Room Beneath the Stairs (2 page)

“You—you don't have any friends?”

“Not one,” he retorted. “There aren't many boys my age on the island.”

“You live on the island?”

Grey nodded, finishing the chocolate bar and wiping his hands on the rock. I felt regret. I loved chocolate and I rarely had any. I wished I had taken some.

“Why do you call this your cove?” he asked.

“Because I come here every day. It's my secret place. Now it's not secret anymore. You've spoiled it.”

“It could be
our
secret place,” he suggested.

“I—I don't know,” I said. But I was gradually giving in, succumbing to that powerful charm. “You're a boy. I don't like boys.”

“Why not?”

“They're mean and nasty.”

“Do you think I'm mean?”

“You might be.”

“I rarely beat up little girls,” he said gravely. “Come sit down. I won't bite you.”

Hesitant, ill at ease, I obeyed, sitting on the rock beside him. He grinned, and I suddenly felt glad, experiencing a happiness I hadn't known for a very long time. The hot sun caressed my cheeks, the salty air was inebriating, the sound of the waves brushing against the rocks was like music. Grey reached into his pocket to pull out another chocolate bar. I accepted it shyly. His remarkable gray eyes were filled with pleasure as he watched me eat it.

“I'm Carolyn,” I said. “I don't have any friends either.”

“Well, now we both have a friend.”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“I'm glad I met you.”

“I—I'm glad, too. Thank you for the chocolate.”

“Tell me about yourself, Carolyn.”

“I'm an orphan. My father died when I was five. My mother—my mother stepped in front of a bus.”

“That must have been dreadful for you.”

“It was.”

With the calm, total frankness of children, I told Grey Brandon about myself, and he listened with a serious expression, nodding now and then. I felt that he understood, that he sympathized. Grey was silent for a while when I finished, and then he looked at me with something like anger. I knew the anger wasn't directed at me. It was directed at the world, at fate. He had experienced tragedy, too. I could sense that.

“Everything's going to be different now,” he said sternly. “I'll look after you.”

“Will you?”

“'Course I will. You're my friend.”

It happened that quickly, that simply. Children are direct, with none of the sham and pretense of adults. They respond immediately, with total commitment. A short while ago Grey and I had been strangers, and now we were bound together. I felt that I had known him all my life. We talked for a long time as the gulls screeched overhead and the waves slushed gently over the sand. Warmed by the sun and by his presence, I sighed, completely at ease now. I had never been happier in my life.

Then Grey was silent, staring across at the island with a moody expression. He had told me nothing about himself, but I assumed he was the son of one of the island fishermen. The striped jersey and sun-bleached trousers led me to think so. His tanned skin and streaked hair showed he had spent a great deal of time out-of-doors. Rowing and working on his father's boat probably accounted for the firmness of his body, which was extremely well developed for one so young.

A stiff wind blew over the water, causing his rowboat to rock with a wobbling motion, straining at the rope. Locks of sun-bleached hair fluttered across his forehead, and the loose tail of his black and white jersey flapped. Arms folded across his chest, Grey stared at the island, a curious look in his eyes. Was it sadness? Fear? Resentment? I couldn't tell, but once again I sensed some tragedy in his life. Perhaps that was what drew us together: both of us had experienced grief.

Grey sighed and shook his head, snapping out of his mood. His mouth curved in an amiable smile, and as he looked at me his eyes smiled too. He was the brother I had never had. I was his little sister. It was so natural being with him, so right. Heat waves shimmered in the air, and the gulls continued to screech, flapping overhead like scraps of paper. Grey touched my hair, rubbing a straggly lock between his fingers.

“You're very young,” he said.

“I'm eleven,” I retorted.

“You're very innocent. Very trusting, too. Terrible things happen to little girls who are too trusting. You shouldn't be here with me, you know. You should never speak to strangers.”

“You're not a stranger, not anymore.”

“I could have been someone evil. I could have hurt you.”

“Don't be silly, Grey.”

“Promise me you won't ever speak to strangers again.”

