Demon Child

answer.
        “Is there a chance?” she insisted.
        “A very small one.”
        “How small?”
        “One in a hundred that she'd relapse after two years of intense analysis.”
        “That's too great a chance,” Cora said. “If she had a relapse, she'd never trust us, and we'd never get through to her a second time.”
        “But what else can we do?” Richard asked.
        “I'm going to sell the house and the land,” Cora said. She spoke firmly, though her lips trembled.
        “NO!” Richard shouted it.
        “I said that we will, and I am the owner of the estate, Richard. What matters more to you? The child's health or the land?”
        “That's unfair!”
        “Is it?”
        “Cora, this land has been in our family for one and a quarter centuries. More than that. It was my father's house, the house in which I was born. I do not want it sold!”
        “I'm sorry if I've caused some bitterness here. That wasn't my intent.”
        Jenny felt sorry for Walt, for she could see that he felt terrible about the row going on before him, one that he had indirectly instigated while only trying to say what was best for Freya. He was such a gentleman, and he looked aghast at the vehemence building in Richard.
        “Richard, don't embarrass our guest. For once.” It was a spark of anger that Cora had never shown before.
        “I did not recommend sale of the land and house,” Walter said. “I urge you to reconsider, Cora. All I asked was that you give the pretense of having-”
        “I will sell,” Cora said. “I had some happy moments with my husband in this house. But, lately, its connotations are far different than they once were. I'll never be able to go into the riding stables without thinking of Hollycross and of Lee Symington.”
        Walter tried to reason with her, to spell out the less drastic plan in more detail. But her resolve seemed to be strengthened rather than whittled away. Some of her color returned. She looked fresher than she had in the last couple of weeks. Perhaps, Jenny thought, it would be as well for Cora to get out of the house as it would be for Freya.
        In the end, the argument flared up between Richard and his stepmother, more violent than before. He grew red-faced, slammed his fist into the table again and again, emphasizing his disagreement. At last, cursing mildly but fiercely, he pushed his chair back from the table and said, 'I'll take you to court. I'll try to get them to protect the land and the house for my inheritance. There's little chance, but maybe I can get a temporary restraining order against you.”
        With that, he turned, bumping the table with his hip. A serving dish, a third full of scalloped potatoes, fell from the table, bounced on the thick carpet and spilled its milky contents over the plush nylon pile. He did not stop to examine the damage he had done, but stalked out of the room.
        Cora looked shaken. “Perhaps I'd better give it a little more consideration,” Cora said. “A day or two, anyway.”
        “Oh? I thought you were determined a moment ago.”
        “Not now.”
        “Do what you wish, Cora. Don't let me or anyone influence you.”
        “Two days. Then I'll make a decision.”
        “Your own peace of mind is as important as anything else we're dealing with here.”
        “Two days,” Cora said.
        Upstairs, Richard slammed the door to his room. Hard.

----

    14
        
        The following evening, Freya disappeared.
        By mid-afternoon of that day, thunderclouds possessed the sky, great black masses of shifting water vapor that hung low on the mountains and sent thinner fingers of gray fog down to thread the land and wrap it up. Now and then, big water droplets spattered the parched earth, slapped the windows and drummed like countless pairs of tiny feet on the slate roof. But the downpour itself held back, like a seasoned performer waiting for the best moment of the evening to make his entrance on the stage.
        Jenny spent the day in her room, reading, except for two excursions into the kitchen to talk with Anna and to run minor raids on the refrigerator. She did her nails, pleased that most of the damage she had done to them was now hardly noticeable.
        At half past five o'clock, the storm was imminent, the clouds rolling and very low, the distant rumble of thunder always growing closer. The leaves of the trees whipped