“Having a good time?” he asked.
“Perfect,” Miss Tyler said, “except for—” She waved her hand toward the garden. “She’s acting up,” she said. “I don’t want to carry tales.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mr. Ransom-Jones said. His eyes began to wander, and he turned his head slightly to look back into the kitchen.
“I’m not worrying,” Miss Tyler said easily. “Thank you again for the party.”
She moved out of the kitchen doorway, down the hall to the garden again. Mr. Ransom-Jones went back into the kitchen, to his place between Mrs. Donald and Mrs. Roberts. They got back to their singing.
Virginia Donald had never been officially at an adult party before. Always she had been allowed to attend, briefly, as a child, to be talked down to and indulged, but now, safely in the kitchen, she passed the initial test of encountering her mother, who waved genially at her across the room, and ended up talking to Mr. Roberts in a corner.
“But I never really had a chance like this before,” Virginia said. “Please?”
“I won’t take the responsibility,” Mr. Roberts said. “Ask Mama.”
Virginia giggled, and put her hand on his arm. “You ask her,” she said. “She likes you.”
Mr. Roberts debated comically, and then turned and called across the room: “Sylvia! Lady with a daughter name of Virginia!”
“I don’t have any daughter,” Mrs. Donald said, flapping her hand coquettishly. “That’s my sister.”
Everyone shouted at once, and Mr. Roberts yelled over the noise, “Well, can she have a drink?”
“She can do anything she wants to,” Mrs. Donald shouted back.
“Just watch your mother,” Mr. Ransom-Jones said, and then amended it, “I mean, your sister.”
“See?” Virginia said to Mr. Roberts, “I can do just what I want.”
“You better start with a very small one,” Mr. Roberts said. “After all, I’m responsible for you.”
Mrs. Roberts tried the door of the bathroom three times before she got Harriet Merriam out; as she went past, it seemed to her that Harriet looked upset, but there was really no time to find out. In the bathroom with the door safely locked, Mrs. Roberts, looking searchingly into the mirror, told herself: You’re pie-eyed, you’re pie-eyed. A giggle caught her, and she steadied herself against the washbasin. You’re pie-eyed, my girl, she told herself in the mirror: you look so nice, but you’re pie-eyed. “I’m pie-eyed,” she said out loud, and then was solemn for a minute thinking that someone might have heard her. How much of it did I say out loud, she wondered, and then, looking at herself in the mirror, began to giggle again. Pie-eyed, she thought; pie-eyed, we’ll show him, the old fool, the old lady’s man, that Donald girl with her father and mother right there, not that the father’s any. . . . Pie-eyed, she thought, and began to giggle helplessly.
Outside, Mrs. Desmond said to Miss Fielding, who was getting up slowly, “Caroline and I will walk down with you.” She looked around, and Mrs. Ransom-Jones said, “I think she went to find her daddy.” Mrs. Desmond’s eyes widened anxiously, and she said to Miss Fielding, “I’ll only be a minute.”
“I’m so sorry you have to go,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones was saying to Mrs. Byrne with Pat and Mary in back of her.
“It was so nice,” Mrs. Byrne said. “We all enjoyed it so much.”
“Thank you very much for a very lovely time,” Mary Byrne said, and Pat said, “Thank you very much, Mrs. Ransom-Jones.”
Mrs. Byrne, followed obediently by her children, began the general departure, and Mrs. Ransom-Jones was saying good-bye to three or four people at once when her sister, beside her suddenly, said, “He’s in there. Drinking.” Her voice had been too soft for anyone else to hear, so Mrs. Ransom-Jones pretended not to have heard it either, and went on saying, “Good-bye, it was so nice to have you.”
“I can’t find my husband,” Mrs. Merriam said gaily to Mrs. Ransom-Jones, “and I guess we can’t leave without him.”
Harriet pulled at her mother’s arm. “He’s inside,” she said. “Let him come later, when he’s ready.”
“Really, Harriet,” Mrs. Merriam said. “Run and get him, dear.”
