Nightscape

10

Kyle paced in his room. He didn't like the idea of Isabel being in her room all alone. The Special Unit might be on to them. And the house was creepy, over-the-top horror-movie creepy.

And wasn't that the first rule of horror movies: No matter what happened, you never went anywhere alone. Otherwise…

Then again, I'm alone, he thought. But that was different. It felt different, anyway. Maybe he had seen too many horror movies with his dad. Michael and Maria had argued about who died first: the smart aleck or the mean girl. From what he remembered, they both usually went pretty early.

What about the Buddhist ex-jocks? he wondered. And what about beautiful, half-human/half-alien hybrids?

Kyle found he couldn't even smile at that. Isabel was being foolish. If they stayed in pairs, they couldn't be taken one at a time… there would always be one person who could fight or call the others.

Taken by whom? he wondered. He didn't know, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were foolish to take

any chances. Then, before he was aware that he had even made a decision, he found himself grabbing a pillow and a blanket. By the time he reached the bedroom door, he knew what he was going to do.

Out in the hallway, he headed down to Isabel's room. Passing Michael and Maria's room, he heard shouting. Well, it's nice to see people sticking to their routines.

Then he was standing in front of Isabel's door. He wanted to knock but he knew what would happen if he did. Instead, he scoped out the floor. There was also an Oriental carpet in front of the door, for which Kyle was grateful. Tossing the pillow down, he wrapped the blanket over his shoulders and lowered himself to the floor. This wouldn't be too bad, he realized. He'd slept on his share of floors, and the carpet here was pretty thick.

Putting his head down, Kyle realized he was tired after all. Well, he felt better about relaxing now. He would know if anyone came to Isabel's door. Kyle closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

Isabel had barely opened the book when she heard creaking outside, but chalked it up to her friends moving around in this old house. She doubted the Special Unit would be so quiet if they came in.

Looking back down at the book, Isabel started reading the entry that the book had opened to when it fell:

March 15, 1938

Father would not be pleased. I have not written in

over a week. When I was growing up, I never would have considered such a lapse. Of course, I never thought I would still be maintaining a journal at all at my age.

Father was so certain that every detail of each of our lives as Bentons was worthy of record. Even as a boy, I thought the idea silly. However, I maintained the daily journal religiously… out of fear of him, if for no other reason. Now I am much less afraid, but only slightly less religious in my record keeping.

I'm not as sure that posterity will be interested in my life, but perhaps the children will be when they are older. If nothing else, it may amuse them.

Well, Claire has finished decorating the house. This was probably the greatest test of my bride. When Father built the house as a gift for the birth of the baby, I told my dear Claire that we would not have to live here if she didn't like it… especially knowing Father's peculiar tastes.

And when I saw that the finished home was grand but owed more to Baron Von Frankenstein than Frank Lloyd Wright, I made the offer again. Claire refused. She recognized that the house was a gift for her, and a peace offering from Father. And considering how against our union he was, I had to admit that it was a huge step for him.

"Besides," she said. "It has great character, it will be our own castle. I think it will be very comfortable."

Isabel looked up for a moment. Isn't that how she had thought of the house? Comfortable. Again, Isabel had the

odd feeling that there was someone other than her friends sharing the house with her. She continued reading.

And she has made it so. The children love their rooms and they have spent long days having "adventures" on the grounds. Though I never would have thought it possible, this place is home. I have no doubt that we will never live anywhere else.

Besides, it keeps me close to the mills, which I have no doubt was Fathers intention. He has given up on my older brother as a successor, which suits Matthew fine.

Speaking of Matthew, the impossible has happened. He has announced his engagement. She is a lovely girl, quite too good for him, but then, my Claire was too good for me.

My wife immediately insisted that we have the engagement party for them here and has thrown herself into the arrangements with her usual fervor.

The only thing that clouds her joy is the baby's fever, but it has only been a day, and the doctor assures her that it will pass.

Isabel got a chill from that line and thought again of the empty beds in the room off the kitchen. The next entry was from the following day.

March 16, 1938

Claire is marching forward with the preparations

for the engagement party, but she is slowed somewhat because she has barely let the baby out of her arms. The doctor has been here twice today and has given her every assurance, but Claire can barely let Jonathan out of her arms to sleep.

Father seems more and more certain that war will come to Europe and that that will mean an increased demand for our lumber. He is building more mills to prepare, and I have been spending too many long days away from Claire and the children.

That will have to change. I have already told Father that he must be prepared to do without me for the month of July. I will take the first real vacation since Claire and I have married. I have promised her, and she is happy, insisting that we spend the entire month in our new home.

Father was surprised, but I stood firm, and to my surprise, he relented. I think that some of my wife's strength has rubbed off on me. Either that, or Father is finally relaxing.

March 17, 1938

The baby's temperature remains high, though the doctor tells us that it will soon pass. Little Jonathan is brave and barely cries. I thought that Claire was looking tired, so I had the doctor check her and, sure enough, she has a fever as well.

She pushes herself too hard. Though she promised to take the day to rest, I found her busy when I

came home tonight. I should have checked on her and will have to come home earlier tomorrow.

