Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
"
At least the halls aren
'
t buzzing with all those false rumors anymore,
"
Janet had told her boss on the phone.
"
Why bother,
"
Helen had answered wryly,
"
when the real facts are so much more sensational?
"
A version of those facts had made it into the Sunday paper; but much of the story was too painful to tell. Helen had declined to give interviews, so the world would never know the whole, sordid truth: that Peaches had somehow poisoned Linda Byrne with ergotamine, either in pharmaceutical or natural form.
It seemed likely that the nanny had doctored some of the old Tylenol capsules that they
'
d found in the medicine cabinet. Her fingerprints had been found on the bottle, along with Linda
'
s. But the fingerprints weren
'
t proof, and in any case the question was moot, because Linda was dead and so was Peaches.
The real question was, how could an innocent like Linda have allowed a demon like Peaches to touch her soul? Not an hour had passed in which Helen hadn
'
t pondered it.
Like
most dark mysteries, it was fated to drag through time unsolved.
But now it was Monday morning, and Helen, with Becky
'
s help, had dressed in her favorite sundress, the pale yellow one dotted with blue cornflowers, and was waiting for the arrival of Nat to take her to school for the first time since Russ had run away.
Becky wasn
'
t very happy about it.
"
The doctors wanted you to stay home for a month, Mom,
"
she insisted as she cleaned away the breakfast dishes.
"
The best you could whittle them down to was three weeks. Why are you going back in two?
"
"
Because I want to thank the parents who
'
ve hung in there,
"
Helen said, draining the last of her coffee.
"
This has been a long and bumpy ride for them.
"
"
Them?
What about
us?
"
Helen gave her daughter a melancholy smile and said,
"
We knew we were innocent. They didn
'
t.
"
Becky was having a harder time than Helen with the parents
'
faintheartedness—but then, Becky wasn
'
t a parent.
"
The school was almost empty last Thursday when I picked up that stuff for you,
"
she said indignantly.
"
I didn
'
t see any great show of faith.
"
Helen shrugged and said,
"
When you
'
re older, you
'
ll—
"
The mellow toot of Nat
'
s new van alerted them to start Helen on her way. Fending off her daughter
'
s offers of help, Helen slung her handbag across her chest, took up her crutches, and began her awkward step-thump to the front door.
By the time she reached it, Nat was on the other side, with his bright-morning grin that perfectly matched hers. They spoke the same language, those grins:
I
'
m so happy that you
'
re alive.
Helen waved to Katie, sitting in the backseat, and Katie waved back with both hands.
"
She
'
s been wild with excitement that you
'
re coming,
"
Nat said as he hovered over Helen while she poked her way slowly down the steps.
"
She brought you her favorite barrette to wear. Look thrilled.
"
Helen flashed Nat a look of pure love.
"
I
am
thrilled.
"
With his help, she got herself into the van, then made a big fuss over Katie
'
s gift and promptly clipped it to her hair.
"
It looks pretty,
"
Katie said, clutching her hands together and cocking her head appraisingly.
"
Pink is pretty. I like pink best. Don
'
t you like pink best?
"
That was the opening theme in a happy monologue that lasted most of the way to school. There was one brief pause, during which Helen said to Nat,
"
I
'
ve been trying to prepare myself for today, but—
"
"
But baloney. The school
'
s still standing. I say, that
'
s a miracle in itself.
"
He reached over and took her hand.
"
Give it time, Helen. You
'
ll build your business back up.
"
"
I
'
ve been thinking of maybe changing the location
... maybe even the name,
"
she conceded, blushing to admit it.
"
Don
'
t you dare.
"
She didn
'
t have the heart to tell him she
'
d been thinking of selling out altogether. In any case, they never got a chance to get another word in edgewise.
By the time Nat pulled up in front of the little brick bank, Helen was ready to stick her crutch on the gas pedal and send the van off again. A crowd had gathered, and it didn
'
t look kind.
Curiosity seekers. She averted her gaze from them. Nat helped her out of the van.
"
All set, darlin
'
?
"
he murmured. She nodded and the three of them—Helen on her crutches, Nat holding his daughter by the hand—began their march to the front door of The Open Door.
Helen scanned their faces, all of them looking either sheepish or fra
nkl
y curious. They were faces she knew. She hadn
'
t seen some of them since the first wave of panic after the picnic. There were the Baers
...
Mrs. Stickney
..
