Stranger in the House Read online

  Paul shoved his hands farther into his pockets. There was panic in his eyes, which he strove to conceal.

  Iris, no stranger to social uneasiness, seemed to notice. “You know, I don’t think Paul has even been inside our house yet,” she said. “Would you like a tour, Paul?”

  Paul weighed this prospect against that of joining Tracy’s friends. “I guess so,” he said.

  “Iris,” said Edward, “you have scarcely exchanged a word with any of our guests. Don’t you think it’s about time you attended to that, rather than retreat back into the house?”

  “Oh, well, I didn’t think I’d be missed. I mean, I offered to show Paul…”

  Edward studied the nervous boy with a critical gaze. “Go ahead,” he insisted. “I will show Paul around the house.”

  Paul winced, realizing too late who his guide would be, but there was no way out of it. With a glance back at Anna, Paul followed Edward, who had started to march in the direction of the house.

  A passing guest collared Iris, who turned and forced a smile. Thomas walked over to Anna, who was watching her son disappear into the house with Edward. He touched Anna on the arm, and she started.

  “What did you do? Bribe him to wear the jacket?” he said.

  “He was willing. He’s a good boy, Tom. He just needs some understanding,” Anna said irritably,

  Thomas shrugged. “I see Edward is giving him the grand tour. Rather an undignified chore for the lord of the manor, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe he likes the boy,” Anna replied defensively. “He’s just trying to be nice.”

  Thomas raised his hands, “Sorry I said anything.”

  Anna sighed. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to jump on you.”

  “Mmmmm…” said Tom.

  “Do you think Edward minds taking Paul around?” Anna asked.

  Thomas shook his head. “He probably loves it. He can show off all his possessions. It’s just a shame that the kid won’t appreciate how much everything costs. On second thought, Edward will probably tell him.”

  “Thomas Lange, that’s unkind,” Anna said with a smile. “It’s true, though.”

  Just then Iris returned to them, carrying a martini glass, which she handed to Anna. “I thought you might want this,” she explained.

  Anna thanked her for the drink.

  “Anna,” said Iris, “he’s such a lovely boy.”

  “Tom bought him the jacket he’s wearing,” said Anna, glancing at her husband.

  “He looks very handsome. I’ll bet he was pleased.”

  “Mmmm…” said Anna.

  “Will you excuse me?” said Tom abruptly. “I need another drink.”

  Iris frowned at her friend. “How are you doing? All this must be a strain. You seem a little edgy.”

  “I’m tired, that’s all,” said Anna quickly. “And you’re right. It is a strain.”

  “Have you heard anything more about that man Rambo?”

  Anna started, and the drink she was holding spilled over the rim of the glass. “No, No. Not yet.”

  “They will catch him, Anna,” said Iris earnestly. “You should try not to worry.”

  “I know,” said Anna, staring at the glass, which shook in her hand.

  “Poor Paul,” said Iris, glancing back at the house. “I hope he won’t be too bored hearing all about the house.”

  “This is my room,” said Edward, gesturing toward the closed door of the upstairs hallway. He opened the door, and Paul looked past him into the dark, heavily curtained bedroom with gleaming dark furniture and a leather chair in one corner.

  Edward held on to the doorknob and closed the door again after Paul had glanced in. “And this is Mrs. Stewart’s room,” he said as they passed a room with eggshell-colored walls and rich floral chintz-covered furniture. The bed had a canopy over it.

  Paul had never heard of married people having different rooms, but he decided that it must be something peculiar to the rich. “That bed’s got a roof,” he observed. “Is that for when the roof leaks?”

  “Amusing,” said Edward, unsmiling. Paul hadn’t actually meant it as a joke. Music and laughter drifted up from the party through the open windows, and the strange party suddenly seemed preferable to this tour of the Stewarts’ house. Edward, however, was oblivious to Paul’s discomfort.

