The Carousel (29 page)

“But Oliver. Oliver Grey?”

“Yes, it’s like the first time someone tells a child that the man in the Santa Claus suit isn’t Santa Claus.”

Amanda stood up and walked restlessly around the room, looking out the window, touching a book and setting it down, cradling a paperweight and putting it back. Then she said, “You’ll need to know how it ended. It was when Aunt Lucille caught him coming out of my room. I think she must have been watching before that night because when he opened my door to leave, I saw her standing right there under the hall light, waiting. Then I heard voices from their room, which was near mine. They had a terrible quarrel, and I heard her crying. I lay there frightened to death, wondering what was going to happen next, even whether I was going to be punished. And I hated him so, I hoped she would kill him.

“In the morning she called me to her. Her eyes were red, and she said it was from her allergy. She put her arm around me and asked me whether I would like to go away to boarding school. ‘Lots of girls go.’ she said, ‘I think you’d like it, wouldn’t you? Maybe out in California near your mother’s cousins.’

“Neither one of us, you see, was able to put the truth out into the light of day. You have to remember that this was in the sixties. People didn’t yet admit that such things happened. She was a submissive woman; even though I was only thirteen years old by then, I saw that she was. All the time she had her arm around me, we didn’t look at each other. And she went on talking about how she loved me and she knew I would be all right because the school she was thinking of was small and friendly. I would even be allowed to take my dog.

“The night before I left, I brought all the bribes, the gold watch, the bracelet, and most of all the silver carousel, and dumped them on the floor in his study. The only thing I took with me when I left was my toy poodle, Coco. I didn’t want to leave Dan, he was such a little boy, but I could only think of how I wanted to get away from Oliver Grey. So, a few days later, I left. I remember Dan with eyes all round and tearful and astonished. ‘You’re going away, Amanda?’ he asked. I don’t remember what I told him.”

Still—Oliver Grey! And if this is true—if—then he has done this to our Tina. Feeling faint,
she grasped the arms of the chair; then, rallying, she denied the thought. This whole story was preposterous. Oliver Grey?

“I didn’t mind so much leaving Dan, since he was having a good time living with two other boys, even though they were older. Aunt Lucille was there.” Amanda broke off for a moment as if to prepare for what was next. “She was not there long. I want you to know that she was a particularly careful driver. I remember her saying to me one day as she slowed the car down, ‘This is a dreadful spot for an accident, this sharp curve and then the culvert. A car can skid right into the river. It’s a disgrace that it hasn’t been fixed.’ Yes, I remember that well.”

“So you really believe she killed herself.”

“Either that, or she was so distraught that she didn’t see where she was going. But I rather believe she did it on purpose, that he had destroyed her reason. She couldn’t bear to look at her husband ever again. I’m sure I wouldn’t have.”

Sally opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“I see that you still don’t quite believe me. I can’t blame you. Oliver Grey, the benefactor. Bizarre, isn’t it.”

Then Sally found voice. “Why did you never tell anyone? All these years, there must have been people you could talk to. Now you come here, and all of a sudden you tell me.”

“I didn’t intend to tell you. It was the sight of the carousel that struck me. I can see it still, that
shining, fabulous toy, as it stood on a table in the library, reflected in the mirror. Venetian glass, the mirror was, with a delicate fluted border. I see it clearly. He had exquisite taste, that monster.”

“And if it weren’t for seeing the carousel just now? You’re saying you would never have told anybody?”

“No, I said I never
had
told. In the beginning, when I was at the school, I was still too shocked and ashamed. You couldn’t have dragged the story out of me. Later, I tried a few times to talk with professionals who I thought would be able to show me how to be trusting and lovable again. But when I got there, I couldn’t speak the words. Then I had worries about Dan and the other boys, too. I didn’t want them to suffer the public disgrace.” Amanda smiled. “Maybe, too, I have a trace of the damn Grey pride.”

The room seemed suddenly too full to contain any more. The walls closed in, the air was thick and sultry with threat. If all this is true, Sally thought, then what else must be true? That he has done this to Tina … to my baby?

Amanda spoke into the silence. “I haven’t seen him since I left here. I didn’t go to your wedding reception because I couldn’t bear to look at him. I’m going to see him now, though. I can’t get my rights from the young men, but I’m going to get them from the old one, I promise you.”

