When the Wind Blows

  As she carefully lowered herself into bed she thought of the nursery upstairs.

  The nursery that had been empty so long.

  She had made a mistake. It should have stayed empty.

  4

  It was almost eleven when Jeff Crowley slipped out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and opened the window of his room. He scrambled over the sill, suspended himself from the ledge for a second, then dropped to the ground. He waited, listening, then crept around to the side of the house, got his bicycle, and, pedaling as hard as he could, rode the half-mile out to Shacktown. Steve Penrose and Eddie Whitefawn were waiting for him.

  “Where you been?” Steve asked him. Steve was a year older than Jeff, and it had been his idea to wait until their parents had gone to bed before sneaking out to the mine. That way, Steve explained, they weren’t so likely to get caught. Now, not waiting for Jeff to answer his question, Steve mounted his bike, with Eddie riding double, and the three of them started out of town.

  As they passed the Ambers’ they looked up at the house and saw that one light was still glowing on the second floor.

  “I bet it’s Miss Edna,” Steve whispered in the darkness. “Someone told me she never goes to sleep.”

  They went on by, neither of the other boys questioning Steve’s words, pedaling hard as they climbed the grade that led toward the mine.

  “We better leave our bikes here,” Steve told them. The three boys dismounted and pushed the bicycles under a patch of scrub juniper, then began walking up the road. Soon they were at the foot of the mine tailings, and they left the road to scramble up the slag heap.

  As they climbed, the wind began to blow.

  Suddenly Jeff stopped.

  “Do you hear something?” he asked. The other two boys listened intently. From above them a sound was barely audible, like faraway voices muttering softly.

  “It’s the water babies,” Eddie Whitefawn whispered. “Let’s get out of here.” He started to turn around, but a movement at the foot of the tailings stopped him. “There’s something down there.” He pointed, and Jeff and Steve peered into the darkness.

  Below them, silhouetted in the moonlight, a shape was moving up the slag heap toward them.

  Jeff’s heart began to pound and he suddenly wished he’d stayed home. With the other two boys he shrank to the ground. “What’ll we do?” he asked, his voice quavering.

  “Stay still,” Steve whispered. Though he was as frightened as the other two, he was determined not to show it.

  The wind picked up, and the strange noises grew louder.

  “They’re coming,” Eddie whimpered. “I want to go home.”

  The dark shadow beneath them, coming steadily closer, advanced through the blackness.

  “Let’s run for it,” Steve said.

  “Run where?”

  Steve pointed off to the left. “That way. Back to the road, then down to our bikes.”

  They huddled together, wishing there was something else to do. But as the wind blew ever stronger the moaning noises seemed louder, and the shadow, still moving toward them, seemed to grow.

  “Let’s go!” Steve yelled. The three of them bolted, slipping and skidding across the loose rubble that made up the slag heap. The wind snatched at them, and down the slope they could see the shape veering off, moving parallel to them. Then they were on the road and pounding down the hill. They dashed by the hulking object just as it, too, reached the road.

  An arm reached out, and a hand closed around Jeff Crowley’s arm.

  He squealed in fright and tried to wriggle loose, but couldn’t. Then he heard a voice, close to his ear.

  “You guys playing?”

  Jeff stopped struggling and yelled to Steve and Eddie, who had paused a few yards down the road, unsure what to do.

  “It’s Juan,” Jeff called. “It’s only old Juan.”

  Sheepishly Eddie and Steve came back up the road and stood staring at Juan Rodriguez. His face, smiling happily in the moonlight, beamed at them. “You guys playing?” he repeated.

  The three boys looked at each other, and it was finally Steve who spoke. “We came out to look for the water babies,” he said. Juan nodded, though his expression didn’t change. “Now, you listen, Juan,” Steve went on. “Don’t you tell anyone you saw us, you understand?” Again Juan nodded, and Steve, followed by Jeff and Eddie, began backing away. “Now, don’t forget,” Steve said. “Don’t tell anybody!” He glanced at his friends, then back to Juan Rodriguez. “If you do, we’ll come back and kill you!” Then he turned and once more began running down the road, his friends at his heels.