  “Those are guest rooms and baths down the hall,” said Edward. “Here, come in this room, and you can see my pride and joy.”

  Paul obediently followed Edward into the bathroom and looked out the window. He looked toward where Edward was pointing, but he saw nothing but the darkness and the shapes of trees.

  “My windmill,” said Edward proudly. He noted the perplexed look on Paul’s face. “I suppose you can’t see it in the dark. You can scarcely see it in the daytime. It’s quite a distance, and the trees cover it. Well, I’ll take you out to it and show you.”

  Paul looked back up from the landing as they started down the stairs. “Oh, that’s all right. You don’t have to,” Paul said.

  “But I want to, Paul,” said Edward, descending the stairs behind him, twisting his wedding ring on his finger. “You used to come here as a small child. Do you remember that?”

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t ever remember being in a house as big as this. I don’t remember anything from back then, really.”

  “Well,” said Edward reassuringly, leading Paul through the winding hallways of the first floor, “it was a long time ago. Now,” he said, “watch your step here. And follow me.” The two stepped out into the night and skirted the edge of the party in the darkness.

  Paul followed Edward up some terraced steps beside the house and up the graded lawn. He wished he had a flashlight to pick out the path, but Edward seemed to know the way and did not stumble or make any missteps as he negotiated the path. Paul glanced back at the island of sound and light in the dark where the party was rolling and hesitated.

  Edward turned and looked back at him. “Come along,” he said.

  Paul continued up the path, watching his feet as best he could until Edward put up a hand to forestall him.

  “There,” said Edward. Through the trees Paul saw the stout, obelisk-shaped structure looming above him, the wide blades of the windmill outlined by the dim light of the crescent moon. The outer walls of the building were shingled in dark, rough slabs. The tiny windows were black holes gouged in its sides.

  Edward walked over to the door and pushed it open, flipping on a switch inside. A weak yellow light warmed the doorway and lighted the panes of the windows. “Welcome to my workshop,” said Edward, motioning for Paul to follow him in.

  Paul slipped past Edward through the door. It was silent inside, and he blinked his eyes to adjust to the light. He rubbed his eyelids with his fingers and then looked around the six-sided room that formed the base of the windmill. It was colder inside the windmill than it had been outside. Edward stepped over to the workbench, which took up one of the six walls, and flipped on a light over the counter area. The workbench was a catacomb of drawers and compartments, each filled with a precise assortment of bolts, screws, and nails. Books, tools, sandpaper, and tiny boat parts were carefully organized into separate areas on the counter tops which lined the walls.

  Paul looked up and saw that the wooden floor of a loft formed a ceiling above them. A ladder going up to it rested against the side, surrounded at the top by sailing magazines and tin cans of paint. Edward gazed fondly at the orderly workroom. “This is where I am creating my fleet,” he said.

  Paul felt suddenly uneasy about the faraway look in Edward’s eyes. He moved away from him toward the door. “Well, thanks for showing it to me,” he said.

  Edward looked at him strangely for a moment. Then he stepped into the center of the room. “Have a look around,” he said. “Take your time.”

  After a moment’s hesitation Paul began to pick his way through the assortment of ships. Edward stepped around him and closed the windmill door. He watched the bo
y as Paul stooped over to examine the boats.

  “You sure have a lot of boats,” Paul said.

  “Sit down,” said Edward, indicating a chair. Paul sat down and glanced around the room. It looked too neat to work in, but he could see that Mr. Stewart really liked it that way. He shivered involuntarily.

  “Are you cold?” Edward asked, leaning up against the workbench.

  “It’s kind of chilly in here,” said Paul.

  “Stone floors,” said Edward. “I really should cover them.”

  Paul felt a little hemmed in, seated on the chair with Edward taking up most of the rest of the free space in the room. He wondered how Edward could stand to be so cramped up in the windmill.

  Edward reached over the working surface of the tool bench and picked up a piece of bright, multicolored silk which was lying there in a heap. He unfurled it for Paul to examine.