Sally forced herself back to the moment, back from the horror that she still could not let herself believe.

“Your rights? The buyout, you mean.”

“Yes, every dollar and cent of it. He’ll pay.”

“He has nothing to do with it. He leaves it all to Ian and Clive and Dan. He won’t even give his opinion.”

“Of course he won’t. He’s afraid of me. That’s the only thing that’s given me any satisfaction, the thought that he’s lived in fear of me every day of his life.”

“But that’s blackmail.”

“You may call it that.”

“And the rest of the family, the young men, as you call them. What do you think you will do to them?”

“I can’t help it.”

So she will bring us all down to have her revenge on him, Sally thought. And she thought of Dan’s labor, his pride and satisfaction in running the grand old company.

Yet, can you blame her—if it is true?

“I shiver to think of walking into that house again. That bedroom. That dining room with Lucille’s portrait. That big linen closet where I used to sit and hide behind the long tablecloths hung on a rod. I was scared, too scared to make a sound.”

Something happened to Sally. A picture flared:
Last summer under the piano, with the window curtains drawn over her, hiding, dumb …

“I’ve never had a loving relationship with a man, even a man I love. I still have nightmares.”

Nightmares. The cry from across the hall:
Mommy! Mommy!

Amanda returned to the window and looked out. “The snow’s coming fast. I’d better start back to the hotel.”

“I guess you’d better,” said Sally, making no move to stop her.

“I’ve spoiled your day. I’m truly sorry, Sally. It wasn’t a pretty story, was it?”

“No, not pretty.”

They were at the top of the stairs looking down when they heard the carousel. Tina must have come back.

River so blue, da da, da da.

Amanda stopped with her hand on the banister. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this,” she began.

“Say it,” Sally cried sharply. “Say it. Whatever it is.”

“All right. Did you say Oliver gave that thing to you?”

Sally thought she was falling, and gripped the banister. “I don’t recall what I said. It was a present for Tina, from Hawthorne. We thought it was from Clive. He adores her. He gave her a pony,” she said, faltering and scarcely able to speak.

“A silver carousel, a museum piece. A queer gift for a child.”

“She—loved it. She said she wanted it.”

Amanda gave her a long look. “I advise you to see about it, Sally. Yes, you had better.”

As soon as the front door closed, Sally ran back upstairs. “Control yourself. Don’t panic,” she said
aloud. And slowing her steps to normal, she went into the room where the carousel tinkled and glittered.

“Time for a bath.”

She spoke cheerfully, lightly. It was important to keep everything normal when you wanted to get at the truth, not press, not hasten, not frighten.

“No,” said Tina. “No bath.”

“Ah, but it’s so cold out, and a hot bath will be cozy.”

“No, I said.”

You don’t bribe children. That’s no way to bring them up. Nevertheless, Sally coaxed, “There’s a new box of candy in Daddy’s office, and you may have two pieces if you’ll come nicely and take your bath.”

The candy box was produced, Tina took her two pieces and allowed her mother to undress her. The mother’s hands shook as she took off the fancy pink panties, another of Happy’s presents, put Tina into the tub, soaked and sponged her. The mother’s eyes looked sharply over her child’s body, searching for signs. But many things can be done without leaving a mark.…

Rage and disgust rose to choke Sally’s throat. If anyone had dared to touch this vulnerable baby!
Oliver Grey, if you’ve done anything, I swear I’ll kill you
.… But it was preposterous. Amanda Grey had to be crazy. But if she was not?

“Did you ask anybody to give you the carousel, Tina?” she began.

“I wanted it. Are you going to take it away from me?”

“No, of course not. I was only wondering who said you might have it.”

“Oliver. He’ll take it back, too,” Tina said fearfully.

“Why would he take it back?”

“I don’t know. But he would.”

“Would what?”

“Take it back, I said!” Tina cried impatiently.

She must go very slowly. Her words, her motions, must be very calm. Lifting Tina out of the tub, she wrapped her in a bath towel and sat down on a stool to brush her hair.

“You know what I think about you? I think you keep secrets,” she said pleasantly.

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, I think you do. I think sometimes when people do things you don’t like, you don’t tell me.”

