Oh, for heaven’s sake, because of Fred! Evelyn almost laughed at the realization; Audrey had suddenly remembered that Evelyn was a widow now, and was making the assumption that her life was therefore essentially over. As with Ann Gillespie in Paris, once again, the same comparison. It would be cruel to suggest a light-hearted romantic journey to Ann. But not to me, Evelyn thought, smiling to herself, and suddenly wished Robert was here so she could introduce him.
They went on into the dining room and sat down at the table by the window, where they could look out at the orchards through which Bradford would be returning. The conversation stayed in the Laurentians, and after a moment the Chablis was brought in, and Evelyn found herself relaxing more and more in the casual company of these children.
Children? Gregory was twenty-three, Audrey was nineteen or twenty. Evelyn thought, I’m less than four years older than he, and suddenly realized her birthday was coming Tuesday. She would be twenty-seven years old the day after tomorrow, and what with one thing and another she’d absolutely forgotten all about it! That had never happened to her before, to forget her own birthday.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Gregory and Audrey both seemed so young, incredibly young. Why was that? Was it only because they existed for this little while without problems, so that they made such a total contrast to Evelyn’s picture of herself? But it seemed somehow as though they were years from responsibility, that they were lambs gamboling in the meadow. She thought of telling Greg about the situation with Bradford — he was family, he was young, he could be useful — and it just seemed ridiculous. She kept the conversation on a pleasant surface level.
They were eating lunch when a maid came in and told Evelyn there was a phone call for her. She excused herself, and went to a nearby room where there was a phone.
The voice was rough, hesitant and familiar. “Miss? This is Jimmy, down to the stables. We’ve got a sort of problem here, Miss.”
Something wrong with the horses? Something wrong with Jester? “What is it, Jimmy?”
“Well, Miss, the Major just come in with his uniform on and shot one of the horses.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “The Major? What Major?”
“Mister Bradford’s son, Miss. Bradford, Jr. The Major. He’s sitting out in the yard here crying, and I didn’t know what to do.”
ii
It was true. BJ, dressed as always in his uniform, was sitting on the ground in the thin sunlight, his legs splayed out in front of him, his left hand shielding his face with fingers spread, his right arm out at an angle to the side, hand flat on the ground with palm up as though the Colt automatic Army issue.45 lying on the fingers was anchoring him in that position.
Jimmy, an elderly man, in charge of the stables for nearly forty years, was standing by the open stable door, holding his battered hat in one hand and a wadded-up handkerchief in the other. With the handkerchief, he was distractedly wiping first the inside rim of the hat and then the back of his neck, over and over. None of the other boys was anywhere in sight, though Evelyn could sense several pairs of eyes watching from just under cover. From the stable came a continuous rush of confused and nervous sounds, stamping and neighing; the animals in there were agitated, and were not being seen to.
Evelyn approached Jimmy first, as being more likely to give rational answers to her questions, but before she could ask anything he volunteered an answer she didn’t particularly care about, saying, “It was Laker he shot, Miss. Shot him dead. Came in crying, waving that gun around, shouting things, shot Laker right direct in the head. The boys went—”
“What was he shouting?” They were both speaking in guarded tones; quite clearly Evelyn could hear the rasp of BJ’s sobbing.
“Nothing you could make out, Miss,” Jimmy said. “Just what you might call gibberish. Then he shot Laker, and stopped where he was for a minute, looking at what he’d done. And then he came out here and sat down, and I called you.”
“Is Laker still in there?”
“Yes, Miss. We haven’t done a thing, I just went round the corner to the office and phoned you.”
“That’s why the other horses are so upset. Get Laker out of there. Have the boys take him out the other way.”
“Yes, Miss.” But he didn’t move yet, expecting further orders.
Evelyn looked again over at BJ. The sobbing seemed to be gradually less, but he hadn’t changed his position. She wondered about going over to take the gun away from him, but decided not to. He was quiet now, and it might upset him to have someone try to disarm him. She wondered briefly what it was all about, why he’d done such an incomprehensible thing, but it wasn’t a useful question at this point and she cast it to one side.
Jimmy was still waiting. She turned back to him and said, “This hasn’t happened. As far as the boys are concerned, as far as talking to anyone about this, it hasn’t happened.”
“The boys don’t carry tales, Miss.”
She doubted a blanket statement like that could possibly be true, but she didn’t argue the point. She said, “I don’t, simply mean in town, Jimmy, I mean here, too. They’re not to tell anyone up at the house, and that includes Mr. Lockridge.”
“Oh, I see, Miss,” Jimmy said, nodding. “You don’t want him to know about his son.”
“That’s right,” she said, improvising. “It wouldn’t be good for him at his age. That’s why I don’t want any talking about this at all, because I wouldn’t want it to get to Mr. Lockridge.”
“I’ll be sure the boys understand that, Miss.”
“Good. Have them take care of Laker, and calm the other horses.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And they’d better stay out of sight of the yard for a while.”
Was there a ghost of a smile on Jimmy’s face? All he said was, “Yes, Miss, they will.”
“I’ll use your phone.”
“Yes, Miss, of course.”
He made a hospitable gesture toward his office with his hat, accompanied by a small movement that might have been meant as a bow. Evelyn nodded, and turned away, going down the clapboard wall to the office entrance and inside, amid the smells of leather and horse and earth. She called the house and had Greg brought to the phone, and told him, “There’s a problem down at the stables. I don’t want anyone there to know about it. There really isn’t time to explain everything now. But could you come down here?”
“Of course.”
“Make some excuse to Audrey. And if Bradford gets back before we’re done down here, I don’t want him to know there’s any trouble.”
“Audrey can handle that.” Greg sounded very different now, quick and competent and serious. “I’ll be right down,” he said.
“Thank you.”
She went back outside. BJ had changed position slightly now; he had stopped crying, and his left arm was now down away from his face, his hand resting on the tan ground between his legs. He was gazing at nothing, his expression stricken. His right hand was still in the same place as before, the gun resting on his open fingers.
Evelyn chewed her lower lip. The truth was, she was very frightened, and didn’t want to be involved in this. Whatever had happened to BJ, he was surely not rational now, and the irrational terrified Evelyn, it always had. One never knew what an irrational reaction was going to be. If she went over to him, would he recognize her as a friend, a relative, a woman, someone who meant him no harm? Or would his mind see something entirely different, something she couldn’t guess at? And would it see something he would want to kill? If he raised the gun and fired, it would be the mistaken notion in his head he would be shooting at, but it would be Evelyn he would hit.