Amy had gained considerable weight since we were students together at the exclusive Winterhaven School for Girls. Now she was a round-faced woman with a small bosom and wide hips. She still had a soft, gentle smile with friendly brown almond eyes and she still kept her hair wrapped in a bun and pinned up tightly just behind the top of her head. She had clusters of peach-colored freckles under her eyes and just over her eyebrows. I remembered her as a short, chunky girl, timid, always a step back in the shadows of the others. But unlike the others, she didn't seem as taken with her wealth and position.
It was a clear, bright sunny day with a gentle cool breeze coming in from the ocean, so I had our lunch set up on the patio that overlooked the pool and the gazebo. Curtis fixed up some umbrellas and we sat munching on small sandwiches of ham and tuna that Rye had prepared. I listened to her describe her travels, the sights she had seen, the people she had met. Then she changed the subject.
"Some time ago I received a letter from Faith Morgantile," she said, "while I was touring in London. The letter was totally devoted to you."
"Really? Faith Morgantile? In school she treated me like a leper."
"Well, the truth was she was always jealous of you. She told me you had been married and had moved back to Farthinggale. You could just see the lines on the paper dripping with jealousy. If she could, she would have written it in blood."
We laughed.
"I try not to think of those girls very much now," I said. "I get so angry when I do. I'll never forget the things they did to me." I embraced myself as I recalled the embarrassment and pain. Young girls could be very cruel to one another, I thought, especially spoiled-rotten rich young girls.
"It was cruel, but they were jealous!" Amy repeated, her eyes wide. I knew that in the beginning she had to have been part of anything they did. If she hadn't been, they would have turned on her. They despised anyone who was in any way different. I was at a disadvantage immediately because I hadn't traveled as they did and Tony had bought me the wrong sort of wardrobe--rich, conservative clothing.
"I guess so. Although I don't know why they should have been so jealous. They were all rich and all came from good families."
"They couldn't help it," Amy said. "Especially when they saw you with Troy Tatterton and you told them he was too sophisticated to go out with any of them."
I pushed away the stab of pain at the mention of Troy and forced myself to be light and airy.
"I remember. And I remember it was shortly after that that they vandalized all my good clothes and tore all my sweaters. How arrogant they were when I told them I was going to Mrs. Mallory. They knew she wouldn't do anything to risk the loss of their tuition money."
"Yes, they knew," Amy said, biting into her third finger sandwich.
"And then, when I went to the dance and they pulled that horrible trick on me, spiking the tea and fruit punch with a laxative." I clutched my stomach, recalling the pain, the agony, and the embarrassment, knowing everyone at the dance was in on it.
Amy stopped chewing.
"I tried to warn you, I told you not to go to the dance as soon as I saw you had put on that revealing red dress."
"Yes, I remember."
Amy shook her head sadly. Then she smiled.
"But you got back at them, sending Pru down that chute into the messy clothing."
"A funny way to win their respect. I never became one of them, but at least they left me alone."
Amy nodded, anxious to get on with her topic.
"Now, from the letters I get and the things I hear when I see some of them, they're even more jealous of you than ever. They think you're the happiest, luckiest girl in the world."
"Do they?"
"Living here in Farthinggale, married to a handsome man, heir to such a huge fortune . . ."
I looked at her. It seemed obvious to me that it was she who was jealous. Despite her wealth and her good breeding, her fancy schools and her colleges, her clothing and her traveling, she was alone, still searching for something romantic to happen to her. The frustration led her to overeat and the overeating made her unattractive.
"You've gained a lot of weight, Amy," I said when she reached for her fifth finger sandwich. "Shouldn't you be concerned?"
"Oh, I am. I try, but sometimes I just get so . . . hungry," she said and laughed. "But you're so right," she said and put the sandwich down. She sat back and smiled. "It's such a beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Do you ever go into that English maze?" she asked. "I would be too frightened."
"Sometimes."
She paused and then leaned forward.
Obviously, what she was about to ask next was the real motive for her visit. It had simply taken time for her to work up the courage. I knew what she was after was intimate information that would make her valuable to the girls of Winterhaven once more. They would phone her and invite her to their homes and she would feel important and wanted. It both saddened and annoyed me.
