only part of it looking for Cecil. A quick inspection convinced her that the cat was not there, and she was about to go back downstairs when something caught her eye. She wasn’t sure what it was—something out of place, or something missing, or something there that shouldn’t have been there. She paused and looked around. For a long time she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. It was more a feeling than anything tangible. As if someone had been here and moved things around, then returned them to their original places. Except that there was still an air in the attic. An air of having been disturbed.
The old woman began looking around more carefully, realizing as she did that the attic was as much the storehouse of her memories as it was the repository of the Conger family’s castoffs. All the things that Congers had used and forgotten about were scattered around the attic—things that they had forgotten about but that Mrs. Goodrich had not. Her hand caressed the cradle that had been used for so many Conger babies—Sarah most recently, but Elizabeth before her, and their father before them. She wondered how many generations of Conger babies had slept in that cradle. And then she noticed that the intricate hand carving contained not a particle of dust. That was what had struck her about the attic: no dust. Everything that should have been covered with dust was clean.
She spent the next hour in the attic, looking for the dirt that should have been there. But it was not there, nor was Cecil.
Early in the afternoon she decided that, wherever the cat was, he was not in the house.
He’ll come back, she thought. When he’s a mind to.
9
“Are you sorry yet?”
Rose asked the question as she peered over the edge of her highball glass at Barbara Stevens. She had been right; she did like the Stevenses, and was looking forward to several years of happy neighborliness. Opposite her, sitting next to Carl, Barbara stared right back at her.
“Sorry?” she said. “Sorry we bought the house?”
“Well,” Rose said, her eyes wandering through the ugly square living room, now filled with packed boxes and disarranged furniture, “I told you it was a mess. And it sure is.”
Barbara laughed, and the sound seemed to make the room less ugly. “It isn’t all that bad. There are lots of possibilities.” Rose was sure she heard a touch of uncertainty in the words.
“Name one.” It was a challenge.
“Carl has dozens,” Barbara said, neatly avoiding the hook. “I’ll take over after the remodeling is done.”
“In other words,” Carl put in, “never. Barbara is thoroughly convinced that ‘remodeling’ includes paint, paper, and, if she can persuade me, new furniture. Then, when it’s all finished, she comes out of her studio, looks around, and says, ‘My, we have done wonders with this place, haven’t we?’ ”
“Now, it’s not that bad at all,” Barbara protested. “Besides, you know damned well that you think an architect should have full control of everything that goes into a building, from the day the ground is broken until the day the building is torn down.” She turned her attention to Rose and winked. “He even has stipulations in his contracts to carry his instructions forth unto the fourth generation. The sins of the fathers may not be visited on the sons, but they’re sure going to have to live with them.”
“Enough,” Carl said, standing up and brandishing a bottle that the three of them had half killed. “Any more, anybody, or shall we call it a day?”
Rose glanced at her watch, and it struck her that she had spent a lot more time here than she had intended. But it had been fun, and she’d found out a lot more about the old house than she had ever known. The three of them had spent most of the day exploring it from top to bottom, and the Stevenses were now well acquainted with the Barneses’ lighting system, which had allowed some rooms to be lit only from other rooms. Some rooms, which Rose explained had been the children’s, were without any switches at all, and the three of them had speculated that the Barneses had actually and literally kept some of their children in the dark on occasion. The day had gone fast, and it was close to four. Rose stood up.
“There’s one more thing I should show you,” she said pensively, “and I’d like to do it this afternoon.”