  As he watched them go Juan Rodriguez’s smile faded from his face. He hated it when the other children teased him.

  Hated it a lot.

  Unhappily he turned and started back toward the cabin, listening to the voices of the children as he walked. Not the voices of the children he had just talked to, but the other children, the children his mother told him about.

  The dead children. It was the sound of their voices that had lured him into the night while his mother slept.

  The dead children, it seemed to Juan, liked him better than the live ones. The dead ones talked to him and never ran away from him.

  Sometimes he wished all the children were dead.

  Diana Amber awoke and glanced at the clock by her bedside. It was three in the morning, and she lay still for a moment, listening to the wind.

  It had come up sometime while she slept, and now it moaned in the night air, its dry, tingling heat stifling her. Close by, Diana felt Christie Lyons stir in her sleep, then roll over.

  She slipped an arm around the child and drew her closer, cradling the child’s head against her breast. She drew comfort from the presence of the little girl; Christie’s body, in contact with her own, somehow made her feel complete.

  She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but the wind forbade it. And in the back of her mind, something was nagging at her.

  Her mother.

  Her mother wouldn’t approve of Christie’s sleeping with her. She had promised Edna that even tonight Christie would be in the nursery. She had made up the bed in the nursery that afternoon, but when she had led the sleepy child upstairs, she hadn’t been able to leave her alone.

  Not on her first night in the house.

  Instead she had brought her to her own room and slipped the little girl into her own bed. But what if her mother awoke in the night, and began prowling through the house? Reluctantly Diana got out of bed, slipped into a robe, then leaned down to pick up the sleeping child.

  As she was lifted from the bed Christie’s arms curled instinctively around Diana’s neck, and she murmured something into Diana’s ear.

  Mama? Had she called her Mama?

  “I’m here, sweetheart,” Diana whispered. “Mama’s here.” She left her bedroom and silently moved down the hall to the back stairs, then up to the third floor. In the nursery, the bed, already turned back, lay bathed in moonlight, but to Diana it looked far too large for Christie. She hesitated, then carried Christie across the room and lowered her into the crib. Christie, only vaguely aware of what was happening, curled herself up within the confines of the small space. Then Diana went to the bed, stripped the top sheet from it, and tucked it around Christie’s small form. She studied Christie’s face for a time, envying the peace she saw in it, then left the nursery, quietly locking the door behind her.

  In her own room Diana’s bed suddenly seemed enormous to her, and lonely. She thought of Christie, sleeping alone on the floor above.

  What if she woke up?

  Wouldn’t it be terrifying for her? But as the wind rattled the old house, Diana remembered when she had been a child, and how much she’d loved the nursery. Though its pink and white cheeriness had never brought her peace, she had liked the fact that it was high up, away from the rest of the house. Sometimes she had felt almost safe, tucked snugly up under the eaves.

  But there had been other t
imes, too.

  She put the memories out of her head, turned over, and buried her face in her pillow.

  She couldn’t remember. She wouldn’t remember. It was all so long ago, and the memories were dim, and she would leave them where they were, undisturbed, forgotten.

  Except, she knew, they weren’t really forgotten. Just put away to be taken out some other time. But not now.

  In her own room Edna Amber also lay awake, listening to the wind and the creaking of the stairs. Diana, she knew, was trying to deceive her, but it wouldn’t work.

  Diana had always tried to deceive her, ever since she was a baby, but it had never worked. Tonight was no different from any other night.

  An hour ago, unable to sleep, she’d gotten up and gone to the nursery. It had been empty, and she’d known immediately that Diana had taken the child to her own room. She’d crept to Diana’s door and listened. Even through the heavy oak she’d been able to hear them breathing, Diana’s breath rasping, that of the child smooth and even. As she’d listened, her heart had pounded, and fury had raged through her veins.

