The Silent Gift Page 8

  Mary finished the window cleaning by forming a giant square with the chamois as she wiped off the last of the cleaner, the streaks staying only long enough to look like a picture frame. She peered through her makeshift frame at the same view that was holding Jack spellbound.

  “It’s like there’s nothing else in the world besides you and me when we look out at the beauty,” she said. “We’re in a cocoon here, Jack. Safe and sound.”

  The kitchen smelled wonderful—as always. Mary and Jack entered to the aroma of freshly baked oatmeal cookies and something with cinnamon. Miss Bea bustled back and forth from the center island to the large stove, where a teakettle started to whistle.

  “Mary, you seen Tildy?” Miss Bea asked as she deftly lifted the brass pot from the burner and set it on a wooden tray on the island.

  “I think she said she was going to clean the library,” Mary answered, opening a supply closet built into a wall near the door. “Do you want me to find her for you?” she asked as she put away the window cleaner.

  Miss Bea shook her head impatiently. “No. When Tildy wants to disappear for a nap, it’s hard to say where she’ll curl up. You’ll just have to serve this tea for Mr. Edmunds and his guest yourself. They’re in his study.”

  “Oh. Well. Maybe you should—”

  “I can’t. It ain’t my place.” Bea lifted the wooden tray from the island and carried it toward Mary. “You take it in, pour the tea, and put in any cream or sugars they might want.”

  She handed Mary the tray. “Jack can stay here with me.”

  “Oh no . . .”

  Miss Bea put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and leaned down so he could see her broad smile—which widened when he smiled back for a brief moment.

  “You been here two weeks now, and Jack’s been your shadow. Douglas used to sit in here and eat cookies fresh from the oven. Let ’im stay and have cookies like a regular little boy,” Miss Bea said as she straightened up. “He do like cookies, don’t he?”

  “Oh, sure,” Mary said. “It’s just that—”

  “Get on, now, ’fore the water gets cold and I gotta heat it up all over again.” Bea waved Mary away and took Jack’s hand. “We be right here when you’re done.”

  Mary watched as Miss Bea offered Jack a cookie, which he accepted without even a glance in her direction. She turned from the room with a half smile. He’s going to eat cookies with Miss Bea like a regular little boy.

  The study door was open, and Mary stopped at the threshold. Richard Edmunds sat behind the large regency desk, hands tented together as he listened to a man seated across from him.

  “So what are you trying to tell me, Howard?” Richard asked impatiently.

  “I’m saying that your insurance policy is over ten years old, Richard. Since then the cost of living index has risen by thirty-seven percent.” Howard leaned forward in his chair. “The last significant change we made was adding Anna when she was born.”

  Uncertain about interrupting, Mary remained near the door. She didn’t think she’d been noticed, but Richard glanced at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “Excuse me. I have your tea,” she said quietly, and he motioned her forward.

  The study was one of her favorite rooms in the house. The oriental carpet sank under her feet as she made her way across the room. Rich brown wainscoting met subtle olive green walls. The shelves lining three of the walls contained volumes and volumes of leather-bound books with gold leaf printed on the spines. I’ ll bet just one of those books is worth as much as three day’s wages for me. She walked past the window with a beautiful view of Lake Michigan. Ambient light suffused the whole room in a soft golden glow.

  “You don’t need to take my word that you’re underinsured, Richard. The numbers on these pages don’t lie.” Howard pushed a bound document across the desk.

  Mary stopped at the desk, uncertain about where to put the tea, but once again Richard gestured. As she set the tray down on the leather inlay of the desk, the man called Howard looked at her with barely veiled admiration. “Well, this certainly isn’t Matilda, is it?”

  “No, this is Mary. She’s been with us a couple of weeks,” Richard said as he perused the documents. “Are you sure these figures on page two are accurate? I thought—”

  “What happened to Matilda—you finally put her out to pasture?” Howard chuckled, his eyes still on Mary.

  Richard flicked his eyes from the paper to Howard. He sounded annoyed as he said, “No, Matilda’s practically one of the family by now. Olivia just thought she could use some help.”

