When the Wind Blows (14 page)

Bringing in a chick to keep her company.

It was when the wind began to blow that Edna began to formulate the idea.

Now, pulling on her robe, she climbed the stairs to the third floor and quietly let herself into the nursery. Christie was sound asleep, but on the floor beside the cot was the box.

Edna picked the box up, opened it, and smiled at the sleeping chick.

Then she wrung its neck.

She dropped the chick back into the box, replaced it on the floor, then, pausing as she straightened up, brushed Christie’s cheek with her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Really, I am.” Christie stirred in her sleep, but didn’t wake up.

As the moon set and the glow of the night faded to blackness, Edna Amber returned to her bed.

   Diana woke at seven and lay in bed, listening to the stillness of the morning. She had slept badly, worrying about Bill Henry’s reaction the night before. She knew that sometime during the night the wind had come down from the mountains, bringing with it the nightmares that had plagued her sleep. It had been that way since she was a little girl, and she had always looked forward to the beginning of summer when the winds would be over for another year and she could sleep peacefully.

Only twice had they come in summer, and Diana remembered those years very well.

The last time had been the year her mother had sent her to the hospital. It had been an awful year for Diana, and the summer winds had been too much for her. Everyone in Amberton had become edgy that summer, but Diana had fallen into depression. She had fought constantly with her mother that summer, but did not know why, really. Over the years, she had discovered that fighting with Edna was nearly useless.

She never won.

But that summer, she had tried. She remembered one day in particular.

The wind had been blowing that day, and the car had refused to start.

“What did you do to it?” Edna had asked.

“Nothing, Mother. It’s just old.”

“Don’t be silly, child. You must have done something.”

“I didn’t, Mother. Cars just aren’t built to be driven for twenty years.”

“If you take care of them, they’ll last.” Her mother’s voice had taken on the querulous tone that Diana had
learned to dread. “But you don’t take care of anything, do you? You never have.”

“Mother, that’s not true!”

“Are you calling me a liar, Diana?” Edna had rasped.

“No—”

But it was already too late. Edna’s hand had flashed out and struck her cheek, as it had since she was a little girl, and Diana had fallen silent, knowing that to say anything more was to risk further punishment. Instead she had crumpled in the face of her mother’s fury, until, after an hour, Edna had relented and gathered Diana into her arms.

It was that night, during dinner, that Diana had suddenly begun clawing at her face, and Edna eventually had had to call for an ambulance.

At the hospital, they called it agitated depression, and tried to explain to Diana that it stemmed from her relationship with her mother. If she were ever to get over it, she would have to learn to stand up to the old woman.

After a few days she had come home, and for a while she had tried. But as time wore on she had come to realize that peace in the house was better than the constant fights that occurred whenever she disagreed with her mother.

There hadn’t really been anything she thought worth fighting for, until recently.

Until Christie.

Now, for the first time in her memory, she was standing up to her mother, and Edna was giving in.

And this morning, the wind had stopped. Diana was getting out of bed when the scream ripped through the morning quiet.

It came from upstairs.

She grabbed her robe and ran out of her room. A few feet away, her mother was standing at the door of her own room, staring at the ceiling.

“What’s that child screaming about?” she demanded as Diana dashed by. Diana ignored her.

She took the stairs two at a time, then burst into the nursery.

Kneeling on the floor, her face ashen and tears running down her cheeks, was Christie.

In the shoe box, the chick lay dead, its tiny eyes popping from their sockets.

Diana gently took the box from Christie and stared at the dead bird. “Christie, what happened?” she breathed.

Christie tried to speak, but couldn’t. Instead she began sobbing and threw herself facedown on the bed.

“Stop crying,” Diana ordered. Her sympathy for the child’s misery was turning into annoyance. “Just tell me what happened.”

Christie rolled over on the bed, her eyes red and her cheeks stained with tears.

“I—I woke up, and—and I was going to pet my chick.”

“But where did it come from?” Diana asked.

Christie sniffled. “I brought it in last night. I was lonely, Aunt Diana. I just did it so I’d have some company.”

“I see,” Diana said, her voice suddenly cold. “And how did you get out of the nursery?”

There was a moment’s hesitation while the little girl looked at her warily. “It wasn’t locked,” Christie finally said, her voice unsteady. “I—I guess you must have forgotten to lock it last night.” She began crying.

As she watched Christie’s face crumple a strange anger welled up in Diana. She shouldn’t cry.
Little girls should never cry
. When little girls cried, they had to be punished.

“I didn’t leave the door unlocked,” Diana said. “And I won’t have you wandering around at night.”

Christie shrank away from her, suddenly afraid of what was coming.

“Take off your pajamas.”

“No,” Christie wailed. “Please—no!”

But she knew there was no escape. She had done something wrong, and she would have to pay for it. She dropped her pajama bottoms and leaned over. Slowly, deliberately, Diana began to spank her.

Her hand moved like a metronome, lashing the little girl’s backside until it was red and sore. Only when Christie finally stopped crying did Diana stop.

“There,” she said at last. “Now, go to bed, and don’t get up for at least an hour.”

Christie stared up at her, her eyes filled with confusion. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I didn’t mean to kill the chick.”

Diana ignored her. She stood up, picked up the box, then left the nursery. On the second floor she found her mother waiting for her. As she started to pass the old woman Edna suddenly lifted her cane and knocked the box from Diana’s hands. It fell open, and the chick rolled out onto the carpet. Edna stared at it.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “What in God’s name has that child done?”

“It’s only a chick,” Diana replied, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Will you just go downstairs while I get rid of it? Christie’s in her room, crying. Please don’t ask me what happened.”

