Suffer the Children Page 7

  “I can’t put her away,” Jack said miserably. “Not after what I did to her.”

  Sylvia came around behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. She felt the knots in the muscles, and began working to relax them.

  “You’re too hard on yourself, Jack,” she said softly. “Much too hard. Let it go.” But she knew he wouldn’t.

  6

  Neither of them spoke until Rose turned the car into the gates of the White Oaks School. Before them, an expanse of well-tended lawn rolled gently up a rise dotted with maple trees. A gardener rode back and forth across the leaf-strewn grounds on a midget tractor, his progress marked by exposed strips of lawn. Here and there stood piles of leaves, some of them intact, others already scattered by the group of children moving from one pile to the next, systematically rescattering the leaves. The gardener seemed not to notice but drove patiently onward. Rose smiled at the scene, but it only depressed Jack.

  “I love this place,” Rose said. “It’s so beautiful, no matter what season it is.” When she heard no response from her husband, she continued. “I should think it would be good for the children, just being in a place like this.”

  “If they even know where they are,” Jack said flatly. “You’d think the gardener would get upset with them, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose they hired him partly because he doesn’t get upset,” Rose replied. “I don’t suppose it’s an easy place to work. I admire the people who can do it.”

  “I certainly couldn’t,” Jack said. “I don’t see how any of the people here can stand it Look over there.”

  He pointed across the lawn to a spot where a small boy, not more than six or seven, sat under a tree. He had found a stick and was methodically tapping the trank of the tree with it, with the regularity of a metronome. Rose stopped the car, and they watched him. He simply sat there, beating a steady rhythm on the tree trunk.

  “The poor child,” Rose whispered, after several silent minutes had passed. “What do you suppose he thinks about? What do you suppose makes him that way?”

  “Who knows,” Jack said uncomfortably. He watched the boy for a while, and finally his expression softened. “I’m sorry, Rose,” he said. “I don’t really hate this place. It’s just that it makes me feel so—so helpless. I see all these children, and they all seem to be part of another world, a world I can’t touch. And it tears me apart to think my own daughter is part of this world.”

  Rose reached across the front seat and squeezed his hand. She put the car in gear again, and they moved toward the main building. Behind them, the boy still sat beneath the tree, slowly tapping at its trunk.

  Dr. Charles Belter stood up as they came into his office, and came out from behind his desk to greet them.

  “Mr. Conger,” he said warmly, his hand extended. “Mrs. Conger. I’m glad you could both be here. You’d be surprised how hard it sometimes is for us to get even one parent out here, let alone both. Of course, some of the parents have a difficult time being here, simply because of the nature of our work.” He looked carefully from Rose to Jack, and noted the response to his comment that showed in Jack’s face. And you, Mr. Conger, are one of those parents, he said to himself. Aloud he invited them to make themselves comfortable, and told them that Sarah’s teacher would be joining them in a couple of minutes.

  Charles Belter was in his late fifties, and had the look that psychiatrists are supposed to have. He sported an immense beard (no doubt the model for George Diller’s, Rose thought) and a walrus moustache, and still had a full head of bushy hair that was fast going gray. Behind his horn-rimmed glasses his blue eyes twinkled with a good humor that had always made it easy for him to relate to the children with whom he worked. Indeed, he had done his best for years to try to emulate Santa Claus, a role he was able to totally realize only once a year. The rest of the time, he felt, the red suit and bells would be a little too eccentric even for him. Consequently he contented himself with wearing a red blazer, which he did his best not to button. He didn’t fool anybody.

  White Oaks School had been his dream since the first day he had seen it, back in the days when it had been a tuberculosis sanitarium. Like so many similar facilities, the tuberculosis sanitarium had run out of clients. It was Dr. Charles Belter’s dream that someday he, too, would run out of clients. But the prospects of that happening were dim, and he looked forward to spending the rest of his life at White Oaks. Which, he reflected, was not a bad prospect.