  “Most attractive help,” Howard said under his breath.

  Mary felt a hot blush crawl up her neck. Richard looked up at her and raised an expectant eyebrow. “You will pour?”

  “Yes, sir.” She fumbled at first with the teapot but managed to fill the cups, trying to ignore Howard’s gaze.

  “Aren’t we fancy? White gloves to serve tea,” Howard observed. “I take two sugars and cream.”

  Richard reached for his own cup and dropped in a sugar cube.

  Remember that—he takes one sugar. . . .

  “So what’s my bottom line here?” Richard asked, looking once more at the page.

  “It boils down to Olivia, Douglas, and Anna.” Howard finally took his eyes off Mary. “If something were to happen to you—the question is: Do you want them to continue to have the same kind of life they’re accustomed to now? Money that will take care of them for the rest of their lives if you’re not here? Knowing they’ ll have security and peace of mind when you’re gone should give you peace of mind while you’re still here,” Howard said easily.

  “Of course that’s what I want.”

  “Then you’ll need to add significant dollars to your life insurance policy. I know it’s painful, and death is an ugly subject, but we’re all going to die someday. Some of us will just leave our loved ones more prepared than others.”

  We’re all going to die someday . . . leave our loved ones more prepared . . . The words whirled through Mary’s mind as she placed Howard’s cup on a napkin in front of him and turned to walk quickly from the room.

  Money that will take care of them . . . of Jack . . . for the rest of his life if I’m not here . . . if I’m not here . . .

  Chapter Eleven

  ANNA EDMUNDS’S BEDROOM WAS DECIDEDLY FEMININE—pink dotted swiss wallpaper, pink brocade skirt around the four-poster canopy bed, ornate crown molding around the ceiling, and pink milk glass sconces on the walls. What wasn’t pink was a brilliant white. Mary felt as if she were cleaning a page out of a princess fairy-tale book. Jack was sitting on the cushioned window seat watching Anna practice her flute. She stood in front of a large cherry armoire, where a pink satin dress hung in front of its doors. Anna finished the lilting melody with accomplished ease, and Mary put down her duster to clap for her, though the sound was muffled by her gloves.

  “That was really pretty, Anna,” she said. “What’s it called?”

  “ ‘Canon in D,’ ” Anna answered. “I’m performing it tonight at my recital, and Tommy Breton is going to accompany me on the piano.”

  “I’m guessing you’ll be the best one there,” Mary said. “I’m going to clean your bathroom now. Will that be all right with you?”

  Anna shrugged. “Sure.”

  Mary walked across to Jack, holding out her hand for him to come with her.

  “Jack can stay in here with me,” Anna offered.

  Mary took a moment to think about it. “Well, all right, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said. “The bathroom won’t take me long.”

  The colors in the bathroom echoed the bedroom. Everything that could be pink was pink except for the white tub and toilet. She pulled on rubber gloves over the white ones and poured scouring powder into the sink. She could hear Anna chattering away to Jack in the other room.

  “Here, Jack. I’ve got an idea. Stand right here. . . .”

  Mary peeked out the door to see Anna ushering Jack tow
ard the armoire and turning him to stand next to it. He lifted his hand to stroke the pink satin. Anna followed his gesture, saying, “Oh yes, Jack, isn’t it smooth and silky?”

  Mary smiled and turned back to her work. She rinsed out the sink, the sound of the water momentarily drowning out Anna’s voice.

  “Oh, that’s perfect for you,” she heard Anna saying, sounding amused, when Mary turned off the brass-handled faucet. “Wait—I’ve got something in my closet. . . . Don’t you just love my dress for the recital, Jack? Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? Mother took me to every dress shop in Chicago to find it! Here, now . . . oh, that looks good. Pink’s my favorite color, but I think you must like blue—right? I think all boys like blue. My brother has blue walls in his room. Do you know why I’m home from school today? It’s ’cause they closed the school to get ready for the recital tonight—I get to wear an orchid corsage.”

  Mary smiled at the happy chatter. She liked the way Anna talked to Jack as if he could hear her. Just like I do. Mary ran a cloth over the mirror above the vanity and then removed her rubber gloves and gathered up her cleaning supplies. She heard Anna giggle. “There—that’s the perfect touch!”

