The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,21
as he left the office.
Seeing how happy the little bag of silver-wrapped chocolates had made Oliver, his own troubles no longer seemed quite so grim. Maybe, Bill thought, he’d just stop at the candy store and pick up a bag for Elizabeth. No, make that three bags; no sense in leaving Megan and Mrs. Goodrich out.
Suddenly, Bill McGuire felt better than he had in days.
An hour later Elizabeth came awake again, stretching languorously, savoring the feeling of well-being that had replaced the terrible torpor she’d felt earlier this morning. But as the last vestiges of sleep were sloughed away and she came back to consciousness, she slowly became aware of someone moving around in the next room.
The nursery.
Megan?
But what would Megan be doing in the nursery?
Rising from the chaise and carrying the doll with her, Elizabeth went through the bathroom and into the nursery.
Mrs. Goodrich, her back to Elizabeth, was in the process of emptying the contents of the little dresser, which stood against the opposite wall, into a large cardboard box.
“Who told you to do that?” Elizabeth demanded.
Startled by Elizabeth’s words, Mrs. Goodrich whirled around. “Oh, dear,” she Said. “You frightened me, popping out of the bathroom that way. You go on back to bed, dear. I can take care of all this.”
“All what?” Elizabeth asked, moving out of the bathroom doorway into the middle of the room. “What are you doing?”
Mrs. Goodrich placed the tiny sweater she held in her hands into the box and took another from the dresser drawer. “I just thought I’d get all this packed away for you, and put away in the attic.”
“No,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs. Goodrich blinked. “Beg pardon?”
Elizabeth’s voice hardened. “I said no, Mrs. Goodrich.” Her voice began to rise. “How dare you come in here and start packing all my baby’s clothes.”
“But I thought you’d want—” Ms. Goodrich began. Elizabeth didn’t let her finish.
“I don’t care what you thought. Go back downstairs and leave me alone. And from now on, stay out of this room!” Mrs. Goodrich hesitated, but before she could argue, Elizabeth spoke again. “Just go! I’ll take care of this.”
Mrs. Goodrich stared at Elizabeth in shock, barely able to believe her ears. Should she try to argue with her? she wondered.
No, she decided. Better not to say anything right now. After all, given what she’d been through, Elizabeth couldn’t be expected to be herself quite yet. It was her own fault, really. She should have given Elizabeth more time before she began packing away the things in the nursery.
Laying the sweater in her hand on the top of the dresser, Mrs. Goodrich quietly left the room.
When she was gone, Elizabeth went to the dresser and began removing the clothes—the little play suits and pajamas, the tiny overalls, bibs, and shirts—from the box, carefully smoothing each one out and refolding it before putting each item back in the drawer from which it had come.
“How could she do that?” she asked the doll, which she’d sat on the dresser so it was leaning up against the wall, exactly as if it were watching what she was doing. “Doesn’t she realize you’re going to need all these things?” Taking a small sweater out of the box, she shook it out, then held it up against the doll. “Still a little big, but in a few months it will fit perfectly, won’t it? What could she have been thinking of?” Still talking to the doll, Elizabeth folded the sweater and put it in the drawer next to the bottom, with all the other sweaters. When the box was empty and all the baby clothes were back where they belonged, she picked up the doll and carried it to the crib, where she carefully tucked it under the comforter and kissed it softly on the cheek.
“Time for a nap,” she whispered. “But don’t you worry. Mommy will be right here.” Settling into the blue rocking chair next to the crib, Elizabeth softly began crooning a lullaby.
From the open doorway to the hall, unnoticed by her mother, Megan watched.
Chapter 8
“Something’s wrong with Mommy,” Megan announced as her father came through the front door. She was sitting on the bottom step of the hall stairway, her face stormy. “She took Sam.”
“Your doll?” Bill asked, “Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know,” Megan replied. “And she got mad at Mrs. Goodrich too. Real mad.” Then she saw the paper bags tied with red ribbon, and got up. “Is that for me?”