Harriet went with deadly reluctance into the house and toward the kitchen. Right in the kitchen doorway Virginia was dancing with Mr. Roberts, and as Harriet went by Virginia said, “There’s Harriet,” and she and Mr. Roberts laughed. Harriet found it impossible to ask anyone for her father; Mr. Ransom-Jones and Mr. Desmond and Mrs. Donald and Mrs. Roberts were singing too loud for her to interrupt, and she would have died before speaking to Virginia. Finally Mr. Desmond broke off to say, “Looking for Daddy, Harriet? He’s in there.” His nod toward the pantry suggested unimaginable horrors to Harriet, but she opened the pantry door and went cautiously in. Her father was sitting alone on an overturned dishpan. He had a full glass in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and his eyes were half-closed. He was humming to himself, and smiling. Harriet said, “Daddy?” and Mr. Merriam jumped and turned around, the smile vanishing.
“Ready to go?” he said. He stood up and put the glass carefully down on a shelf, and came over to Harriet. “I’m ready whenever you and Mother are,” he said.
Harriet felt more protected going through the kitchen with her father, but Virginia grabbed his arm as he went by and said, “Brother Merriam, you haven’t danced with me,” and Mr. Merriam said pleasantly, “Later,” and came out with Harriet into the garden.
He was perfectly sober and perfectly docile, and he said good-bye to Mrs. Ransom-Jones without reluctance, but going down the walk he said to Mrs. Merriam, “You know, I enjoyed that party.”
“In the kitchen?” Mrs. Merriam said precisely, and they walked home in silence.
Mrs. Donald and Mrs. Roberts were speaking almost sharply to one another when Mrs. Desmond came to the kitchen door. No one noticed her except Mr. Desmond, but the way she looked at him brought him out into the hall immediately. Out of sight of the people in the kitchen Mrs. Desmond took her husband wildly by the arm and swung him around toward her with a violence that shocked him into silence.
“Where is Caroline?” Mrs. Desmond demanded. “Where is she?”
• • •
“There’s absolutely no question about it at all,” Mrs. Byrne said. She felt the outside of her husband’s teacup before setting it down. “It’s just too hot,” she said. “Let it stand a minute. I’m sure I never would have suspected it.”
“She was in the kitchen, dancing,” Mary observed. “I saw her when I went inside for my coat.”
“You never really do know people, even living so near them for years,” Mrs. Byrne confided. “Imagine, in the kitchen like that.”
“I never like to see a woman drinking,” Mr. Byrne said pontifically. “Not the mother of children.”
“And out in the kitchen like that.” Mrs. Byrne shuddered vividly. “I’m sure I don’t know what Josephine Merriam thought.”
“Or Mrs. Ransom-Jones,” Mary said. “After all, it was her husband.”
“Mary,” Mrs. Byrne said.
Pat Byrne put his glass down suddenly. “I wonder what Miss Fielding thought,” he said, and began to laugh.
“I’m glad Dad didn’t go,” Mrs. Byrne said, and then, “Is that the doorbell? Answer it, Pat.”
Pat put down his napkin and got up. “Probably some drunk,” he said, and his mother said, “Pat!” as he left the room.
The doorbell rang again before Pat reached the door, and he said, “Oh, shut up,” irritably as he opened it. “Yeah?” he said when he saw Tod Donald outside.
“Listen,” Tod said. His voice was thinner than usual, and he put out his hand and grabbed Pat’s sleeve. “Listen, Pat, we’ve always been pretty good friends, I want you to buy my bike.”
“What bike?” Pat said, surprised.
“My bike.
” Tod’s voice was insistent and got higher. “I’m going to sell you my bike. You don’t have a bike, I’ll let you have mine.”
“I don’t want your bike.” Pat started to close the door, but Tod tightened his grip on Pat’s sleeve and said, “Listen, Pat, you got to buy it. I’m going to sell you my bike. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, honestly.”
“You’re crazy,” Pat said.
“Just about five dollars,” Tod said urgently. “Ask your father for it, he’ll give it to you. It’s a good bike, you know that.”
Mrs. Byrne called from the kitchen, “Pat, who’s at the door?” and Pat said, “Nothing, no one. Look,” he said to Tod, “run along, I don’t want your old bike.”
“It’s a good bike,” Tod said furiously, “and it’s mine to sell, honestly. James gave it to me, and it really belongs to me. Five dollars, ask your father.”
