Melody (17 page)

“We won't be long,” Aunt Sara said as we turned in the direction of the cemetery. There were two rectangular granite columns at the entryway. Atop each column was a sculptured bird that looked like a raven. The cemetery road was gravel and forked just after the entrance. We went left and then again left, stopping at the Logans' plots. Laura's headstone was a soft shade of gray. Under her name, Laura Ann Logan, and her dates was inscribed, Let the saints be joyful in glory: let them sing aloud upon their beds.

Aunt Sara knelt at the grave site and placed a deep red wild rose against the monument. She closed her eyes and prayed and then she turned to me and smiled.

“Laura loved the red rose most. As soon as they bloom, I bring them to her.”

“I like them, too,” I said.

“I knew you would,” she replied, her eyes bright.

She stood up and wiped off her skirt. Before we left, I noticed two fresh stones with the names, Samuel Logan and Olivia Logan engraved on them. Beneath the names were the dates of birth but no dates of death.

“Aren't those my grandparents?” I asked, astounded.

“Yes, dear. Samuel put the stones in this year to be sure it would be done the way he wanted it done.” She laughed. “The Logans don't trust anyone, even their own. Samuel wanted to be sure he was facing the east so the rising sun would warm his plot every morning.”

She took my hand as we left the cemetery. She was quiet for a while, but when the school came in view, she began to talk excitedly again, describing how much Laura had liked school and her teachers and how much they had liked her.

“They almost called school off the day of her and
Robert's funerals. So many students wanted to be there, and teachers, too.”

We marched up the walkway to the main entrance and entered. A sign directed us to the principal's office. Aunt Sara had made an appointment, so we were expected. The principal's secretary, Mrs. Hemmet, greeted us with a warm smile and gave me papers to fill out while we waited to see the principal, Mr. Webster.

“So this is your niece?” Mrs. Hemmet said to Aunt Sara.

“Yes. Isn't she pretty?”

Mrs. Hemmet nodded. She was a thin, spidery woman with long, skinny arms and salt-and-pepper hair cut into short curls that hung on her scalp like tiny springs. While I filled in information on some forms, Aunt Sara and Mrs. Hemmet discussed the town, the upcoming tourist season, and the fall's cranberry harvest. Aunt Sara gave Mrs. Hemmet the letter Mommy had written authorizing Aunt Sara to act as my guardian.

“All right,” Mrs. Hemmet said, perusing my paperwork, “I'll send for your school records right away.”

“You'll find she's been an excellent student,” Aunt Sara assured her. She had accepted that on faith, but I was confident everyone would be pleased with my grades.

“Unless something has to be changed,” Mrs. Hemmet continued, “this will be your schedule.”

She handed me a card listing my classes, rooms, and teachers. Then she knocked on the principal's door and announced our arrival.

Mr. Webster was a short, stout man, with light, thinning brown hair, a firm mouth, and thick bulbous nose, red at the bridge where his thick-framed glasses rested. His cheeks had a crimson tint and his dark brown eyes were roofed with bushy eyebrows. He greeted Aunt Sara warmly and scrutinized me for a moment before offering his hand and a smile.

“Please sit,” he said gesturing at the chair in front of
his desk. Aunt Sara sat in the one beside it. “West Virginia, eh?” he said, gazing at my file. “Coal mining country. Tell me a little about your school there.”

I described it simply. He wanted to know more about my extracurricular interests than my schoolwork, it seemed, and when I told him I played the fiddle, he raised those bushy eyebrows, gazed at Aunt Sara, and then nodded at me.

“That will be different,” he said. “We have an annual talent show to raise money for scholarships at the end of the school year. I hope you'll participate.”

“I'm sure she will,” Aunt Sara offered.

“Well then, your being Sara and Jacob Logan's niece, I don't think I have to tell you to behave yourself, Melody, but here's our school code and our rules to follow.” He handed me a pamphlet. “Look it over and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to come knocking on my door. Good luck and welcome.”

