"When I was a child, I believed the world was full of many wonders, and miracles could still happen, and blind men would one day see, and the lame would one day walk, and so forth. Thinking like that made all the unfairness I saw all around, all the ugliness, much better. I think the ballet kept me from fully growing up, so I maintained the idea that miracles could truly happen if you believed in them enough-- like that song `When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.' And in the ballet miracles do happen all the time, so I stayed childlike even after I became an adult. I still believed that in the outside world, the real world, everything would work out fine in the long run if I believed enough. Mel and I had that in common. There's something about ballet that keeps you virginal, so to speak. You see no evil, hear no evil, though I won't mention speak no evil. You know what I mean, I'm sure, for it was your world, too." He paused and glanced .up at the threatening sky.
"In that world I had a wife who loved me. In the outside world, the real world, she quickly found a replacement lover. I hated Bart for taking her when I needed her most. Then I'd hate Mel for allowing him to use her as just another way to get back at me. He's still doing it, Mom. And I wouldn't trouble you with what's going on if I wasn't sometimes afraid for my life. Afraid for my children."
I listened to him, trying not to show shock as he spoke of all he'd never hinted at before.
"Remember the parallel bars I exercise on, in order to use the back and leg braces? Well, somebody scraped the metal so that when I slip my hands along the rails I get metal splinters in both hands. Dad dug them out for me and made me promise not to tell you."
I shivered, shrank inside. "What else, Jory? That's not all, I can tell from the way you look."
"Nothing much, Mom. Just little things to make my life miserable, like insects in my coffee, tea and milk. My sugar bowl filled with salt, and my salt cellar full of sugar . . . dumb tricks, childish pranks that could be dangerous. Tacks appear in my bed, in the seat of my chair . . . oh, it's Halloween time all the time in this house for me. At times I want to laugh, it's so silly. But when I slip on a shoe and there's a nail in the toe that I can't feel, and it gives me an infection because my leg circulation isn't top-notch, it's not a laughing matter. It could cost me a leg. I waste so much time looking everything over before I use it, like my razor with new blades that are suddenly rusty."
He looked around as if to see if Joel or Bart were in earshot, and even though he saw nothing, for I looked, too, still his voice lowered to a whisper. "Yesterday was very warm, remember? You yourself opened three of my windows so I'd have fresh, cool breezes--then the wind shifted and blew from the north, and it turned dramatically cold. You came on the run to close my windows, to cover me with another blanket. I fell back to sleep. Half an hour later I woke up from a dream of being at the North Pole. The windows--all six of them--were wide open. Rain blew in and wet my bed. But that wasn't the worst of it. My blankets had been removed. I turned to ring for someone to come to my assistance. My buzzer was gone. I sat up and reached for my chair. It wasn't where I usually put it, right beside my bed. For a moment I panicked. Then, because I'm much stronger now in my arms, I lowered myself to the floor, used my arms to pull myself over to a regular chair that I could shove near the windows. Once I was on the chair seat, I could have easily pulled the windows down. But the first one refused to budge. I moved the chair to another window, and that wouldn't close any more than the first one would. Stuck with the fresh coat of paint applied a few weeks ago. I knew theft it was useless to try the other four and brave that fiercely cold wet rain and wind, for my leverage wasn't right, even if my arms are strong. Yet, foolhardy as you often say I am, I persisted. No luck. That's when I put myself on the floor again and made my way to the door. It was locked. I dragged myself along by pulling on furniture legs until I was in the closet, and there I pulled down a winter coat, covered myself and fell asleep."
What had happened to my face? It felt so numb that I couldn't move my lips and speak, nor could I manage to show shock. Jory stared at me hard.
"Mom, are you listening? Are you thinking? Now . . . don't try to comment until I complete this story. As I just said, I fell asleep in the closet, on the floor, soaking wet. When I woke up, I was back on my bed. A dry bed, the sheet and blankets covered me, and I was wearing a fresh pair of pajamas." He paused dramatically and met my horrified eyes.
"Mom ... if someone in this house wanted me to catch pneumonia and die, would that someone have put me back in bed and covered me up? Dad wasn't home to pick me up and carry me, and certainly you don't have the strength to do that."
"But," I whispered, "Bart doesn't hate you that much. He doesn't hate you at all . . ."