“Pat?” Mrs. Byrne said, from the kitchen doorway. “Who’s there, Pat?” She sounded as though she were coming closer, and Tod said, “Please, Pat.” He loosened his hold on Pat’s jacket and stood poised.
“Go on home,” Pat said crossly.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Tod said, and ran off down the street just as Mrs. Byrne came into the doorway behind Pat.
“Who on earth was here?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”
“It was Tod Donald,” Pat said. “He acted funny.”
“What did he want?” Mrs. Byrne went a step outside the door, looking down the street.
“He wanted to sell me his bike or something,” Pat said. “He acted awfully funny.”
“Listen,” Mrs. Byrne said suddenly. Distantly, from the Ransom-Jones house, they could hear singing. “It’s disgusting,” Mrs. Byrne said. “Come inside, Pat.”
• • •
“I didn’t see her at all,” Miss Fielding said faintly from behind her locked front door. “I’m sorry, I’ve gone to bed and I didn’t see her at all.”
“She had on a yellow dress,” Mr. Desmond said, his hands flat against the door, his face close to the wood. “A yellow dress and a yellow hair—”
“I’m sorry,” Miss Fielding said, even more faintly. “I’ve gone to bed.”
• • •
Frederica Terrel said, over and over, “But I tell you I just looked. She’s in her bed, where she belongs.”
“Not your sister,” Mr. Desmond said. “I’m not talking about her. This is Caroline, my little girl.” He held tight to the side of the door and stood half-turned away, expecting what Frederica was going to say and already set to hurry on.
“Did she have any money?” Frederica asked, understanding in her sudden way. “You know, sometimes if they have money they just go and spend it and then they come back when it’s gone.”
“This is my little girl,” Mr. Desmond said, starting off. “She’s only three years old,” he called back over his shoulder.
• • •
“Oh, my God,” Mrs. Perlman said, “the little baby?”
“Three years old,” Mr. Desmond said as though it were important.
“Mrs. Desmond,” Mrs. Perlman said, “that poor, poor woman. Wait,” she said, touching Mr. Desmond’s arm lightly, “I’ll get Mr. Perlman.”
“It’s people from outside took her,” Mrs. Mack said, nodding her great old head. “People from the other side the wall.”
“We think she’s just gotten lost,” Mr. Desmond said. “She’s just lost herself.”
“No one from here,” Mrs. Mack said. “This is a nice neighborhood, not like places where little girls get taken away.”
Mr. Desmond was still keeping his voice down, without shrillness or panic. “She’s never been lost like this before,” he said.
“Well,” Mrs. Mack nodded again. “That’s what happens,” she said, sagely.
• • •
“She hasn’t been here,” Hallie Martin said. “You want me to wake Grandma?”
“I thought she might have followed some of the children,” Mr. Desmond said. “You know, she might just have followed along behind some of the children.”
“Not this way,” Hallie said. “I could wake Grandma, but I’m sure she isn’t around here.”
“Thank you very much,” Mr. Desmond said.
“It’s nothing, I’m sure,” Hallie said.
• • •
The Merriams walked right into the Desmond house, since there seemed to be no one around to let them in. There was no sign of Mrs. Desmond, Mr. Desmond they knew was going from house to house, but after they had stood in the hall for a minute Johnny Desmond found them and said abruptly, “Has she turned up?”
“We came to help,” Mrs. Merriam said.
Johnny spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“Where is your mother?” Mrs. Merriam lifted her chin confidently. “I want to stay with her.”
Johnny waved at the back of the house, doors the Merriams had never passed. “She’s locked herself in her room.”
Mrs. Merriam went in the direction he indicated, straightening her shoulders in spite of the nervous movement of her hands, and Johnny said, “Now she’s here I guess I can go help look.”
“Perhaps you’d better stay here too, Harriet,” Mr. Merriam said. “Johnny and I will go find Desmond and see what we can do.”
Harriet looked apprehensively at the part of the house where her mother had vanished. “I’d rather go with you.”
She followed her father and Johnny outside and down the block. “When did you find she was gone?” her father asked, and Johnny said, “At the party, when we were leaving.”