. Lynn Comford. Apparently
everyone
had come to stare. An air of awkward embarrassment seemed to hang over the gathering. No one, obviously, knew what to say.
In the meantime, a group of mothers and their children were rushing to the front from the parking area, unwilling to miss a thing. The scene had the look of the Academy Awards—but the feel of Gallows Hill.
Flushing
with emotion, Helen smiled bravely and kept her eyes fixed on the wide stone step that lay at the threshold of the big glass door. She had no desire to trip and fall—if the pain didn
'
t kill her, the humiliation certainly would.
She
began working
her crutches through the
crowd and onto the stone step.
Then, from behind her she heard a single loud clap. Followed by another. And another. The clapping became steadier, louder, evolving into a slow, sad drumroll of applause. Helen glanced at some of the faces. More than one had tears rolling down.
She was stunned: clever Gwen Alaran—in tears. Little Sarah, gashed at the picnic, there with her mom and dad. Candy Green, bearing
flowers ...
Henry holding their daughter Astra
....
All applauding: not in jubilation; not with any hip-hip
-
hoorays; not with grins, or backslapping, or fists in the air. What Helen saw, all around her, was a community expression of regret and apology. Completely unprepared for it, she felt goose bumps lifting the hairs on her arms. She had to bite her lower lip and fight back tears. On the wide step she turned on her crutches and said in a trembling voice,
"
Thank you, everyone.
"
Inside, more tears, many smiles, more applause. Preschoolers from other
years—now young boys and girls—
were there, and their mothers and fathers. Nannies—loving, tender nannies whom Helen respected and liked—were
there. Russell was there! Becky! She knew! And Aunt Mary, blowing her nose.
And Janet—steadfast, loyal Janet—was there, standing by her office, tears flowing freely. She threw her fleshy arms out wide, then remembered to restrain her enthusiasm and caught Helen, balanced on crutches, gently by her shoulders.
"
Welcome back, Helen Evett,
"
she said with quivering lips, and kissed Helen on her cheek. She pointed to a banner overhead:
WELCOME BACK.
Helen managed to whisper,
"
Janet, was this all your idea?
"
Janet smiled and nodded toward the tall, grave man riding shotgun alongside Helen
'
s crutches. Helen whipped her head around.
"
Nat!
"
His eyes were dancing with pleasure but his expression was bland as he said,
"
Hey
...
my kid
'
s gonna be late for school.
"
Helen continued her step-thump down the hall toward her own office. Teachers, mothers, fathers
...
and everywhere, the children she loved; had always loved; would always love. At the door Helen turned again to say thank you, but it was hard. The words were tangled around her heart, and her heart was caught in her throat.
From behind his mother
'
s skirt appeared little Alexander Lagor, clutching his Thomas the Tank Engine in one hand, thrusting a clump of white lilies at Helen with the other.
"
These are for you, Mrs. Evett. B
'
cause you got hurt.
"
"
I gave Mrs. Eve
t
t a barrette,
"
Katie chimed in.
"
A pink one!
"
"
Yes, you did, Katie. Thank you, Alexander,
"
Helen said softly to the shy little boy.
"
They
'
re very beautiful.
"
Alexander shuffled backward toward his mother and didn
'
t stop until he was hidden safely behind her skirt again.
Janet announced cheerf
ully, "Everyone? For those who
don
'
t have to go on to w
ork—and for those who do—there
are milk and cookies, coffee
and doughnuts in the assembly
room.
"
The little brick bank had room for them all.
H
elen
'
s moan of passion turned into one of dismay.
"
Oh, no! Here they come. Hurry, Nat!
"
"
Lena
,
"
Nat groaned in a voice mor
e hoarse than
amused.
"
You think I can t
urn it on and off like a water
spigot?
"
Helen wound her fingers th
rough his thick hair and gazed
up at him. The blue eyes un
der his glistening brow were a
little unfocused.
She knew the look.
"
Yeah,
"
she said i
n a sexy, lazy
taunt.
"
I do.
"
She pulled him down to meet her kiss, bringing him to exactly the level of passion that was required to make the spigot flow freely, then pushed him away with a giggle.
"
Hurry! Clothing!
"
Nat jumped out of bed and into his
brand-new Bermuda
shorts while Helen grabbed
a handful of tissues, slapped
them between her thighs, and made a dash for the bathroom.
"
For a lady with a r
od through her femur, you move
pretty fast,
"
Nat said in a
dmiration. "And you don't look
bad doin
'
it, either.
"