Bedelia by Vera Caspary Page A

When Ben suggested that she sit down and have coffee with him, the girl giggled happily. She poured her coffee into one of the heavy kitchen cups, but tried to be elegant and serve him cream and sugar like Mrs. Horst at the dining-room table.
    He asked her a great many questions, but Mary did not think this odd. Small-town people do not hide their natural interest in the affairs of their neighbors. Mary told him precisely what she had told Hannah, which was all she knew.
    â€œAre they getting a trained nurse? Has the doctor suggested it?”
    Mary nodded. Doctor Meyers had told her last night that Mrs. Horst wanted to take care of Mr. Horst herself, and the doctor said that Mary was to be responsible for the house. “Mrs. Horst, she’d rather take care of him herself with me looking after the house for her than have a stranger in to nurse him. With me responsible for the house, she can nurse Mr. Horst all right. She’d rather do it herself.”
    Ben looked out of the window. Mist was rising from moist ground. Mary cried, “Oh!” and clasped both hands over her heart. Ben turned and saw Bedelia at the kitchen door. He was no less startled than Mary had been. Bedelia had appeared silently, and she stood so quiet that she seemed an apparition that had materialized out of the dark air of the corridor.
    He rose and went to her. Taking her hand, Ben said, “Bedelia! Good morning. How are you?”
    She did not greet him and stood there, looking past him or through him as if she were not aware of his presence. She was highly agitated, her mouth working and her eyes narrowed to dark slits.
    â€œMrs. Horst, what’s the matter? Can I do something for you?’ asked Mary.
    Bedelia raised her shoulders and shuddered delicately as if she were shaking off an evil mood. Smiling, she bade Mary good morning. Then she looked down at her hand which lay in Ben’s. She continued to smile but in a different way. Her upper lip curled back over her teeth and her eyes were guarded.
    â€œGood morning, Ben.”
    â€œHow’s Charlie? If there’s anything I can do for you, Bedelia, you must tell me. Anything at all.”
    â€œIt’s good to have friends. At a time like this, it’s all you have to . . .” she paused, seeking the right words, “. . . to give you courage. Oh, Ben, if anything should happen to Charlie!”
    â€œHe’ll be all right,” Ben said.
    She let Ben lead her to the den, pull a chair close to the hearth, and light the coal fire. She was still agitated. Her pointed pink fingernails clawed the leather of the armchair.
    â€œYou’re sure you’re all right, Bedelia?”
    â€œThat’s what Charlie asked me as soon as he became conscious last night. Was I all right? You’d think I was the sick one.” Bedelia had become herself again, composed, gentle, all curves and sweetness.
    Ben chose a chair opposite Bedelia’s. They sat there without talking. The rain had started. Wind sighed through bare branches. The river charged angrily over the rocks. Ben looked from the dripping window back toward the blue flames of the coal fire, and then at Bedelia again.
    Her hands lay limp in her lap. She seemed sunk in complete lethargy as if the preceding mood of nervousness and agitation had exhausted her.
    Mary stamped into the room. Bedelia looked straight at the girl without seeing her. Shuddering, Mary said, “Mrs. Horst.” Her voice was unsteady.
    Bedelia slid forward in the chair. Her eyes widened and her hands tensed again.
    â€œIt’s not Mr. Horst? There’s nothing wrong upstairs, is there?”
    Mary shook her head. She had interrupted only to tell Mrs. Horst that Miss Ellen Walker had called to say she had heard about Mr. Horst and to ask if she could do anything. “Thank you,” Bedelia whispered, dismissing the girl. She hugged her knees and looked into the fire as if she were alone in the room.
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