When the Wind Blows (33 page)

Diana felt her patience beginning to slip.

The strain of the day, the strain of being on her guard, caught up with her.

“Maybe you’ve been protecting me too long, Mother.” Her voice rose as her temper gave way. “Maybe if you stopped protecting me, I’d be all right! But we won’t know that until you die, will we?”

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way, young lady,” Edna hissed, rising to her feet. She raised her cane, then lashed out at Diana with it.

Pain shot through Diana’s body as the cane smashed against her ribs, and she stared at her mother, her eyes glazed and filling with tears.

“Mama,” she whimpered. “Mama, don’t. Please, don’t.”

“You’re disobedient!” Edna’s voice was hoarse, but her blue eyes, blazing with anger, seemed to glow in their deep sockets. “I’ll teach you to obey if it’s the last thing I do!” Again she raised the cane, but this time Diana moved.

Muffling a scream that was a combination of fear and pain, she fled from the house.

When she was gone, Edna slowly lowered the cane. The anger that had filled her had disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and she felt weak. Slowly, her legs unsteady, she climbed up to the second floor and went into her room.

She’d made another mistake.

She shouldn’t have hit Diana, not with the cane. A slap would have been enough.

But it was her own fear that had caused it, and the fear was growing.

She was going to lose Diana.

After all these years, she was finally going to lose Diana.

Then, alone, she would die.

Somehow she must find a way to keep Diana with her.

She got into bed but didn’t let herself go to sleep. Instead she thought. Somehow she would find a way to keep her daughter.

*  *  *

Diana’s side throbbed with pain, but she didn’t stop running till she was away from the house, far enough away so that she knew her mother couldn’t come after her.

Then, even in her confusion, she realized she was being irrational. How could her mother come after her? She was an old woman, and she had to use a cane even to walk.

But the feeling persisted, and deep down, Diana knew that all her life she had lived with it.

Her mother hated her, and her demands upon Diana had nothing to do with protecting her. It had to do with enslaving her.

But why? It couldn’t be because her father had died. No, it had to be something else.

But what?

Whatever it was, it was frightening—terrifying.

If only her mind wouldn’t keep blanking out on her. If she could remember. If she could only remember. Somewhere, lost deep within the black void of her memory, was the explanation for her mother’s hatred.

She plunged on through the night, wanting to turn back but unable to.

The answer was at the mine. Something had happened there, and she had to know about it, had to remember it.

A fragment of thought came into her mind. Maybe she was crazy and should get help. But if she did that, they’d take Christie away from her, as they’d taken her baby away from her.

Taken her baby?

No, her baby hadn’t been taken. It had died.

But if it had died, then why could she still hear it crying? It must not have died. It must have been taken somewhere.

Taken where? By whom?

Her mother. Only her mother was there when she’d
had the baby. So her mother had taken the baby somewhere. Taken it away, and given it to someone.

Or killed it.

She was approaching the mine now and she stopped. Suddenly it all began making sense.

That was why her mother wanted the mine blown up—her mother had killed her baby and put it in the mine.

Somewhere, in the maze of shafts and tunnels that honeycombed the hill, her baby was waiting for her.

Her mind whirling with chaotic thoughts, she entered the mine. Its musty dankness closed around her. A part of her wanted to turn around and run home, leaving the mine and leaving the horrible ideas that danced in her head, mocking her, tantalizing her, torturing her.

Her baby wasn’t dead.

She wouldn’t let it be dead.

It was her baby, not her mother’s, and her mother had no right to take it away from her.

But that’s what her mother had done. That had to be what her mother had done.

Taken her baby from her, and killed it.

Just as she wanted to take Christie away from her.

Diana felt a chill pass through her body, and she began sweating. She’d made a horrible mistake.

She’d left her mother alone in the house with Christie, and her mother was angry.

In her mind’s eye she saw the cane arcing toward her and remembered the helpless feeling she’d had.

And then the scene shifted. She pictured Christie, sleeping in the nursery, curled up in the crib.

And Edna, standing over her, her eyes raging, her fury unspent.

She saw the cane rise into the air, her mother’s gnarled hands gripping it, suspending it for a moment over Christie’s sleepy face.

And then the cane was coming down, crashing onto the head of the sleeping child.

Diana screamed, and the sound of her own voice seemed to release her from her vision. She turned and ran from the mine, fled from the blackness of the hole in the mountain, fled from the fear that came out of the night.

She ran until she was home, and as she pounded up the stairs to the third floor, her breath came in choking gasps.

Panting, she burst into the nursery.

In the crib, her eyes wide with terror as she stared up into Diana’s tormented face, was Christie.

“Baby,” Diana babbled. “Oh, baby, did she try to hurt you? I won’t let her hurt you, baby. Not again, Never again.”

A scream built in Christie’s throat. It was happening again! Just as she was beginning to feel safe, it was happening again. Paralyzed with fear, she let Diana pick her up and carry her downstairs. Whatever happened, she must not cry.

