"That's what Ross was," Sybil cried passionately. "Not like you and Whitney. Ross never ran from anything. He never hid. He did what he thought was right—and everyone knew that war was hideous. The day the National Guard killed those students— oh, God, they were walking to class!" A generation's lament rang in her voice. "Ross brooded about what had happened all week. Campuses closed all over the country. People marched. Ross came home Saturday morning; he'd made up his mind. He was quitting. He wouldn't take his
commission. He told his father. They quarreled, but Ross was determined. That's when he met me in the garden and we planned—" Tears edged down her cheeks, streaking her perfect makeup. "Whenever spring comes, I remember that day. We stood in the sunshine and it was warm against us and he held me and I smelled the honeysuckle and the roses. He kissed me and I ran home to gather up my things. We were leaving." She glared at them defiantly. "The car was his. He worked summers and earned the money for it and he had some money saved and so did I and we were going to run away and be married. I waited for him—and he didn't come. He didn't come." The agony of empty years and lost dreams and a crippled heart echoed in the simple declaration.
Charlotte stood with her arms tightly folded across her ample bosom. "Ross was always a hothead. None of it surprised me." She looked disdainfully at Sybil. "You know what he was like—he always had to have his own way. Spoiled rotten, that's what Ross was." Her voice rose suddenly, turned strident. "And Amanda was always on his side, against Whitney and Milam. As if Ross were better or—"
"That's enough, Charlotte." Whitney cleared his throat. "Point is, Sybil, Ross shot Father—"
"No. He wouldn't have." Sybil stood firm, chin lifted, and there was total certainty in her eyes and her voice. "Ross was upset, yes, but we were leaving. It was all decided. Why would he shoot the Judge? There was no reason."
"You were in the garden," Miss Dora said crisply. "You said good-bye and were to meet again—"
"In only a few minutes," Sybil cried. "Just long enough to gather up some clothes and meet him at the gate."
Charlotte smoothed her hair, her composure regained. "Ross probably went back into the house to get some of his things and the Judge saw him and told him to leave and Ross lost his temper. Ross always acted like Tarrant House belonged to him and not the rest of us. He was crazy about the house. Maybe he decided the Judge had no right to throw him out." She shrugged. "What difference does it make? We all know what happened, Sybil."
"I don't care what you—or anyone—says or will ever say." Sybil spoke jerkily. "But I knew Ross. I knew him. He would never have shot his father—and he would never have killed himself. That was a coward's way out—and Ross was never a coward."
Miss Dora said quietly, "You are quite correct, my dear child. Ross was a brave young man. A very brave and gallant young man—but he did indeed take his own life. My brother —Ross's grandfather—went to the hunting lodge that day. The next day Harmon related to me what had happened. Harmon told me that when he arrived—it was late afternoon by then and the shadows were thick and it was cool and quiet on the front steps—he called out to Ross and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He rattled the knob—and there was a gunshot. He ran to the back of the lodge but that door, too, was locked. Harmon took a log from the woodpile and used it as a battering ram and broke down the back door. Ross was there, sitting in the old morris chair. And he was dead. The front door was still locked."
Sybil reached out, clinging to a chair for support. Annie had never seen a woman so pale, as if all the blood and life had drained away. And, no matter what Sybil had become, Annie's heart ached for her.
"So we know—we have the word of a witness—what happened to Ross." Miss Dora's face was grim. "But that does not end our quest tonight. We still must determine when—and how—the Judge's death occurred."
"No." Sybil clasped her arms tight across her body. "That's wrong, wrong, wrong. I'll never believe it. Ross was brave, I tell you, brave and—"
Miss Dora nodded. When she spoke it was directly to Sybil and her voice had a gentleness Annie had never heard. "Yes, Sybil, Ross was brave and gallant. You will understand that even better when we are done. For now, Sybil, I want you to listen. No matter what is said or done, we cannot change the past. But my hope is that we can lay to rest the misery that past has visited upon us and"—she paused and looked at each of the Tarrants and her voice hardened—"that we can prevent
evil from again warping and destroying the life of this family."
A sense of inexorable judgment emanated from the old woman, much like Miss Rosa Coldfield's unbending, almost demented determination to vanquish Thomas Sutpen.
Annie's eyes were focused on that narrow, intelligent, determined old face. Later, she would regret that she had not been quicker to look about the room. Would there have been a flicker of fear—or fury—on one face?
For when she did look, masks were in place: Whitney wary, Charlotte tense, Milam sardonic, Julia withdrawn.