When the Wind Blows (5 page)

Instead it had to do with the restoration. To Joyce’s mind, the restoration was constructive—it was safe, and it didn’t pollute the environment. She had silently dreaded the return of the mine and the black cloud that would hang over the valley—a cloud composed partly of coal dust and partly of fear that someday, any day, disaster would strike again. Though Joyce was sincerely sorry that Elliot Lyons had died, there was a part of her that felt relieved. Now the mine operations would stop. At least no one else would die.

The back door opened, and Matt came in, his face streaked with sweat and black dust, his expression grim.

“Well, it’s done,” he said. He opened the refrigerator, which had been built into the space once occupied by an icebox, with its antique façade retained, and pulled out a Coors. “A damn shame, that’s what it is.” He flipped the top off the bottle and pulled at it deeply as Jeff, ten years old and as darkly handsome as his father, slipped into the kitchen.

“What’s a damn shame?” the little boy asked.

“What happened today,” Matt said. “And don’t say ‘damn.’ ”

“You say it,” Jeff fretted.

“My father used to tell me to do what he said and not what he did. I’m telling you the same thing. Get it?” Behind his grim expression there was a gleam in his eye that let Jeff know he was in no serious trouble. He grinned at his father.

“The hell you say,” he said in perfect imitation of Matt.

“Jeff!” Joyce did her best to make her voice severe, but failed. She pointed to the drawer in which she kept the silverware. “Set the table while your father drinks his beer, okay?”

“Aw …” Jeff complained, but not loudly enough so that his father would have to scold him. He scooped up some silver and began setting the table.

“I suppose they’ll give up on the mine now,” Joyce said carefully as she began mashing some potatoes.

Matt swished some beer around in his mouth, then swallowed it. “Don’t know. Don’t know what happened to Elliot yet.”

“Maybe the water babies got him,” Jeff suggested.

Joyce stared at her son. “Water babies?” she echoed. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know,” Jeff said, his voice filled with the scorn children reserve only for the ignorance of their parents. “They wait up in the mountains, and they eat people.” His face turned thoughtful and he frowned. “But I guess it couldn’t have been them, ’cause Eddie says they only eat children.”

“Eddie Whitefawn?” Joyce asked. “Is that who told you?”

“Unh-hunh. And he knows, too. His grandmother told him. She told him when Indian kids die, they go up in the mountains and wait for other kids. Then the dead ones kill the live ones.”

Joyce shuddered, and Matt set his beer down. It was the same story he’d heard when he was a boy, with a few variations—the legend of a cave somewhere in the mountains where the Indians were supposed to have buried their stillborn. But how could he explain it? He decided not to try. Instead he reached out to take his son’s arm. Jeff tried to pull away from him, but Matt’s grip was like a gentle vise.

“Now, you listen to me, young man,” he said. “There’s no such thing as water babies, whatever they are. There’s nothing in the mountains that eats people—nothing at all.”

Jeff looked at his father suspiciously, then zeroed in on the weakest point. “If you don’t know what they are,” he said, “how do you know there’s no such thing?”

Matt sighed and stood up. Children, he decided, were endlessly baffling. In the exuberance of youth he had thought it would be fun to have six, but Jeff, with his unending questions and constant mischief, was as good as six rolled into one. Now, as this tiny fraction of his intentions stared belligerently up at him, he shrugged helplessly.

“I’m gonna take a shower, honey,” he said. “Think you can get me off the hook with our little genius here?” Without waiting for an answer, he left the kitchen. By the time he’d reached the foot of the stairs, he’d stripped off his shirt and was yanking at his belt. The strain of the day had exhausted him, and now, as he climbed to the second floor, he began laughing almost hysterically.

And yet there was nothing to laugh about. He could not erase from his mind the sight of Elliot Lyons’s body, barely recognizable at the bottom of the main shaft, a bloody pulp loosely encased in a sport shirt and khaki pants, lying in the muck on the floor of the mine. It was nearly incomprehensible to him that it had happened. Over and over as they had worked together, Elliot had insisted to him that under no circumstances should he ever work in the mine alone. Too many things could go wrong. And yet, today, Elliot had apparently gone to the mine by himself.

And something had happened.

Matt chuckled hollowly. Who knows, he thought. Maybe the water babies did get him.

