to giggle, but quickly stopped when she heard the voice behind her.

"I said, my name is Susan Peterson," the voice repeated loudly. Mich.e.l.le turned, and met Susan's glare, then felt herself turning red again. She quickly faced the front of the cla.s.sroom, sure that she had accidentally made an enemy, and wis.h.i.+ng again she hadn't let herself get caught up in Sally's scheme.

But I didn't mean any harm, she told herself. She tried to concentrate on what Miss Hatcher was saying, but for the first hour all she was conscious of was the memory of Susan Peterson's eyes, wrathful, staring at her. When the first recess bell finally rang, Mich.e.l.le hesitated, then approached the teacher's desk.

"Miss Hatcher?" she said hesitantly. Corinne looked up at her, and smiled.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, concerned by Mich.e.l.le's troubled expression.

"I was wondering-could I change my seat?"

"Already? But you've only had it two hours."

"I know," Mich.e.l.le said. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably, wondering how to tell the teacher what had happened. Then she blurted the story out.

"It was supposed to be a joke. I mean, Sally told me that Susan Peterson likes Jeff Benson, and she thought it would be fun if we took the seats beside Jeff so Susan couldn't sit next to him. And I went along with her." Mich.e.l.le seemed to be on the verge of tears as she continued. "I didn't mean for Susan to be mad at me-I mean, I don't even know her, and-and...." Her voice trailed off helplessly.

"It's all right," Corinne told her gently. "I know how things like that can happen, particularly when everything is new and strange. Go on outside, and when you come back, I'll change everybody's seats." She paused a moment, then: "Whom would you like to sit with?"

"Well-Sally, I guess. Or Jeff. They're the only people I know."

"I'll see what I can do," Corinne promised. "Run along now-there's only ten minutes left."

Mich.e.l.le, unsure whether she had done the right thing, walked slowly out to the schoolyard. In a group under a large maple, Sally Carstairs, Susan Peterson, and Jeff Benson seemed to be arguing about something. Feeling terribly self-conscious, Mich.e.l.le approached the group, and wasn't surprised when they stopped talking as she drew near. Sally smiled and called out to her, but Susan Peterson ignored her, quickly moving off in the opposite direction.

"Is Susan mad at me?" Mich.e.l.le asked anxiously. Sally shrugged.

"So what if she is? She'll get over it." Then, before Mich.e.l.le could say anything more about it, Sally changed the subject. "Isn't Miss Hatcher neat? And wait till you see her boyfriend! He's too dreamy for words."

"Who is he?"

"Mr. Hartwick. He's a psychologist," Sally told her. "He's only here once a week, but he lives in town. His daughter's in the sixth grade. Her name's Lisa, and she's awful."

Mich.e.l.le didn't hear the comment about Lisa; she was more interested in the father. She groaned, remembering the batteries of tests she and her cla.s.smates had been forced to endure each year in Boston. "Are we all going to have to take tests?"

"Nah," Jeff replied. "Mr. Hartwick doesn't do anything unless someone gets in trouble. Then they have to talk to him. Mom says you used to talk to the princ.i.p.al when you were in trouble. Now you talk to Mr. Hartwick. Mom says it was better when you talked to the princ.i.p.al, and got a licking." He shrugged eloquently to let anyone who was interested know that the matter was of supreme indifference to him.

When the bell summoning them back to cla.s.s rang a few minutes later, Mich.e.l.le had all but forgotten her embarra.s.sment, but it was quickly brought back to mind when Miss Hatcher held up a blank seating chart. There was a startled buzzing among the students, which Corinne quickly silenced.

"I'm going to try something new with this cla.s.s," she said smoothly. "As you know, I've always felt that seventh-graders were old enough to decide for themselves where they want to sit." Mich.e.l.le squirmed, sure that everyone was watching her, and that they knew whatever Miss Hatcher was about to do was her fault. "Unfortunately, it doesn't seem fair to the last people into the room. So I'm going to pa.s.s out slips of paper, and I want you all to write down whom you'd like to sit next to. Maybe we can make everyone happy."

Unable to resist, Mich.e.l.le glanced over her shoulder. Susan Peterson had a smug smile on her face.

Corinne began pa.s.sing out paper, and for the next few minutes the room was quiet. Corinne gathered up the papers and studied them briefly. Then she began working on her seating chart while the children whispered among themselves, predicting the results.

The rearranging began. When it was over, Mich.e.l.le found herself seated between Sally and Jeff, with Susan on Jeff's other side. Silently, Mich.e.l.le sent a message of thanks to Miss Hatcher.

As the last bell sounded, Tim Hartwick stepped out of the office that was reserved for his use at the Paradise Point school. He leaned comfortably against the corridor wall and watched the children swirl past him in their rush to escape into the warm late-summer afternoon. It didn't take him long to spot the face he had been looking for. Mich.e.l.le Pendleton hurried down the hall with another girl, whom he recognized as Sally Carstairs, and glanced at him timidly as she pa.s.sed. As she left the building, he could see her whispering to her friend.

His expression thoughtful, Tim went back into his office, picked up a folder, put it in his filing cabinet, then locked the office door behind him before proceeding down to Corinne Hatcher's cla.s.sroom.

"And so it begins," he intoned. "Another year of young minds to mold, futures to shape..."

"Oh, stop it," Corinne laughed. "Help me clean up, so we can get out of here."

Tim started toward the front of the room, then stopped short as he saw the seating chart, still propped against the blackboard.

"What's this?" he said, his voice faintly mocking. "A seating chart in the cla.s.sroom of Corinne Hatcher, champion of freedom of choice? Another illusion shattered."

Corinne sighed. "There was a problem today. We have a new student this year, and it looked as though she was about to get off on the wrong foot. So I tried to straighten out the situation before things got out of hand." She gave him the details of what had happened that morning.

"I saw her just now," he said when she was finished.

"Did you?" Corinne began stacking the papers on her desk, talking as she worked. "Pretty, isn't she? And she seems to be bright, eager-to-please, and friendly, too. Not what you'd expect to be coming out of Boston these days." Suddenly she frowned, and looked at Tim curiously. "What do you mean, you just saw her? How do you know what she looks like?"