  “Mary,” Anna called. “Come and see.”

  Mary snapped off the light in the bathroom and walked into the bedroom. There was Jack wearing a long blue dress over his clothes, a feather boa, and a big floppy hat tilted down over one eye. Anna held a bottle of pink nail polish in her hand.

  “Ta-dah!” Anna said. “Doesn’t he look great?”

  “Uh, yeah. He looks great.” Mary smiled. “But I bet your mom wouldn’t appreciate you messing up your good clothes like that.”

  “Oh, these are just old clothes I play dress-up in,” Anna scoffed. “The only new thing is my nail polish. I tried to paint his nails, but he keeps curling up his fingers.”

  Jack was staring stoically forward, not seeming to mind his mannequin role.

  Mary smiled again and moved to lift the brim of the hat so she could see his face. “Yes, I’m thinking blue was the best choice, little man,” she said softly.

  “I’ve got dress-up clothes you can use, Mary,” Anna offered. “I’ll bet they’d look really pretty on you.”

  “Oh, I’ve got to get back to work, Anna. Let’s just take these things off Jack—”

  “At least let me do your nails?” Anna begged.

  “No, thank you. I really mustn’t take the time.”

  “Oh, please. I’m bored and it’s so long till the recital,” she said in her best pleading tones.

  “I don’t wear polish,” Mary said with a firm shake of her head.

  “Why? Because of your gloves?”

  “Well, yes . . .”

  “My mom says your hands are scarred,” Anna said with a little shiver. “Is that right? Do they hurt?”

  “No, they don’t—”

  “Can I see them?”

  Mary quickly shook her head. “No. I never take my gloves off.”

  “Not even for Jack?”

  “Not even for Jack. He’s never seen my hands.”

  “Do they look scary?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid they do.”

  “I don’t get scared very easy,” Anna said earnestly. “I’m braver than most boys even—braver than Jack, probably. I wouldn’t get scared if you showed me your hands.”

  Mary shook her head and began to remove the clothing on Jack.

  “How about just a small peek under your glove? You know—just by your wrist?”

  “No, Anna. Your mother wouldn’t like that, and like I said, I never take off my gloves in front of anyone.”

  “I’m not just anyone,” Anna said, her lips pulling down at the corners. “I’m the daughter of the woman you work for—and I’m asking you nicely.”

  Mary slipped the hat from Jack’s head and removed the feather boa from around his neck. “I’m sorry, Anna, but I can’t.”

  Anxious now to get out of the bedroom, Mary unbuttoned the back of the blue dress and let it fall from his shoulders to his feet.

  “C’mon, Mary. I’m not a baby. I just want to see your hands.” She pouted.

  Mary took a deep breath and stepped away from Jack. She turned and peeled back an inch of fabric from her wrist, revealing a patch of crimson red skin.

  Anna’s eyes widened, and before Mary could pull the glove back in place, the girl’s finger had touched the damaged skin.

  Chapter Twelve

  OLIVIA ARRIVED HOME LATE in the afternoon and swept into the foyer, a bitter winter wind nipping at her heels. Mary had been pacing for over an hour, and she felt like a nervous wreck as she met her employer at the door.

  “Mrs. Edmunds . . .”

  Olivia barely glanced at Mary before handing her a small shopping bag and moving on to the table in the foyer. “Take this upstairs to Anna, please, Mary.”

  Mary, holding a Bible in her hand, shifted it to the crook of her arm and took the bag. “Please, may I speak to you?”

  “After you run it upstairs, Mary,” Olivia said briskly, putting her pocketbook down on the table along with a small corsage box.

  “Yes, I will, Mrs. Edmunds, but—”

  “How did the day get away from me?” Olivia muttered with a cursory look at the grandfather clock. “Where’s Matilda?”

  “I don’t know, but if you’ll just listen—”

  “Remind Bea that dinner’s to be half an hour earlier tonight and that Mr. Edmunds won’t be home,” Olivia said, starting across the foyer toward Richard’s study. “He’s meeting us at the recital—”

  “I don’t think Mr. Edmunds should go to the recital,” Mary blurted out.

