Melody (11 page)

Archie slowly pulled into the driveway. Uncle Jacob didn't turn around again until we came to a full stop. Then he stood up and gestured emphatically for Archie to back up.

“I need the room to work here,” he explained.

“Sorry,” Archie said. He backed up a good ten feet and we all got out of the car. Uncle Jacob, his back to us, continued to work on removing the flat tire.

“Hello Jacob,” Mommy said. He nodded without turning around.

“I'll be a while with this,” he finally replied, still not looking our way. “Go on inside. Sara's been waiting on you all morning. Thought you were supposed to be here last night.” He groaned as he turned the nut on the flat tire. The muscles in his long arms tightened and the muscles in his neck bulged with the effort. The nut loosened and he relaxed again.

“It took longer than we expected,” Mommy said.

Uncle Jacob grunted.

Mommy looked at me and then at Archie, who had his lips twisted in disgust. She put her hand on my shoulder
and guided me toward the front door. The house was a Cape Codder with a widow's walk that faced the ocean. The trim on the railings and shutters was a Wedgwood blue, but like the cedar siding, it was faded by the salt air. There was a short, narrow cobblestone walkway to the front door.

On the windows were dainty eggshell white curtains, and on the sills were flower boxes full of tulips and daffodils. A bird feeder dangled from the roof of the small porch and a tiny sparrow fluttered its wings nearby, cautiously waiting for us to pass.

Mommy tapped gently on the door. Then, after a moment, she tapped again, a bit harder.

“Just go on in,” Uncle Jacob called from the driveway. “She won't hear you. She's in the kitchen, I'm sure.”

Mommy turned the knob and we entered. A small entryway led us to the living room on our right. A massive brick fire place consumed most of the far wall. There was a bluish-gray throw rug on the tongue-and-groove floor. A deep-cushioned sofa and the overstuffed chair beside it were the only things that matched. The rest of the furnishings were antiques, which included a well worn rocker, two small pine tables at the ends of the sofa, an old sewing table in the corner, and lamps made of cranberry glass and milk glass. On the mantle were framed photos. Mounted on a dark blue board and hanging over the fireplace, was a swordfish that looked at least seven feet long. Its glass eye seemed to turn toward us as we entered.

“Sara?” Mommy called. “We're here.”

We heard a pan being dropped into a metal sink and a moment later, my Aunt Sara appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

A tall woman, maybe an inch or so taller than Mommy, she wore a long, flowing light blue skirt that made her look all legs. Over her skirt she had a plain white apron, on which she wiped her hands. Her
blouse had frilled sleeves and pearl buttons closed almost to the top. The collar parted just enough to reveal her very pronounced collarbone and a thin gold chain that held a gold locket. Her chestnut brown hair hung down over her shoulders. Through it were delicate streaks of gray. Aunt Sara wore no makeup to brighten her pale complexion, and she wore no jewelry but the locket.

She might once have been pretty, but the silvery webs at her temples were deep and her eyes looked a dull, dark brown. The darkness spread to the puffiness beneath her eyes, too. She had a small nose and high cheekbones with gracefully full lips, but her face was thin, almost gaunt.

“Hello, Sara,” Mommy said.

“Hello, Haille,” Aunt Sara replied without changing her expression. The way Mommy and Aunt Sara gazed at each other made my stomach turn. It was as if they were not only looking at each other across this room, but across time and great distance. Neither made an attempt to hug or even shake hands. A deep silence lingered for a confusing moment, making me feel as if I were floundering in the world of adult quicksand.

What sort of welcome was this? I stood there, full of a thousand anxieties, butterflies panicking in my chest.

“This is my friend, Richard,” Mommy said feeling she had to explain Archie's presence first, I suppose. “He was kind enough to drive us here from West Virginia.”

Aunt Sara nodded but her eyes quickly went to me with greater interest, her face brightening in anticipation.

“And this is Melody,” Mommy added, putting her hands on my shoulders. Aunt Sara's gaze was so penetrating I thought she could look right through me. A small smile, almost impossible to notice, formed at the corners of her mouth.