“Long time,” Mr. Merriam said. “That was about five.”
“We’ve been looking since then,” Johnny said.
Halfway up the block they met Mr. Byrne and Pat, coats thrown on hastily. “Find her?” Mr. Byrne said.
“Not yet,” Mr. Merriam said. The four of them stood uncertainly on the sidewalk, with Harriet waiting nearby. They all had faintly sheepish expressions, as though they were making fools of themselves, talking and acting with dramatic tension over something which would turn out to be nonsense by daylight.
“Can’t imagine where she could have gone,” Mr. Byrne remarked finally.
“Let’s find Dad,” Johnny said. “Mr. Merriam, we ought to find Dad.”
They began to walk down the street. There were lights in the Roberts house, and Mr. Merriam went purposefully up to the front door and rang the bell. Mrs. Roberts answered; she seemed flushed and nervous, and said, “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Merriam; have they found her yet?”
“Not yet,” Mr. Merriam said.
“I only saw her for just a minute this afternoon,” Mrs. Roberts said. “I just caught a glimpse of her. Neither of the boys saw her either. She doesn’t play with the children, of course. But we didn’t see her.”
“We’re going to go out hunting for her, I guess,” Mr. Merriam said heavily. “I guess all the men had better get out and look for her.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Roberts said. Then she said, “Oh, you want Mike, then. Wait a minute.” She went indoors a few steps and called, “Mike? Come here a minute.”
Mr. Roberts said querulously from the living-room, “What the hell do you want now?” and Mrs. Roberts said, “Mr. Merriam wants you. Just a minute,” she said again to Mr. Merriam.
Mr. Roberts came to the front door a little unsteadily, walking with his feet carefully put down. His hair was mussed and he scowled at his wife as he came past her to lean against the doorway. “Evening, Merriam,” he said. “Want me?”
Mr. Merriam was embarrassed. “I don’t suppose it’s anything, really,” he said. “It’s just we thought we ought to get everyone we could.”
“The little Desmond girl’s gone,” Mrs. Roberts said. She looked at her husband col
dly, her smile righteous, her eyes triumphant. “She disappeared this afternoon.”
“Gone?” Mr. Roberts said in horror. “Kidnapped?”
• • •
Harriet waited on the sidewalk with Johnny and the Byrnes for a minute, and then said, “Excuse me,” and slipped away up the street. She was surprised to see lights in the Perlmans’ house, until she realized that, late as it seemed, it was hardly ten o’clock. She ran quickly up the front steps and rang the doorbell.
“Mrs. Perlman,” she said breathlessly, “has Mr. Desmond been here?”
Mrs. Perlman nodded her head, looking surprised and disapproving. “You shouldn’t be out so late,” she said. “Come in and wait till Mr. Perlman gets back, and he’ll take you home.”
“I can’t,” Harriet said. “No one’s home at my house. I mean,” she went on confusedly, when Mrs. Perlman frowned openly, “I mean, if Mr. Desmond hasn’t been here yet you don’t know.”
“He was just here,” Mrs. Perlman said.
“Everyone’s out hunting for her,” Harriet said.
“You shouldn’t be out alone,” Mrs. Perlman said. “Oh, that poor woman. Come in for a minute, and Marilyn and I will come with you. Unless,” she added, looking at Harriet, “unless you think your mother would mind if you came in Marilyn’s house.”
• • •
James Donald went to get his mother and sister from the Ransom-Jones house. The front door was open and he went into the hall and called, “Hello?”
Miss Tyler came to him from somewhere, probably her bedroom, because she was wearing a filmy nightgown under a Japanese kimono. “How do you do?” she said formally. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for my sister,” James said, unable to tell this woman that his mother was here too.
“They’re all out in the kitchen,” Miss Tyler said. She added with a faint touch of malice, “I think they’re having breakfast.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you,” James said, not thinking of anything except how to get into the kitchen and out again. “Is that the way?”
He started for an open doorway and was halted by Miss Tyler’s faint eager laughter. “That’s my bedroom,” she whispered, and ran past him into the room and slammed the door. “Right straight down the hall,” she said from inside. “Naughty man.”