“Yes, a dream,” and then sleep overcame her again and she fell back and began to snore, but the shock of the ammonia had lifted her up nearer consciousness and she was more restless. Kate put the bottle back in its drawer. She straightened the table, mopped up the spilled wine, and carried the glasses to the kitchen.
The house was dusky with dawnlight creeping in around the edges of the blinds. The cook stirred in his lean-to behind the kitchen, groping for his clothes and putting on his clodhopper shoes.
Kate moved quietly. She drank two glasses of water and filled the glass again and carried it back to Faye’s room and closed the door. She lifted Faye’s right eyelid, and the eye looked rakishly up at her but it was not rolled back in her head. Kate acted slowly and precisely. She picked up the handkerchief and smelled it. Some of the ammonia had evaporated but the smell was still sharp. She laid the cloth lightly over Faye’s face, and when Faye twisted and turned and came near to waking, Kate took the handkerchief away and let Faye sink back. This she did three times. She put the handkerchief away and picked up an ivory crochet hook from the marble top of the bureau. She turned down the cover and pressed the blunt end of the ivory against Faye’s flabby breast with a steady, increasing pressure until the sleeping woman whined and writhed. Then Kate explored the sensitive places of the body with the hook—under the arm, the groin, the ear, the clitoris, and always she removed the pressure just before Faye awakened fully.
Faye was very near the surface now. She whined and sniffled and tossed. Kate stroked her forehead and ran smooth fingers over her inner arm and spoke softly to her.
“Dear—dear. You’re having a bad dream. Come out of the bad dream, Mother.”
Faye’s breathing grew more regular. She heaved a great sigh and turned on her side and settled down with little grunts of comfort.
Kate stood up from the bed and a wave of dizziness rose in her head. She steadied herself, then went to the door and listened, slipped out, and moved cautiously to her own room. She undressed quickly and put on her nightgown and a robe and slippers. She brushed her hair and put it up and covered it with a sleeping cap, and she sponged her face with Florida water. She went quietly back to Faye’s room.
Faye was still sleeping peacefully on her side. Kate opened the door to the hall. She carried the glass of water to the bed and poured cold water in Faye’s ear.
Faye screamed, and screamed again. Ethel’s frightened face looked out of her room in time to see Kate in robe and slippers at Faye’s door. The cook was right behind Kate, and he put out his hand to stop her.
“Now don’t go in there, Miss Kate. You don’t know what’s in there.”
“Nonsense, Faye’s in trouble.” Kate burst in and ran to the bed.
Faye’s eyes were wild and she was crying and moaning.
“What is it? What is it, dear?”
The cook was in the middle of the room, and three sleep-haggard girls stood in the doorway.
“Tell me, what is it?” Kate cried.
“Oh, darling—the dreams, the dreams! I can’t stand them!”
Kate turned to the door. “She’s had a nightmare—she’ll be all night. You go back to bed. I’ll stay with her a while. Alex, bring a pot of tea.”
Kate was tireless. The other girls remarked on it. She put cold towels on Faye’s aching head and held her shoulders and the cup of tea for her. She petted and babied her, but the look of horror would not go out of Faye’s eyes. At ten o’clock Alex brought in a can of beer and without a word put it on the bureau top. Kate held a glass of it to Faye’s lips.
“It will help, darling. Drink it down.”
“I never want another drink.”
“Nonsense! Drink it down like medicine. That’s a good girl. Now just lie back and go to sleep.”
“I’m afraid to sleep.”
“Were the dreams so bad?”
“Horrible, horrible!”
“Tell me about them, Mother. Maybe that will help.”
Faye shrank back. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. How I could have dreamed them! They weren’t like my dreams.”
“Poor little Mother! I love you,” Kate said. “You go to sleep. I’ll keep the dreams away.”
Gradually Faye did slip off to sleep. Kate sat beside the bed, studying her.
Chapter 21
1
In human affairs of danger and delicacy successful conclusion is sharply limited by hurry. So often men trip by being in a rush. If one were properly to perform a difficult and subtle act, he should first inspect the end to be achieved and then, once he had accepted the end as desirable, he should forget it completely and concentrate solely on the means. By this method he would not be moved to false action by anxiety or hurry or fear. Very few people learn this.
What made Kate so effective was the fact that she had either learned it or had been born with the knowledge. Kate never hurried. If a barrier arose, she waited until it had disappeared before continuing. She was capable of complete relaxation between the times for action. Also, she was mistress of a technique which is the basis of good wrestling—that of letting your opponent do the heavy work toward his own defeat, or of guiding his strength toward his weaknesses.
Kate was in no hurry. She thought to the end very quickly and then put it out of her mind. She set herself to work on method. She built a structure and attacked it, and if it showed the slightest shakiness she tore it down and started fresh. This she did only late at night or otherwise when she was completely alone, so that no change or preoccupation was noticeable in her manner. Her building was constructed of personalities, materials, knowledge, and time. She had access to the first and last, and she set about getting knowledge and materials, but while she did that she set in motion a series of imperceptible springs and pendulums and left them to pick up their own momenta.
First the cook told about the will. It must have been the cook. He thought he did anyway. Kate heard about it from Ethel, and she confronted him in the kitchen where he was kneading bread, his hairy big arms floured to the elbows and his hands yeast bleached.
“Do you think it was a good thing to tell about being a witness?” she said mildly. “What do you think Miss Faye is going to think?”
He looked confused. “But I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what—tell about it or think it would hurt?”
“I don’t think I—”
“You don’t think you told? Only three people knew. Do you think I told? Or do you think Miss Faye did?” She saw the puzzled look come into his eyes and knew that by now he was far from sure that he had not told. In a moment he would be sure that he had.
Three of the girls questioned Kate about the will, coming to her together for mutual strength.
Kate said, “I don’t think Faye would like me to discuss it. Alex should have kept his mouth shut.” Their wills wavered, and she said, “Why don’t you ask Faye?”
“Oh, we wouldn’t do that!”
“But you dare to talk behind her back! Come on now, let’s go in to her and you can ask her the questions.”
“No, Kate, no.”
“Well, I’ll have to tell her you asked. Wouldn’t you rather be there? Don’t you think she would feel better if she knew you weren’t talking behind her back?”
“Well—”
“I know I would. I always like a person who comes right out.” Quietly she surrounded and nudged and pushed until they stood in Faye’s room.
Kate said, “They asked me about a certain you-know-what. Alex admits he let it out.”
Faye was slightly puzzled. “Well, dear, I can’t see that it’s such a secret.”
Kate said, “Oh, I’m glad you feel that way. But you can see that I couldn’t mention it until you did.”
“You think it’s bad to tell, Kate?”
“Oh, not at all. I’m glad, but it seemed to me that it wouldn’t be loyal of me to mention it before you did.”
“You’re sweet, Kate. I don’t see any harm. You see, girls, I’m alone in the world and I have taken Kate as my daughter. She takes such care of me. Get the box, Kate.”
And each girl took the will in her own hands and inspected it. It was so simple they could repeat it word for word to the other girls.
They watched Kate to see how she would change, perhaps become a tyrant, but if anything, she was nicer to them.