The Drifter

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “I don’t need any help,” she said coldly. She was staring hard at Mrs. Baxter, her eyes never once straying to Joss. “But you will. All of you will, mark my words.”

  “Oh, Nora, for heaven’s sake—”

  “My mistake,” Joss said so suddenly that once again everyone else in the room turned to stare at him. “It must have just been a shadow or something. I didn’t mean to upset everyone.”

  “That was no shadow,” Nora murmured, and at last Carolyn spoke up.

  “Then who was it, Nora? The captain’s wife? But how can you be sure? It could have been a shadow—”

  “Of course it was a shadow,” Mom broke in impatiently. “What on earth else could it have been? Have you eaten, Nora?” When the woman maintained a sulky silence, she added, “Carolyn, make sure you fix Nora something for lunch, too.”

  “I’m perfectly all right,” Nora insisted, but her voice was barely a whisper, and Carolyn noticed how her hands were shaking. Catching Carolyn’s stare, Nora clasped her fingers together and stiffened even more.

  “Forgive us, Joss,” Mrs. Baxter said with forced brightness. “We’re not usually quite this neurotic around here. The truth is, we’ve all been through a pretty rough time recently, but now things are going to be much better. Right?”

  The room grew quiet.

  Lifting her eyes, Nora stole a reluctant glance at Joss’s face, then turned and went straight to the kitchen.

  “Poor Nora.” Mrs. Baxter sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think she’s in very good health, and I’m afraid she’s still so upset over Hazel’s death. She was devoted to my aunt, you see.”

  “How touching,” Joss murmured.

  Carolyn excused herself and followed Nora into the other room, but before she could strike up a conversation, Mrs. Baxter joined them there.

  “Nora, are you really all right? I know you have certain … ideas and such about the house, but I wish you wouldn’t share them with the guests—at least not before they’ve had a chance to settle in. Heaven only knows what he’s thinking.”

  In answer, Nora started banging pots and pans on the stove. Carolyn darted a quick look at her before she spoke.

  “Maybe he did see something, Mom. It could happen.”

  “What he saw was a shadow—much to his regret, I’m very sure.”

  Mrs. Baxter rolled her eyes in exasperation, took a long, deep breath, then let it out again, a sure sign that she was on to more important matters.

  “Carolyn, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She burst into a big smile. “He’s the answer to our prayers!” When Carolyn didn’t respond, she stopped and studied her daughter’s face. “So why are you looking like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Carolyn said, busying herself at the counter. She really didn’t know—she felt all mixed up inside. She opened a container of chowder that Andy had brought and shrugged her shoulders. “This guy’s a total stranger, Mom.”

  “Well, really, Carolyn, this isn’t exactly like the neighborhood we just moved from. People here still leave their doors unlocked. They trust each other.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Some of the people I talked with this morning in the village. They’re all so nice and wonderful people! Like that Mr. Bell sending groceries.”

  “It’s just”—Carolyn groped for words—“strange, don’t you think?”

  “What is? What do you mean?”

  “Showing up the way he did, just when we needed someone to help us.”

  “Drifter,” Nora muttered, and they both looked at her.

  “What was that, Nora?” Mom asked.

  But if Nora heard, she gave no sign. She turned on the tap water so hard that the pipes groaned.

  “But that’s what makes it so wonderful, Carolyn!” Mrs. Baxter raised her voice above the noise. “It’s like we’re destined to succeed with this place, don’t you see? We needed help—and here’s help!”

  Carolyn glanced at Nora. The housekeeper stood stiffly at the sink and kept her back to them. She seemed to have forgotten the dishes entirely. Now she picked up a long-handled knife, ran one finger slowly along the blade, and started slicing a loaf of bread.

  “Carolyn,” Mrs. Baxter went on, “if you’re going to start nitpicking, then this little coincidence should make you feel good about being here. Like someone’s watching over us. Nora, look, the sink’s starting to overflow—”

  Carolyn frowned. “You want him to stay?”

