words echoed in his mind, bouncing back and forth off the inside of his skull It sounded so easy.
Just go talk to somebody.
But about what? About what he’d done to Sarah? About why he’d done it? He wasn’t even sure what he’d done, and if he wasn’t sure what he’d done, how could he begin to be sure why he’d done it? And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. He’d spent months with Dr, Belter. The psychiatrist had spent hours with him, hours with Sarah, hours with the two of them together, watching them interact, trying to discover from some clue in the way they related to each other what had happened. He’d beaten her—Jack knew that now. But he couldn’t remember starting to beat her; he couldn’t remember administering the blows. All he could remember was being in the woods, then carrying Sarah out of the woods. And her face. For some reason he could remember her face, the tiny, dark, great-eyed face, peering desperately up at him, the frightened eyes not understanding what was happening, pleading with him to help her.
If he could remember, he could deal with it. But it was as if it had all happened to somebody else and he had been a witness to it. A witness who didn’t want to see.
They had even tried hypnosis. But that too had failed. Dr. Belter had warned him that some people simply cannot be hypnotized, and he had proved to be one of them. Deep inside he harbored the distinct feeling that he could have been hypnotized, but simply didn’t want to be; that whatever was inside him was too fearsome to bring out, that he was protecting himself from a weakness too ugly to face. And it had formed a vicious circle, the guilt feeding on the doubt, the doubt growing as the guilt increased. Finally, when he could no longer face those awful silent hours with the doctor, sipping coffee and wishing desperately that he could bring himself to talk, if not about the incident with Sarah then at least about the impotence that had resulted, he had given up. He had come to terms with himself, and they were not easy terms. He would live with the guilt, and he would live with the impotence, and he would live with the questions about what had really happened. But he would not have to know. And he had come to believe that to know what had happened would be the worst thing of all.
He stared silently across the table at Rose, wondering if there was any way to convey all of this to her, trying to think of what he could possibly say, when he was rescued from having to say anything at all. Mrs. Goodrich’s voice was pouring forth from the kitchen.
“Miss Sarah, you stop that, do you hear me?”
There was a crash, the sound of pots and pans falling to the floor, followed by the sound of Sarah’s voice rising into the wordless wail that for a year had been her only means of communicating her pain to the world.
“Dear God,” Rose breathed, letting her head sink into her hands. “How much more?” Then she pulled herself together and started toward the kitchen, wondering what it would be this time. She didn’t see Elizabeth enter the dining room from the other door.
Elizabeth paused as her mother left the room and waited a moment, listening to the chaos from the kitchen. As it subsided, she relaxed and moved to the table. Still in his chair, Jack stared vacantly at the door leading through the butler’s pantry to the kitchen, his face pale. Elizabeth reached out a hand to touch him.
“It’s all right, Daddy,” she said softly. “It’s over now.”
At the touch, Jack started. His mind registered the fact that he hadn’t been aware of Elizabeth’s presence, and he felt the fear sweep over him again. He tried to cover it with a smile.
“Hello, Princess,” he said, fighting to control the shakiness in his voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I wonder what she was doing,” Elizabeth said, standing close to her father. “I hope she didn’t hurt herself.”
“I’m sure she didn’t,” Jack said, though he was far from sure. “Have a seat, and I’ll pour you some juice.”
Elizabeth grinned at him crookedly. “How about if I sit on your lap?” she said.
“My lap? Aren’t you getting a little big for that?”
“Sometimes I like to feel small again,” Elizabeth replied. “Do you ever