The Fiend by Margaret Millar Page A

kitchen the phone rang and through the open door and windows Ellen’s voice came, clear and distinct: “Hello. Why yes, Mrs. Oakley, she’s here.... Of course I had no idea she didn’t have your permission…. She’s perfectly all right, there’s no need to become upset over it. Mary Martha isn’t the kind of girl who’d be likely to get in trouble…. I’ll have Dave bring her right home…. Very well, I’ll tell her to wait here until you arrive. Good-bye.”
    Ellen came outside, carrying a tray of buttered rolls and hot dogs stuffed with cheese and wrapped in bacon. “Your mother just called, Mary Martha.”
    Mary Martha merely nodded. Her mother’s excitement had an almost soothing effect on her. There would be a scene, naturally, but it would be like a lot of others, nothing she couldn’t handle, nothing that hadn’t been said a hundred times. “If you truly love me, Mary Martha, you’ll promise never to do such a thing again.” “I truly love you, Mother. I never will.”
    â€œShe’s driving over to get you,” Ellen added. “You’re to be waiting on the front porch.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œJessie will wait with you. She’s just putting her pajamas on.”
    â€œI can wait alone.”
    â€œOf course you can, you’re a responsible girl. But you came over here to see Jessie, didn’t you?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.”
    â€œWhy did you come, then?”
    Mary Martha blinked, as if the question hurt her eyes. Then she turned and walked into the house, closing the screen door carefully and quietly behind her.
    Dave Brant watched his wife as she began arranging the hot dogs on the grill. “Maybe you shouldn’t question her like that, Ellen.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œShe might think you’re prying.”
    â€œShe might be right.”
    â€œI hope not.”
    â€œOh, come on, Dave. Admit it—you’re just as curious as I am about what goes on in that household.”
    â€œPerhaps. But I think I’m better off not knowing.” He thought of telling Ellen about the fat old whore but he couldn’t predict her reaction. She might be either quite amused by the story or else shocked into doing something tactless like repeating it to Mrs. Oakley. Although he’d been married to Ellen for eighteen years, her insensitivity to certain situations still surprised him.
    â€œDave—”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWe’ll never let it happen to our children, will we?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDivorce,” Ellen said, with a gesture, “and all the mess that goes with it. It would kill Michael, he’s so terribly sensitive, like me.”
    â€œHe’s going to have plenty of reason to be sensitive if he’s not home by 6:30 as he promised.”
    â€œNow, Dave, you wouldn’t actually punish him simply for losing track of the time.”
    â€œHe has 20-20 vision and a wrist watch,” Dave said. But he wasn’t even interested in Michael at the moment. He merely wanted to change the subject because he couldn’t bear to talk or even think about a divorce. The idea of Jessie being in Mary Martha’s place appalled him, Michael was sixteen, almost a man, but Jessie was still a child, full of trust and innocence, and the only person in the world who sincerely believed in him. She wouldn’t always. Inevitably, the time would come when she’d have to question his wisdom and courage, perhaps even his love for her. But right now she was nine, her world was small, no more than a tiny moon, and he was the king of it.
    The two girls sat outside the front door on the single concrete step which they called a porch. Jessie was picking at the loose skin on the palm of one hand, and Mary Martha was watching her as if she wished she had something equally interesting to do.
    Jessie said, “You’ll probably catch