  There was a tap at the door; then Marie Montgomery let herself into the office. Prim and thirtyish, she had a conservative look that suggested a spinsterish schoolmarm of fifty years earlier. People who had not seen her work always had reservations about Marie Montgomery; people who had taken the time to observe her in action were totally convinced of her abilities. Put her in a classroom full of disturbed children and her reserve disappeared. She seemed never to notice the children’s peculiarities, and would work tirelessly with each of her ten students, seeing progress where others saw no change, inventing techniques where none had existed before. It was almost as if, by refusing to recognize her pupils’ limitations, she overcame them. And, indeed, her pupils always seemed to make more progress than anyone else’s. But now, as she perched herself in the vacant chair between Dr. Belter and Rose Conger, she wore a look of concern that went beyond her normal air of reservation.

  “Marie,” Dr. Belter said, “we’ve been waiting for you.”

  She smiled briefly. “I’m sorry. I was delayed for a minute. Oh, nothing serious,” she went on as Dr. Belter’s brow rose questioningly. “Just a matter of discipline. Two of the children seemed to want to discipline each other. They’ll be all right.”

  “It must be difficult,” Jack said.

  “Not at all.” Mrs. Montgomery was crisp but kind. “Don’t forget, most of the children here don’t really know there’s anything the matter with them. They simply have a different standard of normality. And when you look at the state of the world, who’s really to say they’re wrong? Sometimes I watch Jerry tapping that tree trunk out there, and it occurs to me that that isn’t really such a bad way to spend time. I sometimes wish I had his powers of concentration. Do you know, he’s been working on that same tree for five months now? I’ll be glad when he’s finished.”

  “What’s he doing to it?” Jack asked.

  Mrs. Montgomery shrugged. “If you can find out, you’re doing better than I am. But I’ll know someday. Someday he’ll tell me all about it. When he’s ready. In the meantime, I have other things to keep me busy.”

  “Like Sarah?” Rose said.

  The younger woman nodded. “Like Sarah. I hope you haven’t been too worried. I asked George to make it absolutely clear that there isn’t any emergency. I hope he did.”

  Rose smiled. “He did. But then we had an emergency of our own. I suppose he told you about it.”

  Dr. Belter’s face clouded. “Yes,” he said. “He did. Needless to say, that wasn’t one of the things we wanted to talk about, since it hadn’t happened when we decided to have this meeting, but I think—”

  “Are you suggesting that Sarah had something to do with it?” Jack said coldly. “Because if you are—”

  I’m not suggesting any such thing,” Dr. Belter said. “I doubt that we’ll ever find out exactly what happened with the van. George Diller was sure he set the brake. He might be mistaken. Sarah, of course, can’t tell us anything about it at all. But from my own observations of her, and from what Marie here tells me, I’m not going to suggest that Sarah released the brake. At least not deliberately. For one thing, saying Sarah released the brake implies several things. First, that she knew what would happen if she did. In other words, that she knew that if she released the brake the van would start to move, and that if the van started to move it would at best ram into the garage, hurting several of the children, and at worst plunge into the sea, killing everybody in it, including herself. Frankly, we’re not at all sure that in her current state of mind
Sarah is capable of putting all that together. It’s possible that she is, of course, but her performance here doesn’t indicate it. Further, we don’t think she’s suicidal, and releasing that brake would certainly have to be considered a self-destructive gesture.”

  “In other words,” Rose said, “you don’t think Sarah released the brake?”

  Dr. Belter smiled wryly. “I wish it were that simple,” he said. “It’s entirely possible that she released the brake without the least idea of what she was doing. She may easily have been doing nothing more than displaying a fleeting interest in an object, with no concept of the possible ramifications of her actions. This, I’m afraid, is very much within the scope of her current behavior.”

  There was a long silence as Rose and Jack digested what the doctor was saying. Jack shifted uncomfortably while Rose played with a glove.

  “What you’re saying, Dr. Belter, if I read you right,” Jack said tightly, “is that my daughter is dangerous.”