Diana laid Christie on her bed and bent over her, prodding and poking at the little girl as she searched for the bruises she was sure must be there. Finally satisfied that she had reached Christie in time, she went down the hall to her mother’s room.

Throwing the door open, her face contorted with rage, she began screaming.
“I won’t let you do it! I won’t let you kill her again! Do you hear me? I won’t let you!”

She slammed Edna’s door and returned to her room, locking herself and her baby inside.

In her own room, Edna Amber stared at the door for a long time after Diana had left.

Then, for the first time since Diana had been born, she began to weep.

It was all going to happen again and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

22

For Christie Lyons the next four days were the strangest of her life.

The day after the picnic Diana moved her out of the nursery, bringing the daybed down to the second floor, where it was installed in a corner of Diana’s room.

Edna watched them move the bed and tried to object, but Diana refused to listen to her. Finally, as Christie looked on, Edna raised her cane and lashed out at her daughter. But instead of cringing under her mother’s fury Diana reached out and caught the cane, wrenching it from Edna’s grip.

“Don’t do that again, Mother,” she said. “If you ever try to hit me again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”

“Diana …” Edna whispered. Her voice carried the same note of fear that had been in Diana’s own voice all her life.

“Do you understand me?” Diana demanded again, savoring her victory. Edna stared at her fiercely, but Diana was relentless. “I know what happened, Mother,” she said. “I remember. I remember what happened to my baby, and I swear, Mother, if you try to do anything to me or to my little girl, I’ll kill you.” And then, as the fire in Edna’s eyes began to fade, Diana once more repeated the words that Edna had for so many years used to torment her.
“Do you understand me?”
Edna, her eyes suddenly dull, nodded her head.

After that Diana was with Christie every minute of every day. At first Christie was wary, constantly worried that the strange expression would come into Diana’s eyes, and that she would receive another of the beatings that had become a part of her life.

On the second day, Diana gave her a piano lesson. For hours the two of them sat at the old Bosendorfer, and while Christie played scales Diana counted the rhythm, her voice droning hypnotically. Then she began to talk, but Christie wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“Mama … please, Mama, don’t make me…I don’t want to, Mama … please … please … please …”

The word itself became a cadence, and Christie played on, tunelessly, one note at a time, each note punctuated with the sound of Diana’s pleading voice.

“Please
 … 
please
 … 
please
 … 
please
 …”

It only ended when Miss Edna came in and demanded that they stop.

And they stopped. Diana stared at her mother for what seemed to Christie to be an endless amount of time, then finally took Christie by the hand and led her out of the room.

From then on, each day was spent on horseback, roaming the ranch. Most of the time Diana didn’t speak to Christie but simple looked at her, smiling a distant smile that Christie found somehow frightening.

And at night the terror would begin.

They would go to the room on the second floor, Diana in her bed and Christie on the daybed, and Christie would try to fall asleep.

But soon Diana would begin muttering, then tossing in the bed and crying out. Christie would try to wake
her, but Diana seemed trapped in her nightmares, and Christie could never wake her up.

But each night, very late, Diana would suddenly get up and come to the daybed, where she would stand over Christie, staring down at her, not speaking, with that strange smile on her face. Christie would wait for the beating she was sure would come. So far it never had.

On the fourth night, she tried to run away.

They went to bed as usual, and Christie lay awake, waiting.

Near midnight, Diana began to moan softly, and Christie lay still, listening.

Finally she could stand it no longer. She was terrified, and there was no one to comfort her. And then, as Diana began tossing in her bed, Christie remembered what Esperanza had told her on the first day she had come to this house, pointing out her cabin near the mine:
“You need me, you come up there.”

Tonight, Christie was sure, Diana was going to beat her.

She slid off the daybed and crept from the room. She went up the back stairs and into the nursery. As she opened the door she saw a large rat scurry from under the crib and disappear into a corner. Shuddering and forcing back a scream, she began looking for clothes and finally found a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt on the floor of the closet. She dressed quickly, keeping as silent as she could.

She was about to leave the nursery when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

She looked frantically around the room, but there was no place to hide.

She started for the window, but it was too late.

The door opened, and Diana was standing there, staring at her.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice sounded reasonable, but Christie fidgeted nervously.

“I—I was looking for something.”

“You were running away, weren’t you? You got dressed so you could run away. Isn’t that right?”

“Aunt Diana—” Christie began.

“Isn’t that right?”
Diana shouted. She raised her arm and slapped Christie across the face. Christie shrieked and rubbed at the stinging bruise.

“Don’t ever try to run away,” Diana hissed. “Little girls can never run away from their mothers. Do you understand?”

Christie nodded mutely.

“Do you understand?”
Diana demanded.

“I understand, Aunt Diana,” Christie whispered.

As she watched, Diana relaxed, and as Diana led her back down to the second floor, Christie did begin to understand.

As long as she didn’t cry, and did exactly as she was told, she would not be punished.

From now on, no matter what happened, she would act as though she wasn’t afraid, and she would never cry.

She wondered, though, what would happen if she failed.

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