March 18, 1938

An incredible thing happened today: Father came to visit Jonathan, who now has a rash in addition to a fever. He favors the baby because he was home more when Jonathan was born. Still, an unplanned visit to his grandchildren was extraordinary. He was remarkable with the other children as well. They didn't quite know what to make of the visit, but they were thrilled by the attention.

I think Father truly is relaxing and that some good has come from this fever. The doctor tells us not to worry. Apparently, these sicknesses are self-limiting and do not last more than a few days.

Unfortunately, it seems to have come upon Claire quickly. Her fever has been high, and her rash appeared scarcely a day after her fever began. She remained in bed most of the day with Jonathan. I think this is the first time in our life together that Claire has stayed in bed after nine o'clock in the morning. If not for the doctor's assurances, I would be concerned.

Now, little Robert has begun to run a fever as well. It looks like we might all suffer together for a few days. Little Sarah and I still feel well. She is quite a help to her mother, as is Robert. I will try to come home early tomorrow to look after them.

March 19, 1938

I came home to find the doctor waiting for me. His face was grim, and he took me into the study. He said that Claire and Jonathan had begun to suffer from skin eruptions caused by pox.

I said I knew that Claire had had chicken pox as a child, and that was when he told me that it was…

I can scarcely write the word, as if by not committing it to paper it will not be real. Yet I am my fathers son, despite my many attempts to deny it over the years, and I will not let fear rule me.

Smallpox.

I can write no more today.

March 20, 1938

I called Father yesterday, immediately after I heard. His reaction was swift. I have never seen him so driven. He insisted that the doctor stay, and questioned him harshly. He knew for a fact that he and the children had been inoculated against smallpox.

Apparently, the vaccine is not always effective, and no better injection will be available for years. Father immediately called his law firm to find out if there was any experimental inoculation ready now, despite the doctors insistence that vaccination would do no good after the infection had begun. Nevertheless, there is a small army of lawyers now

trying to acquire the medicine. Father depends on his lawyers for everything, and if anyone can do it, it is them.

Then the doctor told us what to expect. The eruptions will continue, leading to permanent scars. A small percentage of the sufferers die, and a larger percentage are blinded. I listened to those words, but I could not connect them to my Claire and my children.

Father was furious when he heard that there was no treatment except for good nursing care. Then he exploded into activity and summoned workmen, who immediately began to take apart the sunroom off the kitchen to make an infirmary for us. By morning, there was an alien-looking hospital in our home with five beds… one for Claire and each of the children and one for me to lie down in while I wait with them.

I am haunted by the empty bed, my bed, in the infirmary. It does not seem right that my family suffer while I am well. The doctor says that the strain that infects them is strong and fast moving. Because of my close contact with Claire and the children, he says there is a strong chance that I will be infected. Father, of course, is immune because of his own bout with the disease as a child.

We also have two nurses, who are welcome because the servants do not want to enter the infirmary.

Claire and 1 stayed up the night, keeping baby Jonathan close to us. I tried to distract her by talking

of our summer plans, but she had an aunt who died of the pox and knows what to expect.

In the morning, we moved Claire and the children into the infirmary. Sarah has a rash now, and eruptions have appeared on Andrew. Claire is frightened, something I have never seen before in her. I curse this disease that has invaded our home.

March 21, 1938

Claire and Jonathan are very ill. They are both running very high fevers and she has little energy for anything other than worry over the children. Because of the high fever, she fears for Jonathans sight, but she runs the same fever herself.

The servants all disappeared together this afternoon. At first, Father was furious and wanted to have the police drag them back… something Father could easily accomplish. I convinced him not to. I doubted they would stay long. And I will not have people working here under armed guard.

Father and I have taken to preparing their food and feeding Claire and the children. I am glad for the duties. While we were preparing dinner, I was struck by the incongruity of seeing Father prepare food for anyone. I didn't think he had ever even set foot in a kitchen. Yet he has taken command of this as he takes command of his mills or boardrooms.

Perhaps God is keeping me well long enough to see them all back to health.

March 21, 1938

Father and I fell asleep in our chairs late last night and woke to find the nurses gone, and none more willing to come. It is just as well. I think the nurses' growing nervousness just made Claire and the children more frightened.

It has been a long day. All of them are running high fevers, and I wonder how long the fevers can last. Claire will not let Jonathan out of her arms except for very brief periods, even when she is delirious with fever. We also have had to place Andrew's and Sarah's beds close to hers so she can touch them.

At first, I feared for their eyesight because of the prolonged fevers, but now my fears have turned much darker. Father and I do all we can, keeping them clean and applying cold compresses. Claire and the children have stopped eating entirely.

The doctor consults with us only by phone now. When we discussed their temperatures and condition, he was quiet for a long time and then told us that we could expect a crisis soon for Claire and the baby.

Father does not look well. It is not the illness, however. He is aging. I had always thought my father indestructible, but worry creases his face and stoops his shoulders. And I would not have thought it possible, but his hair looks much grayer than it did just days ago. We do not speak much.

Tonight, I saw something that I never thought I would live to see: Father was kneeling down next to

the three beds, his hands clasped in prayer. I was too stunned to move for long seconds, then I kneeled down beside him.

Isabel turned away from the book for a moment. She was afraid of what it would tell her, of what the house might be trying to tell her. Though it took her a great effort, she picked up the book and turned the page.