“Yes,” she said nodding as if I were exactly the way she imagined I would be. “She's about Laura's size and
height, only Laura's hair was darker and she never kept it that long,” she said, sadness making her face long and hollow eyed.

“I'm so sorry about all that,” Mommy said softly.

“Yes,” Aunt Sara said, still staring at me. I looked to Mommy. What was she sorry about? Who was Laura? Apparently, she knew more than she had admitted about Daddy's family.

“I bet you're hungry,” Aunt Sara said to me, a smile returning to her lips. I smiled back, but my stomach was tied in so many knots I didn't think I could ever put food in it. “I've got a chicken roasting. Cary will be home from school soon with May. They're both very excited about your coming here.” She turned to Mommy and Archie. “In the meantime, I have some clams steamed for you.”

“Oh good. In the years since I've been here, I've never had any good as yours, Sara.”

“I don't do anything more with clams than anyone else around here does,” she said modestly. “You scrub them and drop them into a clam kettle with just enough water to cover them. No mystery about it,” Aunt Sara said, her voice suddenly harder, sterner.

“Maybe it's just the clams here,” Mommy said. She seemed awkward and uncomfortable under Aunt Sara's icy glare.

“That's it for sure,” Archie said. Aunt Sara raised her eyebrows and looked at him as if she had just noticed his presence.

“Well now, come into the dining room and make yourselves to home,” she said.

An antique trestle table stretched nearly the whole length of the dining room. It had a captain's chair at each end and four straight chairs in a perfect line on each side. Lying at the head of the table was a leather-bound Bible. There was a small pine table in a corner of the room with a vase of yellow roses on it. On the wall was an oil painting: a seascape with a lone sailboat moving toward
the horizon. I looked closer and saw what looked like a ray of bright sunshine pouring through an opening in the overcast sky with a godlike finger in the center of the ray of light. The finger pointed at the lone sailboat.

“Please take a seat,” Aunt Sara said. “That's Jacob's chair,” she added and nodded toward the captain's chair at the end of the table where the Bible lay. Obviously, no one else was permitted to sit in it. “Everyone like cranberry juice?”

“It makes for a great mix with vodka,” Archie quipped.

“Pardon?” Aunt Sara said. Mommy gave him a reprimanding look.

“What?” He recovered quickly. “Oh, sure we like it. Thank you.” Aunt Sara hurried back to the kitchen.

“Who's Laura, Mommy?” I asked. “Why didn't you tell me about her?”

“It's too sad,” Mommy whispered and brought her finger to her lips. “Not now, honey.”

Aunt Sara reappeared carrying a pitcher filled with cranberry juice on a tray with three tall glasses, each with two ice cubes. She gave us each a glass and started to reach for the pitcher.

“Let me pour that,” Archie volunteered. Aunt Sara nodded to him. She gazed at me again, drinking me in for a long moment, her eyes twinkling with pleasure and approval. It made me feel uncomfortable to be scrutinized so closely. I looked away.

“Do you like clams, dear?” she asked.

“I guess so,” I said. “I don't remember eating them.”

“She loves them,” Mommy said quickly.

“Laura loved them so,” Aunt Sara said. She sighed. “I'll go get them.”

She returned to the kitchen.

“Mommy?” I said, pleading for information.

“Just wait, Melody. Let everyone get to know everyone before you start asking all your questions.” She looked at Archie. “She's always full of questions.”

“You don't have to tell me.” He gulped down some cranberry juice. “Hey, this is good.”

“Cranberries are a big thing here,” Mommy said. “I'd like a penny for every one I harvested. I'd be rich.”

“You're gonna be rich,” Archie promised. Mommy's smile warmed and she turned to me. “Isn't this a nice house, honey? There's a beach right behind it and a dock, too.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I forgot how refreshing the ocean air could be,” she said, which I thought was funny. She had never enjoyed our trips to the ocean as much as Daddy had.

“Yeah, it sure cleans the coal dust out of your lungs,” Archie said.

Aunt Sara brought in pretty blue-and-white china soup bowls and set them in front of us. Then she brought in the kettle of clams and a bowl of melted butter.

“Please help yourselves,” she said. Archie dipped his hand into the kettle quickly and brought out a clam. He plucked the meat with his thumb and forefinger and dipped it in the butter and sucked it down quickly.