Alarm passed like a shadow across Tina’s eyes, which were quickly lowered to the floor.

“You know nobody loves you more than Daddy and I do. Nobody.”

There was no answer.

Sally put down the hairbrush. Rocking and hugging, she repeated, “Don’t you, darling? And you can tell us anything. We’ll never be angry, no matter what. If anybody is ever mean to you—”

“Nobody is.”

“Ah well, that’s good. But sometimes you’re upset, and that makes me think maybe somebody’s

hurt your feelings. I wish you would tell me instead of being sad all by yourself.”

There was still no response. Yet Sally went on, with a feeling that she had touched some sore, hidden spot.

“I remember the day one of the children accidentally stepped on your hand at school. You didn’t say a word when you came home even though there was a big scratch on your hand.”

She felt, as the silence continued, that she was walking into deeper and deeper waters. “And then,” she said, being very casual, “there was the day the carousel came. You began to cry and wouldn’t tell me why. That’s funny, I thought. Such a beautiful present, and Tina’s crying. But maybe you didn’t really like it. Maybe that was the reason.”

Tina slid from her lap and screamed, “I like it, I like it! You’re going to take it away. He said you would if—”

“He? Who said so?”

“Uncle Oliver. If I told, he said you’d take it away.”

“Told what, Tina?”

“You know, what Uncle Oliver does.”

Sally shook her head. “No. Tell me.”

“Takes your panties off and touches you. And if I tell, he’ll say I’m a bad girl, I do bad things, and you’ll punish me.”

Don’t overreact. Don’t let her know she has just put a knife in your heart.

“It’s a secret, and now I’ve told!”

Sally swept her up and clasped her, whispering, “No, no, no. It’s all right. You don’t do bad things, my Tina. He did bad things.” And in spite of her resolve to be unemotional, she wept.

“Why are you crying, Mommy?”

“Because I love you so.… You’re our good girl. You’re the best girl in the world.”

Oh, Amanda. Forgive me for doubting you.

“You mustn’t think about that anymore, because no one will ever touch you like that again. You mustn’t let them. You know that, don’t you? You’ve heard that many times from Daddy and Nanny and me.”

Stop it, she told herself. You’re overreacting. Just say it quietly and then try to wipe it out of her memory—if you can. If you ever can.

“You must never let anyone take off your clothes or touch you ever again, my Tina. Now, let’s go and have supper.”

The weather was bad. This fine, dry snow was the kind that lasted. It was a good thirty-five miles still to go to Red Hill, northward and upward on a narrow, twisting road. A great storm was predicted for tomorrow. But tomorrow was hours away.

She had cleared her mind. There were no thoughts in it. There was only a bloody, red rage. She had no idea what she was going to say when she got there. She had only to concentrate on getting there.

The snow that had begun so lazily, so quietly, was now being driven by a risen wind that whirled
against the windshield. On spruce and hemlock it lay in great white bouquets, and the black road was white with it.

The circling winds picked up speed, and the clacking windshield wipers were barely able to keep up with the pouring snow. Although it was still early in the evening, barely seven o’clock, only an occasional car was out, moving cautiously toward shelter and home. It was foolhardy to be traveling away from one’s home on such a night, and Sally knew it, but she pressed on. Her sturdy four-wheel drive could make it, had to make it.

And she sat hunched forward as if, on horseback, she were urging the animal to hasten with all its strength toward some rescue, some good.

She watched; five minutes passed, then ten minutes. The minutes crept. She watched the speedometer: thirty-five, forty-five, fifty. The car slid recklessly across the road. Recovering, she slowed down. The car crept.

Houses were few, becoming fewer and fewer and farther apart. This was the forest; those who lived in this area were either solitary types in weathered shacks or city people whose sumptuous hunting and camping lodges were hidden away at the end of gated driveways. Rarely in winter, except for a few days at a time over some vacation or holiday, were these gates open.

Between their stone pillars Red Hill’s tall gates were open now. She turned in. Passing Clive’s new cottage, she had kind thoughts.
A sad young man
, Amanda had said. She was glad she had told
Amanda some good things about him and sorry that she herself had ever had such evil suspicions about him. In some way, she thought, in my own mind, I must make it up to him.