Melody (16 page)

“Oh hi, dear. I thought I would choose a dress for you to wear to school tomorrow. This one is the one Laura wore the last day she attended school,” she said holding out a dark blue, ankle-length dress. It had a matching belt. “It should fit you perfectly.”

“I brought some of my own things to wear, Aunt Sara, things I wear to school.”

“But this is such a nice school dress. Laura often wore it,” she insisted.

“All right,” I relented. It really was a nice dress.

“That's good, dear. Well, do you feel a little more at home now?”

“It's very different here,” I said. “But you've been very kind,” I quickly added before she took on a look of disappointment.

She smiled and put her hand on my cheek. “You're a very pretty young lady, a sweet girl. It is like having Laura back.” She drew me to her to hug me and kiss my hair. “Have a restful sleep, dear, so you can be fresh and ready in the morning. Good night.” She kissed me again.

Aunt Sara was fragile, but she was a nice lady. I wanted to make her happy, but I was frightened by the look in her eyes, too. She expected too much of me. I could never be the daughter she had lost.

How ironic, I thought sadly. My mother gave me away so nonchalantly and Aunt Sara would cut off her right arm to have her daughter back for an hour.

I threw myself down on the bed and buried my face in the comforter. I was lying there, forgetting the door was still open, when I heard a knock and looked up quickly.

“Here,” Cary said. He tossed the book onto the bed. “Don't lose it or spill anything on the pages,” he instructed. His eyes lingered on me for a moment and then he turned away quickly, as if in pain, and marched down the hallway to his room.

I gazed at the sign language book and then I sat up, took a deep breath to help swallow back the tears, and opened the cover.

May would never hear the sound of my voice, but right now I thought I was as small and as vulnerable as she was. It seemed she would be the only one in this house who would understand how deep my well of tears went.

I sat at the vanity mirror and practiced the hand movements until my eyelids drooped. It had, after all, been one of the longest days of my life, second only to the day Daddy died. After I put on my own nightgown, I realized it was too sheer for me to walk around in, so I put on Laura's terrycloth robe and went to the bathroom.

When I came out, Cary was waiting to go in. He had the strangest expression on his face, a pleasant look of surprise.

“Is May asleep?” I asked.

“I put out her light and say good night first,” he replied.

“I learned how to sign good night. Can I try?”

“Don't keep her up,” he said, returning to the bathroom.

I went down the hall to May's room and looked in. She was in bed, reading a young adult novel. I had to move up to the bed for her to see me. She lowered the book and smiled. Then I signed good night.

Her face beamed and she signed back. Then she held out her arms. I embraced her and kissed her cheek, signed good night again, and left her room. Cary glanced at me and as we passed in the corridor I said, “Good night.”

“Good night,” he mumbled, sounding as if I had forced him to say it.

It brought a smile to my face.

I returned to my room, closed the door, and slipped under the comforter. The windows were still open, but I didn't mind the breeze. It was a comfortable bed, the sort I could snuggle in.

I gazed at Papa George's pocket watch, running my fingers over its outside. Then I opened it carefully and touched the blade of grass I had taken from Daddy's grave. The watch tinkled its tune. It gave me comfort.

I didn't want to think of anything sad. I didn't want to remember Mommy driving off. I didn't want to hear Uncle Jacob's harsh words, yet they rang in my ears. “The sins of the father weigh on the shoulders of his sons and daughters?” What sins?

Outside the window, the sound of the ocean's waves stroking the shore resembled a lullaby. In the darkness of the room, I wondered about Laura falling asleep to the same rhythmic ocean song. I wondered about her hopes and dreams, and her fears, too.

Then suddenly, I couldn't help crying for my mother. I closed Papa George's watch and put it back on the night table.

I took a deep breath and then I signed good night to myself. I closed my eyes and hoped for the magic of sleep.

7
 
“Grandpa” Cary

Sunlight filtered through the wall of morning fog. First it trickled, then it poured through my bedroom windows: lifting darkness and sleep from my eyes. I blinked and stared at my new surroundings, feeling still embroiled in an elaborate dream. This entire journey, Mommy's leaving me in the home of my estranged relatives, my waking in my dead cousin's room, had to be part of some nightmare I had suffered after Daddy's death. Surely, if I blink again, I thought, I will be back in Sewell. Any moment I might wake up, get dressed, have breakfast, see Mama Arlene and Papa George, and then be on my way to school. I'll just close my eyes, take a deep breath, make a wish, and when I open them again, all will be as it was.

But the door of the room opened before I could make my wish. Aunt Sara stood there, her lips formed in an O, her eyes wide. Her palms rested on her chest. Then she blinked rapidly and smiled down at me.

“Good morning, dear,” she said. “I'm sorry if I frightened you, but when I opened the door and looked in and saw you there in Laura's bed . . . just for a moment it was as if Laura hadn't. . . Laura was still
here. Did you sleep well? But of course you did,” she said, answering her own question. “Laura's bed is so comfortable, isn't it?”

I rose on my elbows and then sat against the headboard and ground the traces of sleep from my eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Oh, it's early. We rise early. Jacob wanted me to wake you with everyone else, but I told him you had such a trying day yesterday you needed a little extra sleep. Cary and your uncle Jacob have been up for more than an hour preparing the boat. I've already made them and Roy breakfast.”

“Roy?”

“Jacob's assistant.”

“Oh. Then May is up, too?”

