Mary Clark - A Cry In The Night

It seemed to Jenny there was a defensive tone in his voice when he spoke of Rooney. “I enjoyed visiting with her,” she said sincerely.

The brusque manner softened. “That’s good to hear. And she’s looking up patterns to make jumpers or some such things for your girls. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine.”

When they left the office Erich said, “Jenny, Jenny, don’t encourage Rooney.”

“I promise I won’t let it get out of hand. Erich, she’s just lonely.”

Every afternoon after lunch while the children napped, she and Erich put on cross-country skis and explored the farm. Elsa was willing to mind the children as they slept. In fact it was she who suggested the arrangement. It occurred to Jenny that Elsa was trying to make up for accusing Erich of damaging the dining-room wall.

And yet she wondered if it weren’t possible that he had caused the stain. Often when he came in for lunch his hands would still have paint or charcoal smudges. If he noticed anything out of order, a curtain not centered on the rod, bric-a-brac not exactly in place, he would automatically adjust it. Several times Jenny stopped him before he touched something with paint-spattered fingers.

The paper in the dining room was replaced. When the paperhanger and his assistant came in, they were incredulous. “You mean to say that he bought eight double rolls at these prices and he’s replacing exactly what he has?”

“My husband knows what he wants.”

When they were finished, the room looked exactly the same except that the smudge was gone.

During the evenings she and Erich liked to settle in the library reading, listening to music, talking. He asked her about the faint scar at her hairline. “An automobile accident when I was sixteen. Someone jumped the divider and plowed into us.”

“You must have been frightened, darling.”

“I don’t remember a thing about it,” Jenny laughed. “I’d just leaned my head back and fallen asleep. The next thing I was aware of was being in the hospital three days later. I had a pretty bad concussion-enough to give me amnesia for those days. Nana was frantic. She was sure I’d be brain-damaged or something. I did have headaches for a while and even did some sleepwalking around final exam time. Stress brought it on according to the doctor. But gradually it stopped.”

At first hesitantly, then the words tumbling out, Erich talked about his mother’s accident. “Caroline and I had just gone into the dairy barn to see the new calf. It was being weaned and Caroline held the nursing bottle to its lips. The stock tank-that’s that thing that looks like a bathtub in the calving pen-was full of water. It was muddy underfoot and Caroline slipped. She tried to grab something to keep from falling. The something was the lamp cord. She fell into the tank, pulling the lamp with her. That fool of a workman, Joe’s uncle incidentally, was rewiring the barn and he’d left the lamp slung over a nail on the wall. In a minute it was all over.”

“I hadn’t realized you were with her.”

“I don’t like to talk about it. Luke Garrett, Mark’s father, was here. He tried to revive her but it was hopeless. And I stood there holding the hockey stick she’d just given me for my birthday…”

Jenny was sitting on the hassock at the foot of Erich’s leather easy chair. She raised his hands to her lips. Leaning down he lifted her up and held her tightly against him. “For a long time I hated the sight of that hockey stick. Then I started to think of it as her last present to me.” He kissed her eyelids. “Don’t look so sad, Jenny. Having you makes up for everything. Please, Jenny, promise me.”

She knew what he wanted to hear. With a wrench of tenderness, she whispered, “I’ll never leave you.”

One morning when she was walking with Tina and Beth, Jenny spotted Rooney leaning over the picket fence at the southern end of the graveyard. She seemed to be looking down at Caroline’s grave.

“I was just thinking of all the nice times I had when Caroline and I were young and Erich was little and then when Arden was born. Caroline drew a picture of Arden once. It was so pretty. I don’t know what happened to it. It disappeared right out of my room. Clyde says I was probably carrying it around like I used to do sometimes. Why don’t you come visit me again?”

Jenny had braced herself for the question. “It’s just we’ve been so busy settling. Beth, Tina, aren’t you going to say hello to Mrs. Toomis?”

Beth said hello, shyly. Tina ran forward and raised her face for a kiss. Rooney bent down and smoothed Tina’s hair from her forehead. “She reminds me of Arden, this one. Always jumping from one place to the next. Erich probably told you to keep away from me. Well, I can’t say I blame him. I guess I am an awful nuisance sometimes. But I found the pattern I was looking for. Can I make the jumpers for the girls?”

“I’d like that,” Jenny said, deciding that Erich would have to get used to the idea that she would become friendly with Rooney. There was something infinitely appealing about the woman.

Rooney turned so that once again she was gazing into the graveyard. “Do you get lonesome here yet?” she asked.

“No,” Jenny said honestly. “It’s different, of course. I was used to a busy job and talking to people all day, and the phones ringing and friends popping into my apartment. Some of that I miss, I suppose. But mostly I’m just so glad to be here.”

“So was Caroline,” Rooney said. “So happy for a while. And then it changed.” She stared down at the simple headstone on the other side of the fence. There were snow clouds in the air and the pines threw restless shadows across the pale pink granite. “Oh, indeed it changed for Caroline,” she whispered, “and after she was gone, it started right then to change for us all.”

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” Erich protested. “I don’t want to go.”

“Sure I’m trying to get rid of you,” Jenny agreed. “Oh, Erich, this is perfectly beautiful.” She held up a three-by-four-foot oil to examine it more closely. “You’ve caught the haze that comes around the trees just before they start to bud. And that dark spot circling the ice in the river. That shows the ice is about to break up, that there’s moving water below, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve got a good eye, darling. That’s right.”

“Well, don’t forget I was a fine arts major. Changing Seasons is a lovely title. The change is so subtle here.”

Erich draped an arm across her shoulders and studied the painting with her. “Remember, anything you want us to keep, I won’t exhibit.”

“No, that’s foolish. This is the time to keep building your reputation. I won’t mind at all eventually being known as the wife of the most prestigious artist in America. They’ll point me out and say, ‘See, isn’t she lucky? And he’s gorgeous too!’”

Erich pulled her hair. “Is that what they’ll say?”

“Uh-huh, and they’ll be right.”

“I could just as easily send word that I can’t make the show.”

“Erich, don’t do it. They’ve already planned a reception for you. I just wish I could go but I can’t leave the kids yet and dragging them with us won’t work. Next time.”

He began to stack the canvases. “Promise you’ll miss me, Jenny.”

“I’ll miss you lots. It’s going to be a lonesome four days.” Unconsciously Jenny sighed. In nearly three weeks, she’d spoken only to a handful of people: Clyde, Joe, Elsa, Rooney and Mark.

Elsa was taciturn almost to the point of absolute silence. Rooney, Clyde and Joe were hardly companions. She’d only chatted with Mark briefly once since that first evening, even though she knew from Joe that he’d checked on Baron at least half a dozen times.