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  Natalie smiled cunningly at her, glanced at Ugly, and said, "Would you like to bite her again, Ugly?"

  Rosalind ran from the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

  "Natalie Berean, I don t believe my ears. Surely you didn't set that dog on her deliberately . . . with the intention of having Ugly bite her."

  "Of course I did. She deserved it."

  "She could have been seriously hurt!"

  "She wasn't hurt at all. Any fool would know she couldn't have been. Ugly can't bite through all those petticoats; Rosalind knows it as well as I. Can't you see, Mama? She was making a scene just like she always does," Natalie said nonchalantly. "He does have pretty fur, don't you think? It is the only pretty thing about him."

  "Natalie, I am going to have to speak to your father about this. If you have trained that dog to attack people he may not remain here. I just can't believe it of you."

  "It was just play. Rosalind wasn't hurt." Natalie moved agitatedly around the kitchen.

  "Once a dog turns—I won't have it, dear, and most certainly James will be displeased. Put Ugly outside, Natalie."

  "You're not going to take Ugly away from me. You're not!"

  "If he is vicious I certainly will. James will never permit such a thing in the house."

  "You cant take him! He's mine. He's all I've got and he loves me. He is the only one in the world who truly loves just me. Til kill myself! Ill have him bite you, I will. I will!"

  Meg began to shake her; the dog alternately growled at Meg and whined as Natalie clutched him too tightly. Freeing one hand, Natalie angrily slapped her mother.

  "Natalie!"

  Natalie spun and ran from the room. Meg ran after her. As Natalie raced up the stairs and made the torn that would take her to her room, Meg slumped down on the bottom stair, shaken. Her hands cradled her throbbing head. She was sure every hair on her body stood on end when she heard the sudden screaming scuffle from upstairs.

  "I hate you! I hate you! You wont take my dog! Bite him, Ugly! Bite! Get him!"

  James at first stood confused and weak, holding on to the edge of his door, having come to the hall to see what was causing the commotion. He didn't know what Natalie was talking about. He didn't even know Ugly existed. Natalie was talking too fast for him to follow her, and the look on her face appalled and frightened him.

  She was wild looking, not at all his sweet Natalie. He paid no attention to the small orange ball of hair that flew from her arms and darted straight for him until Ugly's teeth sank deep into his bared ankle.

  Everything became confusion with Natalie and James screaming. Meg, breathless, began to run up the stairs heavily. "I'm coming James!"

  Blinded with pain and the agonizing throb in his head and chest, James stumbled toward the sound of Meg's voice and over the edge of the staircase. Meg

  grabbed hold of the rail. Only her very solid form blocked him from falling all the way to the bottom.

  "Natalie, get the boys from the field!"

  "He was going to take Ugly," Natalie said. She picked up the dog from the top stair and returned to her own room.

  "Natalie! Oh, Almighty Father . . . someone help me," Meg sobbed, trying to get James up. "Rosalind! Anna!"

  Frightened, Rosalind would not come out of her room. She had no intention of coming anywhere near Ugly. Peter, she had decided, was taking her out of this house tonight Anyplace would be better than staying here with Natalie. She put her hands over her ears and blocked out Meg's pleading.

  Callie, coming in from the brewhouse, saw Meg helplessly bracing James on the staircase and wiping his forehead with her handkerchief. She turned and ran for Stephen.

  "Let me take him, Ma," Stephen said.

  "Be gentle with him, Stephen. Be very gentle."

  "I will, Ma. I will hold him like he was a newborn."

  Meg moved aside. James was so wasted Stephen had no difficulty lifting him and carrying him back to his room. "I'll go for the others," he said, not sure how much his mother understood of his father s condition at that moment.

  She surprised him. "Yes. Hurry, dear. Your father has always wished that his family be near him when it was his time. He may have a message for us."

  Callie began to leave the room quietly. "Come here, Callie," Meg said. "You are a part of James's family too, dear. He loves you dearly, you know."

  "I love him too," Callie said and the tears slipped out. "Is he really . . ."

  "Yes," Meg said simply. "Please fetch Rosalind, Anna, and Natalie.