Edna looked at her appraisingly, and Diana felt a sudden chill of fear. “When you’re done, I think we’d better have a talk,” the old woman said. Diana nodded mutely.

She waited until her mother was gone, then took the box downstairs. Opening the back door, she dropped it into the trash barrel. She stared at the box a moment, then replaced the barrel’s lid and returned to the nursery.

Christie was lying on the bed. She had stopped crying and was staring at the ceiling. When Diana came into the room, Christie didn’t look at her.

“I thought you were a good girl,” Diana said, her voice cold. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

Christie’s eyes, wide as a fawn’s, suddenly met Diana’s.

“I didn’t do it, Aunt Diana,” she whispered. “Really, I didn’t.”

“I’m not talking about the chick,” Diana said. “I’m talking about your disobedience. I don’t want you leaving this room at night. Do you understand?”

Christie nodded mutely.

“As for the chick,” Diana went on, “I suppose it must have suffocated.” Inside, Diana felt something A twinge, almost like a memory, but somehow different. She tried to grasp it, but it was gone. “Or maybe it didn’t,” she said suddenly. “Maybe you did kill it. You loved it, and people always hurt the things they love.” She stared balefully at Christie for a moment, then turned and left the nursery.

When she was gone, Christie lay still. The world closed in on her, and suddenly she wished she were still a baby. Nothing bad, she thought, ever happens to babies.

Her thumb disappeared into her mouth.

Soon she drifted into a fitful sleep.

   Edna was waiting in the kitchen but said nothing until Diana had poured herself a cup of coffee and joined her at the table. When at last she spoke, her voice was quivering with rage.

“And just how do you explain this?” she asked.

“For heaven’s sake, Mother,” Diana replied, her voice reflecting the anger she was still feeling, but suddenly wanting to protect Christie from her mother’s wrath. “It was only a chick. Besides, she says she didn’t do it.”

“Does she, indeed.” Edna responded sarcastically. “And whom does she think
did
do it?”

Diana sighed heavily. “Mama, I didn’t even ask her. She doesn’t know its neck was broken. I told her it must have suffocated.”

“Did you?” Edna remarked. Her sharp eyes bored into Diana. “Now, what would make you say a thing like that?”

Again Diana had the strange sense of something half remembered, and she stared at her mother. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I’m talking about you, Diana,” Edna said quietly. “Have you forgotten what happened when you were the same age as Christie is now?”

“Mama—”

“It was a kitten, that time. Esperanza’s kitten. Don’t you remember? It wandered into the nursery one night. I found it the next morning. Its neck had been wrung, Diana.”

Diana’s cup clattered against the saucer as she set it down, coffee slopping over the rim.

“Are you saying I killed that chick, Mother?” she asked.

“Did you?” Edna countered.

“Mama! Of course I didn’t!”

Edna sat across from her. When she spoke, there was a sadness in her voice.

“You were always a bad little girl, Diana. I’d hoped that age would change you. It hasn’t, has it?”

The room seemed to tilt, and Diana felt a dizziness overcoming her. What was her mother doing? She had the feeling she was going to come apart and her insides were going to fall out.

“Mama, please—”

But Edna was relentless.

“Diana,” she asked, her voice suddenly reasonable. “If Christie didn’t kill the chick, who did? There’s no one here but the three of us.”

Diana, reluctantly met her mother’s eyes, and when she spoke, her tone belied her words. “I—I don’t understand.”

Edna smiled triumphantly. “Did you know the wind was blowing last night, Diana?”

Diana nodded and chewed at her lower lip. “It kept me awake.”

“It always keeps you awake, doesn’t it?” Edna’s tone had become almost hypnotic, but Diana shook her head emphatically. “Not always,” she replied, her voice shaking. “Not anymore. It used to, but it doesn’t anymore.”

Edna went on. “And you used to do strange things when it blew, didn’t you, Diana?”

Panic welled in Diana, but she forced it down. “I won’t listen to you, Mother!”

Edna stared into the depths of her coffee cup, then smiled at Diana. “Maybe Christie didn’t kill the chick, Diana,” she said softly. “Maybe she isn’t lying at all. And if she isn’t, it’s even more important that she leave here, isn’t it?”

Then, as Diana sat shivering at the table, Edna rose and left the kitchen.

There was a knot of fear in her stomach, and no matter how she tried to will it away, it remained there, gnawing at her.

Could her mother be right?

Could she have killed the chick herself and not remembered it?

Dimly the incident with Esperanza’s kitten came back to her. She had put it out of her memory years ago, but now it was back, and she knew that it had happened the way her mother had recounted it. Though she had no memory of having choked the kitten, she knew she must have done it.

The fear began to close in on her.

What if her mother was right? What if she had killed the chick and didn’t remember? But it couldn’t be true—she wouldn’t let it be true. If it was, then she was crazy, and they could take Christie away from her. And that couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.

She knew she was going to cry but couldn’t help herself. Slowly at first, and then faster, the tears began to fall.

9

A week later the children came back.

This time there were three of them. Jay-Jay Jennings, Kim Sandler, and Susan Gillespie. Diana saw them coming across the field, and as they neared the back door she spoke to Christie, her voice cold.

“Why don’t they use the driveway?”

Christie looked at Diana warily, wondering what to say. She was discovering that she couldn’t predict her guardian’s moods, so when she spoke, she was careful of her words.

“It’s a shortcut,” she explained. “We know all kinds of them. Like, to get from our house to the Crowleys’, it’s fastest to go through the Gillespies’ backyard and over Mrs. Berkey’s fence.”

“But the Crowleys live on this side of town,” Diana objected.

Christie’s smile faded: she had made a mistake. “I didn’t mean this house,” she whispered. “I meant our house—my house.”