  “Well, of course I want him to stay! Nora, did you hear me about the sink? We need the help, Carolyn! Don’t you want him to stay?”

  Carolyn looked at her mother’s hopeful face.

  No, she wanted to shout, no I want him to leave, I want him to leave right now, right this very second—because suddenly I’m feeling really scared and I don’t know why—

  The water shut off. The room grew quiet.

  “Yes,” Carolyn mumbled. “Okay, Mom. I want him to stay.”

  “Then hurry up with lunch, will you? What is that, anyway?”

  “Clam chowder. It’s part of the stuff Mr. Bell sent over.”

  “Isn’t that sweet!” Mrs. Baxter started to leave, then paused in the doorway to look back. “I can’t believe the friendliness and generosity of these people! I met Mr. Bell when I was out shopping this morning, and he was so nice to me—let me open an account right away! Then he introduced me to some of the other people who came in—and they showed me where different stores were—and they told me where to shop for what—”

  “Can’t you find out something about him?” Carolyn fixed her mother with a pleading look.

  “Who?” Mrs. Baxter looked baffled. “Mr. Bell?”

  “No, that guy in our living room. Before he stays?”

  “Carolyn, do I have to remind you that the guests who’ll be staying here will all be people we don’t know? And if you’re going to be concerned with running a check on each and every one of them, I guarantee we’ll never have anybody staying! That’s not how you run a guest house!”

  Carolyn shook her head, trying to make her mother understand, though she didn’t even understand herself.

  “He was waiting inside when I got back from my walk. He was standing in the parlor. Like he belonged here.”

  “Well, the poor boy was practically frozen—did you want him to wait outside till he died of pneumonia?”

  “Mom, he saw someone on the widow’s walk!”

  “Thought he saw someone. Just like you thought you fell down the attic stairs last night! For heaven’s sake, Carolyn, anyone can be fooled by a shadow. Quit being so suspicious. I thought you wanted this to work.”

  “I … I do …”

  Their eyes locked. Mrs. Baxter shook her head impatiently, her voice tight.

  “Carolyn, we have no income. There was no life insurance. Your father, bless his heart, totally supported my being a homemaker, so I don’t know how to do anything else. This opportunity came along, and I took it. I’m doing the best I can.”

  A flush went over Carolyn’s cheeks. She looked away and nodded slowly.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. You’re right. Things are different now.”

  “Honey,” Mrs. Baxter said, moving to Carolyn’s side, tilting her daughter’s face up, “we desperately need help around here—Joss needs a place to sleep. Let’s just accept the little gifts that come our way and not question them, okay?”

  Carolyn managed a weak smile. “Okay, Mom.”

  She watched her mother leave the room, and then she glanced over at Nora. During the whole conversation Nora had been slicing that same loaf of bread—sawing the knife slowly back and forth against the cutting board.

  “Are you all right, Nora?” Carolyn asked, but the woman’s shoulders remained just as stiff, just as straight.

  The knife made a dull thudding sound as Nora laid it on the counter.

  “Nora?” Carolyn tried again. “Joss was telling the truth, wasn’t he? There really was someone up the
re on the walk, and he really did see her.”

  Nora didn’t turn. Her right hand made a quick swipe at her apron, then closed around the knife again.

  The blade sawed once.

  “I’ve cut myself,” Nora said.

  Carolyn rushed to her side, seeing the dark red flow over Nora’s wrist. She turned on the faucet and forced Nora’s hand beneath the water, then looked anxiously into the woman’s face.

  It was a perfect mask. No pain … no surprise … nothing.

  “Clumsy of me,” Nora mumbled.

  “Nora—”

  “It’s only a scratch. I’ll tend to it in the bathroom.”

  Before Carolyn could answer, Nora turned away and disappeared down the hall. Carolyn heard the bathroom door close, and she leaned against the counter, putting her head in her hands.