  "And Callie ... if Natalie . . . doesn't want to come . . . don't try to force her."

  Within minutes the house was filled with noise and confusion as Peter and Frank ran in from the fields and Rosalind came guardedly from her room, not having grasped the whole of the situation for Callie had been all but incoherent in her message. Rosalind's eyes darted about, searching for Ugly or Natalie. Then she saw Peter coming up the, stairs. "Peter! You must take me away from here tonight. I won't stay here with that loony woman another night."

  "What are you talking about?" he asked irritably. "What happened to Pa?"

  "I don't know what happened to him. I'm trying to tell you what happened to me Listen to me! She had that creature attack me. Peter! You must take me out of here."

  "Why aren't you helping my mother?"

  "Peter! Listen to me!"

  "Oh, get out of my way." Roughly he shoved her aside, hurrying into his father's room.

  James died within minutes of his family's gathering around him. In spite of Meg's fervent hopes, he never regained consciousness. The precious and all-wise deathbed message was never given.

  "Perhaps he has written it down somewhere. You know how important you all were to your father. He often thought about what he should tell you if it were his last thought. Perhaps he has written it down somewhere."

  "He has given us a lifetime of wisdom, Ma," Stephen said gently and motioned to Callie. "Go with

  Callie now, and rest. Anna will be back soon and she will take care of Pa."

  "No, I must prepare James myself."

  "But Ma ... all right You shall, but first you rest. Lie down for just a time ... a short time. Callie, take her to the guest room."

  Once Meg had been led from James's bedroom, the others left as well, going to the parlor. Natalie remained in her room, refusing to come when Callie called her.

  Peter paced back and forth across the room, trying to stem the tide of feeling that boiled and churned inside. "What happened? Surely someone saw . . ."

  "I didn't see it, but I can certainly tell you what happened," Rosalind said. "Perhaps now you will all believe me when I say that horrible sister of yours should be locked up. She is a murderess now along with being mad."

  "Rosalind!"

  "Don't bother trying to defend her, Frank. You can't," Rosalind said sharply. "She trained that dog of hers to attack. First she set him on me in the pantry. Your mother saw it. Later I heard a commotion in the hallway. I was afraid to leave my room. Natalie was screaming at the top of her lungs. I heard her set that vicious cur of hers on her own father. It was horrible."

  "It's ridiculous," Frank said. "We knew his condition was poor. He has had another attack and that is all. He probably hurt his leg when he fell."

  Peter went to Rosalind. When he tried to put his arm around her, she drew away, looking at him with accusing eyes. "I told you! I told you she hated me. Now will you listen?"

  Peter looked puzzled. "I thought you said she set the dog on Pa . . ."

  "She did!"

  Frank stood up, his face grave. "Enough talk. There's been a terrible accident. There is no sense in any of us hurling ridiculous accusations at each other. As head of the family now, I think—"

  "But suppose Natalie did set the dog on him—on both Rosalind and Pa . . ." Peter said, his eyes moving from Frank to the others. "My God—if it's true . . ."

  Privately he seldom heeded Rosalind's complaints about Natalie. And of late he had hea
rd rumors about his wife and Albert Foxe that had made him wonder if all his sister's fantasies were actually imagined. But today he felt only confusion and doubt. "Do we dare ignore what Rosalind says? I don't know how the rest of you feel, but Nat has changed—in my opinion. She hasn't been herself since the night of the fire, and we never did find out what happened that night."

  "I agree with you, Peter. She has changed, but she certainly isn't the maniac that Rosalind describes."

  "What are you saying?" Frank demanded. "That our sister is mad and deliberately caused the death of her own father!"

  "No, of course not," Peter said quickly.

  "What then?"

  "I don't know, damn it, Frank. I just don't know."

  "Well, I do, and I demand an end to it. I won't have our family name dragged through the mud because some of us go off half cocked at every turn. There will be no more said of this!"

  "No more said?" Rosalind demanded shrilly.

  Peter quieted her, then looked steadily at Frank. "We'll get Ma to tell us what happened; then we'll decide."

