Darkling (10 page)

“Chad's not rational about Belle Fleur. He might upset the children. I think this is a bad idea.”

“But it's the history. It's—”

“It's an old man's interpretation of history, and he was one of the children Sigourney was so mean to. Why spoil the joy of the house for the Hendersons? Once you open that door, Mimi, there's no taking it back. And the house has nothing to do with the people who lived there, but the taint will linger.”

She was right. “I can come up with another oral history project, I suppose.”

“Why not talk with Si Bailey about the Paradise Inn? He has some wonderful photographs.” Her face softened. “You can see the old girl in all her splendor. She was a showplace, Mimi. I spent many an evening dancing until I wore holes in my hose.”

I could imagine it—the big band music, so romantic. Cora was a looker back in the day. She'd been in her thirties—close to Berta's age. It somehow didn't seem possible. I nodded. “That's what we'll do then.”

Cora sat back down in her chair, her face suddenly alert. “I think someone is in the bushes over there.” She pointed to the dense woods. “Do you see them?”

Night hid the fine details of the landscape. The woods were a black blur against a sky rapidly going dark. I couldn't see anything, but Cora was not one to arouse fears without cause. “Shall I call the sheriff's department?”

“Get the flashlight.”

She kept a powerful light near her bed. Storms often kicked the power off, and everyone along the shore kept emergency lights and good batteries. I fetched it and swung the beam into the woods. For a moment I picked up a pair of eyes, bright yellow. The creature stared at me, unafraid, almost as if it dared me to come and investigate. And then it was gone.

“Probably a coyote or stray dog,” Cora said, unruffled. “Go on back to the Hendersons.”

I didn't want to leave her. She seemed suddenly old, vulnerable. “I can stay tonight with you. We can make popcorn and watch old movies.” I was homesick for the days before I went to college. I loved the Hendersons, but I was one of many in the household. With Cora, I was the only one. “Cora, did you tell Berta and Bob about the fire?”

“Chad Petri's fire?” She was confused.

“No, the one … my parents.” It was hard to say it, even to her. She'd taken me in like a daughter and raised me after my own parents burned to death.

“Why does it matter, Mimi?” she asked.

“I don't want them to pity me.”

“You don't have to worry about that. No one who looks at you would ever pity you. You're a beautiful girl, Mimi. Bright, responsible, talented. Your whole life is ahead of you. The Hendersons know the basics. No more or no less. But they see you as my granddaughter and a lovely, smart young woman. And that's how we'll leave it.”

“I love you.”

“Be off with you.” She swatted my arm. “I'm going to bed to finish my Taylor Caldwell novel. Wonderful writer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go.”

“I'll stop by tomorrow with some fresh vegetables from Munch's garden.”

“Bring me a watermelon. A Shouting Methodist.” She laughed. “Those are the sweetest. And some tomatoes. And some okra and Vidalia onions.”

I laughed with pleasure. Cora loved her fresh vegetables, and it was a small thing to get for her. “I'll do it.”

11

Annie was in the kitchen when I returned to the Hendersons. Donald and Erin sat at the table, schoolbooks open while Annie wiped down the counters. As she worked, she recited a poem:

“To all the little children, the happy ones and sad ones; the sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones. The good ones—yes, the good ones, too. And all the lovely
bad
ones.”

She hit the last words hard.

“Where did you learn that poem, Annie?” Erin asked.

“Oh, I can't remember.” She winked at me. The children hadn't seen me in the doorway yet.

Donald snorted. “That's funny. You can't remember where you came from, but you can remember a poem.”

“Do you want me to tell it?” Annie asked.

“Yes!” both children chorused.

There was a pause, and then she began in an intimate voice that boded a spook at the end.

“Little orphant Annie came to our house to stay, to wash

the cups and saucers and sweep the crumbs away.”

She put a lot of emphasis in her recitation, which I approved heartily of. Memorization and recitation had fallen out of favor in the public school system, but I used it with the Henderson children because I felt it exercised the brain and also taught confident public speaking. I waited outside the door, not wanting to interfere.