  “Carolyn!” Mrs. Baxter called.

  “Yes, it’s almost ready!”

  She could hear them talking as she heated the soup, as she toasted the bread, as she ladled the chowder into bowls and arranged places at the kitchen table. Mom’s voice always got louder when she was happy, and she was certainly happy now.

  “It seemed like such a perfect opportunity when I got this place,” Mrs. Baxter was saying as she and Joss strolled into the kitchen. “I’ve always wanted to open a guest house—and it was a good time for making changes.”

  Carolyn leaned over to check a burner on the stove. She felt Joss pass behind her … felt his body lightly brush against hers. She straightened, a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Well, you’d think with this being our first guest, we could at least eat in the dining room,” Mom teased, waving Joss into a chair.

  “This is fine,” Joss assured her. “Very homey.”

  Carolyn served the soup and bread. “Does anyone need anything else?” she asked politely.

  “Sit down and join us,” Mom said.

  Reluctantly Carolyn pulled up a chair, but she didn’t feel like eating.

  “Carolyn could certainly use a friend,” Mrs. Baxter went on softly. “This move has been especially hard on her. Leaving all her old friends behind—”

  “Mom,” Carolyn broke in quickly, “I’m sure all our problems are really boring to him—”

  “We’re only getting acquainted.” Mom sounded a little annoyed at the criticism. “And I’m sure Joss must know that awful feeling of having to leave people behind, traveling around like he does.”

  The black eyes shifted to Carolyn’s face.

  “I’ve had to leave lots of people behind,” Joss said quietly. “And you could never be boring to me, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn looked away, flustered. What is he doing here? Why is she letting him stay?

  “As a matter of fact,” Joss went on, dropping his eyes, studying his soup spoon, “I feel like I know you already.”

  The room seemed to grow smaller around her—smaller—and smaller still—until there was just her and Joss and the echo of his voice in the silence and the sheen of his hair as it hung dark and loose around his face—and then his eyes lifted again—slowly—and she was caught there—trapped—something foreign and frightening and terribly wonderful fluttering deep, deep in her heart—

  “—Carolyn?”

  “Wh-what?” Carolyn stammered.

  Her cheeks went pink as she realized everyone was staring at her. Even Nora, who had managed to slip back into the kitchen and was now lurking in a corner near the window.

  “Daydreaming again,” Mom teased, and Joss smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. “I said when Joss is finished, why don’t you take him upstairs and let him have his pick of the rooms.”

  Carolyn nodded and pushed back from the table, hardly aware that Mom was still talking.

  “I’m afraid they’re all rather musty and damp. We only moved in yesterday, like I said, and we really weren’t even planning on opening for another—”

  “I’d like a front view,” Joss broke in. “Is that possible?”

  Mrs. Baxter nodded. “Of course. The room right across from Carolyn.”

  Again Joss’s eyes slid smoothly to Carolyn’s face, and for one crazy second she had the weirdest feeling that he already knew where her room was.

  He smiled. “Perfect.”

  “So in case you need anything—” Mrs. Baxter began, and Joss leaned forward, nodding.

  “Yes. In case I need anything, I’ll have Carolyn.”

  Carolyn stared at him. Then she looked at her mother, but Mrs. Baxter was leaning back in her chair now, going on as though she’d known Joss for years. She glanced at Nora, but the housekeeper was gazing out the window and seemed strangely removed from both kitchen and conversation. Mrs. Baxter patted Carolyn’s arm and motioned her to get up.

  “Why don’t you go on upstairs? There’re fresh sheets and blankets in that closet outside the bathroom. Joss, I’ll turn you over to Carolyn, but promise you’ll let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.”

  He didn’t say anything as Carolyn led him to the second floor. They moved together through the murky halls, and Joss paused in each doorway, looking in, nodding to himself. The rooms felt clammy and chilled. As they passed Carolyn’s, Joss stopped. For a long moment he gazed in, then finally he looked at her.

