“Then you will come?”

“Definitely. And Emily’s been dying to meet you.”

Jenny laughed wistfully. “I’ve been dying to meet some people too.”

She said good-bye and went into the house. Elsa was just ready to leave. “The girls are still asleep. Tomorrow I can shop on my way in. I have the list.”

“List?”

“Yes, when you were out with the girls this morning, Mr. Krueger came in. He said I should do the shopping from now on.”

“That’s nonsense,” Jenny protested. “I can go or Joe can take me.”

“Mr. Krueger said he was taking the keys to the car.”

“I see. Thank you, Elsa.” Jenny would not let the woman see the dismay she felt.

But when the door closed behind Elsa, she realized she was trembling. Had Erich taken the keys to make sure Joe didn’t use the car? Or was it possible he guessed that she had used it? Nervously she glanced around the kitchen. In the apartment whenever she’d been upset she’d calmed herself by tackling some big cleaning job that needed to be done. But this house was immaculate.

She stared at the canisters on the counter space. They took up so much room and were so seldom used. Every room here was formal, cold, overcrowded. It was her home. Surely Erich would be pleased if she put her own stamp on this place?

She made room for the canisters on a pantry shelf. The round oak table and chairs were exactly centered in the middle of the room. Placed under the window on the south wall, they’d be infinitely more convenient to the buffet bar, and at meals it would be pleasant to look out at the far fields. Not caring if the table legs scuffed the floor, Jenny dragged it over.

The hook rug that had been in the girls’ bedroom had been taken up to the attic. She decided that placing it near the cast-iron stove and grouping the couch, its matching chair and a slipper chair from the library on it would create a pleasant den area in the kitchen.

Fired now with nervous energy, she went into the parlor, swept some of the bric-a-brac into her arms and carried it to a cupboard. Tugging and straining, she managed to pull down the lace curtains that blocked sunlight and view from the parlor and the dining room. The couch in the parlor was almost too heavy to push. Somehow she managed to reverse it with the mahogany trestle table. When she was finished the room seemed airier, more inviting.

She went through the rest of the downstairs rooms, making mental notes. A little at a time, she promised herself. She folded the curtains neatly and carried them up to the attic. The braided rug was there. If she couldn’t manage to bring that down by herself she’d call Joe.

She yanked at the rug she wanted, realized there was no way she could manage it alone and with idle curiosity glanced at the other pieces in the room.

A small blue leather vanity case with the initials C.B.K. caught her eye. She pulled it out to examine it. Was it unlocked? Hesitating for only an instant, she deflected one then the other of the catches. The lid swung up.

Toilet articles were set in a traylike holder. Creams and makeup and pine-scented soap. A leather-bound daily reminder notebook was under the tray. The date on the cover was twenty-five years old. Jenny opened the book and flipped through the pages. January 2, 10 A.M., teacher conference, Erich. January 8: dinner, Luke Garrett, the Meiers, the Behrends. January 10: return library books. She skimmed through the entries. February 2: judges chambers, 9 A.M. Would that have been the divorce hearing? Feb. 22: order hockey stick for E. The last entry, March 8: Erich b-day. That had been written in light blue ink. Then with a different pen, 7 P.M., Northwest flight 241, Minneapolis to San Francisco. A ticket unused, one-way, clipped to that page, a note under it.

The name printed across the top of the note: EVERETT BONARDI. Caroline’s father, Jenny thought. Quickly she read the uneven handwriting: “Caroline, dear. Your mother and I are not surprised to learn you are leaving John. We are deeply concerned about Erich but after reading your letter agree it is best if he stays with his father. We had no idea of the true circumstances. Neither of us has been well but are looking forward to having you with us. Our love to you.”

Jenny folded the letter, slipped it back in the notebook and closed the lid of the vanity case. What had Everett Bonardi meant when he wrote “We had no idea of the true circumstances”?

Slowly she went down the attic stairs. The girls were still asleep. Lovingly she looked down at them, then her mouth went dry. The girls’ dark red hair was tumbled out on their pillows. On the top of each pillow, positioned so it almost seemed to be a hair ornament, was a small round cake of pine soap. The faint scent of pine permeated the air.

“Aren’t they the little beauties?” a voice sighed in her ear. Too startled to scream, Jenny spun around. A thin, bony arm encircled her waist. “Oh, Caroline,” Rooney Toomis sighed, her eyes vacant and moist, “don’t we just love our babies?”

Somehow Jenny got Rooney out of the room without waking the girls. Rooney went willingly although she kept her arm wrapped around Jenny’s waist. Awkwardly they descended the stairs.

“Let’s have a cup of tea,” Jenny suggested, trying to keep her voice normal. How had Rooney gotten in? She must still have a house key.

Rooney sipped the tea silently, never taking her gaze from the window. “Arden used to love those woods,” she said. “Course she knew she wasn’t to go any farther than the edge. But she was always climbing trees. She’d perch up there in that one”-Rooney pointed vaguely to a large oak-“and watch the birds. Did I tell you she was president of the 4-H club one year?”

Her voice was calming. Her eyes were clearer when she turned to look at Jenny. “You’re not Caroline,” she said, puzzled.

“No, I’m not. I’m Jenny.”

Rooney sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I forgot. Something came over me, one of my spells. I was thinking I was late getting to work. Thought I’d overslept. Course Caroline would never care but Mr. John Krueger was so exacting.”

“And you had a key?” Jenny asked.

“I forgot my key. The door was unlocked. But I don’t have a key anymore, do I?”

Jenny was positive the lock had been on the kitchen door. On the other hand… She decided not to try to pin Rooney down.

“And I went upstairs to make the beds,” Rooney said. “But they were all finished. And then I saw Caroline. No, I mean I saw you.”

“And you put the pine soap on the children’s pillows?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, no. Caroline must have done that. She was the one who loved that scent.”

It was useless. Rooney’s mind was too confused to attempt to separate imagination from reality. “Rooney, do you ever go out to church or to any meetings? Do you ever have friends in?”

Rooney shook her head. “I used to go to all the activities with Arden, the 4-H, the school plays, her band concerts. But no more.”

Her eyes were clear now. “I shouldn’t be here. Erich won’t like it.” She looked fearful. “You won’t tell him or Clyde, will you? Promise you won’t tell.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“You’re like Caroline, pretty and gentle and sweet. I hope nothing happens to you. That would be such a shame. Toward the end Caroline was so anxious to get away. She used to say, ‘I just have a feeling, Rooney, that something terrible is going to happen. And I’m so helpless.’” Rooney got up to go.

“Didn’t you wear a coat?” Jenny asked.

“I guess I didn’t notice.”

“Wait a minute.” Jenny dug her thermal coat out of the foyer closet. “Put this on. Look, it fits you perfectly. Button it up around the neck. It’s cold out.”

Hadn’t Erich said practically the same thing to her at that first lunch in the Russian Tea Room? Was that really less than two months ago?

Rooney glanced around uncertainly. “If you want I’ll help you move the table back before Erich comes.”