“Nothing, Aunt Bett, it’s nothing. Maybe I’m getting a cold.”
She couldn’t tell Aunt Bett; there was no one she could tell but Reid. And now even the comfort of the grass tower had been taken from her, for if she climbed it again, she was convinced she would be plunged into that other world.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Bethany. I don’t think working at the stables is wise if it’s going to make you so tired and irritable.”
“It’s not the stables! I like the stable.” She pulled away from Aunt Bett and dashed into the bedroom, slamming the door in frustration.
Marylou looked up at her smugly. “You’re all nerves and temperament. Adolescence must be terrible.”
“You ought to know, you’ve been afflicted with it ever since I can remember!” She hated Marylou; she hated everyone. She flung herself down on her bed and hid her face in the pillow. Even Reid refused to understand sometimes. Well, but how could he understand, it wasn’t happening to him! Why did she find his steady attitude so comforting sometimes, and so frustrating and impossible at other times? Maybe if Selma would leave her alone, if people wouldn’t badger her—
Selma had been at her, had met her twice after school so adroitly that Bethany could not duck into a shop. “But why?” Bethany had asked both times. “Why do you want me?”
“Because I want to know. Because there’s something there, something marvelous, and you made it come. I can’t, I’ve tried.”
“You don’t believe all that,” Bethany said as airily as she could.
But Selma only stared at her. “Would you do it for money?”
“No, Aunt Selma.”
“What, then?”
“I won’t; I told you I won’t!”
“But you must. It’s so important, the whole Book of the Zagdesha—”
“No, Aunt Selma. I don’t believe in the Zagdesha!” Bethany had pushed past her and run.
“But she’s right, you know,” Colin had said. “If there’s something to know, and you’re the only one who can bring it, then you—”
“I won’t!” Bethany had turned on him so furiously that he had stared back at her in surprise.
She heard Marylou go out, and turned over on the bed to find a Kleenex; but Marylou came back before she could hide her face again. She stood in the doorway, staring. “Ma says you don’t have to help with dinner,” she said crossly. “You left your books all over the table.” She banged them down on the dresser. “I don’t see—” She gave an exasperated sigh and turned on her heel, then flung over her shoulder, “You’re just getting spoiled, and you think you can get away with it and leave everything for me to do!”
It was too much. Bethany grabbed her sweater, pushed past Marylou, and fled out the back door.
“Bethany, you come back in this house, you—” Aunt Bett called.
“No!” she shouted back, muffled and seething. She ran toward the shore almost falling over a tricycle left in the sand, to collapse at last among the dunes where she could see neither village nor ocean, only the endless sand, and twilight, and the first stars coming out. No one understood, no one, all they did was criticize. And, she was losing touch with what to believe. Was there a real power of evil, the way Aunt Bett said? Was that what she had touched? She felt that there was, and yet she could not put it all to that; there was something else, something she felt that was different from the bleak touch of evil—almost a kind of longing, a feeling that tormented and confused her more and more.
What do I believe? she thought. She wanted to go to the grass tower. Do I believe in God? If I did, could I pray to Him about this? But if there is a God, Aunt Bett’s kind of God, then why would He make this happen? She didn’t know the answers.
When she returned very late, Aunt Bett sat down at the table and cut some pie for her. She looked upset, very upset. But calm on top of it, holding herself tight and calm. She didn’t waste any time, but got right to what she wanted to say, which surprised Bethany a little. “Child, Colin says I’ve been pretty hard on you. He says if you have a problem, my nagging doesn’t help, and I suppose he’s right. I suppose I have been unfeeling. He says that I have.” Bethany stared at her. This was not at all like Aunt Bett. “Is it Selma’s church that’s bothering you; has Selma been at you to go back?”
“No, Aunt Bett!” She lied, alarmed. What had Colin said? “No,” she said again, “Selma hasn’t bothered me. I’ll be all right, I guess it’s my period coming. I’m sorry I’ve been so cross.” She saw at once that Aunt Bett did not believe her—and she knew suddenly that Aunt Bett wasn’t sure how far she could push Bethany without— Without what? That part wasn’t clear. She studied Aunt Bett, but could get no more than that; she saw only a square, motherly woman who was trying her best to help, but was too uncertain, too afraid of harming Bethany. But why? Aunt Bett wanted to tell her something more, she felt certain of it. She tried to reach her thoughts, willed it as hard as she could; it was so close, something that might help her understand. But she could not.
And Aunt Bett said nothing more that would help. “This Zagdesha business has upset you more than you care to admit, Bethany. It’s a harmful thing, and not something to play with as Jack seems to think. You must do your best to keep your mind off of it.”
My mind off it! she screamed silently. How could she keep her mind off of it! She drew herself tight, trying to control her emotions, trying to keep from screaming at Aunt Bett. “I’ll try,” she said at last. “I’ll try, really I will.”
To her own surprise, she did try. Maybe it was because of Aunt Bett’s concern, or perhaps because of her own increasing fear, but she began to discipline herself rigidly. It’s no different from mannering Danny, she thought. When he’s stubborn, I can’t give in or I’ll spoil him. I can’t give in to this either. Aunt Bett’s concern and strange secrecy had truly alarmed her; but it had also set her on a surer course. She found she could will herself to be strong and disciplined, could will herself to pay attention to what she was supposed to do and do it properly. She finished her back homework and handed in two term papers, and knew that her grades would be all right, that she could pass her final tests. She did her stable work without stupid mistakes and forgetting things, and she tried, really tried, to be cheerful; or at least not to be glum. She tried very hard not to think about her shiftings and falls into that other world, not to think of them once they had happened. But they came often, a scene flickering briefly across her consciousness. Almost, though, she could pretend they hadn’t.
But then suddenly she was shaken again, the calm she had built around herself quite destroyed. It was the morning of the last day of school. She was standing in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she began to wonder if she could do something with her limp hair. It was such a mop, it blew and tangled when she rode, and it did nothing for her long, homely face. She tried piling it on top her head, but that only made her forehead seem taller and more prominent. She tried parting it in the center and letting it droop over both sides of her forehead, held loosely back, but that was terrible. Then she pulled a handful down over her forehead, making bangs.
She studied her face with growing excitement.