  “This,” said Edward, “is a spinnaker for that sailboat over there.” Edward indicated a large, delicate model with a deck of golden wood and a gleaming white hull. “I sewed the edges on that machine.”

  Paul looked at the old Singer sewing machine which was nearly hidden in one corner. “You can sew?” he asked, giggling nervously at the thought of Edward seated at the spindly machine.

  “Indeed, I can,” said Edward.

  “My momma used to have a sewing machine. She wanted to teach me how to use it but my daddy said no way was any boy of his…” Paul’s voice trailed away.

  Edward ignored the interruption. “Here, take a look at this. Seven different colors in this one sail.”

  Paul reached for the sail in Edward’s fingertips. The slippery material eluded him, and the sail floated from his fingertips to the floor. Edward started to bend over to retrieve it.

  “I’ll get it,” Paul offered, sliding from the chair and crouching down to get the sail, which had fallen at Edward’s feet. He put his hand on the sail, leaning over the toes of Edward’s wing-tipped shoes. Edward loomed over him, blocking the light from the workbench.

  Paul started to stand, but he felt a sudden dizziness come over him. He folded his body back into a crouch. There was a flash in his head and the fragment of an image on his eyelids. A golden eagle swooped toward him from a black cloud, talons extended, its eyes cold and enraged. Paul covered his right eye with a trembling hand. His complexion turned a chalky white.

  Edward’s cold eyes were riveted to the boy’s bent head. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Edward bent down toward him and reached out a hand to support him.

  “No,” Paul screamed, and scuttled away from him. In his haste he bumped into the table holding the white sailboat. The model teetered and then fell over. The delicate rigging crunched as the ship hit the stone floor.

  Paul staggered to his feet, his breath coming in gasps. He stared down at the model, but for a few seconds he did not seem to see it or to realize what he had done.

  Edward froze where he stood, his left eyelid twitching as he fixed the boy with a gaze that dissected him. “That’s too bad,” he whispered after a moment.

  Paul seemed to awaken at the words, and he looked, aghast, at the broken ship on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  Edward licked his lips and stared down at the broken vessel at his feet. “That model was the only one of its kind,” he said in a low voice. “It was custom-made for me.”

  “I’m sorry,” the boy cried, looking up at Edward with alarm in his eyes. “I don’t know how it happened.”

  Edward’s gray eyes were as blank as rivets in his head. “That was careless,” he said, staring at the boy. “There’s no excuse for carelessness.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Paul repeated miserably. “Can I go now?”

  Edward stepped over to the windmill door and held it open, looking out into the night.

  “Maybe I could pay for it,” the boy offered hopelessly.

  Edward turned and watched him for a moment. Paul began to feel again as if he couldn’t breathe. Then Edward spoke. “You may consider it forgotten,” he said, in a voice that did not sound forgiving.

  “Thank you,” the boy mumbled, and bolted out of the door and down the path in the direction of the glowing lights of the back of the patio.

  “I’ll be right along,” said Edward. He watched the boy go, and then he looked back at the wreck of his ship on the floor. Carefully he crouched down and began collecting the broken pieces.

  A dull throbbing in his head had replaced the feelings of panic and disorientation. Each time he put his foot down, Paul felt as if he were jarring the pain into a greater fierceness. His stomach had begun to churn in concert with the headache, and he kept on breathing deeply to hold the nausea down. Paul reached the periphery of the party and then hesitated, unwilling to enter the crowd of strangers. The light from the lanterns seemed to hurt his eyes.

  From the edge of the patio Iris peered into the darkness and spotted the boy standing there. “Paul,” she called out. “There you are.” She came toward him, smiling. “Did Edward show you around?”

  Paul nodded. His eyes searched for Anna in the group, wishing that he could see her and tell her he wanted to go home. He thought of asking Iris where she was, but he did not know how to refer to her. He could not bring himself to say “my mother.”

