The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [138]
Now, she sat looking at the sordid messages and primitive drawings on the door in front of her, remembering back fifty years to the last time she had been in such a place. She had felt frightened then. Frightened and dirty. She had feared the detectives and the way they stared at her breasts. She had taken her mind to special hidden places to keep from telling them what they wanted her to say. Hour after hour she had resisted their control, at one point choosing to wet herself rather than ask to leave the room. And in the end she had won. And with her victory had come the chance to strike out on a holy mission—a journey she had come close—oh, so close—to completing.
Now it was time to embark on another.
Armstrong reached inside her blouse to the waistband of her skirt and withdrew the syringe Dotty Dalrymple had almost forced David to use. For a few moments she fingered the deadly cylinder. Then she rolled up one sleeve and skillfully slipped the needle into a vein. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. With a fine, slim finger, she depressed the plunger.
“It’s all right, Mama … I’m here, Mama,” she said.
EPILOGUE
The breeze, which had been little more than a zephyr all day, picked up suddenly, sending noisy flocks of dry leaves swirling about the gray stones.
Dora Dalrymple paused on the narrow path to pull her greatcoat tightly about her. She was, in face, size, manner, and dress, a virtual mirror of her late twin. Her incongruously tiny feet handled the steep downgrade with a sureness born of having taken the same walk each evening for three weeks.
The grave, still a fresh mound of dirt, was encompassed by a ring of pines. In the same grove a small, uncarved block of marble marked the plot where someday she herself would be buried. Ritually, she picked up the metal folding chair she had left there the first day and positioned it next to the dark soil. Then she placed a single flower over the spot where she knew her sister’s heart to be.
“It’s a mum, Dotty,” she said, “sort of rust colored. I know mums aren’t one of your favorites, but this one’s so pretty and so like autumn. You’re not upset by my choice today, are you?” Dora paused, as if listening to her sister’s reassuring voice. “Good, I thought you’d understand,” she said finally.
“People at the hospital are being very nice to me now. I think they’ve even stopped calling me Tweedledee behind my back … yes, I know. Well, it’s out of respect for you that they don’t, I think. Dotty, you got a call today from Violet in Detroit. I told her you were out for the afternoon and to call back later. I … I don’t think I can continue The Garden without you. I mean, I helped and all, but you were the one who started it and kept it growing.… But The Sisterhood is finished. All of the nurses, including our flowers, have been notified. None of them wants The Garden to die, but to survive we must grow. How will I find new nurses to join us? … Perhaps. Perhaps you’re right. You always understood human nature better than I did.… So, I could cook better than you—what does that prove? It’s apples and oranges as far as I’m concerned …
“I checked today with Mr. Stevens. Your stone is almost ready. It’s beautiful. You’ll love it, I know you will.… Okay, okay, so I’m changing the subject. I’m frightened of making a wrong decision, that’s all. You were always so confident, so decisive.… Is that a promise? … Good. In that case I think I’ll follow your suggestion and ask that lovely Janet to move in with me.… Dorothy, are you sure you know what you’re saying? Forever is a long time to stand by anyone.… Well, all right. I’ll call Hyacinth today. But remember, we’ll both be counting on you every step of the way.”
The conversation over, Dora placed the chair to one side of the grove and returned to her car, oblivious to the light rain that had begun falling.
Inside the Tudor mansion she and Dotty had purchased shortly after the inception of The Garden, she brewed a pot of tea and settled into an oversized easy chair, one of a pair