Press returned me to Olivia’s room, knowing I wouldn’t try to leave again without Michael. And he made sure I knew that Michael was no longer in the house. I was in a state of drug-induced sluggishness, but I remember everything that happened after I woke in Olivia’s bed later that day.
There was a glass of water and a cup of tepid tisane on the bedside table, and, squinting to keep the strong afternoon light streaming in the windows out of my eyes, I drank both quickly and fell back on the pillows. I wanted to search for Michael, but couldn’t force myself from the bed because any movement was painful: not only my head, but my neck and injured leg. Feeling for the bell beside the bed that would ring in the kitchen, I found it, but decided not to ring it. Would Terrance or Marlene even bother to come? Barely able to complete any train of thought, I gave up and went back to sleep.
Though I slept fitfully that second time, I woke in the early evening from another dream of Olivia and Eva in the kitchen. Again Eva stood on the stool, close beside Olivia, but now water dropped from her body in a hundred endless rivulets and pooled on the floor. But this time Olivia gestured me forward so I could also watch over her shoulder. There was a small goose, flopping and honking in the enormous kitchen sink as Olivia forced it down, again and again, to keep it from escaping. Eva watched the goose as well, her face blank and unemotional even though the scene was violent and horrifying in the extreme.
“Don’t look,” I said to Eva, wanting to take her in my arms. But I didn’t try to touch her. Even in my dream, I knew she wouldn’t really be there.
The light around us was the filtered golden amber of an autumn afternoon, and I ached for the days I had walked in the lane beneath the trees with Eva and Michael. As we stood there, the kitchen seemed to grow and stretch so that the floor and the walls got so far away that they disappeared, and we were left—sink and stool, and now-screaming goose—standing in a broad pasture, with Bliss House at a distance behind us, its windows bathed in the amber light. Finally, Eva looked up at me. The velvet ribbon that had been in her hair now hung loosely around her neck, and a fine goose feather was caught in her curls.
“Go upstairs, upstairs, Mommy.”
But how could I? Upstairs, upstairs was her name for the third floor. There was no upstairs to go to out here. I looked over my shoulder at the house.
“Come with me. Don’t stay here, baby.”
Eva stared past me toward the house and, in that moment, I saw how she might have looked as an adult: favoring Press only slightly, with delicate cheekbones and a curve to her brow that spoke not just of intelligence, but of cheerfulness too. She was my daughter, and would always be my daughter. Press might not have treasured her the way he should have, might even have stopped thinking of her, but I would never stop.
As the dream faded, I felt my consciousness returning, the pain returning, and I fought it as hard as I could.
Someone was moving in the bedroom. I heard the faint clinking of china in the direction of the bedside table.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you, Miss Charlotte.”
Marlene did look sorry, but was otherwise her collected sensible self. With the cooling of the weather, she had switched to a long-sleeved black dress. In the darkness of the room, her pale head and hands seemed almost disembodied. But she was, indeed, whole and human.
I clutched her knobby wrist.
“Don’t lock me in here, Marlene. Please, don’t. I need to see Michael.” My headache had lessened some, but the words still hurt coming out. I could almost see them, dark green and sharp, glinting in the faint moonlight.
I could also see the surprise on her face. “Lock you in? Why would anyone do that?”
Embarrassed by my panic, I let go of her wrist. “Where’s Terrance?”
“Mr. Preston said he thought that you’d prefer that I serve you while you’re ill.” She hesitated. “Shall I bring you some soup? I’ve brought more tisane. It’s chamomile and valerian, for your nerves.”
In that moment I might have wept but for my desire to see Michael. I felt terribly alone.
I whispered. “Marlene, please help me out to the telephone. I have to call someone.”
She seemed not to have heard me as she poured tea into the cup on the bedside table. “I’ll be right back up with some soup and crackers for you, unless you think you could eat something more.”
“The telephone. Please.” I tried to sit upright. My head still hurt, but I felt like I might be able to get out of bed. Before I did anything else, I needed to use the bathroom.
“I’ll tell Mr. Preston you’re awake. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your soup, but you can ring if you need anything else.”
She started out of the room with the tray that held the teapot and water pitcher.
“Why won’t you help me use the telephone? Help me, Marlene.” Now tears threatened, welling in my eyes.
She stopped and turned. Her words were kind but held no apology.
“Mr. Preston had the upstairs, hall, and kitchen telephones removed, Miss Charlotte. There’s only the one in the library now.”