“Great,” he said.

“Use your fork,” Mommy instructed as quietly as she could.

“What? Oh. Sure.” He took a handful of clams out of the kettle and dropped them into his bowl, this time digging into the clams with his fork.

Aunt Sara smiled quickly and then looked as if she were at a loss as to what to do next.

“Aren't you having any, Sara?” Mommy asked.

“No. I'm fine. Go on. You eat, Haille.” She looked at me again, stabbing me with her penetrating gaze. I nervously reached into the kettle and scooped up a few clams. I put them into my bowl and picked out the meat of one with my fork. Aunt Sara watched my every move, approving with a little nod every gesture I made. I felt like a specimen under a microscope. I looked at Mommy.

She didn't seem to notice or care about the way Aunt
Sara was looking at me. “These clams are as wonderful as I remember them. It's been a long time.”

“Yes,” Aunt Sara said. After a deep sigh, she finally sat in her chair. “Was it a hard trip?”

“Naw,” Archie said. “Some rain along the way is all.”

“We had an unusually cold winter this year,” Aunt Sara said. She looked around. “This house never seemed to warm up.”

“How do you heat it?” Archie asked.

“Fireplace, and kerosene stoves. It's an old house, but we've been here ever since.”

“Ever since what?” Archie asked.

“Ever since Jacob and I got married,” she said. She looked at Mommy a moment. “You haven't changed all that much, Haille. You're still so pretty.”

“Thank you, Sara.”

“Melody has inherited your best features,” Aunt Sara added, gazing at me again. I couldn't help blushing.

“Yes,” Mommy said. “Everyone says so.”

“Cary, he takes after Jacob, but May looks more like my side of the family. Laura . . . Laura was special,” Aunt Sara added softly. Her eyes grew glassy and her gaze grew faraway. Then, suddenly, as if realizing we were there, she turned to me again and smiled. “Are you a good student?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“She's a
very
good student,” Mommy said. “All A's.”

“Just like Laura,” Aunt Sara said. She shook her head. “Cary isn't like his twin sister was. He gets by, but he's not much for being shut up in a classroom. He's more like Jacob,” she said. “Give him something to do outside and he'll be happy, no matter how cold it is or how much it's raining. When the Logan men get busy, the world could come to an end around them and they wouldn't know it.”

“I know,” Mommy said.

Aunt Sara sighed again, so deeply I thought she might shatter like thin china right before our eyes. “I'm sorry
about Chester. Might as well tell you that before Jacob comes in. He won't want me speaking about him.”

I looked at Mommy. Why wouldn't Daddy's brother permit anyone to speak about him even now, after he was dead? Mommy nodded, as if she had no trouble understanding.

“So how old's Cary now?” she asked, deliberately changing the topic.

“He's sixteen. May was ten last month.”

“I bet she's a good student,” Mommy said, struggling for conversation. Aunt Sara raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, but she goes to the special school, you know. Cary sees she gets there all right and home all right. He's devoted to her. I think more so since Laura . . . since Laura's been gone,” she said.

Again, I looked at Mommy. She shifted her eyes away.

“You don't like the clams, dear?” Aunt Sara asked me, poised to be disappointed.

“What? Oh, yes,” I said and dug my fork into another.

“How are Samuel and Olivia?” Mommy asked Aunt Sara. I knew those were my grandparents so I stopped eating again to listen.

“They both suffer from arthritis now and then, but otherwise they're well. I told them you were coming,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

“Oh?”

Aunt Sara said nothing more about them. The topic disappeared as quickly as a popped soap bubble, but neither Mommy nor Aunt Sara seemed unhappy about that. I wanted to know more. They had never seen me. Were they curious about me as I was about them?

The door opened and closed. Uncle Jacob appeared, a rag in his hands. The shape of his chin and mouth resembled Daddy's, but he had a longer, sharper nose and larger ears. His eyes were more hazel than green.

“Clams are sweeter this year,” he said.

“They're great,” Archie said. Uncle Jacob finally considered him.

“This is my friend Richard, Jacob. He drove us here.”

Uncle Jacob just nodded and then looked at me.