"Tell me," she said, "now that so much time has passed. What was the reason that Troy Tatterton committed suicide?"
"First," I said in a stiffly faunal and correct voice, "it wasn't a suicide. It was a tragic accident. His horse went out of control. And second, I wasn't at Farthinggale to serve as an amateur psychiatrist, analyzing everyone like some of those horrible girls at Winterhaven did and most likely still do, just because they took an introductory psychology course."
"Well, of course, I--"
"I don't care to contribute to that sort of gossip anyway, Amy. It's not ladylike for you to do it, either. It should be beneath you by now."
"Oh, it is, it is," she said, widening her eyes for emphasis. "I was just . . . personally curious."
"We shouldn't depend on other people's tragedies for our entertainment," I said curtly and looked at my watch. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to excuse myself," I said. "I have so many things left to do. I'm sure you understand."
"Oh, of course. Perhaps we can spend time with each other again in the near future. I'm not due to leave for Paris until the fall. I'm going to study art," she said proudly.
"That sounds wonderful. Yes, I'll phone you as soon as I can," I lied. I was glad to get rid of her. Even though she was not as cruel as the others, her arrival and our conversation had brought back too many unpleasant memories of my time at Winterhaven. I had succeeded in burying most in my trunk of sorrows and was unhappy to see some of it pulled out for display, even if only for a few minutes.
After she left I asked Curtis if Tony had returned or called. When he said no, I called his office and his secretary told me they still had made no contact with him. Now, more worried than ever, I wondered what I should do. He had been acting so strange since Jillian's death.
Why it should finally come to me, I do not know. I was sitting in the living room thinking about him when the possibility occurred to me. I stood up sharply and then hurried out of Farthy and across the grounds to the maze. I walked quickly through the corridors of hedges until I reached the cottage. A cold chill gripped my heart when I saw Tony's car parked in front. Slowly I approached the front of the cottage and peered into the small panel window behind the rose bush.
There Tony sat in Troy's rocking chair facing the small fireplace. He barely moved. He had probably spent most of the day here, continuing to mourn in private. Although Troy was no longer there, for Tony, being in his brother's little home among his things, sitting in his chair, was enough to give him some brotherly comfort. I thought about going in to him, but changed my mind. Sometimes privacy is very important and very precious, I thought. I was sure that Tony didn't want to be discovered in the cottage at this time. All sorts of things would have to be said and confessed, not only by him, but also by me. I turned away and returned to Farthy.
Just before dinner Tony came home. He pretended he had been working hard. I didn't have the heart to tell him his office had been calling all day. Curtis gave him some messages, which he took without speaking. Then he went directly up to his suite. He said he was hungry and he would be down to dinner, so I went to my own suite to shower and dress.
Right after I showered, my phone rang. I lifted the receiver, expecting it to be Logan. It wasn't. It was Fanny. I hadn't spoken to her since our argument in the cabin, and I knew she would accuse me of avoiding her, but it seemed she had other things on her mind, worse things. She had finally found a way to pierce my heart.
"I was sorry ta hear 'bout yer granny," she said. "Or didn't ya call her granny? Probably had a fancier way now that yer one of them Beantown high and mighty."
"I called her by her name," I said. "Or I called her Grandmother. So, how have you been, Fanny?"
"Took ya long enuf ta ask," she said. There was a slight pause and then, with a musical tone, she asked, "So tell me, Heaven Leigh, are ya pregnant yit? If you were still in the Willies ya would be."
"No, I'm not, Fanny. I'm not ready yet to start a family."
"Oh . . . well, I got some news fer ya. I am," she stated gleefully.
"Really?" I sat down. I knew that in a moment she was going to tell me all about Randall and how she had been carrying on with him and how he had now made her pregnant, but she had other surprises in mind.
"An' it's not my fault, Heaven. It's yer fault."
"My fault?" I was getting ready to hear how I had left her all alone back in Winnerow after I had made promises when we were younger to always look after her. She always accused me of letting Pa sell her to the Reverend and his wife and told me I should have done more to stop her from selling him her baby. Whatever she was now, whatever happened to her now, was my fault because it was the result of all that.
