Better to Eat You (10 page)

“Then somebody makes it happen.” He wanted to shake her. “Don't ask me why. Help me find out why.”

“I don't understand … I don't …”

“Use your brain.” He felt he had to be rude. “It's stupid to lie there and shudder the way you are doing. Where's your good sense? Sarah, is there anything about the money?”

“What money?” She looked perfectly bewildered.

“Somebody doesn't want you mixed up with people. Maybe that's so you won't marry. But why? Somebody might even have wanted to get rid of you in that fire.” He had to be sharp and brutal to break through the wall.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I'm talking about a real enemy, Sarah. Not a jinx. Not a ghost. And it's about time you considered …”

“I don't know anything about money.”

“Your grandfather's money.”

“I could ask Grandfather …” she said.

David groaned. “Don't. Don't ask anyone anything. Just listen to me while there's time. First, you are going to have to get out of this place. Let me take you …”

“No, no. Not you.”

“There you go.” He was exasperated. “Why not me? Will you stop protecting me? I'm big enough to look out for myself.”

“When you've lost everything …”

“Don't suffer for
me,
” he snapped. “I prefer to suffer for myself. Just as I came here for reasons of my own. I think I made a mistake, though, because …”

“A terrible mistake.”

“Because now it looks as if the bad luck's turned toward
you.
Now, Sarah …”

“Not me,” she said. “Not me. I'll be all right if you will just go away.”

“I'm not going away.” He glared at her. “You're not listening.”

“Leave me,” she begged “Only leave me.”

“I'd like to slap your pretty face,” he said, exasperated.

Sarah turned up her face, all anguished. “Do then,” she said, “but don't stay.”

“I can't slap women who wear glasses,” he said flatly in a moment. He drew away. “Well, I'm disappointed.” He recognized her anguish, he even understood it, but there was no time to be patient with it. “I came here,” he said sadly, “in part to help you …”

“Don't. Don't try,” she whimpered.

And he said coldly and deliberately, “
I
will not leave you.
” The turbulence in the room seemed to hover and then begin to die.

Sarah said despairingly, “Why?”

David leaned over and put his fingers gently on either side of her face. “Believe there are reasons, Sarah. Reasons for everything.”

She turned her head convulsively and the warm soft skin of her cheek pressed upon his hand.

“Will you?” said David.

“If I could …” said Sarah. “If I could …” But she was quieted.

Somebody tapped on the door and, without waiting, opened it.

“My dear Sarah,” said Grandfather. “Ah, David. How is she, my little girl?”

Chapter 8

David choked off anger and disappointment. He smiled at Sarah and gently he took his hands away. “Sarah is fine,” he said encouragingly.

“Not too upset?” purred Grandfather, advancing in his spry step. “They tell me you were not hurt too badly, dearie. Is it true?”

“Not too badly, Grandfather.” Sarah swallowed all her agitation. For this old man she could exercise control.

“There now.” Grandfather sat down upon the edge of the bed. “Such big bandages,” said he. “Edgar says your arms will soon heal, soon heal.”

“I'm sure they will, Grandfather.” The tears dried on Sarah's face but she couldn't see very well through the blur they'd made of her glasses. Behind the old man's back, David wandered in the room. Grandfather's cooing voice went on and the girl seemed to have crept within some shelter where she was calm. David was not calm. He was suspicious. Just as he might have been able to talk to her, along came the old man. He heard her say, as she seemed always to be saying, “You are so good, Grandfather.” He wanted to make faces, and motion to her behind the old man's back. But she did not look his way. She couldn't see. And how could he, with only gestures, break into the place where she felt safe, to tell her that this old man, who was to her a refuge, might be her enemy?

But there was Edgar at the door, with Mrs. Monteeth again.

“Too many people,” Edgar said. “Entirely too much company.” His little eyes hunted on David's face. “I want the patient quiet. With only the nurse, please. She must not talk anymore.”

Grandfather said childingly, “Now, I can comfort this child, Edgar. You know that.” The old man peered around. “You don't want David? Eh, Sarah?”

“No,” she said. “No.”

Fox said petulantly, “Then he should go.”