  None of them moved. It was as if they had all been

  frozen in place. The house was eerily quiet. Though each of them thought only of James, none mentioned his name aloud, as if they were holding off the truth by keeping it a secret from each other.

  It was too soon for grief to flood in. It had been too shocking. None of them was ready, nor would they be ready when the dam of grief began to crack and the aching loss seeped through to wash away the protective numbness they felt now. They sat in idleness, Meg alone having something of importance to do. And she would permit no one to help in the preparation of James's body.

  It was late when Meg came downstairs that evening. "Your father's body is prepared. Frank, will you and Stephen put him in the special parlor?" Her face showed no emotion. The nervous bustle of Meg's personality was missing.

  She followed Frank and Stephen, making certain things were arranged as she wanted.

  While they were gone, Anna said, "Peter, don't say anything to her tonight about Natalie and the dog. It is a terrible time for her. Worse than it is for us."

  "It won't be better tomorrow," Peter said.

  "Then be kind to her."

  "You don't need to tell me to be kind to my own mother, Anna," Peter snapped.

  "You know all you need to know. Why must you make her say it?" Anna for once showed a touch of temper.

  "Because I need to hear it said! I don't know the answers. Did that miserable cur of Natalie's attack Pa, or was it an accident? Ma knows. She is the only one who knows."

  "Natalie does," Anna said.

  Meg came back into the room with Stephen and

  Bitter Eden 247

  Frank as Peter began to answer Anna. "I don t want to talk about it," Meg said.

  "Ma! My wife is begging me to take her from the house tonight because of that dog and my sister. My father is lying in one room in death, and all you can say is that you don't want to talk about it?"

  "It can do no good, Peter. James is dead. Shall you take my daughter too?"

  Peter s face registered the hurt. His mother wept silently. It was there. Her admission was there, but he refused to grasp the meaning of Meg's words. He raised his arms, then let them drop helplessly to his side. He continued his nervous march around the room.

  "Do sit down, Peter. You are making us all edgy," Rosalind said.

  "Someone tell me something. Tell me about the dog. Say it!" he implored and looked at each of them in turn. "It's true, isn't it? Ma? It was the dog, wasn't it? The dog caused the accident. Why are you protecting that dog?"

  "She's not protecting the dog. How stupid can you be, Peter? It is Natalie she is protecting. That dog does Natalie's bidding. I've told you time on end that Natalie suffers from a nervous disorder of the mind," Rosalind said.

  "Yes, Doctor Berean. We thank you," he said acidly, coming close to hating her. His father was dead. He loved his sister.

  Sobbing, Meg looked up at him. "Nattie thinks the dog is obedient to her, but he isn't, Peter. He isn't. The dog is bad. Nattie isn't capable of training a dog . . . you know her. Poor Nattie . . . she couldn't . . . Nattie couldn't do . . ." Meg's eyes reddened, pleading for answers much as Peter was. "She adored James, didn't she, Peter? She would never • . ."

  Sharon Salvato

  Peter hugged her tightly, his eyes squeezed shut. It was the dog, Ma. We all know that. Nattie loved Pa very much. Remember—she was his little girl, his only daughter."

  Chapter 16

  "Dear Nattie is a sly vicious minx capable of anything, and I am sick to death of hearing about dear sweet little Nattie!" Rosalind burst out. "All of you make me sick the way you protect her and hide from the truth." She walked quickly from the room to stand for a moment by the staircase. "Are you coming with me, Peter?"

  Peter looked strangely at her, almost as if he were asking her to take back the damning statements. When he spoke, the words were wrung from him. His eyes were wide and filled with pain and confusion. "No, Til be up later."

  "By all means, stay with them and think of ways to whitewash dear Nattie. After all she managed to murder her father. It might take some thought to excuse her this time."

  "Go upstairs, and wait until I come up," Peter said, angry and torn between his wife and his family. But now the hurt had found something to focus on, something to fight. Rosalind disappeared from sight. He turned back to his family huddling close to one an-

  other, seeking comfort. "I want that dog. It killed Pa, and I want it. Where is it?"

