Chapter 8
The next morning Mildred Hager awoke late. This was unusual. She was a chronically early riser and enjoyed the early-morning duties of family life, making coffee and bringing Vance the first cup before his eyes were open, getting the kids off to school, and during vacation time, having their orange juice and eggs ready when they came down.
So it was with quick panic that she came back into the conscious world that morning. The house was silent.
She got up and threw on a robe, unable to believe what the bedside clock said: nine twenty. She hurried downstairs and found the same empty silence.
She felt a little weak and sat down.
Then she saw the note on the kitchen table and picked it up:
Honey: You looked so peaceful this morning I let you sleep. Home as usual tonight. Want to eat out?-Vance.
Mildred's smile was an outward mark of her sudden, inner relief from the guilt-sense. Her conscience. It had seen the ordinary as a disaster. Vance had tiptoed out and not disturbed her. Jimmie and Donna had read the note and gone on about their own affairs.
It had been as simple as that.
But that hadn't been simple at all. Not so far as Mildred was concerned. In her private world, the time had come to face the reality of what had happened.
There had been no comment on her late return the previous evening. Vance had also been late. He'd phoned and gotten no answer and had commented on it, nothing more. The kids had also straggled in late. So her guilt upon awakening had been totally unfounded in fact.
But she had slept late because her conscious mind dreaded awakening to face the truth.
But the moment had come. She was a cheat. She had been untrue to her husband. She had proven herself unworthy of the faith and trust he'd placed in her.
What was she going to do about it?
She went into the living room and sat down on the lounge and put a cigarette and prepared to face it squarely.
But she was uncomfortable there. Things weren't quite right. She put the cigarette out and went into the patio and stretched out on a chaise length. There, she would face things and make her decision. Should she leave Vance?
The god-like young face of Rafe Kolsky superimposed itself across her consciousness. Rafe laughed. Rafe kissed her. She was in Rafe's arms.
Her mood was close to turning sensuous when she caught herself and dashed the image to bits. She got up and went to her bedroom and dressed, putting the matter out of her mind in the process. She would get dressed and go out into the yard and face things there. She always thought better on her feet.
In the yard, she carefully pulled the weeds from two of the flower beds and then straightened and looked out at the still forest line.
Should she confess to Vance? Would it be best to make a clean breast of the whole incident?
The phone rang. She ran into the house like a condemned prisoner fleeing the death house, as though her answer awaited her there.
And, weirdly enough, it did. She picked up the phone and said hello. But almost before Jean Bellamy could identify herself, Mildred blurted, "Oh, darling, I'm so glad you called. There's something I want to tell you. I've been thinking it over and I decided to take your advice. I'm going to ask Mack for my old job back."
There was amusement in Jean's voice. "Take it easy, honey. You sound as though someone just left you a fortune. Simmer down."
"But the decision is such a relief. I mean now that it's made."
"You've been wanting to get back to Manhattan for a long time, haven't you?"
"I didn't realize it, but I guess I must have."
"Of course. It's time you started living again. What did Vance say?"
"I haven't told him yet." Jean whistled softly. "Better be ready for squalls."
"Oh, Vance will understand."
"I wonder if he will?"
"You never liked Vance, did you, Jean?" This had been understood between them for quite some time, but Jean Bellamy was surprised by this blunt reference to the schism.
"He never liked me very much."
"He never objected to our friendship."
"Mildred, what is this? Summing-up day?"
"I'm sorry. But I sometimes get the feeling you see me as Vance's property or something. We're husband and wife. It's an equal relationship."
"I never denied it."
Mildred laughed. "Never mind. I guess I just didn't sleep very well last night. There's nobody home and I was looking for a hostility outlet."
"I forgive you, sweetie. But when am I going to see you?"
"Let's make it next week. I'll call you."
"Good. I'll be here."
Mildred put the phone down, her spirits a little higher. There was no need to battle with herself any longer. The problem was solved. She would go back to work.
She went resolutely out to straighten up the kitchen, stubbornly refusing to entertain a question that tried to intrude itself:
How had the problem been solved?
Had she considered the possibilities of further infidelities.?
Had she decided whether or not to tell Vance?
Had she given thought to Rafe Kolsky?
None of these questions got through. A decision had been made. That was enough....
Then, five minutes later, one of these questions, the most important one, was suddenly hurled into her face. The phone rang. She answered it. A fragile vtoice came over the wire.