  The child was going to take Diana away from her.

  Already it was happening.

  Diana, her Diana, was already pretending that the child was her own.

  For tonight she had decided to do nothing about it.

  But tomorrow she would think, and soon she would know what to do. Diana, of course, would have to be punished. All her life Diana had needed punishment. But what about the child?

  Christie’s aching body woke her the next morning. She tried to stretch, but the confines of the crib wouldn’t allow it. Her eyes opened and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was.

  Above her paint was flaking from the ceiling, and the sky was obscured by the dirt on the window a few inches from her face. She moved stiffly, sitting up.

  What was she doing in a crib?

  And where was she?

  This wasn’t her room. Her room was brightly painted, and yellow and blue, and it was decorated with her collection of Pooh animals.

  Slowly it all came back to her.

  Yesterday.

  Her father had died yesterday.

  She was at the Ambers’, in the nursery. She remembered it only dimly from the day before, and now, in the bright light of morning, she stared at its peeling paper and rotting curtains, the dust balls drifting across the floor. In the corner, she thought something moved, but when she looked again, there was nothing there—only a scurrying sound that seemed to come from inside the wall.

  She looked around the room for a clock.

  There was none.

  She climbed out of the crib and went to the door.

  It was locked.

  Fear gripped her, and she started to call for her father, but then she remembered that her father couldn’t come to her. Not now, not ever again. She began to cry, then sank down onto the bed just inside the door and let herself go. She sobbed loudly, her small body shaking, but still no one came. Finally, shivering in the chill of the morning, she pulled a blanket around herself and, curling up once more, lay still.

  Her sobbing slowly subsided, and her body began to relax. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew she couldn’t.

  She got out of bed and went to the window. Up the hill, and off in the distance, she could see the mine. She looked down. Beyond the window ledge the roof sloped away, dropping off abruptly to the peak overhanging the kitchen. For some reason she thought that was sort of exciting. If she needed to, she could get out. Her fear began to abate, and she looked around the room more carefully. It looked like a baby’s room. There was a cradle, and the crib, and some stuffed animals, and one of those things you used to change a baby. What did they call it? She couldn’t think of the word.

  Once more she rattled the door and tried to think why it would be locked. She listened carefully, hoping to hear Miss Diana moving around downstairs, but all was silent. She wished she could go down, but then decided it was just as well that she couldn’t. If Diana—she remembered vaguely that she was supposed to call her Aunt Diana now—wasn’t up yet, she might run into Miss Edna.

  She didn’t like Miss Edna, and even though Miss Edna had barely spoken to her, she knew that Miss Edna seemed to be mad at her, but Christie couldn’t figure out why.

  She sat down on the bed again and tried to decide what to do. The best thing, she guessed, was just to wait quietly and hope Aunt Diana came soon. She lay down again and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. A terrible loneliness came over her and, once more, she began to cry.

  She was still crying when Diana came into the room an hour later.

  Diana touched the key gingerly. Who had locked the door? Her mother? Had Edna come upstairs during the night and locked Christie in, as she had locked Diana in so many years ago? Diana’s flesh crawled as she remembered those nights when she had lain awake, terrified by the locked door but never daring to let herself cry.

  She opened the door. Christie was sitting on the bed, looking at her fearfully, tears streaming down her face. The sight of the tears touched a nerve in Diana, and she was suddenly angry.

  “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Why aren’t you in the crib? And why are you crying? Good little girls don’t cry.”

  Christie shrank away from her, and Diana suddenly reached down and grabbed her arm.

  “Good girls don’t cry!” she said once more. She whirled Christie around and swatted her across the buttocks. Christie, shocked and terrified, shrieked and tried to wriggle free, but Diana held her firmly by the arm. Then she sat down on the bed and stood Christie in front of her.

