A Cry In the Night by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

time together wouldn’t ever again be rushed and frantic. He had suggested that they defer an official honeymoon. “You don’t have anyone to leave with the girls,” he’d said. “Once they’re comfortably settled on the farm, we’ll find a reliable sitter and take a trip.” How many other men would have been that thoughtful? she wondered.
    She felt Erich looking down at her.
    â€œAwake, Jenny?” he asked but she didn’t answer. His hand smoothed back her hair; his fingers kneaded her temple. Tina was asleep now; her breathing came soft and measured. In the front seat, Beth had stopped chattering to Joe so she too must be napping.
    Jenny made her own breath rise and fall evenly. It was time to plan ahead, to turn away from the life she had left and begin to anticipate the one that was waiting for her.
    Erich’s home had been without a woman’s touch for a quarter of a century. It probably needed a massive overhaul. It would be interesting to see how much of Caroline’s influence remained in it.
    Funny, she mused, I never think of Erich’s mother as his mother. I think of her as Caroline.
    She wondered if his father hadn’t referred to her that way. If instead of saying “your mother” to Erich, when he reminisced he’d say, “Caroline and I used to . . .”
    Redecorating would be a joy. How many times hadshe studied the apartment and thought, If I could afford it, I’d do this . . . and this . . . and this . . .
    What a sense of freedom it would be to wake up in the morning and know she didn’t have to rush off to work. Just to be with the children, to spend time with them, real time, not end-of-the-day exhausted time! She’d already lost the best part of their baby years.
    And to be a wife. Just as Kevin had never been a real father to the children, he’d never been a real husband to her. Even in their most intimate moments, she’d always felt that Kevin had a mental image of himself playing the romantic lead in an M-G-M film. And she was certain that he’d been unfaithful to her even during the short time they lived together.
    Erich was mature. He could have married long before now but he’d waited. He welcomed responsibility. Kevin had shunned it. Erich was so reticent. Fran said she thought he was a bit stodgy and Jenny knew that even Mr. Hartley wasn’t comfortable with him. They didn’t realize that his seeming aloofness was simply a cover for an innately shy nature. “I find it easier to paint my sentiments than to express them,” he’d told her. There was so much love expressed in everything he painted....
    She felt Erich’s hand stroking her cheek. “Wake up, darling, we’re nearly home.”
    â€œWhat? Oh. Did I fall asleep?” She pulled herself up.
    â€œI’m glad you slept, darling. But look out the window now. The moon is so bright you should be able to see quite a bit.” His voice was eager. “We’re on county road twenty-six. Our farm begins at that fence, on both sides of the road. The right side eventually ends at Gray’s Lake. The other side winds and twists. The woods take up nearly two hundred acres alone; they end at the river valley that slopes into the Minnesota River. Now, watch, you’ll see some of theouter buildings. Those are the polebarns, where we feed the cattle in the winter. Beyond them are the grainery and stables and the old mill. Now as we come around this bend you can see the west side of the house. It’s set on that knoll.”
    Jenny pressed her face against the car window. From the background glimpses she’d seen in some of Erich’s paintings, she knew that at least part of the exterior of the house was pale red brick. She’d imagined a Currier and Ives kind of farmhouse. Nothing Erich had said had prepared her for what she was looking at now.
    Even viewed from