In the kitchen, Jeff listened patiently as his mother tried to explain to him that he mustn’t take too seriously the endless bits of Indian lore that Eddie Whitefawn’s grandmother was constantly dispensing.

“What she says isn’t any closer to the truth than the fire and brimstone Reverend Jennings preaches,” Joyce said. In fact, she privately placed a lot more faith in Eddie’s grandmother than she did in Jerome Jennings, but she realized that that might be due only to her liking for Eddie and her dislike of little Jay-Jay Jennings. Still, when it came to parental wisdom, she tried to do her best by Jeff, and fair was fair. “You have to remember that the only things you can believe in are the things you can prove. Now, have you, or Eddie, or his grandmother ever seen one of these water babies?”

“No,” Jeff reluctantly admitted. He had a feeling his mother was working up to one of her lectures, so he decided to get her talking about something else. “So if there aren’t any water babies, what happened to Christie’s dad?”

“I don’t know,” Joyce told him. “It was an accident.”

“But Dad says Mr. Lyons was real careful,” Jeff protested. “He says Mr. Lyons was the carefulest man he ever met.”

“Most careful,” Joyce automatically corrected him. “There’s no such word as ‘carefulest.’ ”

“Aw, Mom,” Jeff groaned. “You know what I meant! I’m gonna go up and ask Dad.”

“You’ll do no such thing! You’ll stay right here and finish setting the table. And during dinner you won’t mention one word about the mine, or Mr. Lyons, or anything else that might upset your father. Do you understand?”

Jeff nodded and decided he’d just have to wait. After dinner, he’d go out and find Steve Penrose and Eddie Whitefawn, and the three of them would figure out what had happened—even if they had to go up to the mine and look around.

   Edna Amber sat in the small parlor, a fire blazing at her feet even though the evening was warm. An hour ago Dan Gurley, the Amberton marshal, had called to tell her that he and Dr. Henry were coming out to talk to her. And Diana. Ever since the call, she had been sitting there, her lips compressed into a tight line, her bright blue eyes reflecting the firelight. People were going to be coming into her house—people she didn’t like—asking her questions, asking Diana questions, prying into their affairs.

Of course, it was all Diana’s fault It had been Diana who had insisted that Elliot Lyons be hired to supervise the revitalization of the mine. Edna had known it was wrong, known from the start that they should have gotten someone from the East, someone who was competent. But she had given in and let Diana have her way. And now a man was dead.

She remained rigidly seated when the knock at the door finally came. If people wanted to see her, they would have to come to her; she wouldn’t make so much as a move toward them. She was, after all, an Amber. She continued to sit, waiting, as Diana opened the door, then led the marshal and the doctor into the small parlor, where there were, conspicuously, not enough chairs for them to be seated.

“Good evening, Miss Edna,” Dan said. He stood uneasily in the doorway, wondering if he should suggest they move to the living room.

“Daniel,” Edna said. For the moment she ignored Dr. Henry.

Dan Gurley took a deep breath, then stepped into the room. Uninvited, he lowered his bulk into the empty chair beside Edna and gave her his warmest smile. Her stare remained icy.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with a bit of inconvenience, ma’am,” he said. “What with Mr. Lyons being dead.”

Edna’s eyes glittered. “If he fell down the mine shaft, he could hardly be alive,” she snapped. “I know
what
happened, Daniel. You told me earlier, in case you’ve forgotten. What I want to know is
why
it happened.”

“Well, now, that’s exactly why we’re here,” Dan said, affecting a drawl he seldom used except for tourists. “I’m afraid we don’t rightly know what happened. In fact, we were hoping perhaps you and Miss Diana might be able to shed some light.”

“Us?” Diana asked. She leaned against the piano, and her fingers unconsciously played with the buttons that rose in a neat row up the front of her blouse nearly to her chin. “What could we tell you?”

“We can’t tell him anything, of course,” Edna said. She turned to Dan. “Really, Daniel, I find this very annoying. What is the point?” She paused, then frowned. “You aren’t suggesting that what happened to Elliot Lyons was anything more than an accident, are you?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Dan said. “All I’m trying to do is find out what happened. When I got up there today, the lights were on, and the elevator was running. It was at the top of the shaft, and there wasn’t anything wrong with it. Given the—” He paused, wondering how to phrase it most delicately, then decided to ignore the Amber women’s nerves. “Given the length of the fall, there wasn’t enough left of Lyons for Bill to examine. Now, all I want to know from you is if anyone else was up there this morning, besides Elliot Lyons.”