"Perhaps' it was Trevor who found me, and not Bart. But somehow I don't think Trevor is young and strong enough to lift me. Still, somebody here hates me," Jory stated firmly. "Somebody who would like to see me gone. I've thought about this considerably and come to the conclusion that it had to have been Bart who found me in the closet and put me back to bed. Has this occurred to you: if you, Dad, I and the twins were out of the way, Bart would have our money as well as his own?"
"But he's already filthy rich! He doesn't need more!"
Jory spun his chair so that it faced east, staring at the faded sun. "I've never really been afraid of Bart before. I have always pitied him and wanted to help him. I think about taking the twins and leaving with you and Dad .. . but that's a coward's way. If Bart did open those windows to let in the rain and wind, he later changed his mind and came back to rescue me. I think about the clipper ship and how it was broken, and certainly Bart couldn't have been responsible for that, not when he wanted it so much. And I think about Joel, whom you think was responsible--and again I think about who influences Bart more than anyone here. Someone is taking Bart and twisting him and turning back the clock, so he's again like that tormented ten-year-old kid who wanted you and his grandmother to die in fire and be redeemed . . ."
"Please, Jory, you said you'd never mention that period in our lives again."
Silence came, stretched out interminably before he went on. "The fish in my aquarium died last night. Their air filter was turned off. The temperature control smashed." Once again he paused, watching my face closely. "Do you believe any of what I've just told you?'
I fixed my eyes on the blue-misted mountains with their soft, rounded tops to remind me of ancient, gigantic, dead virgins laid out in jagged rows
, their upthrust, moss-covered bosoms all that remained. My eyes lifted to the sky, deeply blue, and the featherbrushed storm clouds with wisps of shimmering gold clouds behind them, heralding a better day.
Under such skies as this, surrounded by the same mountains, Chris, Cory, Carrie and I had faced terrors while God watched. My fingers nervously wiped away those invisible cobwebs, trying to find the right words to say.
"Mom, as much as I hate to say this, I think we have to give up on Bart. We can't trust his now-andthen love for us. He needs professional help again. Truthfully, I've always believed he had a great deal of love within him that he didn't know how to release or express. And here I am, now thinking he's beyond saving. We can't drive him out of his own home-- unless we want him declared insane and put in an institution. I don't want that to happen, and I know you don't. So, all we can do is leave. And isn't it funny--now I don't want to go, even when my life is threatened. I've grown accustomed to this house; I love it here, so I risk my life, the lives of all of us. The intrigue of what might happen today keeps me from ever being bored. Mom, the worst thing in my life is boredom."
I wasn't half listening to Jory.
My eyes widened as I saw Deirdre and Darren following Joel and Bart to the small chapel, which had its own outside door that could be reached from the gardens. They disappeared inside, and the door closed.
I forgot my basket of cut roses and jumped to my feet. Where was Toni? Why wasn't she protecting the twins from Bart, from Joel? Then I felt foolish, for why should she feel that Bart or Joel was a threat to two such small, innocent children? Still I said a hasty goodbye to Jory, told him not to worry, I'd be back in a few minutes with Darren and Deirdre so we could all eat lunch together. "Jory, you will be all right if I leave you alone for a few moments?"
"Sure, Mom. Go after my kids. I spoke to Trevor this morning, and he gave me a batteryoperated two-way intercom. Trevor can be fully trusted.
Believing wholeheartedly in our butler's loyalty, I sped after the foursome already in the chapel.
Minutes later I sneaked through the small downstairs inside door to enter the chapel that Joel had told Bart was truly necessary if he were to redeem his soul from sin. It was a small room that tried to duplicate what many old castles and palaces contained for family worship. There was Bart kneeling behind the first pew, with Darren on one side and Deirdre on the other. Joel stood behind the pulpit, his gray head bowed as he began to pray. Stealthily I inched myself closer to hide in the shadow of an arch strut.
"We don't like it here," complained Deirdre in a loud whisper to Bart.
"Be quiet. This is God's place," Bart warned.
"I hear my kitty crying," said Darren weakly, cringing away from Bart.
"You cannot possibly hear your cat, or any cat crying from such a distance. Besides, it's not your kitty. It's Trevor's kitten, which he only allows you to play with."