She turned blindly to Colin, said something she couldn’t remember later, and fled. It was as if she were doing a jigsaw puzzle and dropped several pieces so they fell of themselves, uncannily, into their proper places. Some unseen pattern was taking shape, and in it she and Justin were somehow, but undeniably, connected.
Chapter 7
The sun lay warm on the sea, and she swam for nearly an hour; she was forbidden to swim alone, and she knew it was foolish, but the release it gave her, the feeling of freedom was worth defying Aunt Bett for, and she came out at last refreshed, lightened, washed clean of everything but the immediate moment and the cold salt sea and the heat of the sun on her body. Gulls cried on the wind; she was alone in the world at that moment; then something caught her up and twisted her, and she was in a strange room, leaf shadows flickering across the high ceiling, and she was shouting—shouting with no volition, no effort on her part—shouting, “It is! It is for me to know!” She was shaken with a terrible fury. She was standing in an old-fashioned kitchen, a tree was blowing outside the window; the black lady stared back at her stubbornly from where she was working dough at a table, her hands all floury. The old woman sighed as if her patience were at an end. Bethany felt suddenly that she could almost make sense of this, if she could just think deeper, just reach deeper, but something in herself held too tightly, something that tried to control emotions she could not control at all. Her anger flared as sharply as the slash of sunlight that flickered across the old woman’s cheek, a hurt, righteous anger, making her cry furiously, “You know, Corrinne, you have always known. It’s about me, and I have a right to it!”
“I cannot tell you, child. It distresses me, but I have given my word.”
“Which is more important, your word or my life?”
The old woman looked hurt and Bethany was sorry, but a terrible stubbornness made her stand irresolute, wanting to apologize, but unwilling to, until the door to her left opened suddenly, and the woman with silver hair stood looking at her. The sight of her wrenched Bethany out of herself so she almost knew—almost knew …
… and the sea wind hit her, she was on the shore. The chestnut mare was beside her, Reid staring down at her with a look of concern, the line of his mouth tight and his gray eyes pale; and Bethany had lost the knowledge she had almost grasped, it was utterly gone. The mare moved to the side, mouthing the bit. “Bethany? Bethany!”
“What was I doing?” she asked stupidly, confusion engulfing her.
“You didn’t answer when I called, and when I got up to you and Ginger nudged you— Bethany, didn’t you feel her? Look at your arm.”
She held out her arm. It was covered with Ginger’s slobber.
“You were standing as if— You had your arms half-raised, and you seemed to be looking at someone standing just a few feet away.”
“I was. Oh, I was.” And the confusion of it hit her so she felt faint and uncertain. Reid dismounted, but she shook her head and moved away from him, trying to regain her composure. They walked along close to the water, Reid leading the mare. “It was a kitchen,” Bethany said. “An old-fashioned kitchen with this big table where the black lady was making dough, and the leaves were all blowing outside. Her name is Corrinne. She—I was accusing her of keeping some secret from me. From me, Reid. I was so angry.” Her thoughts reeled, and the anger rose in her again unbidden. All her curiosity had fled; she could think now only of the terror of it. To feel emotions that were not her own, to surge with anger that was not hers— She couldn’t bear for it to happen again, it seemed as terrible to her now as when she had seen the dark shape forming. “I don’t understand! I don’t understand anything! And it all started with that horrible seance!” A turmoil of emotions swept her; she kicked at the sand, torn between fury and tears. The mare pulled back, snorting and rolling her eyes.
Reid settled Ginger, making her come up on a loose rein. “You keep thinking the two are connected,” he said evenly. “It could be just coincidence, Bethany; the seance might not have anything to do with this. You don’t even—”
“How can you think that? I know what I feel, don’t I?”
“But feeling isn’t reason,” he said gently. “It isn’t fact.”
“Fact! Who can talk about facts when— Facts!” She turned on him, glaring. “You’re always so cool about it. It isn’t your insides that are being torn apart—facts and logic!” Fury swept her again, a terrible surge of helplessness and torment. “That’s just the trouble, there isn’t any logic. Facts aren’t facts if they don’t make any sense.” How could he be so unwilling to understand! “You’re not the one who has to feel yourself jerked away, who finds yourself standing in some place— Oh, I shouldn’t expect you to understand!” She flung away from him, walking fast up the beach.
When at last she heard the pounding of hooves she did not turn to look. Even when he pulled the mare up beside her, she only stared sullenly at the sea. She could feel Reid’s hurt, and his anger. Finally when she did not turn or speak, he rode off, leaving her alone on the shore feeling desolate.
For a long time she sat huddled and miserable between the dunes in a little cup-shaped valley, in shadow and shivering with cold but not willing to move into the sun. I don’t even have sense enough to put my clothes on, she thought at last, pulling her Levi’s and sweat shirt over her damp suit. Too unhappy to go home, she slouched into the village finally and mooched along the street feeling sullen and hateful. She was angry, she knew deep inside, partly because Reid hadn’t forced her to make up—she had a sudden stirring daydream of Reid leaping off the mare and taking her in his arms. She searched the street ahead hoping— hoping—but of course he was not there, would he come clattering down the concrete on the mare, did she think? When Selma came out of the drugstore right in front of her, she didn’t even bother to avoid her. Then, seeing Selma’s face, she stopped. Selma had been crying. “Is it Jack?” Bethany asked hesitantly. “Is he worse?”
“Jack? Oh, no. He’s all right, he’s just inside with Colin. It’s—I shouldn’t be out looking like this.” Selma sniffed and dabbed at her nose.
“It’s Dr. Claybelle,” Colin said, coming out behind her. “That bastard! Aunt Selma was upset about the fire and thought she helped cause it, but Claybelle only laughed at her. He said no one was so stupid as to light candles in a barn and—and what were we doing playing around in the barn anyway, that the seances were meant for an audience, that they were a money-making proposition, not for games.”
Bethany stared at Selma, shocked, anger and elation leaping in her by turns. She couldn’t sort out her emotions. Was it only a trick, then? A trick of Dr. Claybelle’s, after all?
“He said you can’t—can’t run an operation like this if you’re going to be sentimental,” Selma stuttered. “I —” She was crying again, as if the sobs were being jerked painfully out of her.
“Aunt Selma, how—” Bethany began, and in spite of Selma’s misery—because of Selma’s misery—hope was winging in her suddenly. “Was it a trick, then? Was it?” And when Selma stood silent, mopping tears, Bethany took her by the shoulders, wanting to shake it out of her. “Was it a trick, Aunt Selma? Oh, please.” But Selma’s look was almost without comprehension. “Tell me, Aunt Selma.” Her need to know was terrible. “If it was a trick— If it was a trick—”