“He doesn’t seem hurt,” Mother murmured. “Start to pick him up gently, using your arm and hand to brace his back, neck and head.”
I did so, and lifted Daniel, holding him against my chest. He squirmed and tried to reach my shoulder. “He’s all right. Thank God.”
Mother and I stayed silent for several minutes, both of us, I knew, wondering how this could have happened and why. She walked to the crib and bent to check out the wooden floor under it, then searched under my bed. I heard something shake in her hand. “Here’s his key rattle.” She straightened up, her hand grasping the side post of the crib to steady herself.
At first, we heard a tearing creak. Mother watched as the post loosened and leaned toward her. She grasped it quickly in both hands, trying to hold it up and push it back in place, but the bars on her side sagged down and fell with a thud to the floor. As we jumped back to avoid being hit, the thin boxspring also came loose. It tilted at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, the crib mattress sliding off of it and slipping to the floor.
We both stood there, shaking, while Daniel stared at the broken crib curiously.
Then Mother checked the crib post that had started it all as I watched. A large screw hung from its hole at the top, ready to fall, a large crack running down the post from the screw hole. She removed the screw and studied it. “This has been stripped, its grooves worn smooth. It’s possible that the wood in the post was bad, too.”
“My God, Mom. Just think! If Daniel had been in that crib . . . .”
“Somebody took him from it. Somebody who knew.”
I hugged the baby to me. “And who knew it was as dangerous to lay an infant down on a pillow.” I looked at her, helplessly upset. “And took great care to keep the heavy bedclothes off of him, when placing him on the bed.”
Mother nodded. “Somebody obviously protecting him, on all counts.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but I’d say it was a good guess that your Bael is back. The front door is locked. No one else came in and foresaw this happening.”
“Then this proves Bael is protecting us, that he means us no harm.”
“Maybe. I’d just like to know how this crib became so dangerously defective. It certainly makes your dark spirit a shining hero in your eyes, doesn’t it?”
I clutched Daniel more firmly; he had come fully awake and squirmed in my arms. “All I know is the baby’s safe. He could have been badly hurt. Whatever miracle caused him to be removed from that danger, I’m grateful.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “I thank whatever agency’s responsible for his safety, too. Perhaps this Bael is a protective spirit watching over you and Daniel. Perhaps he’s one of many. It’s just that I’ve never seen a manifestation like this—Daniel moved halfway across the room and asleep to boot—and I’m shook up. But he looks healthy and happy, so it obviously was a gesture of love. Come on, let’s go downstairs. Maybe Dad can fix the crib after dinner. If not, we’ll have to get a new one.”
She led the way through the cheerful hallway, late afternoon sun streaming in the window at the top of the stairs, and then down to the living room. “By the way, honey, who put Daniel’s crib back together when Dad brought it back from Queens?”
“Richard,” I said.
CHAPTER 4
It had been a used crib to begin with. When Richard came over that weekend to visit Daniel and me, to talk, Mother and I showed him the dismantled crib, now stored in the garage.
We left the supernatural out while telling him our story, as we had when telling Dad and Fred. In our modified version, Daniel had been awake and safely with me in the kitchen when the crib collapsed, that Mom had grasped the crib post while tidying the room, when the whole thing came tumbling down. The three men agreed we had been damned lucky the baby hadn’t been in it. Some might think we deceived the men, but they wouldn’t have believed us, had we told them the entire truth.
Only Ginnie had been told the whole of it, while we dismantled the old crib and once again set up the old laundry basket as a temporary overnight crib for Daniel. Ginnie listened without her usual skepticism, knowing that even if someone had broken in and moved Daniel, knowing about the crib would have in itself been a psychic act. But Ginnie conveniently detached herself from our unorthodox brand of the supernatural by ascribing Daniel’s mysterious relocation to God. “Miracles are God’s province,” she said firmly, “alone. I really don’t have any other explanation, unless one of you moved him earlier and have developed temporary amnesia about it.”
“Amnesia has been under discussion lately,” Mother said wryly. “But we only told you, dear, so you could be on the lookout if anything of an unusual nature occurs.” She was well aware of Ginnie’s blithe disdain of what she called our hocus pocus. “Will you help us out?”
“I’ll be your Sherlock Holmes in all things mundane when it comes to the out-of-the-ordinary. But I doubt if I’ll ever see a ghost or spirit, and if I did, I’d be looking for the projector, thank you very much. And don’t expect me to be picking up on any telepathic conversations either. But, yes, I will keep this weird occurrence that you’ve told me about a secret, a desire I can plainly read on your faces and know from long experience.”
“That’s two for Sherlock Holmes,” I murmured.
“What?” Ginnie asked, holding Daniel and shifting him to her other shoulder.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’d really appreciate your detection work, if anything else happens, especially because you measure things so logically.”
“Appreciate my finer talents, huh?” She laughed. “I think this kid of yours has gone to sleep. You sure he won’t crawl out of this basket bed?”
“Gin, he’s only nine weeks old. And after what happened this afternoon, I definitely think someone’s watching over him.”
“God.”
Mom took the baby from her. He yawned as she lowered him into the basket bed. “And sometimes God’s agents.”
Ginnie shrugged. “I’d rather cut out the middlemen. But can we talk about something else? The baby’s all right, and all this business about dark spirits and protective auras is giving me the willies. I’ve had to listen to that stuff since I was old enough to understand English, and I’ve never experienced one whit of it. Why don’t we talk about clothes? My sister’s back and I haven’t even had time to go shopping with her . . . and Leigh Ann, they’ve got some divine numbers at the mall on Cottman Avenue. Maybe we can go tomorrow night when I come home from school.”
“Maybe Leigh Ann and I will be shopping for a new crib tomorrow,” Mother cut in. “Hopefully one with an instant delivery schedule. In the meantime, it’s nearly midnight. Time for bed.” She lightly kissed Ginnie and me on the cheek. “Try to keep quiet,” she said. “Your father’s already conked out, and you know what a devil he is if his sleep is disturbed.”
She headed down the hall to her and Dad’s bedroom.
Ginnie shrugged and began undressing. “Then let’s go mall shopping this weekend,” she said.
“I haven’t any money, Gin. And with you in nursing school, I wonder that you do, unless Dad’s being less stingy with allowance this year.”
She pulled a nightgown over her head and tugged it down. “Dad stingy? I’ve told you. You just have to butter him up. I just hug him and talk sweetly and, presto chango!, he’s as generous as can be.”
“That’s one magical act I haven’t managed yet.” I took my old night shift from the other closet, undressed quickly, and put it on. I picked up our day clothes—Ginnie’s lay on the floor as usual—and chucked them in our hamper. Just like old times.
“You