I thanked him. When I came out of the office there was a diminutive girl with a caramel complexion and shoulder-length ebony hair waiting in the outer office. She had eyes as black as her hair. She wore a necklace made of tiny seashells and a light blue blouse, matching skirt, and sandals with no socks. Her toenails were polished in bright pearl.

“This is Theresa Patterson,” Mrs. Hemmet said. “Theresa's one of our honor students. She'll show you around today.”

“Oh Theresa, how nice that you're going to help Melody,” Aunt Sara said. “I remember how Laura used to help you with your work sometimes.”

“Hello, Mrs. Logan,” Theresa replied. She didn't crack a smile. She was a very serious looking girl, pretty but dour to the point of seeming angry. She turned to me. “You have a schedule card?”

“Yes.” I showed her. She gazed at it, then nodded. “All my classes. Let's go. We're missing the American history lecture and Mr. K. doesn't like to repeat himself,” she said. She started away. I looked at Aunt Sara.

“Have a nice day, dear.”

I nodded and hurried to catch up with my obviously reluctant guide.

“Why did you get here so late?” she asked, her face forward as she marched down the corridor.

“I had to visit with my aunt this morning. She wanted to bring me to school herself and she always stops at the cemetery first to spend a moment at my cousin Laura's grave. She drowned almost a year ago.”

Theresa glanced at me, her right eyebrow raised.

“Don't you think I know that?” She paused and turned. “Don't you know who I am? Why they picked me to show you around?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

“I'm Theresa Patterson. My father is Roy Patterson. He slave-works for your uncle Jacob, so naturally they just assumed I should slave for you,” she added and walked on.

Welcome to your new school, I thought and hurried to catch up with Theresa.

School was not much different here from what it had been in Sewell, I decided. The desks were the same type and we had even been using the same history textbook, so I wasn't behind the other students. In fact, I had read enough ahead to actually raise my hand and answer a question the first day, even though I was full of a thousand anxieties. The teacher, Mr. Kattlin, whom the students called Mr. K., was obviously impressed. Theresa simply offered me a smaller smirk.

“Did you take algebra, too?” she asked as soon as the bell rang to end the period.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I won't have to do much,” she commented. “Let's go. Math is all the way at the end of the corridor and we often get surprise quizzes. I like to look over last night's work before class starts,” she added.

It turned out I was actually a chapter ahead of the class
in algebra, but I didn't volunteer any answers this period. The teacher did spring a quiz on the class, and I surprised him by offering to take it, too. Some of the other girls who had been in my history class looked annoyed with me. I was afraid that if I did better than they did, the teacher would use me to mock and chastise them. I had seen my teachers back in Sewell do that.

After math we had our lunch break and Theresa showed me to the cafeteria.

“I've got my own lunch,” she told me and showed me her brown bag. “Buying lunch is too expensive for all of us.”

“All? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“I have two sisters and a brother, all in elementary school, and my father doesn't make enough money.”

“Oh. Your mother doesn't work too?” I asked.

“My mother's dead,” she said sharply. “I'm going to get a seat over there,” she said nodding toward a table in the rear where other students with dark complexions sat. “But you probably don't want to sit with the bravas.”

“Bravas?”

“Half black, half Portuguese,” she explained and walked away, leaving me in line.

I looked for Cary and saw him way on the other end sitting with two boys. He was a senior so I knew he wouldn't be in any of my classes, but I was hoping we would at least see each other at lunch. He looked my way, but made no gesture for me to join him. Instead, he continued to talk to his friends.

Alone in a large room full of strangers, most of whom were staring at me, made me feel like the proverbial fish out of water. What better place to feel like that, I thought, than Cape Cod? The idea brought a smile to my face and I turned toward the food counter.

“Hi.” A tall, slim, brown-haired girl appeared beside me. She had the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen and a pretty smile. “I'm Lorraine Randolph.”

She offered me her hand and we shook.

“Melody Logan,” I said.

“I know. This is Janet Parker.” Lorraine nodded at a dark brunette who had harder features and dull hazel eyes. She had two prominent pock marks on her forehead, too, and, being large breasted, was quite a contrast to Lorraine Randolph.