  Iris gestured toward the rest of the party. “Why don’t you come along now and sit down with the young people and have something to eat?”

  Reluctantly he let himself be led to a table occupied by teenagers. Paul sniffed the aroma of marijuana as they approached the table, but Iris seemed oblivious to this. She indicated a chair, which Paul lowered himself onto. “I’ll send a waitress with some food,” she said.

  Paul smiled mechanically at Iris. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see Tracy watching him across the table.

  “You have fun,” Iris urged, patting his shoulder as she left. Paul nodded, but his head was throbbing.

  Tracy leaned across the table and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Where were you?”

  “Inside. With Mr. Stewart,” Paul mumbled.

  Tracy said something quietly to her friends, and their mocking laughter rang out. Paul tried to ignore them. A waitress walked over to the table and placed a plate of food down in front of Paul.

  Paul looked down at the slab of pink fish on his plate. “What is this stuff?”

  “Salmon,” said Tracy. “Didn’t you ever have it?”

  Paul shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” He tried not to look at the fish on the plate, but he imagined that the odor was overwhelming him, making him feel even queasier.

  “Have some of this,” said Tracy, producing a glowing joint from under the tabletop. “You’ll be hungry.”

  A pretty brown-haired girl in a clingy, hot-pink dress sitting next to Tracy burst out laughing at this and covered her mouth with her hands.

  “I don’t want any,” Paul said, and pushed the plate of salmon aside, as if to remove it from sight.

  “Mary Ellen wants to ask you something,” said Tracy slyly.

  Paul stiffened and quickly eyed the two girls. The girl in the pink dress started to laugh, and Tracy punched her in the elbow. “Go ahead,” Tracy ordered. “Ask him.”

  Waves of pain seemed to be surging through him now, and he felt as if his eyes were aching from it. He could hardly focus on the girl’s face.

  “Did you ever…” Mary Ellen dissolved into laughter, and tears began to spurt from her eyes.

  “Mary Ellen, you ass,” said Tracy, elbowing her friend. Paul squirmed, but he tried to make his face impassive to whatever assault might come.

  “Did you…” she cried, and collapsed into giggles again.

  “Oh, shut up,” said Tracy, “and let Paul eat his salmon in peace.” She gave the plate a shove, and it bumped Paul in the arm. The slab of fish slid off the plate onto his jacket. The two girls started to laugh unco
ntrollably, although the sound of their laughter seemed far away because of the thudding pain in his head. Paul picked up the fish, and it felt cold and slippery in his hand. He thought he could smell the vilest odor off it. He tossed it away from him and stood up abruptly. All of a sudden he felt a lightness in his limbs, and black spots appeared before his eyes. He could see Tracy and her friend staring at him, but they seemed to be receding as the darkness descended in a cloud that came, then lifted, and then, in a rush, blacked out his sight altogether. He fell with a thud to the ground, pulling down a chair with him as he collapsed.

  Tracy screamed, and there were gasps from the people all around him. The hum of conversation gave way to anxious murmurs as people began to crowd around the fallen boy. Paul came to in the midst of the worried onlookers, his body feeling weak and drained. He tried to drag himself up on the edge of the chair seat without looking at the faces of any of the people surrounding him. He felt as if their warm bodies were imprisoning him, suffocating him. He was trapped there, still trying to remember what had happened to him.

  Suddenly Anna was beside him, her hands firmly gripping his shoulders. “Paul,” she said.

  He looked up at her briefly. “I fainted,” he said.

  Galvanized by the helplessness in his eyes, Anna asked no further questions. “Okay now,” she said in a firm voice to the people who surrounded him. “It’s all right. We’re going now.” Resolutely she helped him to his feet. “Leave us alone.” Paul stumbled to his feet beside her. Thomas took a step toward them and then stopped. Anna was miles away from him, completely in control.