Scones and Sensibility (23 page)

“Hi, Mr. Nightquist,” I called out.

He gazed up at me and smiled. “Oh hello, Polly girl. How are you today?”

“Much troubled in spirit, I’m afraid.” I sat upon a stool, my chin resting in my hands. “I have heard of the unfortunate accident with Jack and your grandson.”

He shook his head. “I guess I knew I shouldn’t have given Charlie the leash, but I wanted him to like Eugenia May, and he’s always wanted a dog of his own. And then it all happened faster than I could stop it. Then Eugenia was crying, Charlie was screaming, and Missy was trying to calm them both down while I got the vet.” He ran his ruddy hands through his hair. “That’s that. And now I’m realizing how much I was starting to like her. But it’s over and I gotta remind myself of that.”

He said these words with such heart-wrenching
finality that fresh tears pricked at my eyes. Yet I knew hope remained. “But dear Mr. Nightquist, I have just come from her home. And though she is still much upset, she now realizes that the fault could have been upon anyone. I’m sure if you and dear Charles would offer an apology, she would open her heart to you.”

“You think?” Mr. Nightquist’s eyes were filled with hope once more. “That’s what she said?”

“Indeed it is, my dear sir. You must go to her and make amends, and then all will be right between you.”

He slapped the counter and laughed. “Well, all right then. Me and Charlie will head on down there right after lunch! What do you say, Charlie?”

At this Charles let out a very loud, “No, I don’t wanna,” which made me doubt the course that Mr. Nightquist was on.

But Mr. Nightquist was filled with excitement and paid no heed to the rebellious lad. Instead, he hugged me around my dainty shoulder. “Thanks, Polly!”

And though I longed to unburden my own soul to this kindred spirit, I could not when he was so filled with happiness and love’s calling.

So instead I bid him good luck and went on my way.

By evening, I was in desperate need of comforting from my bosom friend. Surely Fran and her father would console my heavy heart!

But alas, when I telephoned dear Fran, there was no answer.

Once more, yet still no answer.

Then it became all too clear.

The woman, Miss Ruthie Carmichael, had arrived this very day. My mind, plagued with disconcerting thoughts of Clementine, had let this information slip away until now.

But why, then, did Fran not answer my telephone calls? Surely she wanted me with her to share in her joy and to approve of her father’s choice?

Or had Miss Carmichael arrived and immediately put Fran and Mr. Fisk to death? Or were my dearest friends held hostages in their own home, awaiting only the arrival of a kindred spirit willing to come to their aid? What if she had bewitched Mr. Fisk into running away with her, and dearest Fran was now a prisoner in an orphanage forced to make lace doilies and eat gruel?!

My heart pulsed hard in my chest as I thought of
their agonizing plight. Together, barricaded in the basement by the evil Miss Carmichael, they lamented to one another, “Why, oh why did we not listen to Polly? She would’ve found someone wonderful, but alas, we paid no heed. Now who will save us?”

“I will save you,” I said aloud, determined that I must make my way to their home at once.

And if not save them … perish with them.

The golden clock, now back on my nightstand, struck the tenth hour as I hurried to leave. Mama and Papa had long since gone to bed and my estranged sister was still in her room, as she had remained throughout the day.

So, in silence, I slipped off my bed and into the cornflower-blue dress with the elegant waist. I went to the window and breathed deeply of the salty air and heard the ocean calling me to “go, go, go.” And, so that I did not wake my father and mother from slumber nor disturb my sister’s silent laments, I tiptoed down the stairs and out the back doorway.

I rode to Fran’s home straightaway, fear for my dearest friend pushing me forward, yet the sadness over Clementine weighing my heart down like dampened sand.

Yet my fears only intensified as I rounded the corner and heard the screams and squeals coming from their home.

If only they had heeded my warnings.

I dropped my bike to the ground with a terrorizing clang as metal hit concrete, and stopped at the edge of their lawn. Through the window, a strange woman (surely it was Ruthie Carmichael) laughed, a wicked smile upon her lips.

Surely not! My whole body was consumed in fright, but though I felt I might fall into a swoon, I kept myself upright.

Had all my fears come true?

I looked harder at the scene and saw no one but the infamous Ruthie Carmichael. She lifted up her hand as if to stab someone and I covered my eyes, letting out an ear-piercing scream over the horror of it all. I could not witness my bosom friend and her father succumbing to such an end.

But I had to do something. The Internet woman really and truly was a malicious killer.

“What in the name of all that’s holy is going on out here?” a voice called from next door. “Who’s screaming out here?”

I ignored the voice at first and ran up to the Fisks’ front window.

Fran was nowhere to be seen. Could it be that her life had already ended?

The woman, both beautiful and deadly, laughed heartily with her hands clutched around the neck of Mr. Fisk. His tongue hung out of his mouth grotesquely and he looked on the verge of certain death.

Words caught in my throat, and I let out another scream, louder than the first. This startled Ruthie and she jumped, most likely aware that she had been caught in the act of such vile deeds.

“What’s going on?!” the voice next door called out again. “If you don’t tell me who you are and what you’re doing over there I’ll call the police!”

Yes! That was what needed to be done. I ran toward the voice and saw it was Mrs. Fowler, Fran and Mr. Fisk’s next-door neighbor. “Please! Please! Help me! Quick! We need to call the police.”

Mrs. Fowler grabbed at my arm. “Polly? Is that you? What’s wrong? Why are you screaming?”

