Stitches in Time, page 28
“Enough,” Adam agreed, adding the other specimens to the collection in the envelope. “Rachel’s proved her point.”
“Not quite.” Rachel hadn’t spoken for so long her voice sounded strange to her. “One thing more. Help me turn it over.”
The remains of what had been a unique piece of art flopped limply as they turned it, helpless and dead as a once-living body. The rips and stains were like wounds, and even though she knew it had to be done, even though the quilt was already beyond repair, Rachel had to force herself to insert the sharp tip of the tool into the homespun weave of the backing. The tool was one Cheryl used for ripping out stitches; it slid through the fabric with a faint tearing sound. Rachel cut another slit at right angles to the first and folded the fabric back.
“That’s not the back of the front,” Kara said with a puzzled frown. “I mean, it’s not—”
“I know what you mean,” Rachel said.
“I don’t,” Adam said.
“There are usually three layers in a quilt,” Rachel explained. “The front, with its appliquéd or pieced pattern, the filling or batting, and the backing. In quilts like these, where the aim was beauty instead of utility, they sometimes omitted the filler. An additional layer would have made the fabric too thick for the tiny, even stitches that were demanded. But this quilt seems to have a layer of filler. What we’re looking at is the back of that inner layer.”
With even greater care she cut a section out of the inner layer. Underneath was what appeared to be a fourth layer of cloth—coarse, brownish-black instead of white.
“That’s where the gray dust came from,” Rachel said. “There are two inner layers, not one, with this between them. She sprinkled it on the fabric before she quilted the pieces together—wet it and let it dry, perhaps, so it would harden. They used a horizontal frame for the actual quilting, so the—the stuff stayed in place.”
“What is it?” Kara asked.
A moonless night as the teaching said, only starlight to guide her through the maze of tree trunks, through the gate, into the enclosure dark with shadows and something worse. Stumbling over fallen stones, crouching to tear away the matted grass and weeds, the gritty soil settling deep under her nails…
Rachel swallowed. “Graveyard dirt.”
Adam had made coffee, but he was the only one drinking it. Rachel had refused and Kara had gone straight to the liquor cabinet.
“I know I drink too much,” she muttered. “It’s an occupational hazard in Washington. But tonight I deserve it.”
“How do you know?” Adam looked at Rachel.
Darkness, faint sounds in the night that might have been the wind or a muffled voice from deep underground…
The image came and went in a measureless interval of time, so quickly that not even Rachel was conscious of delay before she answered.
“It fits the pattern. Fingernail clippings and hair from the intended victim, dirt from a grave to cast a death spell. Magic is a pseudo-science; it has its own distorted logic, its rules and methodology. Pat wasn’t the first scholar to point that out, but he discussed it at length in his last book.”
“And in his notorious lectures on magic, science, and religion,” Adam said. “It used to be one of the most popular courses on campus. He did demonstrations. In costume.”
Diverted, Rachel demanded further details. “Surely he didn’t mash toads or drain the blood of a white cockerel?”
“Good heavens, Rachel!” Kara exclaimed.
“Those are popular ingredients,” Rachel said. “I haven’t mentioned the most disgusting.”
“He used a rubber chicken,” Adam said reminiscently. “And tomato juice. He chanted, too. Some of the parents complained to the dean.”
“I should think so,” Kara murmured. “I hate to think what he’ll do when he finds out about this. I suppose if there are standard formulae for cursing there are also formulae for removing a curse? I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she added morosely.
“That’s right,” Adam said eagerly. “Rachel is absolutely right. I’ve been reading up on it—”
“So why don’t you let her talk?” Kara inquired. “You said she’s the expert.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“There are…ways,” Rachel said slowly. “Different ways. Magic isn’t a science, of course. There aren’t any scientific formulae.”
“What ways?” Adam demanded.
“Well…prayer.”
“Prayer,” Adam repeated. Rachel had never seen that look on his face, or heard such bitter cynicism in his voice.