"This is Mrs. Kolsky calling."
The panic hit Mildred squarely in the stomach. Her knees weakened.
"Why, yes, Mrs. Kolsky."
"I was wondering if you might be so gracious as to have tea with me tomorrow afternoon?"
"Why, I-"
"It is short notice, I realize. But I have so few good days and-"
"I'd be delighted, Mrs. Kolsky."
"Thank you so much," the dreadful voice said pleasantly. "Tomorrow at three, then?"
"I'll be there."
Mildred was numb as she put the phone down. Tomorrow at three. How could she live out those long hours of suspense? Not knowing. Wondering what Rafe, an emotional, inexperienced boy, had said to his mother.
Perhaps her world had already fallen to pieces.
Mildred followed an aimless path through the house, the kitchen forgotten. Something had to be done. She could not just sit back and wait for the roof to fall in.
She had to get in touch with Rafe.
But how? She could keep calling his home until he answered, hanging up each time someone else picked up the phone. That hardly seemed practical.
She could start walking and trust to chance, hoping she would bump into him on the road. That made less sense.
There was a compromise on the last idea. Get into her car and drive to Warrenton. Move around. Do some shopping. There would be more chance of finding Rafe that way.
Then, if she failed, she could try calling his home later in the afternoon.
She went out and got into her Impala and gunned it out onto the road....
Other strands in the web were being woven that day, one of these by Jean Bellamy, who did some clear thinking after she talked to Mildred. Convinced that Mildred's marriage to Vance Hager was headed for the rocks anyhow, Jean was quite satisfied with her decision to return to her old job. Once Mildred was back among people, things would change for her. She would move in new directions. And Jean knew where she wanted one of those directions to lead.
In the end, that would be better for Mildred, she told herself virtuously.
This thought led to another. Perhaps she could help things along. When Mildred had said Jean disliked Vance Hager, Mildred had been right. But it was not mere dislike.
Jean hated Vance Hager, because she knew Vance had contempt for her. She knew he was aware of her Lesbian weaknesses. So, knowing where the power lay relative to Vance's career, she saw no reason why she should not use some information that had long been in her secret mental locker. Vance Hager, she'd known for quite a while, was not the upstanding character he purported to be. Nor had he changed after his marriage to Mildred.
Jean would never have been so crude or cruel as to relay certain facts to Mildred. But there were other people who might be interested, important people.
Perhaps, she decided, it was time to settle an old grudge. The decision made, she picked up the phone and called the Penrose Soap Company and asked for an appointment with Mack Penrose....
Penrose was not in a happy frame of mind. Two days earlier, he'd suddenly realized something; he was in love with Nela Varese.
He'd known Nela, comfortably, for over three years. All in all, it had been a slow-moving relationship; a month between their first dinner date; then a few phone calls, and their dates becoming weekly meetings with interludes when Mack had to go out of town.
All in all, indeed a satisfactory friendship, with Mack Pernor never having gotten more intimate than a good night kiss.
His love had dawned on him when he suddenly asked himself why he hadn't ever gotten further. Nela was beautiful. She was desirable. She had everything a man could ever want in a woman.
He decided he'd left things as they'd been because he respected her. But that was no reason to go on leaving them that way.
They had dinner together the next evening and when he took Nela back to her apartment he told her how he felt.
Nela laughed. "Please, Mack-not tonight."
"I know we've kidded around about this, Nela, but this is different. I'm serious. I'm in love with you and I want to marry you."
She respected Mack also, and didn't take his offer lightly. "I believe you are in love with me, Mack."
"It's really been that way for a long time. I just didn't realize it until now."
She took his hand in hers and kissed it before she patted it gently. "I'm flattered, darling. You know that. And perhaps I'm in love with you too, I don't know. I like to be with you. You're easy to be around and you don't bore me. But-I don't know. I'm just happy with things as they are."
He did not try to hide his disappointment. "Somehow, I thought you'd say yes. Was that because I'm conceited?"
She kissed him swiftly and drew back. "No, Mack. You had every right to think that."
"But you haven't led me on in any way."
"Marriage would be so right for us. But the way things are now is right for me. I hope you understand."
"Of course, Nela."
"Ask me again sometime, will you Mack?"
"Probably every day from now on," he said gallantly.
But as the hours went by, his disappointment had deepened. He began to realize what he'd lost. He was sure that if he'd shown more interest in the beginning, things would have been different.