“An' shoo the chickens off the porch,

an' dust the hearth, an' sweep.

An' make the fire, an' bake the bread,

an' earn her board-an'-keep.”

“You don't have to do that stuff, Annie.” Donald spoke with confidence. “Mama would never make you work like that.”

“Shut up and listen to the poem,” Erin said. “Don't interrupt.”

Annie's intimate tone continued,

“An' all us other children, when the supper-things is done,

we set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun.

A-listnin' to the witch-tales that Annie tells about,

and the Goblins will git you—If you don't watch out!”

Donald and Erin squealed with pleasure. Like most children, they enjoyed a good ghost story, and this was one I recognized. While James Whitcomb Riley's poem was scary, it wouldn't leave Donald with nightmares.

“Wunst there wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,

an' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,

his Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl …”

Dramatic pause.

“An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!”

I almost laughed as I imagined Donald's face. Now that the focus was on a little boy disappearing, he wouldn't be all that bold.

“An' they seeked him up the chimbly-flue,

an' ever'-wheres, I guess.

But all they ever found wuz just his pants an' roundabout.”

Another pause.

“An' the Goblins'll git you, if you don't watch out!”

Chill bumps marched along my arms. I stepped through the swinging door that led to the kitchen and both Donald and Erin squealed with fright. “Something wrong?” I asked with a grin.

“You scared us!” Erin was delighted.

“I'm really going to scare you if you don't get your homework done,” I said, tapping her book. “You have a lot of reading to do.”

“Why are they in school during the summer?” Annie asked. “Aren't most children out?”

“Because we're homeschooled, we can learn all year,” Donald answered for me. “We don't want Mimi to leave, and if she wasn't teaching us, she wouldn't be here.”

“That's right.” Erin leaned her head into my hip. I brushed my hand down her sleek blond hair. How was it possible that the entire family looked like some commercial for Sun-In?

“I love learning,” Annie said. “Especially literature.”

“Sounds to me like you have a pretty good memory. You were reciting, not reading.”

She shrugged. “I love narrative poetry. That short poem tells a complete story.” She hesitated. “I love to tell stories. Sometimes I imagine what I tell comes true.” Something flickered across her face that stung me like a bee.

“Then you must only tell good things,” I said. “We don't want any goblins running around Belle Fleur.”

“I'm afraid they're already here,” she said, swinging her gaze out the window. “I'd be careful outside in the dark. All of you. There's no telling what lurks on the grounds of Belle Fleur.”

Erin squealed and Donald crowded up against my side. “You shouldn't frighten the children, Annie.” She'd creeped me out, too, but I wasn't going to show it.

“I disagree, Mimi. Sometimes fear is the only thing that keeps you alive. There are goblins. You know that as well as I do.”

“What goblins?” Donald asked.

“Look what you've done.” I didn't bother to hide my anger. “Belle Fleur is isolated enough. If you make the children believe in some foolishness about goblins, they'll be prisoners in the house.” I held Donald close. “There aren't any goblins. Annie is pulling your leg.”

“Maybe not goblins.” Annie put the dishcloth in the sink. “Maybe something worse than goblins.”

I was mad enough to punch her. “That's enough, Annie. I'm sure Berta will want to have a word with you—after I speak with her.”

“It was a joke.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and pushed open the back door. “I'll be back in an hour or so. I'm going for a walk. See, I'm not afraid.”

“But you already went for a walk.” Donald's puzzled face revealed his incomprehension that anyone would walk in the dark for no good reason, especially after talking about goblins.

“Maybe she's smoking a cigarette,” Erin said, which told me that Margo was experimenting with tobacco—or worse. That Andrew Cargill, no telling what he'd gotten Margo into.

“Nothing as wicked as a cigarette,” Annie said. “I won't be long.”

And then she was gone. I settled at the table and helped Donald outline a book report for
The Case of the Missing Chums
, a Hardy Boys mystery. Erin worked on percentages. The old clock above the stove ticked away the minutes. The house was too quiet.