“I promise. But—why?”

“I wouldn't want anyone to hurt you.”

“I can take care of myself,” I said irritably.

“Can you? I wonder. Anyway, I'm here to take care of you now.”

He laughed, tugging my hair playfully. “Your braids are all undone,” he said. “Let me fix them.”

“You wouldn't know how.”

“'Course I would. When I was a little boy I used to braid my grandmother's hair.”

“All right,” I agreed, “but be careful not to pull.”

Positioning himself behind me, he loosened the braids, combing my hair with his fingers. Slowly, carefully, he began to loop the strands together into new braids, twisting them tightly without pulling. I leaned against his knees, my head tilted back to face the sky, my eyes closed, hot rays of sunshine stroking my cheeks. Grey finished the task, tying the braids with the scraps of blue ribbon I had used before. He rested his hands on my shoulders, fingers kneading the flesh ever so gently, and I smiled, wondering if it was a sin to be so happy.

“I wish we were older,” he said.

“Why?”

“'Cause then we could get married and run away together.”

“You'd leave the island?”

“Of course.”

“I'd never want to leave it,” I said dreamily.

He didn't say anything. Straightening up, I turned around to look at him. His handsome face was grave, and that curious look was back in his eyes. He was unhappy, and his unhappiness had something to do with living on the island. I remembered some of Maudie's tales about the place. Was it really cursed? Had all those evil things actually happened there? I didn't want to know. I didn't want anything to spoil my imaginary haven.

“You're ever so lucky to live on the island,” I remarked.

“You think so?”

“I—I live there, too,” I said shyly. “In my imagination. I go to the island and everything is different. Safe, and peaceful, and—well, different. I suppose you think that's silly.”

“Not at all.”

“Is it true that pirates and smugglers used to hide out there?”

“Sure. In the caves on the cliff side.”

“I'd love to see them.”

“You would? Then I'll take you there in my rowboat.”

“I—perhaps I shouldn't.…”

“Why not? I'll take good care of you. I'll bring you straight back. No one'll ever know.”

I hesitated, torn between the desire to go and a curious feeling that it would be a mistake. In my fantasy, the island was perfect, an enchanted place. I was afraid that if I actually went there the illusion would be destroyed and it would become a place like any other. Grey stood up, rubbing his hands over his thighs. I looked up at him, still undecided. He grinned, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.

“It'll be fun,” he assured me.

“I don't know.…”

“There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm an excellent sailor.”

“My aunt wouldn't approve.”

“Aw, come on.”

Grey took up his fishing pole and put it into the rowboat. I couldn't resist him. I didn't want him to think that I was afraid, although in a sense I actually was. I'd never been in a boat before, and the beautiful bronze-shadowed water suddenly took on a sinister appearance. Grey chuckled and, holding my arm firmly, led me to the boat and helped me climb in. It was very old, the sides encrusted with dried salt, some of the planks swollen out of shape; but it seemed sturdy enough. Grey untied the rope, coiled it neatly and gave the boat a shove. It skimmed over the water, rocking treacherously. I gripped the sides, alarmed. Grey swung into the boat, splashing water over me and gathering up the oars. In a few moments we were moving over the water, the cove growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

“Relax,” he told me. “You don't have to grip the sides like that. It isn't going to topple over.”

“I can't swim,” I confessed.

“No? Then I'll have to teach you. We'll start lessons tomorrow.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“'Course. We'll see each other every day.”

“Do you think you'll want to?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

“I—I'm not very likable.”

“Nonsense.”

“Maudie says I'm frightfully sassy.”

“Well, I'll keep you in line. You get cheeky with me, I'll smack ya. We're going to have lots of good times together, Carolyn. You and me, we're going to be great chums.”

Happiness flooded over me, and my fear of the water vanished. I felt safe and secure with him. I had a friend, at long last. It was a glorious sensation, strange and new and wonderful. I could hardly believe my good fortune. The summer had been so long, so lonely, and now everything was changed. I wrapped my arms around my knees, drawing them up against my breast, savoring the warm glow inside.