  In the suddenly silent room their breathing sounded loud.

  "I want that dog!" Peter shouted. He stalked the room, waiting for one of them to speak.

  'The dog is with Natalie," Anna whispered.

  Meg got up slowly, looking sadly at her son. She walked to the far end of the parlor, opened the doors that led to the Sunday parlor where James now lay. "Don't be cruel, Peter. You are hurt and unhappy • . . it isn't Natalie'^ fault."

  "It's the dog! The damned, bloody dogl" he shouted; then, uninvited, the horrible question he had been keeping at bay pressed forward. Miserably he looked at his mother, fighting within himself the cofi-flicting loyalties that kept boiling to the surface. "Are you certain, Ma? I have always sided with Natalie-even against my own wife. I've told Rosalind she is wrong about Nat, even jealous, but I don't know anymore. Do you? Do any of you know? Are you really sure it wasn't Nattie's faults

  Meg said nothing. She went into the small cold parlor, closing the door behind her. The light of two small candles guttered, dimming and then straightening as the draft passed. She went to her husband's side, sitting still as stone, wishing as she had always done when there was trouble, that James was there to guide her.

  She didn't know the truth about Natalie. Meg knew she had lied to Peter though. Natalie was capable of training the dog. She had, and had done an excellent job. But wasn't the dog naturally vicious as well? Wasn't it the dog who had caused the harm? Natalie couldn't deliberately harm someone, surely not her own father. Meg thought of the child she had given

  birth to and raised. Natalie was a kind, gentle girl. Meg knew that to be true. She was never cruel. Cruelty was not in her.

  As Meg thought, Rosalind's face kept coming to mind. Natalie had never had any difficulties before Rosalind's arrival. And Meg remembered Natalie begging her to listen when she said Rosalind was evil . . . bad for Peter . . . bad for the family. Perhaps she was. When one laid blame for a tragedy, where did one begin? Surely not with the last and final incident in a series of events. Neither Natalie nor the dog would have been upset if Rosalind had not started it in the kitchen when Natalie accused her of going off with Albert. And why would Rosalind have been with Albert? Oh, dear God, Meg sobbed, her mind a tangle of pain and worry for Peter, for Natalie, and for her lost and beloved James.

  "James . . . Meg whispered into the murky, smoking light of the candles. "If you are anywhere that you can he
ar me, James, please tell me what to do now."

  Peter stood with his hands jammed into his pockets for several minutes after his mother left the room. "I don't know what possessed me to speak to her so."

  "You would have done it sooner or later," Frank muttered under his breath. "This is no worse than tomorrow or the day after."

  Peter grimaced, but showed no sign of having heard his brother. "I was wrong. I should have taken care of things and said nothing. It isn't the same now, with Pa gone. We can't say things we once did. Ma without him . . . well, it is different I am going to get the dog. Get it over with." He didn't move, but stood staring at the staircase. His forehead glistened with sweat

  Reluctantly, his movements stiff and awkward, he walked into the hall.

  They listened as he went up the stairs and knocked on Natalie's door.

  "Who is it?" she called

  "It's Peter, Natalie."

  "What do you want? I am resting."

  "Natalie, open the door now. I want to see you."

  "I am resting!" she screeched. "Go away!"

  "Natalie, I've come for the dog. Open the door immediately."

  There was no response. "Nattie, either you open the door or I'll break it in. You know me, Nat, I mean what I say. Open it before I count to five." He began to count.

  Natalie began to scream behind the closed door. Obscenities, mixed with nonsense and rambling accusations, streamed from her. Peter finished counting. With all his weight he slammed against the door. It gave a little on the first assault and opened on the third.

  Natalie, with streaming black hair loosed in disarray, stood wild-eyed, pointing her finger at him and screaming for Ugly to attack. For once the little dog did not obey. He cringed in the corner of the room as far as possible from his mistress. Peter scooped the small dog up in one hand, fighting Natalie off with the other. Screaming, she pursued him to the door. He shoved her back, slammed the splintered door, and leaned against it, shaking.