“Where's Margo?” I asked. She sometimes did her studies in her room.

“Upstairs. She's mad.” Erin tapped her pencil against the page. “She went into Annie's room and threw some of her clothes out the window. Mother caught her, and she's grounded for the rest of the year, I think. Daddy had a talk with her about Andrew Cargill. She started crying. She said she was going to do what she wanted to do and no one was going to stop her. She told me to get out of the room. She said she'd make everyone sorry for the way we'd treated her.”

I closed Donald's book. “Let's call it a day and get some sleep. We'll finish the book report tomorrow.”

“When will Annie return?”

“I don't know and right now, I don't care,” I answered as I prodded him up the stairs in front of me. Erin followed behind.

“Maybe a goblin will get her,” Erin said, and there was a hint of dark spite in her voice. I didn't blame her. Annie had deliberately frightened them and then left.

“Maybe,” I told her. “One thing for sure, we won't be awake waiting to find out. If there are goblins out there, Annie can handle them.”

We'd made it to the second floor landing, where the beautiful stained-glass window was muted by the darkness outside. Donald stopped and grabbed my arm. “What was that?”

“What?” I'd barely gotten the word out when I heard something on the third floor. It sounded like a dog's nails clicking on the hardwood.

“Did you hear it?” Donald was truly frightened.

“I did.” Erin took my other hand. “Let's get Daddy.”

The sound came again, and I imagined something running the length of the hallway beside the rug. Click, click, click—it moved down the hall. “I'll check it out.”

“No!” Donald held firm. “What if it's a goblin?”

That was enough to force my hand. Now I had to investigate or the children would be terrified. When Annie returned, I would have a discussion with her, for sure. “It's not a goblin. More likely it's Annie trying to scare us. She probably sneaked up the servants' staircase to get ahead of us.”

Together, the three of us crept up the stairs to the third floor. The minute we got to the top step, the noise stopped. I found the light switch and light flooded the hallway. The empty hallway.

“What was it?” Erin asked.

“I don't know.” What I didn't tell the children was that I saw strange claw marks—as if little sharpened dog paws had made them—beside the hall runner. The marks stopped at Annie's door.

“Will you tuck me in bed?” Donald asked.

“Absolutely.” We headed back to the second floor, but I deliberately left the lights on. I didn't know what tricks Annie had gotten up to on the third floor, but I intended to ask her about them.

12

Around me the house was unnaturally silent. The children were upstairs in bed. Donald had finally fallen asleep after I read to him for half an hour. Erin was in the room she shared with Margo. I remained downstairs in the kitchen, unable to relax enough to sleep.

Annie had washed up the dishes, but I picked up a cloth to dry them and put them away. Bob had offered Berta a dishwasher, but she felt it was good for the children to have chores. The dishes were part of a master plan of instruction and responsibility.

Once the drainboard was empty, I took a seat at the table. The kitchen settled into a ticking silence, the clock my only companion. There was a TV in the family room, but it was seldom turned on, a fact I greatly admired. Margo was the only child who complained about the restricted TV hours. She had girlfriends who were deeply invested in
Happy Days
and
The Six Million Dollar Man
. Not watching made her feel excluded from her peers. It didn't bother the other two children. Erin rode and Donald tramped the woods near the house.

Unable to sit still, I went to the cupboard and began pulling out the dishes. I intended to organize them. Berta's everyday dishes contained a border of colorful roosters on a white background and a cornucopia in the center of the plate. I loved the pattern and weight of each dish. When I had my own house and my family, I would have dishes like these. So many things at Belle Fleur perfectly reflected my taste.

As I worked, I hummed “Take Me Home Country Roads,” thinking about the history of Belle Fleur. Cora's hints at a darker past were more annoying than troublesome. The house felt like home to me. Berta didn't ask me to do many of the chores I did; I enjoyed putting things to right. I could pretend it was my house—I was as beautiful as Berta with a family that loved
me
.