Grey handled the oars with magnificent ease. His biceps tightened under the cotton jersey, his chest swelled, but his breathing was easy, and although his hair was damp with perspiration, he seemed to be using no effort at all. I peered at him over my folded arms. With his dark blond hair and clear gray eyes, he looked like a handsome young Viking. I could imagine him sailing for lands uncharted, totally fearless like the storybook heroes. I imagined us sailing away together, leaving the rest of the world behind.

The cove was far away now, barely visible along the shoreline. We were heading directly for the island. It loomed up larger and larger. I could see the boats tied along the waterfront, rocking in the water, silver gray fishing nets stretched out on ancient brown poles. The picturesque buildings huddled closely together, brown and gray and rust colored. Beyond the village the pine-covered hills rose, but we were too close now for me to see the red tile roof of the big house. As we drew nearer, Grey changed course, rowing around the island, away from the village. Soon there was nothing to see but great gray-black boulders and dense pine woods, shadowy black-green, curiously sinister. This part of the island wasn't pretty at all. It seemed, in fact, forbidding.

The bulk of the island cast long dark shadows over the water, and daylight seemed to vanish as we rowed around to the cliff side. It was cooler here, twilight dim, the water deep purple, the rocks black, crouching on the edge of the water like giant, hunched monsters. I didn't like it at all. I was frightened and wished I hadn't come. Far away I could see the great gray cliff rising up in stony magnificence, but here there was only a low cliff, the woods above it rising in thick clusters, and more rocks, larger now. Grey rowed steadily, breathing deeply. He headed directly toward a solid wall of black rock, and it was only when we were upon it that I saw the opening. The boat passed under the natural archway, and we were in a small, secret cove completely enclosed by rock, everything black and gray and purple. Small waves lapped against the muddy black shore with the sound of whispers, echoing. I shivered, remembering Maudie's tales.

Grey leaped out of the boat and reached down to take my hand, pulling me up. I stepped onto the shore; the mud squished beneath my bare feet. He pulled the rowboat up out of the water and then, as a precaution, tied the rope onto a rusted metal ring fastened to one of the rocks. Taking my hand, he led me along a damp pathway between the rocks, scarcely wide enough for us to pass. Damp black rock walls pressed close on either side, and there was no sunlight, only a dim gray glow. I could easily imagine pirates moving stealthily along this path, cutlasses in hand, expressions fierce as they contemplated some new deviltry.

The path twisted, slanting up, and I realized we were climbing. Damp green moss clung to the uneven rock walls, and there was an odor of moss, of mud and decaying wood. I stumbled, almost falling. Grey pulled me up sharply, laughing. I tried to smile, but I wasn't enjoying this. My knees felt weak. My heart was pounding, and a strange apprehension gnawed at me. I shouldn't be here. I should never have let him persuade me to come. We continued to climb, and a short while later we stepped out into the woods. A few rays of sunlight penetrated the thickness, creating a shadowy brown-green world. Wind whistled through the limbs overhead, and there were a dozen noises: rustlings, cracklings, creakings, none of them pleasant. Grey was still holding my hand tightly. A happy smile curled on his lips. His eyes were alight with pleasure. He was enjoying himself, delighted to be sharing this adventure with me. I tried to ignore the uneasiness inside.

“We have to go through the woods a way before we reach the caves,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze.

“How far is it?” I inquired shakily.

“Not far. Hey—you're not scared, are ya?”

“N—no. It's just—so dark.”

“Not much light ever reaches this part of the island. Come on, Carolyn. You'll love the caves. They're wonderfully spooky.”

He led me through the thick woods. Although there was no formal path, he moved with confidence, knowing exactly where to turn to avoid running into a thicket. I realized we were moving along the crest of the low cliff. Occasionally I could catch a glimpse of the sunlit water through the heavy branches. Pine needles crackled underfoot, and there was the glorious fragrance of pine mingled with the salty tang of sea air. I felt much better now, my apprehension almost gone.