  Dr. Belter sighed and began again. “No, that’s not exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Not exactly,” Jack repeated, “but close?”

  Dr. Belter nodded slightly. “I suppose you could say that if you wanted to. What Sarah is, right now, is irresponsible. From what we have been able to observe, she is often totally unaware of the effects her actions could have. In other words, she acts without thinking. That can be a dangerous thing for anybody. For her, with the emotional struggles she is going through, it can obviously be disastrous. The incident with the van, I’ll admit, is an extreme example, but it is certainly illustrative of what could happen.”

  “If she actually released the brake,” Jack said darkly.

  “If she actually released the brake,” Dr. Belter repeated. “And, of course, we have no way of proving it either way. Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to be able to show that it was carelessness on George Diller’s part. It would be much more simply dealt with. But I can’t.”

  “You said there’s more,” Rose said softly. “What else is there?”

  “Marie?” Dr. Belter said, turning toward the teacher. “Why don’t you run through it?”

  Marie Montgomery picked a file up from the desk and opened it.

  “It’s all so minor, she said.” Really just little things, but when they’re added up, I think we have to pay attention to it. First, Sarah seems to be retreating further into herself. It isn’t anything major. It’s just that a couple of months ago she would almost always respond to her name the first time it was spoken. Now she never hears until it’s repeated, or if she does she seems to ignore it.

  “Then there’s the matter of her concentration. It seems to be getting shorter. As a matter of fact, I have some figures on that, but, again, they aren’t anything major. What it boils down to is that she spends less time with any one thing than she used to. That in itself wouldn’t bother me particularly—attention spans seem to expand and contract like rubber bands around here—but with Sarah it isn’t as if she gets bored with what she’s doing, exactly. It’s more as though she finds herself more interesting than the real world. It’s getting harder to keep her focused on the real world, and that bothers me. It’s beginning to look like we’re losing touch with her, instead of getting closer to her.” Marie Montgomery saw the flash of pain in Jack’s eyes and hurried on. “That’s really the major reason for this meeting. To find out if the same things are happening at home.”

  Rose shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said doubtfully, “but of course I can’t really be sure. I find it awfully hard to look at her objectively. I’m afraid I try to see progress where there might not be any.”

  “There’s progress,” Jack said, but his voice indicated that his statement might be more wish than fact.

  “Jack,” Rose said, as gently as she could. “What progress has there been, really?” She turned back to Mrs. Montgomery. “I wish I could tell you whether or not there really has been any change in Sarah, but I can’t.”

  “We’re not expecting you to be able to tell us anything today,” Dr. Belter put in. “As we’ve tried to make clear, nothing major has happened. This is simply to alert you to something that might be happening. We aren’t sure, and we’re asking for your help. It would be very helpful for us, and for Sarah, if you could simply be aware that something may be going on that we don’t know about, and try to notice anything unusual or different in her behavior.”

  “Well,” Jack said carefully, “there was that thing with the Ouija board the other night.”

  “Ouija board?” Dr. Belter said. “I haven’t seen one of those things in years. Do they still make them?”

  “Not this one,” Rose said. “Elizabeth found it in a storeroom or something. And the Ouija board really had nothing to do with what happened.”

  She recounted the incident of a few nights earlier, and Sarah’s reaction to the cat brushing up against her. As she talked, Dr. Belter took a few notes.

  “It was really nothing,” Rose finished.

  “And they were playing with a Ouija board?” Dr. Belter asked again. “Hmm.” He made a final note and looked up. “Does Sarah spend much time with her sister?”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Jack said. “The worst part of each day is when Elizabeth leaves for school and Sarah has to wait for the van to bring her out here. They’re practically inseparable.”

  “And how does Elizabeth react to Sarah?” the doctor asked.

  “Considering her age,” Rose said, “it’s amazing. You have to remember that Elizabeth is only thirteen herself. But the way she takes care of Sarah, you’d think she was five years older. She seems to understand Sarah, somehow. She plays with her by the hour, and reads to her, and it never bothers her when Sarah suddenly wrecks whatever they’re playing, or grabs a book out of her hands. And the other night, when Sarah screamed, it was as if Elizabeth didn’t hear it at all. It upset Jack and me much more than it did either of the gris.”

