The Jumbee

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Authors: Pamela Keyes

BOOK: The Jumbee
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Table of Contents
 
 
 
 
 
DIAL BOOKS
An imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Published by The Penguin Group
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Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa • Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
 
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Keyes, Pamela.
The jumbee / by Pamela Keyes.
p. cm.
Summary: Devastated by the death of her Shakespearean-actor father,
Esti Legard moves to a tropical island for her senior year in high school, where she
finds herself torn between a mysterious, masked mentor and a seductive island boy,
as she tries to escape the overpowering shadow of her famous father.
eISBN : 978-1-101-46459-5
[1. Theater—Fiction. 2. Fathers—Fiction. 3. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616—Fiction.
4. Actors and actresses—Fiction. 5. Superstition—Fiction. 6. Caribbean Area—Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.K5262Ju 2010 [Fic] dc22 2009040048

http://us.penguingroup.com

To Walt, the love of my life. I see you.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I would like to thank Rebecca Sherman for being the most patient and encouraging agent I ever could have hoped for, and Alisha Niehaus for being the best editor on the entire planet (and that’s an understatement). Rebecca and Alisha, thank you both from the bottom of my heart! Thanks to my son and daughter, Zachary and Zia, who always keep my priorities in perspective. I cherish the support of my mom, Betty, and my sisters, Deb and Julie, who have been with me every step of the way. I can’t possibly include all the friends who helped me, but I would especially like to thank Maaike Schotborgh, Susan Leader, and Ed Hoornaert, for your endless reading and critiquing and re-reading. Thanks to Dawn, Rose, Sandi, Frances, Kerri, Tiina, Gretchen, Sammy, and Doug for always believing in me. Thanks to Tracy and Carolyn for introducing me to
The Phantom,
and to Cassie and her parents Sally and Bob, for giving me personal insight into a Caribbean high school theater department. And finally . . . Walt, thank you for everything.
Prologue
“Paul is dead!”
Esti’s head jerked up at the wail from the old theater building. She jammed her books into her backpack and leaped to her feet. Heart pounding, she raced across the grassy courtyard, fumbling to close the zipper of her pack. In front of her, a girl stumbled from the building, catching herself against a palm tree.
Esti grabbed the main door before it could close. Two teachers knelt beside a boy on the stage, speaking in urgent voices. Other students shoved into the theater behind Esti, jostling her to get closer. As people crowded around, she fought a rising sense of panic. She recognized the clothes and the colorful knitted cap on the boy’s head. Outside, someone yelled for an ambulance.
“I think he broke his neck,” the theater teacher said in a shaky voice. “He must have fallen from the catwalk.”
Esti clutched her pack against her chest and backed into the corner, following the teacher’s gaze to the narrow metal bridge above the stage. It didn’t look like enough of a fall to kill someone.
Not an omen, not an omen,
she chanted desperately to herself. Asking to move to the Caribbean for her senior year surely wasn’t a giant mistake; it was the most independent choice she’d ever made. Her father would have been proud of her. As a ceiling fan creaked in the shocked silence, relentlessly stirring the humid air, Esti felt the sharp coral pattern of the wall digging into her shoulders.
So what if Paul was the first boy she’d met at Manchicay High School? Half an hour ago he had appeared on the stage from nowhere, scaring the living daylights out of her. She was still trying to shrug it off as a silly “new girl” moment, but it no longer mattered. He was dead.
“Miss Legard, I understand you was the last one who speak with Paul.”
Esti looked up at the strong West Indian dialect, startled by the deep brown eyes of a policeman. The police had shown up right away, then an ambulance. They had asked Esti not to leave the scene, although they moved her to the other side of the lush green courtyard. Now she sat on a carved stone bench at the edge of the school grounds as they stretched yellow tape across the theater entrance. She hadn’t been able to watch when they carried Paul’s body away on a gurney.
“I had try to call your mother,” the policeman said, “but no one answer the phone. I need to ask you a few question.”
“I don’t know what happened.” Esti picked at the belt loop of her faded jeans. She had called home several times, more frantic with each try, but Aurora wasn’t answering. “I don’t know anyone at Manchicay. It’s my first day here.”
“Yeah, miss.” Although the officer’s dark forehead dripped with sweat, his expression seemed kind enough. He sat down beside her, his arm remarkably black next to her pale freckled skin. “I ain’t accusin’ you.” He spoke slowly, making sure she understood his words. “You teacher say you was in class today, and I know you come to Cariba Island just a week ago. But you was in the theater before he fall.”
Esti didn’t know if the sweat trickling down her neck was from the heat, or from the anxiety churning inside her. Tucking a stray wisp of brown hair back into her long ponytail, she managed a quick nod.
“Paul Wilmuth was my nephew.” The policeman’s eyes became sad. “My brother son. You’s the last one talk to he, and I had like to know what he say.”
Esti slumped on the bench, wishing she could disappear into the tranquil sea. As a distant splash sent ripples surging, however, she couldn’t suppress a matching shiver. Sharks were probably hiding beneath the calm surface out there. She should tell Officer Wilmuth the truth, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
After her classes she had gone into the empty theater to get a feel for the stage layout, determined to start the year off right. She’d been reciting Juliet’s lines for almost twenty minutes, working herself into an unexpected reverie as the theater welcomed her with its nice acoustics. The knowledge of starting from scratch—making her own name in a new theater with a blank slate—filled her with a growing sense of joy. The very air around her seemed to radiate delight.
Then a boy appeared from behind one of the sets, laughing at her involuntary scream. “Scare ya, gal?”
He spoke with an accent so thick, she strained to understand him, his dreadlocks bundled beneath a tall, brightly knitted cap. Esti wasn’t particularly short, but the cap made the boy look huge. Her heart thudded as he approached in his flamboyant island clothing, and she forced herself to stay calm. She was going to make friends with the other theater students this year.
This
time she wasn’t going to blow it.
Before she could speak, however, he laughed again. “You got no chance at Juliet.”
She felt her face turn red. How could six words, spoken by a boy she’d never met before, hurt so much?
“For true,” he continued. “You best try something else.”
She should have told him he had no right to cut her down.
You’re the one in control, Esti,
her dad had always said.
No one but you.
The problem was, she’d never been as good at clever comebacks as her dad was. Not even onstage, where she could think the fastest. So she had shrugged and turned away, blinking back tears as the boy sauntered over to a long metal ladder. She knew he’d seen her slink away, his shoes ringing against the high metal floor of the catwalk as he moved above the stage. When she reached the main entrance, she could barely drag open the heavy door, muttering the words that now tied her stomach in a knot. “I hope you fall.”
Esti forced herself to meet his uncle’s eyes. “I didn’t really talk to Paul. I hardly understood what he said.”
The policeman nodded. “He had say something? Anything?”
Esti took a deep breath. “He told me I didn’t have a chance of getting a part in the school play.”
Officer Wilmuth frowned. “That don’t sound like Paul.”
She chewed on her lower lip, trying to calm the heat in her cheeks. Officer Wilmuth looked so forlorn. “Paul probably wasn’t trying to be mean,” she whispered. “My dad died a few months ago too. I’m so sorry for your loss. . . .” She clamped her mouth shut, knowing from experience the inadequacy of those words.
“All right, miss.” Officer Wilmuth sighed and rose to his feet. “Good afternoon.” A white-skinned policeman across the round courtyard was speaking to a slender black girl with solemn eyes. They both glanced at Esti for a moment, then resumed talking.

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