“Counterspells, if you prefer. Appeals to the powers of light for protection.”
“I do prefer,” Adam said shortly. “But not by much. The quilt and the garbage we found in it are physical objects. There must be a physical response. What would happen if we destroyed the damned thing? Buried it, burned it—”
“I don’t know!” Rachel shouted.
The others stared at her in surprise. She knew, or thought she knew, why Adam’s suggestion had induced such a violent reaction, but she couldn’t tell them. Not yet.
Moderating her voice, she explained, “We can’t risk doing anything until we’re sure. Destroying it might have precisely the wrong effect.”
“Okay, okay,” Adam said quickly. “You’re right again. Our relationship may founder on that shoal, you know. It’s very annoying to live with someone who is always right.”
His attempt to lighten the atmosphere didn’t succeed. Kara, nursing her drink, scowled at him, and Rachel snapped, “I’m just trying to be logical. Rushing into action could be a fatal mistake. We’ve got several more days, there’s no sense in taking chances. Pat may come up with something useful.”
“I thought you said he was wasting his time.”
“I didn’t say that, I said it wasn’t the only way of going at this. There are…”
Her voice faded, and Adam watching her with concern, finished, “Other ways. Yeah, right. Speaking of Pat, did anyone check the answering machine? He said he’d call tonight.”
Pat hadn’t called, but there were several other messages, one of which almost succeeded in taking Rachel’s mind off her more imminent problem. Phil was at his most pompous and precise. “I hope you’ve come to your senses and are ready to apologize for that outrageous business the other night. I’ve moved back into the house in College Park; the others are still away, and I saw no sense in paying good money for a motel. You can call me here. If you choose not to, you’ll have to live with your decision. I won’t call you again.”
It wasn’t the final message, but Adam pressed the stop switch and looked relieved. “That’s good news. We’ve heard the last of him.”
“Maybe not,” Kara said slowly. “I don’t like the sound of that. It could be an implicit threat.”
“No, just one of Phil’s famous ultimata.” Rachel shook her head. “Dammit, now I can’t go back there without risking another unpleasant encounter. I was going to move out anyhow, but some of my things are still there.”
“Don’t risk it.” Kara hesitated, but only for a moment. “I know what I’m talking about, Rachel. I was married to a guy like that once. Same kind of voice—arrogant, cocksure, subtly threatening. We’ll send someone to pack and pick up your things. Not you, Adam, you’d lose your temper and end up in jail.”
“I probably would.” He added awkwardly, “I never knew that, Kara. I’m sorry. Lucky you found somebody like Mark, you deserve the best.”
Kara’s face was unreadable. “Play on,” she ordered, gesturing at the answering machine.
The final message infuriated Adam and roused the mirth of the two women. It was from someone calling herself Starflower or Stargazer—she mumbled—and informing Adam that she had forgiven him for what he had done and for what he might do. She was praying for him.
“One of the Wiccas?” Kara inquired, trying to control her voice. “What are you so mad about, Adam? It’s a kindly thought.”
“Wicca is the name of the—the thing, the religion, whatever,” Adam muttered. “She’s the high priestess. Dammit, she’s got no business praying at me!”
“Better than the alternative. Maybe we ought to consult them. A little white magic could be just what we need.”
“Ha ha,” Adam said.
“You’re losing your sense of humor, Adam.” Kara sighed. “Mine is fading too. I think I’ll hit the sack. I’d better call Cherry first, though, she expects to hear from me.”
“I wondered why she hadn’t called lately,” Rachel said. “What did you tell her?”
“To leave you alone because you were busy.”
“You were right about that. Tell her everything is…Can you bring yourself to say fine?”
“I can bring myself to say almost anything if it will have the desired effect.” She picked up the phone.
The conversation took some time. Cheryl wanted to know how the sale had gone, what they had sold, who had bought what, how the dogs were doing, how the cats were doing, what they were eating, what the weather was like. Rachel was able to deduce the questions from Kara’s answers. Kara’s contributions were brief and conventional: how is everybody, are you having a good time, love to Tony and the kids. Then, at Cheryl’s request, she handed the phone to Rachel.
