A Family Affair. V. J. Banis

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СКАЧАТЬ to her mother’s room, where she had been sleeping on the little bed, but to her own bedroom, that she had returned to. The letter was in the drawer of her dresser, next to a strand of cultured pearls. She had ordered the pearls from a mail order catalog, and her mother had been angry when they came; but she had relented, and allowed Jennifer to keep them, “for special occasions.” They had never been worn. Jennifer had considered wearing them to the funeral, but had not been able to decide on her own whether that was the right sort of special occasion, and in the end she had gone without them.

      Jennifer took the letter back to the kitchen, but she did not read it until her tea was ready and she was seated at the small kitchen table. Then she opened it carefully and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

      It was the opening line that most puzzled her: “Your mother asked us to write and....”

      It was from someone who signed her name Aunt Christine. Strange, although Jennifer had searched her mother’s personal papers more than once since the death, carefully examining every item in the small desk, she had found no trace of any relatives. And now here was this letter, signed Aunt Christine, and saying, “Your mother asked us to write and invite you to visit with us at Kelsey House.”

      Of course her mother had known for a year or more that she was dying; no doctor would have dared to conceal the fact from her. It was entirely possible that, in a flash of foresight, she had written to her sisters, those long neglected relatives, explaining that her daughter would soon be in need of family ties. And they of course had seen the obituary notice in the newspapers.

      What was odd, though, was that they had made no attempt to attend the services, nor even to send flowers. Had they done even the latter, the single wreath that Jennifer had herself provided might not have looked so forlorn. There was not even an expression of sympathy in the letter, although perhaps that might be attributable to tact.

      Jennifer tasted her tea, found it cool, and sipped it slowly. Since her mother’s death she had been busy with funeral arrangements and putting affairs in order. The house was hers, with no entanglements, and the money in the bank was sufficient to provide for her modest needs. Her time was her own. For someone who had never known time of her own, that should have been a source of joy.

      The fact was that it was not, though. Not until this very morning, with the funeral actually at hand, had she realized the absolute emptiness of her life. She had nothing at all to do with this sudden excess of time—no interests, no hobbies, no one to call upon, no job.

      And now here suddenly was this latter, informing her that she did at least have a family. They were people she did not know, to be sure, and their behavior regarding her mother’s death was peculiar to the point of bordering upon rudeness; but they were family nonetheless. What was even more important, they wanted her with them.

      In the same moment, Jennifer realized what was an astonishing, even frightening fact. She missed her mother. After years of coolness, silence, even resentment, she suddenly wished that the house were again filled with that strong presence. For the first time she saw that it took two people to make any kind of relationship, even that of mistress and slave. Now she wanted someone to order her about, tell her what to do, occupy her time.

      Her tea had grown cold. She carried it with her as she returned to the living room and seated herself at the desk there. She took a note, paper, and a pen from the drawer, and began to write in a neat, precise style.

      “...I will very much enjoy an opportunity to visit with you at Kelsey. I will expect to arrive Thursday next, probably in the evening....”

      She finished the note, reading it over several times before putting it in its envelope, and took it directly to the post office for mailing.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Jennifer leaned one shoulder against the door of her car and sighed wearily. Would there be no end to this day?

      “Nope, no Kelsey place around here,” the man outside the car window repeated for what seemed to her the hundredth time. She stared through the half opened glass at him impatiently, sniffing mentally at the stubble of gray beard and the blackened teeth that dominated his withered face.

      If he says that one more time, I shall scream, she told herself, her customary patience wearing thinner with each passing moment. She took the letter from her purse, removing the folded sheet from its envelope.

      “My aunt says that their home is here, near Hard Castle, and I’m sure she must know where she lives.” Despite her annoyance, her voice sounded as calm as ever; it was the tone of voice one would use to address a stubborn child.

      “And besides,” she added, all but waving the envelope under his nose, “it’s postmarked from Hard Castle.”

      “Ain’t no Kelsey place around here.”

      It was like listening to a broken record. For a moment she considered her resolution to scream. Instead, she sighed despairingly and replaced the letter carefully in her purse. Turning the ignition key, she put the car in gear and, scarcely waiting for him to step back from the way, she drove angrily from the service station.

      “Blast,” she said aloud to no one. The letter from Aunt Christine had been so explicit in its direction for the drive, until it got her to Hard Castle. Why on earth should the instructions have petered out so weakly at this stage in the journey?

      “Take Bellen Road off of Peters Road.” That was all the letter said. There was nothing as to where Peters Road was in relation to Hard Castle, nor how far she went in what direction. And that old fool at the station had not only never heard of either road but he had insisted on contributing to her annoyance by telling her that the Kelseys did not live anywhere near here. For all she knew, the road she was looking for could be two states away, and in the opposite direction.

      She chastised herself for being so irritable. In the past, she had controlled her emotions better. It was difficult for her to adjust to the fact that now she could not only feel what she wished, but she could express those feelings if she wished.

      “Heavens,” she thought aloud, “I sound as if I’m happy my mother’s gone.”

      Her thoughts went back to the night of her mother’s death; what was it about that night? Something about it haunted her, lingering just below the surface of her consciousness. Something that had happened, something perhaps that she had dreamed. Try though she might, however, she could not bring the thought to the level of consciousness.

      Suddenly cross with herself for having pursued such thinking, she forced her attention to the present. The sun was sinking ever lower toward the horizon. She scanned the sides of the road, but there was nothing in sight. At the present rate, she might very well think of spending the night someplace, and there was no sign of a motel.

      It had seemed, from Aunt Christine’s directions, a simple enough drive, and she had few reservations about making the trip by herself, although she had never before traveled alone. She had been careful also to schedule her departure so that, she had thought, she would arrive at Hard Castle the same day. She did not like traveling at night, particularly in what was now proving to be rather unpopulated country.

      Almost on cue, she saw a sign for Peters Road. She hit the brake, bringing the car to a stop just beyond the turn-off. Slowly and none too confidently, she backed the car up and made the turn on Peters Road.

      It’s no wonder, she thought, that the man at the service station never heard of this road.

      The road was little СКАЧАТЬ