Sick of Shadows by Sharyn McCrumb Page B

room.
    Elizabeth and Dr. Shepherd exchanged puzzled looks. Amanda, who had been following Eileen down the hall and had witnessed the scene, hurried up to him. “Dr. Shepherd! Really, I must apologize for my daughter’s behavior! Even for a nervous bride, such manners are inexcusable! And I’m going to go right up and tell her so.”
    “No, please don’t. You don’t need to apologize, Mrs. Chandler. Eileen is naturally very tense at this time. It’s much more important to understand the underlying—”
    He was interrupted by a crash from the upstairs hall, followed by renewed sobbing.
    “Was there by any chance a mirror in the upstairs hall?”
    Amanda nodded grimly. “There was.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    E ILEEN’S FAILURE to appear at dinner was attributed to her fatigue from painting. The family ate at six, which Elizabeth considered unusually early, but no one else seemed to think it was strange.
    Amanda, apparently under the impression that two doctors would be ideal dinner companions, had placed Carlsen Shepherd next to her husband, but Dr. Chandler’s monologue on colonial medicine seemed less than successful as a conversational gambit.
    “What do you think is really the matter?” Elizabeth whispered to Geoffrey, who was sitting next to her.
    “I don’t know. I tapped on her door, but she howled at me to go away. I expect she’d let Satisky in, but he seems to have an aversion to hysterical females, even if he’s engaged to one.”
    Across the table, Satisky was cutting his meat with studied concentration. His movements were slow and cautious, as though he were trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
    “He seems like a nice guy. Dr. Shepherd, I mean.”
    Geoffrey continued to stare at Satisky.
    “And, Geoffrey, she did invite him herself.”
    “Maybe Mother’s right about wedding nerves,” said Geoffrey.
    Alban had not been asked to dinner, but had phoned to say that he would be over later. Elizabeth hoped she would have a chance to talk to him; maybe things would make sense to him.
    Amanda had abandoned her role of effusive Southern hostess, and spent most of the meal conversing with Captain Grandfather in a quiet undertone. She ate very little and excused herself early, pleading that she had a headache.
    Elizabeth found the tension annoying, so she left the table soon after Amanda did, and went upstairs to Eileen’s room. The door was locked.
    “Eileen?” she called, knocking gently. “It’s Elizabeth.”
    There was no sound from within. With a sigh, Elizabeth gave up and started to her own room. The empty frame of the mirror stood crookedly against the wall; the glass shards on the floor had already been cleared away by the unobtrusive Mildred. Elizabeth wondered why Eileen chose to hit the mirror: was it deliberate or did she simply lash out at the first thing she saw?
    “Elizabeth?”
    She turned. Eileen had opened her door partway and stood looking at Elizabeth with a pitiful expression.
    “I came up to see if you were all right,” said Elizabeth.
    Eileen’s eyes welled with tears. She peered anxiously toward the stairs as if she were afraid that someone else would see her. Impatiently she motioned to Elizabeth. When the door was safely shut behind them, Eileen sat on her bed and hugged a yellow stuffed bear, resting her chin on the top of its head. Elizabeth sat in a chair beside the dresser.
    “Everybody is very worried about you,” she said in what she hoped was a sympathetic tone.
    “I’ll bet they are! I know what they’re thinking!” Her voice quavered.
    Oh, God, thought Elizabeth. If I set off another attack of hysterics, Aunt Amanda will tar and feather me. Soothingly, she said, “You’re just nervous because you’re getting married next week. You have all these plans to cope with, and you’ve been trying to finish that painting. I know what a strain it can be to have to finish something by a certain time. You’re wearing yourself out, aren’t you?”
    Eileen