Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

Matthew sighed. “Oh yes, a letter from Penny will positively make my day.”

“My dear darling sister,” Amanda read. “How nice to be fat, how nice of you to be fat.”

“What?” Matthew said.

Amanda shrugged. “How nice of you to be fat ,” she repeated, puzzled. “What do you suppose she means?”

“She’s your sister,” Matthew said, shrugging.

“It must be a joke of some kind. She probably explains it.”

“Well, I’m going to take a shower,” Matthew said.

“Oh, sit down a minute.” She looked back at the letter again. “I am claws,” she read.

“I am what? ”

“I am claws.” Amanda stopped reading. She looked up at Matthew.

“Go on,” he said, frowning.

“You... you better watch out, you better be good. It should not be hot in November when they die.”

“Are you making this up?” Matthew asked sharply.

“No. No, I... Matthew...”

“Read it.”

“Matthew, I’m frightened!”

“Read it!” he said.

“It should not be hot in November when they die,” Amanda read. The room was silent now. She spoke in a whisper, and she did not look up at Matthew as her eyes followed Penny’s wide scrawl. “Amanda, dear, don’t you think, dear, you should wear a yellow ribbon for my sailor who is far far away? Now Amanda, why don’t you write to me? I am so tired with crying. Don’t you help? You used to help me clean the house on November Saturdays, but not hot. Mother will not let me drive the car. Tell her to give me the keys or I will eat her all up. Love the flying rooster bird, the sailor dressed in blue. Love, Penelope.”

Her hands were trembling. Everything was suddenly in her head, behind her eyes. She looked up at her husband.

“Matthew, we’ve got to...”

“Yes,” he said. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

Everything seemed the same except Penny. Nothing had changed except Penny. Her mother did not look any older, and her father still smiled with the curious lopsided grin that hid the gold filling in the upper right-hand corner of his mouth, and even the child, Kate, five years old now, did not seem to have grown very much, the house was the same, the lawn, the Minnesota air, nothing had changed but Penny.

“Hello, Amanda,” she said, “did you have a nice time?” and Amanda looked deep into her sister’s eyes and hugged her fiercely. The family reacquainted themselves with Matthew. Amanda’s father took him out to the garage to show him his new power tools. Kate had smeared finger paints on her dress, and Penny took her upstairs to change her, her hand at the back of the child’s neck, the long blond hair trailing over her fingers as she led her up the steps.

They talked in the garden not yet touched by springtime, Amanda and her mother. Priscilla Soames was calm and sensible, quite infuriatingly calm as she walked with Amanda, stooping to examine a new bud every now and then, but walking most of the time with her hands tucked into the folds of her brown sweater.

“What’s the matter with her?” Amanda asked.

“Nothing. Your sister is fine.”

“I got a letter that—”

“Your sister is a fanciful girl.”

“This letter wasn’t fanciful.”

“No? What was it, daughter?” Priscilla raised her eyebrows and studied Amanda coolly.

“It was a letter from a...” Amanda paused. In a rush, she said, “It was a letter from a lunatic.”

“Now really, Amanda.”

“Did you know she wrote to me?”

“No, I did not. But if you got a letter that sounded despondent, you mustn’t—”

“This was more than despondent.”

“Your sister has her black days,” Priscilla said. “We all do. And she has had more to bear than most. With God’s will—”

“Mother, this has nothing whatever to do with God’s will. Penny’s letter—”

“I wish you would not profane the Lord,” Priscilla said. “I can’t imagine what you’ve learned in the East, but this is still my house, daughter, and I won’t listen to any—”

“I want to know what’s wrong with Penny.”

“There is nothing at all wrong with her. Her husband died, that’s all. She loved him dearly. When he—”

“That was almost six years ago, Mother!”

“Yes, and does grief set its own time limits?”

“Grief? For God’s sake, when I came into the house, she acted as if I were—”

“If you take the name of the Lord—”

“Never mind the name of the Lord!” Amanda shouted, and her mother turned abruptly on her heel and began walking toward the house. Amanda caught her arm. “We’re finishing this, Mother,” she said tightly.

Priscilla stared at her coldly and said nothing.

“Do you hear me?” Amanda said.

“Don’t shout.”

“What’s wrong with Penny? Have you had a doctor for her?”

“She’ll hear you.”

“She’s upstairs with the baby. She won’t hear me.”

“In any case, I don’t like shouting.”

“Have you had a doctor for her?”

“Why should I have had a doctor? There’s nothing wrong with her.”

“What are you trying to hide, Mother?”

“Nothing. Is this why you came all the way from New York? You’d have done better to stay there with your husband and your friends, Amanda. There’s nothing wrong with your sister.”

“I haven’t seen her in two years, and the first thing she asks me is ‘Did you have a good time?’ as if I’m coming home from a date, but there’s nothing wrong with her.” Amanda paused. “Why won’t you let her drive the car, Mother?”

“There’s only one car, and your father needs it.”

“But you never denied it to her before.”

“Your father’s parish is larger now. Besides...”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me!”

“Your sister had a slight accident in town a few weeks back. We thought it would be best, until she... got over it to...” Priscilla shrugged. “Your father thought it would be best.”

“What kind of an accident?”

“A small one.”

“Then why won’t you let her drive?”

“Amanda, I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.”

“That’s too bad, Mother, and I’m sorry. What kind of an accident did she have?”

“She hit someone.”

“What!”

“Don’t start imagining a terrible accident, Amanda. The woman wasn’t hurt at all. But we felt it was best—”

“Where was this? The accident.”

“On the old Courtney Road.”

“What was she doing there?”

“Just driving. Just out for a drive.”

“And the woman?”

“Was walking, Amanda. By the side of the road.”

“And Penny hit her? That’s the widest road in Otter Falls!”

“I suppose it is.”

“How’d she happen to—?”

“I don’t know, Amanda.”

“Did she hit her deliberately?”

“Of course not!”

“Did she?”

“No.” Priscilla scowled at her daughter. “Are you this rude in New York? You seem to have forgotten all your manners, Amanda. Of course, I suppose all your friends—”

“Penny needs a doctor,” Amanda said.

“She does not need a doctor! She’s as sane as—” The word startled Priscilla. She closed her mouth instantly.

“Yes,” Amanda said.

Priscilla did not answer.

“I’m going to call a doctor,” Amanda said.

“You’re going to do nothing of the sort. This is still my house. You live in New York.”

“My sister lives here.”

“It’s a little late to be thinking of her.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then I suggest you ignore it.”