“Yes, she's eating breakfast.” Aunt Sara spotted something and entered the room. “She and Cary will be off to school soon. But that's all right.” Aunt Sara went to the dresser and moved a picture of Laura back to the exact place it had been. She turned to me. “You and I will have a little time together and then we'll walk to school, stopping at Laura's grave in the cemetery. I visit her every morning.” She returned to the doorway. “Come down as soon as you're ready.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It's going to be a glorious day. I can feel it.”

She left and closed the door. I gazed at the picture on the dresser. I had obviously not put it back exactly where I had found it.

The room was brightening with the strengthening morning light. More than ever I felt that I was invading a shrine. I felt guilty enjoying the things my cousin Laura should be enjoying—her bed, her clothes, her beautiful vanity table.

Nevertheless, after I showered, I put on the dress Aunt Sara had chosen for me to wear on my first day in a new school. I had seen how important it was to her that I do so and I didn't have the heart to refuse. I gazed at myself
in the mirror. Were there any resemblances between me and my dead cousin? There were none I could see beyond the general things: both of us being about this height and weight when she was my age. Our hair color wasn't the same, nor our eyes, nor the shapes of our faces.

Cary and May were already gone by the time I went downstairs.

“I knew that dress would fit. I just knew it!” Aunt Sara flitted around the kitchen excitedly. She had prepared something she called flippers, fried dough that accompanied my eggs. It was good. She sat and sipped coffee, watching me eat, describing the town, the school, the places Laura enjoyed, the things Laura liked to do.

“She was always in the school plays. Were you ever in a school play?”

“No, but I was in the school's talent show, playing my fiddle.”

“Oh. Laura wasn't musically inclined. She sang in the chorus, but she didn't play an instrument.” She thought a moment and then smiled. “I imagine she could have though. Laura could do just about anything she put her mind to.

“I was so different,” Aunt Sara continued. “I only went as far as high school. My father didn't believe a young girl needed much formal education. My mother wanted me to go to college, but I didn't know for what. I was never the best student. It was finally decided I would marry Jacob and be a homemaker.”

“What do you mean it was decided?” I asked.

“Jacob's father and my father were close. They were matchmaking Jacob and me before we went to high school.” She followed that with a light laugh that reminded me of tinkling glasses.

“But weren't you in love with Uncle Jacob?”

“I liked him, and my mother always said love was something you grow into rather than something that explodes in your heart the way romance novels and movies portray it. Real, lasting love, that is.” She nodded,
her face firm. “It makes sense. That's why there are so many divorces nowadays. People claim to fall in love rather than grow into love. Growing into love takes time, commitment, dedication. It's as Jacob says, marriage and love are just other kinds of investment.”

“Investment? Love?” I nearly laughed at the idea.

“Yes, dear. It's not as silly as you think it sounds.”

“My father fell in love with my mother,” I insisted. “He told me so many times.”

“Yes, I know,” she muttered sadly and looked away.

“Isn't it true that everyone in the family was upset about it only because my mother was an orphan?”

“Who told you that?” A curious, tight smile appeared on Aunt Sara's face.

“My mommy.”

“No one disliked your mother for being an orphan. That's silly. Everyone was always kind to her, especially Samuel and Olivia.”

“I don't understand. Why else did this family stop talking to my daddy? Wasn't it just because he married her?” I continued.

Aunt Sara bit down on her lower lip and then rose and began clearing the dishes.

“Uncle Jacob told me my daddy didn't honor his father and mother. Wasn't that what he meant?” I pursued.

“I don't like to talk about Chester and Haille.” Aunt Sara was near tears. “Jacob forbids it.” She took a deep breath, as if the subject stole the air from her lungs.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you,” I told her. She took another breath and nodded.

“It's over and done. As Jacob always says, we've got to go with the tide. You can't fight the tide. Now you're here and I would like you to be happy with us.” She turned, smiling again. She could flip emotions like someone surfing television channels. “Okay, dear?”

I pouted for a moment. Why was it all such a great secret? What more could there be?

“Let's get ready to go to school, dear.”

I nodded, rose from the table, and went upstairs to take one last look at myself. I had my hair brushed down and tied loosely with a light pink ribbon I had found in Laura's vanity drawer. I dabbed some of her cologne behind my ears, but decided not to wear lipstick. I noticed that the tiny freckles that were under my eyes looked more prominent. There was nothing I could do about that. Cake makeup only seemed to emphasize the freckles.

Going to a new school and making new friends was terrifying. I had seen how other girls who had moved to Sewell were sometimes treated the first few days and how nervous and timid most of them were. I always felt sorry for them and tried to help them get oriented quickly, but some of my friends felt threatened by new faces. Boys were always more interested in fresh faces, at least for a while, and every girl who had a steady boyfriend was paranoid.

Aunt Sara was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Just as I started to descend, she stopped me. “You're going to need a pen, a pencil, and a notebook. They're on Laura's desk, honey,” she instructed.

I hesitated, then returned to the room. Taking the pen and the pencil was fine, but the notebooks all had Laura Logan written on their front covers in big, black letters. Many of the pages were written on, too. I'll take one for now, I thought, and get a new notebook later.

Aunt Sara was pleased. “Laura usually made her own lunch for school, but since you had so little time this morning, I decided to give you the money to buy your lunch.” Aunt Sara put two dollars into my hand.

“Thank you, Aunt Sara.”

“I want you to be happy.” She kissed me on the cheek. “You look so pretty, so perfect. Like Laura.”

We started toward town. The fog had burned away and left a turquoise sky dabbed with puffy clouds moving quickly with the wind. There were many fishing boats
and sailboats in the bay, and off in the distance, gliding against the horizon, was a large cargo vessel. To my left, junipers on a hill swayed in a melancholy rhythm. Aunt Sara explained that just beyond the bend in the road was the cemetery.