Edgar warned, “No scene. His heart …” Edgar's hand pulled steadily.

“So long,” said David. He kept anger out of his voice. But it was stubborn.

Sarah said faintly, “Goodbye.”

“So long,” he insisted. “See you later.”

He saw her teeth tear at her lower lip and he thought, A pity to tear it. Then the mouth surrendered. “So long,” it said.

Mrs. Monteeth was establishing herself in the room. David thought, Well, they can't murder the girl in front of a witness. He let Edgar's pull swing him away.

Edgar, half out the door as if he would like to pursue David, warned over his shoulder, “You mustn't talk too long. For either of your sakes.”

“Now, I do want to visit with Sarah a little bit,” said Grandfather plaintively. “May I not? We will talk about old times, perhaps.”

Edgar's eyes flickered He said, “Not too long. Mrs. Monteeth, watch out for Sarah.” Then he left the room.

He hurried, hunting David.

David was in the big room, hands in his pockets, staring at the carpet.

“Well? Is Sarah going to marry you?” said Edgar. “Or didn't you ask?” His little eyes were anxious and suspicious.

David shrugged. “I don't discourage easily.”

Edgar's face changed and became nervous and desperate. “Listen Wakeley, why don't you go away from here? All you do is upset her. She's miserable enough … If you care anything …”

“I know what upsets her. I don't happen to believe in junk like Jonahs and jinxes.”

“Sarah does.”

“Then Sarah must learn better.”

“Who are you to say?” Edgar was getting angry. “You think it's smart to be stubborn. Did it ever occur to you …?” Edgar licked his lip.

“What?”

“
You
might be bad luck for Sarah?”

“What do you mean by that?” David's gaze bored into the doctor's eyes and they evaded.

“I'm trying … I'm trying to keep things on an even keel in this house,” said Edgar in a high nervous voice. “I'm responsible for Mr. Fox's health and for Sarah's and I've got to have cooperation. If you'd just realize you're making a nuisance of yourself. Let me … let me
handle
this. You don't know what you are doing. I'm telling you, it's best for everyone if you go away.”

“I'm sure it would be best for someone,” said David, “but not necessarily Sarah.”

“Yes.
Sarah,
” said Edgar. “Believe me.” But his concentration broke. His head lifted. His ears seemed to prick up. He said, “Malvina?”

She was entering the house, stripping gloves off her hands. “May I see you a minute, Edgar?” she said coaxingly, mysteriously.

David said, “Excuse me,” but Edgar didn't hear it. Malvina seemed to pay no attention either as he went by them, out of the house.

“Now, then,” said Grandfather, “tears, Sarah? Why were you crying?”

“I feel so bad about David's work lost …”

“Work? But he can't have done much in one morning.”

“All his notes, Grandfather. He must have been collecting them for months.”

“Is that so?” said Grandfather. “Months, really? Well now, surely David doesn't blame
you,
does he? David is fond of you, I think.” She looked as if she'd cry. “And you are fond of David, Sarah?”

Her head rolled. “I don't dare be fond of anyone.”

“Not fond of
me?
” he said archly.

“Only you. I don't bring
you
bad luck, do I, Grandfather?”

“My dear little Sarah. I have outgrown bad luck, I think. I am ancient and invulnerable.” Fox glanced at Mrs. Monteeth, who had placed herself in a chair and produced some knitting. She looked patient and immovable and quite detached. “But we mustn't speak about dreadful things, fire and loss and bad luck,” said Grandfather, “when it makes you unhappy. Tell me, Sarah, do you remember England?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember when your mother first brought you to see me? What a little girl you were then, eh?”

“I remember.” Her head turned on the pillow. Her lashes had come down. More than half her thought was on David, still. Grandfather's voice went on.

“Do you remember going to the theatre to see my dear old Lupino and me?”

“Not very well,” she said. “I must have been too small.”

“You didn't go many times.”

“Only once, I think.”

“Well, you were small. What would my dear old Lupino think, I wonder, if he could see me as I am? Here on this fabulous western edge of the world.”

“If he hadn't died you wouldn't have come here, Grandfather,” she murmured.

