The Four Seasons. Mary Monroe Alice

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СКАЧАТЬ which was set up and ready to receive the tape.

      “Won’t you make yourselves comfortable on the sofa?” he said, indicating that they should all move to the other room.

      Birdie and Jilly rose without exchanging glances and followed him to the living room. The mood was uneasy; no one knew quite what to expect. They sat opposite each other in the two wing chairs. Rose fiddled with the television and Mr. Collins remained standing, apparently eager to begin.

      “What’s this all about?” Birdie asked.

      “Be patient,” he replied. “It will all become perfectly clear.”

      “All set.” At his nod, Rose pushed the play button, then seated herself in front of the television.

      The room settled into silence as the video ran, beginning with a short strip of blank tape. Suddenly, there was Merry, full of life. There were gasps from the sisters at the shock of seeing her beautiful face fill the screen, smiling, giggling and covering her mouth when she laughed.

      “Oh, my God,” Birdie gasped, bringing her fist to her lips. “Merry…”

      It was almost too much to bear. Merry was a breathtakingly beautiful woman, without any outward sign of mental disability. Beyond her delicate bones, her tiny waist, her brilliant blue eyes that lit up her face when she smiled, there was another, more elusive quality to her charm. For all that she was thirty-two years old, Merry still possessed the coquettish, utterly beguiling innocence of a child.

      As the camera zoomed in, Birdie saw signs of Merry’s illness in the dark smudges of fatigue under her eyes, the whiteness of her skin and the blue cast to her lips. And she looked so much like Rose. The younger two Seasons were both small with delicate frames and the same red-gold hair worn long and straight. Except that Merry was obviously frail and weak, where Rose was physically strong. The invalid and the caretaker.

      Mr. Collins’s voice could be heard on the screen. “Hello, Merry, how are you today?”

      Merry grew suddenly coy, turning and lifting one shoulder. “Fine.” Then tilting her head, she asked, “Are you making pictures now?”

      “Yes, I am.”

      “Like the ones of Jack and Ali?”

      “Your picture will look just the same,” the off-camera voice of Mr. Collins assured her.

      Merry nodded, accepting this, seemingly distracted by something over his shoulder.

      “What do you want to tell us today?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Nothing?” He chuckled. “I thought you had something you wanted to say.” When Merry frowned and shook her head, apparently confused, he prodded, “To your sisters? Rose and Birdie and…”

      “Jilly!” she exclaimed, sitting up in her chair. He had her full attention now. “Will Jilly see this?”

      “Yes, I’ll make certain she does. Now, tell Jilly and Birdie and Rose what you told me.”

      Merry’s face went blank as she stared back at the camera.

      Birdie leaned forward, her heart aching as she watched intently. Here were the sure signs of Merry’s brain damage.

      “When I show your sisters this movie,” Mr. Collins’s voice continued with admirable calmness, “what do you want them to know?”

      “They’ll see me?”

      “Yes.”

      Her face grew serious, pouty. Then she wagged her finger at the camera and said in all seriousness, “I want you to find Spring. I want you to go get her, okay? And tell her—”

      She paused to think, looking upward, then, with inexpressible sweetness, she smiled straight into the camera like a pro and said, “Tell her I love her. Please?”

      “Who is Spring?” he asked.

      Merry’s face clouded and she shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about that.”

      “Who said you cannot?”

      “Rose said not to talk about that.”

      “I see. Well, is there anything else you want to say?”

      Merry grew distracted again and appeared to fatigue. She slumped her shoulders and shook her head no. “Will you give the picture to Rose and Birdie? And Jilly?” She brightened briefly. “We’re the Four Seasons,” she said with obvious pride, raising four fingers up to the camera. Her hand dropped to her mouth as she began coughing, mildly at first, then hard and gasping.

      The camera was cast aside, the picture tilting wildly, settling on an angled shot of the carpet and Merry’s slender legs, then a man’s trousers hurrying toward her. All the while the hacking cough continued in the background, then the video went blank.

      No one spoke. Rose moved to turn off the television. Jilly continued staring at the black screen. Birdie sniffed and rose to collect a box of tissues. She blew her nose, then dabbed at her eyes as she returned to her seat.

      “What about the letter?” Rose asked after a moment.

      “Oh, yes,” Mr. Collins said. He held the letter in his hand. “It’s sealed. Who would like to open it?”

      “I would,” Rose said, reaching out across the floor for it. Mr. Collins delivered it into her hand. She held the envelope reverently, smoothing one palm over it in a tender stroke. “I knew she had gone to Mr. Collins’s house, of course, just as I knew what was troubling her, though I hadn’t seen the video before.” She smiled sadly. “Merry could be very secretive when she wanted to be. Thank you, Mr. Collins. It was very moving. We’re not much of a family for taking videotapes and I believe this is the only record we have of Merry. It was so powerful to see her and hear her speak.” She paused, collecting herself.

      “But I know what is in this letter,” she continued after a moment. “It’s in her own handwriting. She worked quite hard at it.” A faint smile crossed Rose’s face. “She tossed out quite a few until she was satisfied.”

      “Why don’t you read it?” Birdie said.

      Rose opened the envelope with her finger and tugged out a piece of stationery of matching print. Smoothing out the paper, she glanced briefly at Jilly, then cleared her throat. “It’s dated March 5, 1999.”

      “That was a month before she died,” Birdie said.

      “That’s right,” Rose replied, then raised the letter. “There isn’t much….”

      Dear Jilly, Birdie and Rose,

      Under my bed is the time capsule. You gave it to me. Please give it to Spring. Please give all my money to her, too. She needs a nice house.

      Your sister,

       Merry

      P.S. You have to find her first.

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