  Olivia stopped and turned. “Excuse me?”

  Mary watched as Olivia’s frown deepened, nearly forcing Mary into silence. “I don’t think anyone should go to the recital,” Mary said cautiously as she moved toward Olivia. Then she hurried on. “Remember the day we met and I started to tell you about Jack’s—his gift? That he can sometimes touch someone and see things?”

  The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the half hour. An uneasy look crossed Olivia’s face as she glanced again that way. Jack stood next to it, staring at her. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but I don’t think I’m going to like it. You’d better get to it, Mary.”

  “He sees numbers,” Mary said quickly, “and with my help, he can write them down. This is what he wrote after we left Anna’s room today.” With shaking hands, Mary opened her Bible and removed a slip of paper, handing it to Olivia.

  Olivia looked at Jack, then down at the paper. “ ‘Forty, thirteen, forty-two’?”

  “The numbers are, first, the books in order as they appear in the Bible, then the chapter and the verse.” Mary all but shoved the Bible into Olivia’s hands. “I have it underlined. Please . . . please read it.”

  Olivia shook her head, but turned her attention to the open pages and read aloud. “ ‘And shall cast them into a furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.’ ”

  “Jack saw those numbers, that verse, when he touched Anna earlier today,” Mary said. “That’s a warning—you can’t let her go to the recital, and we have to warn people there’s going to be a fire!”

  Olivia’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “You can’t honestly believe that this—this verse about God’s wrath against humanity has anything to do with my sweet Anna! That’s just insane!”

  “I’m not saying the Scripture Jack saw was made for this particular moment in time—but I am saying that this is how the warning was shown to him. It’s unique. It’s the way the gift was given.”

  “It’s absolutely absurd to think God would be communicating through a deaf-mute boy by using numbers.”

  Mary shook her head. “In the book of Numbers, God uses a donkey to tell the donkey’s master, Balaam—”

  “I know that story, but still . . .” Olivia interrupted.

  “If God can use a donkey to warn
someone, why not Jack? He’s offering the only information he has—the only way he can. I believe with all my heart that this verse is telling us that Anna—and others— could be badly hurt or even killed by a fire from a furnace.”

  “We have a furnace right here in this house,” Olivia argued. “What about that?”

  “Phillip must turn it off right away. That way we’ll know she’ll be safe when you keep her home.”

  Olivia thrust the Bible back into Mary’s hands. “Anna has been practicing for this recital for weeks, and I won’t disappoint her based on some wild story about a donkey and numbers and—”

  “Please, Mrs. Edmunds, I’m begging you not to let her go.”

  Olivia grabbed the shopping bag from Mary’s hand. “I don’t want you going anywhere near my daughter—”

  “The recital isn’t worth it, Mrs. Edmunds! You’ll never forgive yourself if you let her go.”

  “I’m letting you go, Mary. Consider yourself relieved of your duties.” Olivia’s voice trembled and tears started to well up in her eyes. She turned away toward the stairs.

  “I’d rather be on the streets than safe in this beautiful house,” Mary said to the woman’s back, “knowing I didn’t do everything I could to make you see, make you understand, that the threat to Anna is real.”

  Olivia started up the stairs. Mary tried one more time. “Please, Mrs. Edmunds, if there’s even a tiny part of you that believes any of this, you can’t let Anna go—and you have to call the school and warn them!”

  Mary watched as Olivia climbed the stairs, never once looking back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  RICHARD EDMUNDS SLIPPED THE KEY into the ignition, anticipating the familiar easing of tension that accompanied the hum of the engine. The day had been filled with problems—from the moment he stepped foot in the facility until he’d put out the last looming fire just fifteen minutes earlier. He now attempted to push the problems of work from his mind and focus on the road, but he was irritated to find that the bizarre conversation he’d had with Olivia that afternoon kept intruding on his thoughts. He’d not had a moment to himself since the call—no time to decipher the cryptic things she had been saying. But now bits and pieces of the conversation came rushing back to him.