There was, in fact, no future. She had no money to run away with the two girls and she couldn’t have hidden Jessie for more than a few days. Even to her disturbed mind it must have been clear that when she was caught Sheridan would have enough evidence to prove her an unfit mother.
The three conspirators, Kate, Mary Martha, Jessie, all innocent, all nine years old; yet Mac was reminded of the initial scene of the three witches in Macbeth— When shall we three meet again? — and he thought, with a terrible sorrow, Perhaps never, perhaps never again.
He said, “You’d better go and tell Jessie I’m ready to take her home.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Wake her up.”
“She won’t want to go home.”
“I’m pretty sure she will.”
“You,” she said, “you spoil everything for my mother and me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I would like to be your friend.”
“Well, you can’t be, ever. You’re just a man.”
When she had gone, he took out the letter he’d picked up from Kate’s bedside table before the ambulance attendants had arrived. She had written only one line: “You always wanted me dead, this ought to satisfy you.”
He realized immediately that it was intended for Sheridan, not for him. She hadn’t even thought of him. First and last it was Sheridan.
He stood for a long time with the piece of paper in his hand, listening to the old house creaking under the weight of the wind. Over and beyond the creaking he thought he heard the sound of Sheridan’s footsteps in the hall.