  “Now, listen to me,” she said. “I know you’re frightened, and I know you’re upset. But you have to be a brave little girl and make me proud of you. And I can’t be proud of a little girl who cries, can I?”

  Christie numbly shook her head.

  “Then you won’t cry anymore, will you?”

  Christie shook her head no.

  Finally Diana smiled at her and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Now, I want you to get back in your crib and wait there till I come for you. All right?”

  Still too shocked by what had happened to do more than nod her head, Christie crossed the room and climbed back into the crib.

  “Maybe you’d better stay there all day,” Diana said.

  “But I’m not sick,” Christie protested.

  “Of course not, baby,” Diana told her, her voice reasonable but her tone relentless. “But you’re terribly tired. Let Mama take care of you today, and you’ll be better tomorrow. All right?”

  Christie frowned. If she wasn’t sick, why did she have to stay in bed? And what was going on? Her real mother had never treated her like this. Or had she? Christie couldn’t remember. It was all very confusing and frightening, and suddenly Christie didn’t want to get up after all. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.…

  * * *

  Jeff Crowley woke up that morning with a sense of excitement. He was remembering the night before, when he and Eddie and Steve had gone up to the mine. He knew they shouldn’t have. If his parents found out, his father might whip him. Or at least give him a long lecture—he couldn’t remember the last time his father had actually hit him. Sometimes, in fact, he wished his father would hit him. Then at least he wouldn’t have to feel so lousy about being a disappointment to him. He could just take his punishment and forget about it, like Steve Penrose did. The lectures, he decided, were worse. Still, maybe his parents hadn’t discovered what he’d been up to last night.

  Maybe Juan Rodriguez would believe Steve’s threat. Of course, they wouldn’t really kill him, but if he thought they would, maybe he wouldn’t tell.

  He got out of bed, pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt, and went into the kitchen. While he was eating his cereal Steve Penrose appeared at the back door.

  Steve stood on the back steps, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. For a moment Jeff was sure that somethin
g had gone wrong. He glanced over his shoulder nervously, waiting for his mother to move out of earshot.

  “Did your mom find out what we did last night?” he asked when he was sure he wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Naw,” Steve replied. “Juan won’t tell. I scared him too good. I just gotta do somethin’ this morning. You want to help?”

  “What is it?” Jeff asked warily.

  “My mom talked to Kim’s mom and Mrs. Gillespie, and they say Kim and me and Susan have to go out to the Ambers’.”

  “What for?”

  “We’re supposed to pick some flowers and take them to Christie Lyons. ’Cause her dad died. You wanna go?”

  Jeff turned the matter over in his mind. He knew that when someone died, you were supposed to take flowers to their family, but he thought that was only at the funeral. Maybe when a kid’s parents died, it was different.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “Let me tell my mom.” He disappeared into the house and reappeared a couple of minutes later, carrying a pair of tennis shoes. He sat down on the back steps and put them on. “I don’t see why I have to wear shoes,” he complained. “Mom’s always afraid I’ll step on a snake or something.”

  “I know,” Steve agreed. “My mom’s the same way.”

  Janet Jennings, who had been known as Jay-Jay since the day she was born, was waiting with Kim Sandler and Susan Gillespie when the two boys met them in front of the drugstore, and Jeff groaned to himself. He didn’t like Jay-Jay, mostly because she had a habit of always getting him into trouble, then blaming it on someone else. Besides, Jay-Jay was fat, and Jeff always thought she looked dirty.

  “Why don’t we just buy some flowers?” Jay-Jay suggested. “Then we won’t have to spend all day hunting for them.”

  Kim, who didn’t like Jay-Jay any better than Jeff did, shot her a scornful look. “It won’t take all day. The Ambers’ field is full of them. All we have to do is pick them.”

  The five children started out of town, Jeff and Steve kicking at rocks and cans, while the girls chattered among themselves.