  “It’s strange,” Jack said, picking up the thread. “Elizabeth talks to Sarah, and she never seems to notice that Sarah doesn’t talk back. It’s as if Sarah doesn’t have to talk—Elizabeth seems to communicate with her or something. Sometimes Elizabeth makes me feel inadequate. I’ve tried to talk to Sarah so many times I can’t count them, but as soon as I pick her up she starts wriggling around, and in a couple of minutes she’s out of my lap and off to find Elizabeth.”

  “Has she shown any signs of violence at home?” Dr. Belter said quietly.

  “Sarah? I don’t think so,” Rose said. “Why?”

  “Again, it’s nothing we can really put our finger on,” Dr. Belter said. “The screaming when the cat brushed up against her reminded me of it. One day last week one of the children came up behind Sarah and touched her shoulder. She screamed, which isn’t abnormal for her, but she also whirled around and hit the other child. She hadn’t done that before, and we still don’t know if it was an accident or if she struck at the child on purpose. Has she ever swung at either of you? Or at Elizabeth?”

  Jack and Rose shook their heads.

  “Certainly not at either of us,” Rose said. “And if she’d ever done anything like that to Elizabeth, I’m sure we’d have heard about it.” She paused a moment, as if reaching to remember something, then went on. “I’m afraid we don’t really spend as much time with Elizabeth as we should. But Sarah takes up so much of our time. Well, Elizabeth doesn’t seem to resent it.”

  “You’re very lucky,” Dr. Belter said. “Many parents find that they have more trouble with their so-called normal child than with their disturbed one. It’s only to be expected, really. All children need attention, and when one is disturbed, the other often feels he needs to compete for his parents’ attention. It sounds as if Elizabeth is a very exceptional child.” He smiled and stood up. “Thank you for coming today. We’ll be going over Sarah’s case in our staff meeting tomorrow, and we may make some minor changes in her medication. Other than that, for the momen
t it’s just a matter of keeping our eyes open and trying to spot a trend.”

  “Then that’s it?” Jack said, getting to his feet.

  “That’s it,” Dr. Belter said. “For the moment I don’t want you to feel alarmed. You should, however, be aware that if Sarah’s condition deteriorates too far, we won’t be able to keep her here. White Oaks is a school, not an institution.” Seeing the anxiety in both their faces, Dr. Belter hurried to reassure them. “It’s only an eventuality,” he said. “For the moment, we aren’t having any more problems with Sarah than with any of the others. And some of them are a lot worse than she is. For the foreseeable future, I look forward to having Sarah here.”

  “Can we take her home with us,” Rose asked, “or has she already gone in the van?”

  “She’s waiting in my room,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “One of the aides is with her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

  But Sarah wasn’t waiting in Marie Montgomery’s room.

  In the house on Conger’s Point, Elizabeth poured the last of a glass of milk into the cat’s dish, and watched as Cecil lapped it up. Then she picked up the animal and listened to him purr.

  “Come on,” she said to the cat. “Let’s go outside.”

  Scratching Cecil’s ears, Elizabeth carried him from the house.

  As she crossed the field, Elizabeth pulled the rubber band out of her ponytail and shook her head. The blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her step quickened.

  No one saw her disappear into the woods.

  7

  The room was a shambles: desks and chairs were overturned; the items that were normally arranged across the top of Marie Montgomery’s desk had been swept from it and now lay scattered and broken across the floor to the left of the desk.

  “Jesus,” Jack breathed. Before anyone could say more, they heard the sounds from the cloakroom—scuffling noises, as though whatever struggle had taken place in the classroom was now continuing in the small room behind the blackboard. The sounds were muted but somehow desperate. There were no cries, none of the shouts that should accompany the sort of battle that must have taken place. Led by Mrs. Montgomery, the three of them raced through the room.