So that had been on his mind, and he was not particularly interested in coming face to face with a woman he disliked.
But he showed Jean in and tried to look agreeable.
Jean came right to the point. "Did Mildred Hager call you, Mack?"
"She dropped in," he replied guardedly.
"Oh, I'm so glad, I had lunch with her and perhaps I did you a favor in trying to talk her into coming back to work for you."
"Very considerate of you," Mack said with slight acid in his voice. "But where did you get the idea Mildred would be interested?"
Jean smiled inwardly. Mack made it so easy. He took the bait beautifully and asked exactly the right questions.
"I tried to persuade her for her own sake. I happen to know Vance is carrying on with another woman. It hasn't been two years yet, but I think he's losing interest in Mildred. She's not the kind of a woman to accept indifference from her husband."
Mack Penrose regarded his visitor with a distaste he made no great effort to hide. "Jean," he said coldly, "why don't you try minding your own business?"
Jean Bellamy, in turn, was satisfied with the reaction she'd produced and spoke quite cheerfully. "But Mildred is my business. She's a very dear friend. I'm sure you feel the same way about her."
"I consider her a friend, yes, but I'm not intruding into her private life."
"I'm sure you don't want Vance to humiliate her."
"Jean! For heaven's sake! Live your own life! Let Vance and Mildred live theirs!"
"Mildred turns to me every time she gets into trouble."
"And you diagnose the situation and prescribe."
When Jean smiled calmly, Mack diagnosed his own situation and prescribed self-control. He got up from his desk and walked to the window in order to hide his reaction. What was behind this outrageousness? What was Jean Bellamy after? Was she merely trying to stir up trouble?
He considered this while he studied a traffic jam down in the street and then turned sharply.
"Your altruism is commendable, Jean, but honestly-I'm not interested."
"Not even in the name of the woman Vance is playing house with?"
"No. And now, I'm in the midst of a busy day-"
Jean was not in the least offended. She got up from her chair and gave Vance that maddeningly smug smile. "I'm sure you are. And it was sweet of you to spare me a little of it. I'll run along now. We must get together for a drink sometime."
"By all means," Mack said. He added, "Cyanide," under his breath, and after Jean left, he tried to get back to his work. But he was no longer in the mood. Jean had effectively ruined the day for him.
He cursed the miserable Lesbian and made himself a drink.
Verne Getchall did not find Bonnie. She came home that morning after having been away all night and Verne returned to Cow Hollow to find her singing to herself as she combed the long yellow hair of her favorite doll.
He approached her gently.
"Hello, Daddy."
"Hello Bonnie."
"Give me a kiss."
Getchall kissed his daughter on the forehead. He looked into her eyes and stroked her cheek. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"What did you do last night?"
"I went way out in the woods."
"Did you meet anyone?"
"I met my friend."
"You have many friends, haven't you?"
"Yes. I met Sir Lancelot. I rode on his horse."
Verne Getchall wondered if he'd been wise in filling Bonnie's pathetic mind with so many dream characters. It hadn't seemed unwise, giving her a world of her own. But perhaps he should have at least tried to point her in the direction of reality.
"He took me to a big house in the forest. It was where King Arthur lives and we had a banquet."
"A big house?"
"A beautiful big palace."
"Which way did you go?"
"Out that way." Bonnie waved a vague hand in the direction of the Cutoff.
"You mustn't do that again, Bonnie. It's dangerous out there. Swamps. Sharp rocks."
"Oh, there was no danger. We found a path. Then there was this big, empty house."
Verne Getchal turned on the crone who appeared from the next room. "Why don't you watch her?" he asked. His voice was gentle because Bonnie was present, but there was a vicious loathing in it that the crone cringed from.
Verne Getchall stared at her, symbolic as she was of all the tragedy in his life. She was a local woman he'd picked up to keep house and tend Bonnie, because you couldn't bring a decent woman to a place like this.
"I think you ought to take a nap now," he told Bonnie. "You must be tired."
"Oh, no. When I got tired out in the woods, Sir Lancelot took me to a room in the big house and guarded me while I slept."
"Of course, dear. But you'd better take a little nap anyhow."
Bonnie went obediently to bed and Verne Getchall stood looking down at her. Sir Lancelot. King Arthur's palace. The place she described sounded a lot like the old deserted estate in the Cutoff. Full Moon, he believed it was called. But Bonnie could never have made that difficult trip.
At least, she could not have made it alone As he turned away, his mind was troubled.