“I won’t talk long, I know you’re busy,” Cheryl said. “Kara says you’ve been working night and day on your thesis.”
“Uh—”
“Don’t work too hard.” Cheryl’s rich, friendly chuckle echoed along the line. “From what I hear, you have something nice to distract you. I’m real happy about it, Rachel. He’s a sweet guy. Tony says I shouldn’t worry about the burglar because he’s probably split, but I would worry if I didn’t know Adam was…Well, I promised I wouldn’t say anything but I just had to tell you how happy I am about it. Gotta run, it’s past Jerry’s bedtime and he’s driving his grandma crazy asking questions.”
Hanging up the phone, Rachel turned an accusing eye on Kara.
“What did you tell her about me and Adam?”
“I had to think of something to keep her from bugging you,” Kara said calmly. “Cheryl is a saint, but she wouldn’t consider a little old doctoral dissertation sufficient reason for noninterference. A hot romance, on the other hand…”
“It’s not very hot,” Adam said in an aggrieved voice. “In fact, it’s not a romance. Despite my best efforts.”
“Really?” Kara was surprised and amused. “I must say you’ve been very discreet. I haven’t noticed any efforts at all. I invented that to distract Cheryl.”
“He’s not serious,” Rachel said.
“Oh, yes, I am. I’m just too much of a little gent to force unwelcome attentions on a lady.” His voice was light but the level hazel eyes held no amusement. “Especially when she’s being hassled by two other guys.”
They dropped the subject by mutual if unspoken consent. Kara finished her drink and, took Alexander out for his final run, or stagger, around the yard. Adam nobly offered to take the dog, but Alexander made it clear he did not approve of that arrangement. When Kara came back she was shivering, despite the folds of mink that swathed her and the dog.
“Cold?” Adam asked.
“Definitely a three dog night. If Pat calls, tell him…Tell him whatever you like. See you in the morning.”
She and Alexander were sleeping in the room Tony had occupied. Rachel followed her; she didn’t want to be alone with Adam just now, he’d be full of questions she didn’t know how to answer, and there was something she wanted to discuss with Kara.
Opening the bedroom door and turning on the light for Kara, whose arms were full of dog, she said, “Did you search this room?”
“Should I?” Kara put the dog on the bed and took off her coat.
Rachel didn’t answer.
“I had a quick look around,” Kara said. “Changed the sheets, made sure there was nothing Alexander could knock over. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Not about that. I wanted…But you’re tired.”
“Not that tired. Sit down.” She began to undress, moving quickly because the room was cold but undeterred by Rachel’s presence. Stripped, she was heavier than Rachel had realized, with a perceptible layer of fat under her firm skin. Like a Greek Venus, Rachel thought, a sturdy healthy Venus like the one from Milo. Standards of beauty differed from age to age and culture to culture, and, as Kara would probably put it, standards were a lot of b.s. anyhow.
“What do you want to talk about?” Kara asked, pulling a thick flannel nightgown over her head.
“Adam.”
“He hasn’t bothered you, has he?”
“Not in the way you mean. It’s just that I know so little about him. And I think I should know—not out of idle curiosity, but so I can avoid saying or doing the wrong thing. Why did he get so uptight when we talked about praying?”
Kara climbed into bed and propped herself up with a couple of pillows. There was an odd expression on her face. “He didn’t tell you about himself?”
“No.” She had never given him the chance—indicated interest, asked a friendly question. Uncomfortably Rachel added, “Somebody, I forget who, mentioned that he’s an orphan.”
