Mary Clark - Nighttime Is My Time

Before the audience had time to react, Mr. Amory then presented a check for $100,000 to the building fund and joked to President Downes, "May the great work of molding minds and hearts at Stonecroft Academy continue well into the future."

He might as well have been saying go jump in a lake, Jake thought, remembering how Amory had settled at his place on the dais with a self-satisfied smile.

The last honoree, Dr. Jean Sheridan, spoke about growing up in Cornwall, the town that had been the enclave of the wealthy and the privileged nearly 150 years ago. "As a scholarship student, I know I received a superb education at Stonecroft. But outside the school grounds there was another learning place, in this town and countryside. Here and in the area around us, I acquired an appreciation of history that has shaped my life and career. For that I am eternally grateful."

Dr. Sheridan did not say that she was happy here, or mention that all the old-timers would remember her parents' domestic disputes that enlivened the town, Jake Perkins thought, or that she was known to break down and cry in class after some of her parents' more publicized episodes.

Well, tomorrow's the end of it, Jake thought as he stretched and walked over to the window. The lights from Cold Spring, the town across the Hudson, were less visible since a fog was setting in. Hope it lifts tomorrow, Jake thought. He'd cover the memorial service at Alison Kendall's grave and then catch a movie in the afternoon. He had heard that the names of the four other graduates who had died were also going to be read at the memorial.

Jake went back to his desk and looked at the picture he'd dug out of the files. In an almost unbelievable twist of fate, all five of the dead graduates had not only shared the luncheon table in senior year with two of the honorees, Laura Wilcox and Jean Sheridan, but they had died in the order in which they were seated.

Which means Laura Wilcox is probably next, Jake thought. Can this be just a bizarre coincidence, or should someone be looking into it? But that's crazy. Those women died over a period of twenty years, in totally different ways, all across the country. One of them was even skiing when she must have gotten caught in an avalanche.

Fate, that's what it was, Jake concluded. Nothing but fate.

"I'm planning to stay on for a few extra days," Jean told the front-desk clerk who answered the phone on Sunday morning. "Will that be a problem?"

She knew it wouldn't be a problem. All the other reunion guests would undoubtedly be on their way home after the brunch at Stonecroft, so there'd be many empty rooms.

Although it was only eight-fifteen, she was already up and dressed and had sipped the coffee and juice and nibbled at a muffin from the continental breakfast she had ordered. She had arrange d to go back to Alice Sommers' house after the Stonecroft brunch. Sam Deegan would be there, and they would be able to talk without fear of interruption. Sam had told her that no matter how private the adoption was, it had to have been registered, and a lawyer must have drawn up papers. He had asked Jean if she had a copy of the document she had signed, giving up her rights to the baby.

"Dr. Connors didn't leave me any papers," she explained. "Or maybe I didn't want to have any reminder of what I was doing. I really don't remember. I was numb. I felt as if my heart was being torn out of my body when he took her from me."

But that conversation had opened another avenue of thought. She had been planning to go to the nine o'clock Mass at Sit. Thomas of

Canterbury on Sunday morning, before the memorial service for Alison. St. Thomas had been her parish when she was growing up, but in talking to Sam Deegan, she had remembered that Dr. Connors had been a parishioner there as well. In the midst of one of her sleepless periods during the night, it had occurred to her that it was at least possible the people who adopted the baby had been parishioners of St. Thomas as well.

I told Dr. Connors that I wanted Lily to be raised Catholic, she remembered. And if the adoptive parents were Catholic and were members of St. Thomas of Canterbury at that time, it would have made sense for Lily to be baptized there. If I could look at the records of baptisms between late March and mid-June of that year, it would be a start in searching for Lily.

When she woke at six, it was to feel tears running down her cheeks and to hear herself whispering the prayer that now was becoming a part of her subconscious: "Don't let anyone hurt her. Take care of her, please."

She knew that the office of the church wouldn't be open on Sunday. Even so, maybe this morning, after Mass, she could talk to the pastor and make an appointment to see him. I've got to feel as though I'm doing something , she thought. Maybe there's even a priest who was at the parish twenty years ago and who might just remember a parishioner adopting a baby girl at that time.

A sense of something imminent, a growing certainty that Lily was in immediate danger, had become so strong that Jean knew she could not go through the day without taking some kind of action.

At eight-thirty she went downstairs to the parking lot and got in her car. It was a five-minute drive to the church. She had decided that the best time to speak to a priest was after Mass when he would be standing outside, greeting people as they exited.

She started to drive to Hudson Street, realized she was at least twenty minutes early, and impulsively turned the car toward Mountain Road to look at the house where she had grown up.

The house was almost halfway up the winding street. When she had lived there, the exterior had been brown siding with beige shutters. The people who owned the house now had not only enlarged it but refinished it with white shingles and a forest green trim on the shutters. The new owner obviously understood how trees and plants could frame and beautify a relatively modest home. It looked almost jewel-like in the early morning mist.

The brick and stucco house where the Sommerses had lived also looked well cared for, Jean thought, even though it was obvious no one was living there now. The shades were drawn in all the windows, but the trim was freshly painted, the hedges neatly clipped, and the long bluestone walkway from the front door to the driveway was new.

I always loved this house, she thought as she stopped the car for a better look. Laura's father and mother kept it up when they lived there, and then the Sommerses did as well. I remember when we were nine or ten, Laura said that she thought our house was ugly. I thought the brown was ugly, too, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of admitting it. I wonder if she would approve of it now.

Not that it mattered. Jean turned the car around and began to drive down the hill toward Hudson Street. Laura never deliberately meant to hurt me, she thought. She was taught to be self-centered, and I don't think, in the long run, it's done her much good. The last time I talked to Alison, she said that she was trying to get Laura a job on a new sitcom, but that it was tough to make it happen.

She said that Gordie-then she laughed and changed it to Gordon-could make it happen but that she didn't think he would, Jean recalled. Laura has always been the golden girl. It was almost pathetic to see her playing up to all the guys, even, for God's sake, to Jack Emerson. There's something downright unattractive about him, she thought with a shiver. What makes him so certain that I'll buy a house around here someday?

Earlier it had looked as though the mist would clear, but in the way of October weather, the clouds had become stronger and the mist was now a wet, cold drizzle. Jean realized that it was the same kind of weather as the day when she realized she was pregnant. Her mother and father had been having another of their arguments, although this one ended in what passed for peace. Jean was going to college on a scholarship. There was no need for them to have to put up with each other anymore. They had done their duty as parents, and now it was time for them to lead their own lives.