  “Something happened in this house,” he said.

  Carolyn stiffened slightly. She gave what she hoped was a casual nod. “It’s an old house. I imagine lots of things happened here.”

  “I mean something sad. Something … tragic.”

  Carolyn shrugged. “Well … Hazel died, of course—she’s the one who used to live—”

  “No,” he said softly. “Not Hazel. And besides, your mother already told me she didn’t die in the house.”

  Carolyn kept her eyes on the floor. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She could feel him staring at her. She could feel herself getting nervous and flustered, and she struggled to keep her face expressionless.

  “It’s a feeling I get,” he murmured. “About houses. They’re a lot like people, really. They have emotions. They have secrets.”

  She still didn’t raise her eyes.

  “I’ve heard stories about the house,” she mumbled at last. “But I don’t know how true they are.”

  “Well,” he said softly. “Maybe we’ll find out.”

  He moved away from her, catlike footsteps fading down the corridor.

  “Ah,” she heard him say, “the way to the widow’s walk.”

  Carolyn’s head came up. She turned to see him standing beside the attic door.

  “How did you know that?” she demanded.

  “Lots of old houses were built this way,” Joss said calmly.

  “It doesn’t have a key.”

  “Good. We wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt. It looked like it was in pretty bad shape from outside.”

  Carolyn said nothing. He walked back toward her, and she instinctively stepped out of his way.

  “The room over there,” Joss announced and pointed to the door across from hers. “Is that mine? You don’t have to bother with the bed—I can make it up myself.”

  Carolyn hesitated. She watched as he opened the door of the linen closet. He took out sheets and a blanket and two pillowcases. He smiled at her over his shoulder.

  “Maybe you better take more blankets,” she said grudgingly. She wished he wouldn’t smile at her, it made her nervous. “That room’s colder than the others. The windows rattle all the time.”

  “It’s the north corner,” he said.

  “Well … I’ll help you with your suitcase. Where is it?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  She’d started down the stairs, but now she stopped and looked back at him.

  “You’re traveling, but you don’t have a suitcase?”

  “It was stolen.”

  She felt herself nod as if this were perfectly normal. She heard herself say, “Then I’ll have to find you some clothes, I guess.” />
  “I can get some in the village later on.”

  “Well … there probably wouldn’t be much around here you could wear anyway—”

  “Don’t worry,” Joss said. “I have everything I need.”

  He walked into his room.

  Carolyn caught a glimpse of his smile, and then the door shut between them.

  10

  “MOM, I’VE GOT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT—”

  “What, Carolyn?”

  “About—”

  “What, honey? I can’t hear you! All that noise!”

  Carolyn halted in the kitchen doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’d almost been afraid to go to bed last night, what with Joss in the house and the memory of her attic experience still fresh in her mind. But the night had been blessedly uneventful, and she’d slept like a rock. Now Mom was sitting at the table with papers strewn around her, scribbling in a notebook, while somewhere outside a steady sound of hammering vibrated the walls and floors.

  “The brochure?” Mom yelled. She barely noticed as Carolyn sat down.

  “What brochure?”

  “Our brochure,” Mom said, pencil between her teeth. “Of course it’ll have the name and address and rates and special features. But we should include points of interest, don’t you think? Special things tourists might want to do while they’re here.”

  “You mean freeze to death? Stumble in the fog and fall off a cliff? Commit suicide from severe depression?”

  “Stop being dramatic, Carolyn.”

  “Okay, how about go deaf?”

  “That’s why Joss is here—to fix things. Goodness, you’re grumpy this morning.”

  “I’m not grumpy, I’m realistic. This place isn’t Disneyland, Mom, or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Maybe if you could go into the village for me,” Mom went on, undaunted. “See it through fresh new eyes. What would attract you to come here, to want to stay in our guesthouse. Then we need to decide where to advertise. I’ve already thought of the stores here, but what about on the mainland—hospitals, universities, travel agencies, and—”