A flush of heat came over Nonie’s face. Whether from the temperature of the room, or what she was about to say, I wasn’t sure. It was awfully warm. Sweat had gathered in a rivulet between my breasts, and the seams of my blouse under my arms were wet.
“You need to come downstairs, but you don’t want to come to the table like that. I’ll go lay something out for you.” She started out of the room.
“But what do you mean? Tell me.”
Nonie turned in the doorway. “Just be careful what you look at in there. But I suppose Olivia Bliss was probably not the kind of person to own those sorts of pictures.”
“Oh.”
I finally understood. She meant just the sort of pictures I’d just seen: people like Press and Jack doing unspeakable things. But I couldn’t have seen what I had seen. They were slides, not films. It wasn’t possible. They were just innocent pictures.
She sighed. “I’ll go lay out your clothes. Hurry. Your husband’s already at the table with Michael.”
“Press is home?”
“You don’t think I would leave Michael by himself in the dining room, do you?”
“Did he say anything?”
“He just came in. Terrance gave him a Scotch, and he asked where you were. I thought it best that I come find you.”
Press was home, and I’d been pulled back into my life. I looked at the boxes of slides and the cooling lantern. What were these things, and what did it all mean?
I carefully unplugged the lantern from the wall socket and tucked the cord beneath the table so no one might trip on it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to ever turn the thing on again.
Chapter 12
Enchantment
Mommy.
What mother doesn’t wake when her child whispers her name? When it comes in the night, a whisper is more alarming than a cry. Grateful that I hadn’t taken the sleeping drops, I threw back the covers and felt for my robe. Finding it near the end of the bed, I put it on, forgetting for just a moment that Eva wasn’t really there whispering for me. But from the depths of my disappointment came the realization that someone had called for me.
There was enough moonlight to see my way across the room. My door, which was always closed when I slept, stood open to the gallery.
Mommy.
Footsteps outside my room. Light, running footsteps. Thinking it might be Michael looking for me, I started down the gallery to the nursery fully awake, my heart quickened by the voice.
Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.
Was it Eva’s voice? It was young. Feminine. I wanted it to be Eva, but there was something teasing in the sound.
It seemed to come from everywhere. First, a few feet ahead of me. Now, near the back stairs. Then from the hall below. Above me, the stars painted on the dome were mute, the chandelier a silhouette in the moonlight from the clerestory windows. I knew that everyone in Bliss House was asleep, but the night around me felt wakeful, as though something were going on behind one of the closed bedroom doors. Only Olivia’s bedroom door was open, and, beside it, a faint light shone beneath the morning-room door. As I watched, the light faded and brightened, like a stuttering flame. Had Eva awakened me to warn me of a fire? It seemed possible.
I was close to Press’s door but, afraid of appearing foolish, I chose not to wake him right away. And if it really were Eva, what would I do? God help me, I couldn’t bear the thought of sharing her with him. He didn’t deserve her.
I crossed the gallery and, taking a deep breath to calm the pounding of my heart (pounding, yes—even though I would never be afraid of my own child), I put my hand on the shining brass knob of the morning-room door. To say it was cold was an understatement, like saying a 104-degree day was a little warm. I drew my hand back and pressed it to my mouth, breathing into it to lessen the sting. When I reached for the knob again, I used the sleeve of my robe, but it made little difference. As soon as the knob was free of its catch, I pushed the door open with my shoulder. Even through my robe I could feel that the door itself was like a block of ice. The hinges—always kept oiled by the dedicated Terrance—complained of the cold as well.
I hesitated before I went inside, remembering the image of the teenage boys. But Eva had called me, so I had to go on.
Inside? How to tell you. . . .
The morning room was transformed. Frigid with cold. No. Not just cold, but with a frost that hid the true nature of every surface, as though every object had been fitted with a glittering pavé of tiny diamonds. Shaken and uncertain, I turned to look behind me into the hallway. I was still in the house and hadn’t been swept into some dream place or other universe.