“Since his father died, two years ago. Adam hadn’t seen him since he was seventeen. He didn’t even go to the funeral.” Kara hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “I got this from Pat, Adam has never discussed it with me. But you’re right, you should know, if only to avoid hurting him inadvertently. The old man was one of those self-appointed ministers of the Lord—no congregation, no formal affiliation, he just wandered around fulminating at anybody who’d sit still long enough to listen to him. Funny, isn’t it, how some people who interpret the Bible literally concentrate on the Old Testament instead of the teachings of Christ? ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ not ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.’ ‘If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,’ not ‘Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.’ It’s no wonder Adam hates prayer. He grew up connecting it with a belt across his backside.”
“His father beat him?”
“Him and his mother. Didn’t you know that’s one way to cast out demons? Maybe we ought to try it on the quilt.” Kara’s smile was sardonic and short-lived. “When Adam was big enough to fight back the old bully stopped abusing him physically. He took it out on Adam’s mother. She had two miscarriages as a result of those beatings. When Adam tried to interfere she told him to butt out.”
“My God.”
“Yes, indeed. I find that hard to believe too, in spite of the evidence—that women collaborate in their own abuse. It’s understandable; if you’ve been taught to believe you’re garbage you don’t expect decent treatment. I know a little about that.”
“But you broke away. You escaped.”
“With a lot of help from a lot of people. And I never had it that bad. Jack never laid a hand on me; his abuse was verbal and emotional. I can’t condemn women like Adam’s mother, I don’t know whether I’d have acted any differently in her place. She was too terrorized and too dependent to escape.
“Anyhow—Adam stuck around, doing what little he could to protect her, with no thanks or cooperation from her. I can’t imagine what those years were like for him; it must have been hell on earth. After she died he left, straight from the cemetery, with all his wordly goods in a brown paper bag. The story of how he fought for the education he wanted is a saga in itself. Eventually he met Pat. That was the turning point; Pat recognized his quality and practically adopted him. Adam wasn’t the first or the last stray Pat has picked up but he’s the most successful. It’s no wonder he idolizes Pat. He’s not the only one. I think rather highly of the guy myself.”
“So you criticize him and yell at him.”
“Sure. He prefers it that way. Sentimentality makes him nervous.”
Rachel was silent. She was remembering Adam’s pleasure in the gifts her family had sent, the gentleness of his big hand smoothing the satin roses. There had been nothing for him, not even a memory of love.
“Don’t say anything to Adam,” Kara said.
“Of course not.” Rachel got to her feet. “Thanks for telling me.”
She waited until after she had left the room before she wiped her eyes, though she suspected Kara had spotted the tears. Kara had probably shed a tear or two herself when she first heard Adam’s story; she wasn’t as hard as she pretended, and anyone would be moved to pity by hearing of pain no child should ever have to endure. How could he have come out of that tormented childhood so untainted? Not unscathed—there must be scars, deep and still painful—but so gentle, so capable of laughter? There was no hate in him. Rachel squirmed internally. For years she had been sulking over a fancied injury that couldn’t be mentioned in the same breath with what Adam had endured. How he would despise her if he knew how selfish, how petty-minded and self-pitying she had been.
“Looks like snow,” Adam announced.
“I don’t know why you sound so pleased,” Kara grumbled. They were finishing a hasty breakfast in the warm light of electricity. The dark skies supported Adam’s weather prediction, and a keen wind had ruffled the animals’ fur when they ventured out. Alexander had looked particularly disgusting with his hair wildly awry and his hairless rump even more visible.
He had been returned to his basket in the bedroom and the other animals had taken their proper places, sprawled across the rug and the furniture. Adam was rinsing the dishes. Rachel watched him. Kara had already been in the family room when she got there, so she had not had to make conversation.
He looked perfectly at home as he went about his domestic chores, big hands slow and careful with the glasses he was putting into the dishwasher. “I like snow,” he said over his shoulder. “Snow is nice. The more snow the better.”
“We may not have so many customers if the weather is bad,” Kara said, brightening. “I hope Pat doesn’t get caught in a blizzard, though.”
“He said he expected to be back by noon.” Adam closed the dishwasher.
“That means two or three P.M. Pat always underestimates how long a job will take.” Kara rose. “I’d better open up. Are you really going to see that woman, Adam?”