“No, that's true, dearie. True. Do you remember a week end in the country?”

“Will I ever forget it?” Sarah said wearily.

The old man peered shrewdly at her. She seemed breathless.

“The awful business,” Sarah's eyes popped open, “don't you remember? About the arrow?”

“Oh, my poor Sarah, fancy your being able to remember that. Are you thirsty, dearie? I see your lips are very dry. Mrs. Monteeth, please fetch a glass of my cider. Sarah would like that.”

“Doctor told me to stay, sir.” Mrs. Monteeth looked lost.

“Go,
ask
the doctor, then,” said Grandfather, as if this were obviously the only reasonable course, and Mrs. Monteeth accepted it, rose, and went.

“The arrow. Yes,” sighed Grandfather, now that they were alone. “And dear Lupino, so brave about it. So uncomplaining. Wasn't he?” He peered at the girl.

“He wasn't so …”

“Eh? Sarah?”

“Oh, I suppose he was brave.”

“I often wish he were alive,” sighed Grandfather. “Don't you, dearie? And have him here with me.”

“I'm just as glad he isn't here with you,” she said. “I know how you loved him, Grandfather. But to me he was … not so lovable.”

“No?”

“No. He was cruel, I thought.”

“Cruel, dearie? How was that?”

“I don't suppose he ever told …”

“But my dear Sarah, what was this?”

“Sorry …”

“Ah, now you remember my heart,” Grandfather said, “but I'll tell you something, Sarah.” He lowered his voice. “When you are ancient,” he confided, “you do not receive a shock as people imagine. No. Too much has happened to you already. Too many friends dead, too many wars, too many shocking things. When you are old, it is all just more of the same.”

“I suppose that must be true,” she said.

“Then tell me. In what way was Lupino cruel?” He smiled at her with his dimples appearing in his craggy old cheeks. His teeth were not good, what few he had.

“I never told,” Sarah said, “but I think of it. I can't forgive him.”

“Forgive Lupino? But Sarah, my dearie, surely it was for him to forgive you.”

“I never meant to hurt him with the arrow,” Sarah said. “
He
was grown up. He should have known that. But one day …”

“Go on.”

“Why, we were ready to sail for home. We went to say goodbye. He took me alone. He opened his shirt, Grandfather, and he made me look at that horrible scar and touch it. And he said to me, ‘See your pretty work, young Sarah? Don't ever forget your work that you did.' Grandfather, it frightened me so. I dreamed of it. Even now, when I am unhappy, sometimes in a nightmare I can see the shape of the awful scar. To me it is the shape of a sin. But it wasn't
my
sin.” Sarah said, “Oh, I'm sorry, Grandfather. I can't help thinking he was wicked and cruel to do such a thing to so small a child. I know you loved him. But that … that wasn't kind.”

“No.” Grandfather rose and drifted around the room. “Dear old chap, he was sometimes impulsive. Loved drama, you see. Oh, he grew older and wiser. He learned it was better to be kind. Yet I remember that the wound was painful and he was brave.”

“Yes,” said Sarah faintly. “I suppose so.”

“Your David is brave,” murmured Grandfather.

“He is not my … David doesn't believe in ghosts or jinxes.”

“I think you are right,” said Grandfather. “Or surely he wouldn't have come here after what happened to his car. It was a warning.”

“Oh?” she said. “Yes?” And shrank on the bed.

“Rolled down the hill of itself,” said Grandfather. “What an odd thing. I like the scent in this green bottle, Sarah. Of course no one blames David for what happened to the woman.”

“A woman?”

The old man was quite placid, touching the things on her dressing table. “Although she died,” he said. “A terrible thing. Ah well, so many terrible things all over the world, happening every day. Poor woman, she was just somebody on the sidewalk. We can't grieve for everyone, dearie. Or we should never have done. Old people know that.”

“David's … car …”

Grandfather drew near the bed again. “Why, it was,” he said. “Such a pretty bright new one he has now, eh? Do you know he is sifting the ashes, dearie, to find if there is anything left of his? What a task! What a persistent, what a very stubborn young man he is, eh?”