“It’s Fran and Mr. Fisk!” I said, panting. “There’s a woman, an evil woman, in their house. Just look! Her name is Ruthie Carmichael.” I dragged the fearful lady
onto the Fisks’ front lawn and pointed into the window, where Miss Carmichael had resumed strangling poor Mr. Fisk, her face twisted into a laughing smile. “Mr. Fisk met her on the Internet and thought she was in love with him. Little did he know that her only intention was to end his life!”

Again, my body felt so overwhelmed with fear that I thought I might fall to the ground in a faint. But I stood fast, knowing that I must be ready to aid my friend when the authorities arrived. Perhaps I could nurse her back to health or my own blood could help save her if she needed a transfusion.

“Are you sure?” the woman asked.

“Of course I’m sure, just look at her!”

“All right, I’ll be back,” she said, and left me alone in the yard, tears streaming down my cheeks.

But I couldn’t look at the scene. Instead I wailed and cried, counting the minutes, the seconds, before the sound of the sirens could be heard.

A policeman arrived moments later, lights flashing blue and red in the dark, dark night. They surrounded the house at once, and I watched in horror as Fran, who I had not seen earlier, fell to the ground in a heap while Ruthie Carmichael took a bow. She had finished them both off.

“Oh, Fran!” I yelled.

“Ruthie Carmichael!” the police shouted through his bullhorn. “Come out with your hands above your head.”

I spied Ruthie Carmichael at the window glancing into the streets. Then, thankfully, Mr. Fisk arose and looked out as well, though I feared for his close proximity to Miss Carmichael. Fran got up next and I heaved a sob of relief at the sight of her alive and well. Their will to live had overcome death.

All three of them exited the house. “What is all this?” Mr. Fisk asked.

“Down!” the policeman said. “We need Miss Carmichael down on the ground.”

Ruthie Carmichael lowered herself to the ground. “What’s going on? What did I do?”

And then there was a great commotion like I had never seen before as Miss Carmichael was hauled away for questioning by the police and Mr. Fisk chased after the authorities, assuring them “everything was fine” and that it was all “just a game.”

Fran found me and I grasped her hands in mine and kissed them. “Oh, my dearest friend. I am so relieved that you are unhurt! When I saw that woman’s hands upon your father’s neck, I was sure you were killed—”

She tore her hands from mine, her eyes flashing with fury and rage that I’d only seen once when her young cousin broke her favorite china doll. But that was when she was but a child of seven.
“You did this?
How … how could you, Polly?” Her chin trembled and she backed away. “I should’ve known you’d come and ruin all this.”

“Huh? I … I saw her trying to kill your dad.… I was only trying to … to save you.”

“Save me?” she yelled into the now-still night. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “We were playing a game! And I don’t need you to save me! I don’t need you to help me, Polly! It’s like you’re trying to take away any chance of happiness I have. It’s like you want me to be sad and without a mom!”

Tears now poured from my own eyes. “That’s not true, Fran. You know it’s not. You have to. I just thought—”

“You didn’t think, Polly! This isn’t your dumb Green Gables or England or whatever. This is real life. This is
my
life and you’re ruining it! You have no idea what it’s been like to not have my mom. To see my dad sad all the time. Now, we have a chance to maybe be happy, and you step in and chase any hope of that
away. Just leave!” And into the black night she fled.

“But Fran!” I yelled. “I’m sorry!”

She whirled back around. “Just go away!”

Hot tears ran down my face, scourging my heart. Indeed, I deserved her hate, and her rage, and all of her malicious thoughts. So, without picking up my bicycle, I dashed home, unable to enjoy the wind blowing through my rustling dress or the stars that sparkled like diamonds in the deep black sky.

Instead, sorrow and despair were my companions.

When I reached my humble home, I did not enter. I did not wish to defile my house, so ashamed I was of yet another grave mistake. Instead, I lay down underneath the delicate branches of the maple tree. And though I had always thought it romantic to sleep under the shade of this proud tree, the damp, sparse grass itched my skin, and the feeling of loneliness and despair lay on top of me like a blanket. The tears I wept watered the ground beneath me.

Neither the words of
Anne of Green Gables
nor the assurance of enduring love found in
Pride and Prejudice
could offer consolation or comfort now. How could they?

“I’m hopeless,” I cried aloud. “I’ve ruined everyone
and everything. And now, I’ve lost my sister and my best friend!”

And I cried like I’d never done before, until somewhere in a fit of exhaustion I fell into a restless and painful sleep.

T
hings did not improve upon break of day. And though
Anne of Green Gables
had stated that tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it, I awoke with the mistakes of my recent past hovering over my head like a black shroud of death.

“Polly? Polly?” It was Papa’s voice. I gazed upon him and beheld his surprised countenance. “What are you doing out here? You didn’t sleep under the tree all night, did you?”

I sat up and nodded, my neck and back aching with the aftereffects of a night on the ground and my heart filled up to the brim with sorrow. I sighed and allowed myself to be lifted to my feet, though the heaviness in my heart was still very much there.

“Are you all right, Polly?” he asked. Mama had
joined him at his side, and she hugged me to her.

I sobbed into her shoulder, and she led me into the house and sat with me upon the couch.

“Now, tell me what this is all about.”

“My life, my life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes,” I lamented. I had read that in
Anne of Green Gables
, and though I had longed to use it, I never imagined a moment so terrible I’d be able to speak those words.