“At the mine?” Diana asked. “Why would there be? You mean you think someone might have pushed Elliot?”

“I don’t know,” Dan answered.

“He means he doesn’t know what happened,” Bill put in. “It seems to both of us that Lyons wasn’t the kind of man to stumble into a mine shaft. All Dan’s doing is trying to figure it out.”

For the first time Edna Amber gazed directly at Bill, and her eyes held even less warmth in them for him than they’d had for Dan Gurley. “And you,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“I came to see Christie,” Bill said. “I thought I ought to have a look at her, to see if she’s all right.
She’s been through a lot today. Even you must realize that.”

Edna’s knuckles tightened on the head of her cane.

For a moment Bill thought she was going to rise to her feet, but she only nodded toward Diana.

“Bring Christie down,” she said. Diana started from the room, and Bill put a hand on her arm.

“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “I can go up. Is she in bed?”

Before Diana could answer, Edna’s voice filled the room.

“Diana will bring the child down,”
she insisted. Bill, his anger rising as he stared at the old woman, opened his mouth to speak, but before he could find the right words, Diana put a hand on his.

“It will be better, Bill,” she whispered. “I won’t be a minute.” Not giving him time to protest again, she hurried toward the stairs. A moment later she disappeared into the upper reaches of the house. While he waited for her to bring Christie down, Bill turned back to Edna.

“I suppose you’re feeling a bit put out by all of this,” he said, his voice hard.

Edna’s chin quivered with anger. “I’ve never liked you, young man—” she began, but Bill cut her off.

“How you feel about me is of no consequence right now, Miss Edna. There is a little girl upstairs who has just lost her only parent. In fact, it was only luck that she wasn’t with him today. Now, there are some things that have to be done, and some questions that have to be answered. The mine is on your property, and Christie Lyons is staying in your house.”

Without saying a word, Edna Amber rose from her chair, her cane quivering in her grip, and left the room. Bill and Dan remained silent, listening to her mount the stairs, then start down the hall. The thumping of the cane stopped momentarily, then began again as she continued on to the back of the house.
Only when they heard the sound of her bedroom door closing did either of them speak.

“Kind of hard on her, weren’t you?” Dan asked mildly.

“You don’t know her the way I do.” Bill’s voice was bitter. “I can’t say I’ve ever liked her, and I think the way she treats Diana is inexcusable. Diana’s so gentle, but Miss Edna only sees it as weakness. And do you know what happens when Diana shows any kind of emotion? Miss Edna starts talking about how she’s ‘excitable,’ as if it were some kind of disease.”

“Oh, now, it isn’t all that bad,” Dan put in, but Bill brushed his comment aside.

“Isn’t it? Sometimes I think it’s a lot worse. Sometimes I think that old woman is crazy.” Then, as he heard Diana coming down the stairs, he made himself calm down. He rose to his feet as Diana came into the little parlor, carrying Christie in her arms.

Christie, her eyes wide and fearful, stared at the two men and her arms tightened around Diana’s neck.

“Christie?” Bill asked. “Can’t you walk?”

Christie glanced uncertainly at Diana, then shrugged. Bill reached out to take her from Diana’s arms, and for a moment she seemed to resist. Then she let go of Diana and let him lower her to the floor. “I’ll take her into the living room, okay?” he asked.

Diana nodded, and smiled at Christie. “Now, you remember what I told you, all right?”

Christie said nothing, but as Bill led her from the room, her eyes never left Diana. When they were gone, Diana gave her attention to Dan Gurley.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, sighing heavily. “I—I feel like I killed him myself.”

She lowered herself into the chair that had only recently been occupied by her mother and stared into the flickering flames on the hearth.

“Do you know what it’s like to be an Amber here, Dan?” she asked suddenly.

Dan Gurley was sixteen years younger than Diana, and had known her all his life, though only at a distance. To his knowledge, no one was close to the Ambers. Now he felt he was about to hear things that he was sure were none of his business and had nothing to do with Elliot Lyons at all.