Claiming Her. Marilyn "Mattie" Brahen

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wave.

      The crib arrived precisely at four, but when the delivery man carefully assembled it, it turned out to be the expensive one, not the half-price crib we’d purchased. We pointed this out to the man, but both the model number on the crib and our sales slip matched. Everything was in order. No mistake.

      We signed his packing slip, accepting the crib.

      Everything seemed normal again by dinner time. Mother waxed poetic about the luck we’d had buying the new crib. Fred talked about the science project he was working on; Ginnie complained about the chemistry exam she’d suffered through at nursing school that morning. Dad was interrupted during the meal by a customer’s emergency call and went off to fix a hot water heater with a broken valve later that evening. And Daniel fell asleep soundly and snugly in the new crib that night.

      Ginnie still had no inkling of the brief possession she’d undergone that morning. We undressed quietly for bed, speaking in low tones, the bedroom rearranged and somewhat cramped. My bed still paralleled the larger crib, sandwiched between the crib and our dresser and closets.

      Ginnie had always been a touch claustrophobic. Now she knelt on her bed on the other, less cluttered side of the room and opened the side window a smidgen, insisting on some fresh air.

      “It was pretty brisk this afternoon at the mall,” I told her. “We might get cold.”

      “It’s only open a crack.” She sat cross-legged on the bed. “Did you get a chance to look at those books?”

      I walked over and sat beside her. “I went through them this morning.”

      “Did you see how stupid it all is? It’s just legends and myths, all twisted up by ignorance and overworked imaginations.”

      I answered her slowly. “Well, it’s hardly scientific. And psychologically, I wonder about the followers of some of those early religions. But I can understand the symbology, the reasons behind their belief in those gods and demigods.”

      “Fear,” Ginnie whispered emphatically. “Fear of the unknown, of death, of the future. Nothing more than mystical talismans to get them through the days and weeks. I’m glad we live in a more rational century.”

      “So am I. But I think there may have been some real-life events that triggered those legends and myths.”

      Ginnie smiled uncertainly. “If that’s true, they became pretty distorted afterwards.”

      I smiled back, then glanced at Daniel, who slept on, undisturbed by our quiet conversation. “Gin, do you remember playing ‘Whispering Down the Lane’ when we were kids?”

      “Sure. Silly game.”

      “It was. But that’s what this reminds me of. Someone or something starts a legend that satisfies an intense and universal human need. The more it spreads, the more it’s interpreted differently down the line. Some of the changes are subtle. Some have a large, distorting impact. Some changes are based on reverence, some on a population’s barbarism, some on a competing religion’s disdain. I find this a quite believable premise. When we played that whispering game as kids, the first person would start off with a completely uncomplicated message. But no matter how simple it was, it was always ridiculously distorted by the time the last child repeated it aloud.”

      “That was the whole point of the game. It was funny, we laughed, and found out how important it was to communicate accurately, all while having a good time.”

      “So . . . maybe poor communication is the culprit behind some of the strange things we’ve . . . I’ve been experiencing. Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture—or clearly.”

      “Maybe you’re viewing these things irrationally?”

      I thought about it. “Possibly. Maybe there’s an explanation that’s not the one I’m pinning on it. Maybe some facts whispered down the lane so much, the original truth was lost.”

      “Now you’re talking sense.” She yawned. “Now all you have to do is look for the truth.”

      “Ginnie? Uh, this morning? You seemed awfully afraid of . . . well, you called it evil. Are you still upset?”

      She hesitated a heartbeat or two, seemed to hold her breath, then sighed heavily. “I was afraid . . . for you. I was worried about you.” I waited, needing more assurance, not knowing how she might assure me. She stared briefly at me, then cast her glance downward. “I was afraid you were heading off the deep end with all this psychic stuff, that it would spread like a contagion, until there was no peace at home. Okay, I was afraid for myself, too, and angry. I wanted you and Mom to leave this stuff alone and let us lead a normal life. I can’t separate myself from it the way Dad and Fred do. I was so upset I couldn’t remember what I’d done to upset Daniel. That bothered me the most. I could barely keep my mind together when I drove to school. And then . . . well . . . I stopped at this light, and it turned green, and the weirdest thing happened.”

      “What?”

      “I . . . wasn’t worried anymore. All of those fears left me in an instant.” She lifted her head, our eyes meeting. “I knew we would be all right. You would be all right.”

      “How could you know all that in an instant?”

      She flushed, her smile almost beatific. “I know that this may sound as self-indulgent as some of your and Mom’s beliefs, but I know God is watching over you. Call it faith. I knew it the moment the fear left. I know God’s protecting you.”

      I shivered at her intensity, the strength and conviction she conveyed.

      “You’re protected, too, little sister,” I whispered, hugging her. “I won’t let anyone or anything ever hurt you, Gin. Not ever.”

      “It’s all right.”

      “It is,” I said. “Now let’s get to sleep.”

      She nodded. I bunked down in the bed beside Daniel, still dreaming in the land of Nod in his fancy crib.

      Gin turned off the light. I heard the rustle of her covers as she pulled them up. “Good night, Leigh Ann.”

      “Good night, Gin. Sweet dreams.”

      “For both of us,” she murmured, and then silence filled the room.

      I didn’t sleep immediately, dozing lightly, snatches of thoughts and images drifting before my mind’s eye . . . one image in particular. A face had come sharply into focus, eyes alight with gentle humor, mouth a lopsided grin. Chloe. The girl from my dream of Eliom, who had teased me about love and Bael. Her curly brown hair cascaded down and wisps of it framed her forehead and cheeks. I gazed at her soft blue eyes and awoke with a jolt.

      Her eyes, so clearly before me, had been Ginnie’s eyes.

      Curiouser and curiouser, I thought.

      My own eyes wanted closing, wanted the oblivion of sleep. I wanted no more shocks, no more dreams to puzzle out in the morning.

      I began to drift off again, my body heavy and numb, but pleasantly so, sinking away from consciousness.

      My bed creaked softly; I felt the mattress sway with an additional СКАЧАТЬ