“Hi,” she said.

“I'm Betty Hargate.” The shortest of the three pushed herself between Janet and Lorraine. She had her dark blond hair cut in a page boy and wore a cap to match her designer blouse and skirt. There was a puffiness under her eyes and a twist in her mouth that made her look as if she were smirking. Her small nose looked as if it had been planted at the last minute of birth between her bloated cheeks. She was the only one of the three who wore earrings. She had a gold necklace and a ring on every other finger, too.

“Hi,” I said.

“So you're Grandpa's cousin, huh?” Betty asked.

“Grandpa?” I smiled, confused.

“Cary Logan. We call him Grandpa,” Lorraine explained.

We moved down the food line.

“Cary? Why?”

“Because he acts like it,” Betty explained. “Don't you know your own cousin?”

“We just met, actually,” I replied, and chose my lunch. I moved quickly, not comfortable with Betty's tone of voice. They followed and Lorraine asked me to sit at their table. I wanted to walk over to Cary's table even though he hadn't invited me, but I didn't want to turn down any prospective new friends, either.

“How come you just met Cary?” Janet asked before putting half her hot dog into her mouth.

“We lived too far away from each other for our families to see each other.” That seemed to satisfy them.

“So you never knew what he was like then,” Betty concluded.

“What do you mean: what he's like?” I asked. “I don't understand.”

“All he cares about is working with his father and saying his prayers. He doesn't smoke or drink, never goes to any of our parties. He talks to us as if we're all. . .”

“What?” I asked.

“Jezebels,” she said. They all laughed.

“What?”

“Didn't he tell you about Jezebel?” Janet asked.

I shook my head.

Betty leaned toward me. “Jezebel was the wife of Ahab and worshiped pagan gods.”

“It means wicked woman,” Lorraine explained.

“If you don't know your Bible, you're in for hell and damnation living with Grandpa,” Betty said.

“I know my Bible,” I said defensively. “I just didn't understand why Cary would call you that.”

“You will, once you get to know him better and he starts calling you that,” Betty told me.

I gazed at Cary. He was looking at us with some interest. He didn't smile, but when our eyes met, he seemed to soften and nod slightly.

I continued eating my lunch, answering questions about life in Sewell, West Virginia, the music I liked, movies and TV shows I watched. The girls acted as if I had come from a foreign country.

“You can forget about television as long as you're living with the Logans,” Janet said.

“Why?”

“They don't have a television set, right?”

I thought about it for a moment and then was amazed that I hadn't noticed myself. “No, they don't. I wonder why.”

“Television is full of sinful acts,” Betty quipped.

“Grandpa doesn't even know what the Beatles sang. He still thinks we're talking about insects,” Lorraine said. Their laughter attracted the attention of everyone around us. I felt guilty sitting here listening to them mock Cary.

“You shouldn't make fun of him,” I said. “He and his family have suffered a great loss.”

They all stopped smiling and laughing.

“You mean Laura,” Betty said.

“Yes. Did you know her well?”

“Of course we knew her,” Lorraine said. They exchanged glances as they continued to eat. Silence fell over our table and those who had been looking at us, listening and smiling along with them, turned back to their own conversations.

“My aunt is still very upset,” I continued, angry at how cruel and insensitive they seemed to be. “It was a terribly tragic accident, wasn't it?”

The three glanced at each other. Janet wiped her lips with her napkin and gulped down her apple juice. Lorraine's eyes shifted quickly from mine, but Betty sat back, stretching.

“Better ask Grandpa about it,” she said. The other two looked shocked that she had said it.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged.

“Just ask him about Laura and Robert. They were using Grandpa's sunfish when they got caught in the sou'wester,” she replied as if that explained it.

“Sunfish?”

“It's a shell with one sail on it,” Lorraine said.

“Not the sort of boat to be in when bad weather hits,” Betty continued. “Grandpa knew that better than anyone. He was born on a wave and came in with the tide.”