Mark arranged a row of cans and a heap of candy bars on the table and sat down with the books he had brought with him.
"I," he announced regally, "have work to do. The rest of you can amuse yourselves as you like, but please keep it down."
"Go get your mother a chair," Josef said, scowling at him.
"Please," Pat said gently.
"Oh." Mark rose and went into the next room. After an apologetic glance at Pat, Josef followed him. They returned, each carrying a chair.
And that was something else that would have to be worked out, Pat thought. Mark was a grown man. He would not lightly submit to the parental authority of a stranger. He didn't need a father, he needed a friend.
Josef was obviously struggling with the same realization, for after they had settled in their chairs he spoke to Mark in kindlier tones than he had used thus far.
"What are you looking for, Mark? Can we help?"
"Well-sure. I guess you could. I'm curious about where and when Peter Turnbull was killed. 'A cavalry skirmish, somewhere in Maryland ' is pretty vague. I thought maybe one of the military-history books would have a record of the engagements White's Rangers fought in."
"If the unit was part of Lee's Army of northern Virginia, we should be able to locate it," Josef said.
"But cavalry troops didn't always stay with the main body of the army. They went off on their own, like that raid on Poolesville in 1862."
"True." Josef picked up one of the books. "We can but try. I don't understand why you think it's important, but-"
"Maybe it isn't," Mark said. "Only I got to wondering… The opposing armies were so close. Right across the Potomac from each other, much of the time. Of course distances were greater then-no, damn it, I mean-"
"I know what you mean," Josef said, smiling. "It took longer in those days to cover the distance. All the same, the armies were close. This area was hit several times by Confederate troops looking for horses and supplies. Perhaps Peter was with one of those units."
"If he was," Mark said, "wouldn't he drop in on his girl friend while he was in the area?"
Josef considered the idea, scratching his chin, but Pat exclaimed impatiently, "Of course he would. Nineteen years old, swaggering in a fancy uniform-"
"They weren't so fancy," Kathy said. "Remember in Gone With the Wind, how they were spinning butternut cloth for uniforms, and dying captured Yankee uniforms because they couldn't get the good gray material?"
"That was after the Union blockade of the South had become effective," Pat argued. "Can you see the Turnbulls, father or son, riding off to war without the whole bit-spurs jingling, blooded horses prancing, gold epaulets and shiny swords?"
Mark snickered. "It's getting to you, isn't it? You talk about them as if you knew them personally-predicting what they would say and do."
"Get lost," Pat said.
"Okay." Mark took a book in one hand and Kathy's wrist in the other. "We're going in the next room to work. Don't worry, we'll leave the door open."
This shaft of irony was directed at Josef, who responded with a raised eyebrow, but made no verbal comment. When the two had disappeared into the adjoining room, he spoke to Pat in a low voice.
"What is he driving at?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Maybe I'm unfair," Josef said. "But I swear that kid would make Machiavelli look like an amateur… Well, I'll see if I can find out what he wants to know; maybe then he'll condescend to explain why he wants to know it."
He applied himself to the book he had chosen. Pat tried to read too, but the low voices and occasional bursts of laughter from the next room distracted her. Thank God, she thought, for the resilience of youth. Kathy must be a lot tougher than she looked to have survived the arid childhood Josef had described. If her mother's warped views had scarred the girl, the scars were well hidden; certainly she didn't seem to find the male sex repellent.
As time passed, it became harder for them to concen trate. Josef's eyes began to stray from his book to his wristwatch. Pat had put hers in her purse in order to resist the temptation of watching it. Mark and Kathy appeared to have forgotten the time, but when Josef said suddenly, "It's twelve fifty," Mark emerged from the next room as if he had been propelled by a spring.
"Twelve forty-five," he said. "Your watch is fast."
"Turn on the TV," Pat said.
Josef rose to do so, giving her a sour smile. She shared his feelings; trying to clock a ghost by means of anything as mundane and modern as television…
But the prosaic nature of the apparatus gave her an unreasonable sense of security. Surely no evil spirit would invade a motel room while Perry Mason outfoxed another lawyer.
Abandoning all pretense at indifference, they sat watching Perry mouth dumb protests until Pat said suddenly, "Poor Jud. I feel guilty, leaving him."
"I wanted to bring him," Mark said. "But you-"
"He's too big," Pat said. She didn't want to explain her real objections to bringing the dog. His abject terror had increased her own. "Anyhow, he's shut in the kitchen, away from… I wish we could have located Albert before we left."
"Cats are reputed to be quite comfortable in the presence of evil spirits," Josef remarked.
"That's a vile canard," Pat said. "However, I think cats are more capable of avoiding unpleasant situations. Albert has not been around much the last few days. Maybe he doesn't like what has been going on."
The exchange was their last pretense at conversation. They sat in silence for the succeeding minutes, watching the figures on the TV screen gesticulate. Perry's triumph was followed by six commercials, a late news bulletin, and the "Star-Spangled Banner," as the station signed off. Finally, when the screen had been blank for several long minutes, Josef let out a long sigh and wiped his damp forehead.
"That's that."
"Thank God," Pat said sincerely. "Let's go to bed."
"I don't suppose…" Mark began.
"That we want to go back to the house and see what, if anything, your apparatus has recorded? No," said Josef.
"I had a feeling you were going to say that," Mark muttered. "Good night, all."
By the time Pat had finished her ablutions Kathy was sound asleep. The girl had been stoically silent through the last vigil, but as Pat bent over her, studying her pale face, she wondered how long Kathy could stand it. Even if Josef carried out his threat of selling the house and moving away, the problem would still be unresolved in the area that counted most-in Kathy's mind. She might go on seeing apparitions even after they had ceased to pursue her; and surely her mother's hell-fire religious notions must have left unpleasant seeds of guilt and doubt in her young conscience.
Pat brushed a lock of hair away from Kathy's cheek. The girl's tight lips relaxed into a faint smile, and Pat resolved then and there that if no other solution presented itself, she would suggest to Mark that they manufacture a final, satisfying denouement, something that would settle Kathy's fears. Maybe, she thought grimly, we can burn that damned house down to the ground. Josef wouldn't wittingly cheat an insurance company, but Mark would… And I'm beginning to think it might be the lesser of two evils.
Josef's room was dark and silent. He had left the door a few inches ajar. Pat got into bed, groaning as her taut muscles relaxed. The warm, sweet tide of sleep began to envelop her.
She came bolt upright, all her joints protesting, as someone knocked on the door.
"Mom? Hey, Mom, are you asleep? It's me."
She heard a muffled curse and a creak of springs from the next room. Josef hadn't been asleep either. With a curse of her own she got up and ran to the door.
"Shut up," she said through her teeth. "If you waken Kathy I'll kill you. What do you want?"
Mark, still fully dressed and wide awake, looked hurt.
"I can't find my pen. I must have left it on the table next door."