"Ya shoulda been here; ya shoulda had more interest," she sang. I didn't like the light, happy tone in her voice. There was something in it, something quite unexpected.
"Interest? Interest in what? What are you talking about, Fanny?" I asked, trying to sound as bored and disdainful with her little games as I could.
"Interest in yer own man, in Logan," she declared.
"Logan? What does this have to do with Logan?" I asked her, my heart beginning to pitterpatter.
"It's Logan who made me pregnat, that's what," she said. "I'm the one havin' yer husband's baby, not you."
GOOSE BUMPS BROKE OUT OVER MY ARMS AND LEGS. I FELT as if two arms carved from ice had embraced me. Fanny's short laugh sounded like static on the line. The sounds stung, yet even though I wanted to, I couldn't pull the phone away from my ear. It was stuck there like maple syrup frozen on a winter tree in the Willies. It encouraged her. I could envision her looking hateful and vicious, her eyes burning, her small white teeth flashing. Fanny had always been able to turn her emotions on and off, to change from one to another as easily as she changed channels on a television set.
"If it's a boy, I'm a gonna name him Logan," she said. "And if it's a girl, I think I'll name her Heaven."
For a long moment I didn't respond; I couldn't respond. My lips were sewn shut, my teeth pressed so hard against each other, I was afraid I'd break one. I could feel the veins in my neck straining as I made a tremendous effort to swallow. How my throat ached.
Thoughts ran frantically through my mind with lightning speed. Perhaps Fanny was lying because of her jealousy of me. Not that I didn't believe she was pregnant. I believed that, but I believed the child had to be someone else's and not Logan's. Probably it was Randall's, but once Fanny discovered she was pregnant, she came up with this plan, taking advantage of the fact that Logan was in Winnerow so much and we were separated so much.
"I don't believe you," I finally told her, my voice so thin and sharp I hardly recognized it myself. "You're lying and it's a horrible and mean thing to do! But I'm not surprised at you, Fanny," I continued, getting more control of myself. "It doesn't surprise me that you would still try to come between me and Logan. You've been trying to do that from the first day I met him," I accused, "and he showed that he wanted to be with me and not with you."
She laughed again, sounding as if it were I and not she who lived in a world of pretend. For the first time she appeared to be the superior one, her tone of voice condescending. I was the one who had to be humored; I was the one who had to be treated like a child. It made me so angry, I wished she were there in front of me so I could pull out her hair or slap the arrogance out of her face.
"Go on, laugh. You want me to remind you? Shall I remind you of the time Logan was waiting for me by the river and you took off your dress and went running up and down naked to try to get him to come after you before I arrived? He didn't go after you, did he?"
"Only because he heard you was comin', Heaven. He asked me ta take off my dress. I said I might an' he said, go on, I dare ya ta, so I did, an' then he got scared when he heard ya comin' "
"Another one of your lies," I retorted. "Why, that first time he ever came to our cabin, you paraded about in your panties with nothing covering your breasts but a few of Granny's old shawls. Did he ask you to do that, too?"
"No, but he was lookin' pretty good, wasn't he? He was always lookin' at me, jus' hopin' fer the chance."
"That's ridiculous. That is the most ridiculous thing . . why. . . why didn't he choose to go with you instead of Maisie Setterton then when he had the chance, huh?" I asked. I hated the whiny sound in my voice and I hated playing this childish game with Fanny, but she had me in such a rage. I couldn't help it.
"He was jus' tryin' to get ya jealous by goin' with Kitty Dennison's sister because he thought ya still liked Cal Dennison. He told me," she said. "So there. Ya made me tell ya the ugly truth about him, but I ain't gonna hide any of it no more. I'm thinkin' only about myself."
"You're lying," was all I could say. Why was it that Fanny was always able to find the weak spots in my walls of defense? All our lives, as long as I could remember, she either played on my fears or my conscience.
"I'm not lyin'. You'll see when ya ask Logan and make him tell ya the truth. I'll tell ya jus' what ta ask him Ya ask him why he was so nice ta me when I went over to the factory site. Ya ask him why he didn't say no when I offered ta bring him somethin' ta eat at the cabin that night. Then ya ask him why he didn't send me home.