The River King

by Alice Hoffman

  Mr. Pierce had been in bed when Carlin phoned, and it was fifteen minutes or more before he came downstairs. His face had the crumpled countenance of a man who’d been crying.

  “I appreciate your meeting with me, since you don’t know me or anything.” Carlin knew she sounded like some chatterbox idiot, but she was too nervous to stop until she looked into his eyes and saw the grief staring back at her. “You must be tired.”

  “No, I’m glad you contacted me.” Mr. Pierce ordered a scotch and water. “I’m happy to meet a friend of Gus’s. He always acted as if he didn’t have any.”

  Carlin had finished her soda and was embarrassed to see there was a ring on the wooden bar. She guessed the management of the inn was used to dealing with such things; there was probably a polish that got rid of the circle so that no one would ever guess there’d been a water mark.

  “I think you should know what happened was my fault,” Carlin said, for it was this admission of guilt she had come to announce. In spite of her shivers, her face burned with shame.

  “I see.” Walter Pierce gave Carlin his full attention.

  “We had a fight and I was horrible to him. The whole thing was stupid. We called each other names and I was so mad I let him walk away after we fought. I didn’t even go after him.”

  “You can’t possibly have been the cause of whatever happened that night.” Mr. Pierce finished his scotch in a gulp. “It was all my fault. I should never have sent him here. I thought I knew best, and look what happened.” Walter Pierce signaled to the bartender, and when he had his second drink in hand, he turned back to Carlin. “People are saying that it wasn’t an accident.”

  “No.” Carlin sounded sure of herself. “He left me notes all the time for no reason. If he’d meant to do it, he would have written to me.” By now, Carlin was crying. “I think he must have fallen. He was running away from me, and he fell.”

  “Not from you,” Mr. Pierce said. “He was running away from something. Maybe it was himself.”

  Because she couldn’t seem to stop crying, Walter Pierce reached and took a silver dollar from behind Carlin’s ear, an act that so surprised her she nearly fell off her stool. Still, the trick had the required effect; the tears were confounded from her eyes.

  “It’s an illusion. The coin is in the palm of my hand all the time.” Gus’s father looked particularly worn down in the dim tavern lighting. He would not sleep that night, and he probably wouldn’t for several more. “It’s my second profession,” he told Carlin.

  “Really?”

  “He didn’t tell you? I teach high school during the week, but on the weekends I entertain at children’s parties.”

  “In New York City?”

  “Smithtown. Long Island.”

  How absolutely like Gus to have concocted a false history, exactly as Carlin herself had. They’d been lying to each other all along, and this realization made Carlin miss Gus even more, as if every untruth they had told had tied them closer together with invisible twine.

  Mr. Pierce suggested that Carlin take something that had belonged to Gus, a small keepsake by which to remember him. Although she hadn’t planned to ask for anything, Carlin didn’t hesitate. She wanted Gus’s black coat.

  “That horrible thing? He got it at a secondhand store and we had a big fight over it. Naturally, he won.”

  The Haddan Police Department had returned the clothes Gus had been wearing when he was found, and these items were stored in Mr. Pierce’s room. Carlin waited in the hallway for Mr. Pierce to bring out the coat, which had been folded and bound with rope.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have something else? A book? His wristwatch? This coat is still damp. It’s junk. What do you need it for? It will probably fall apart.”

  Carlin assured him the coat was all she wanted. When they said their good-byes, Mr. Pierce hugged Carlin, which made her cry all over again. She cried all the way downstairs and through the lobby, making certain to avert her face as she passed the nasty woman at the front desk. It was a relief to tumble down the stairs of the overheated inn and be in the chilly air once more. Carlin walked the vacant streets in the village, her steps clattering on the concrete. She passed the shuttered stores, then cut behind one of the big white houses on Main Street, traipsing through Lois Jeremy’s prize-winning perennial garden before she entered the woods.

  The weather had turned, the way it often did in Haddan, the temperature falling a full ten degrees. By morning, the first frost would leave an icy veneer on front lawns and meadows, and Carlin found herself shivering in her thin clothes. It made sense to stop and slip on Gus’s coat, even though Mr. Pierce had been right, the wool was still damp. It was also bulky and much too large, but Carlin pushed up the sleeves and pulled the fabric in close, so that it bunched around her waist. Instantly, she felt comforted. She made less noise as she stepped farther into the woods, as though she had donned a cloak of silence that allowed her to drift between hedges and trees.

  It was past eleven, and should Carlin be discovered missing from St. Anne’s she would be marked late for curfew. Her penance would consist of cleaning tables in the cafeteria all weekend, nothing to look forward to, yet Carlin didn’t bother to hurry. It felt good to be out alone, and she had never been particularly afraid of the dark. These woods might be dense, but they held none of the dangers of the swampy acres she was accustomed to in Florida. There were no alligators in Haddan, no snakes, no possibility of panthers. The most dangerous creature a person might meet up with was one of the porcupines that lived in the hollow logs. Coyotes were so shy of human contact they turned and ran at the scent, and those few bobcats who hadn’t been hunted down were even more timid, hiding under ledges and in caves, rightfully terrified of guns and dogs and men.

  Tonight, the only animal Carlin came upon was a little brown rabbit, a jittery thing so terrified by her presence it dared not move. Carlin got down on her knees and tried to shoo the rabbit away, and at last it ran off, fleeing with such speed anyone would have guessed it had narrowly escaped being skinned and thrown in a pot. As Carlin went on, she measured her steps; she would need to get used to the way the coat whirled around her legs, otherwise she’d trip and fall on her face. The sodden fabric must have floated out like a lily pad while Gus was in the water, heavy and still. As a swimmer, Carlin was well acquainted with the properties of water—a person moved through it quite differently than she did through the air. If she’d been the one who meant to drown herself, she would have taken off the coat first; she would have folded it neatly and left it behind.

  She had already passed the wooden sign that announced Haddan School property and could hear the river nearby and smell the acrid scent of its muddy banks. She could hear a splashing in the water, some silver trout perhaps, disturbed by the sudden drop in the temperature. Out on the river, wood ducks huddled together for warmth and Carlin could hear them chattering in the chilly air. Mist rose, especially from those deep pockets where the largest of the fish could be found. The silver trout were so numerous that if every one had turned into a star, the river would have been shining with light; a man out on a skiff would then be able to find his way past Hamilton, all the way into Boston, guided by a shimmering band of water.

  The Haddan River was surprisingly long. It did not stop until it branched in half—one section mixing with the dark waters of the Charles, to then flow into the brackish tides of Boston Harbor, the other end meandering through farmlands and meadows in a thousand nameless rivulets and streams. Even on windy nights, it was possible to hear the current almost anywhere in the village, and perhaps that was why most people in Haddan slept so deeply. Some men in town couldn’t be roused even when an alarm bell rang right beside their heads, and babies often didn’t wake until nine or ten in the morning. At the elementary school, attendance records were littered with tardies, and teachers were well aware that local children were a sleepy lot.

  Of course there were bound to be insomniacs, even in Haddan, and
Carlin had turned out to be one of these. Now that Gus was gone, the most she could hope for was to doze fitfully, waking at two and at three-fifteen and at four. How she envied her roommates, girls who managed to sleep so deeply, without a care in the world. As for Carlin, she preferred to be out in these woods at night, although the overgrowth made for difficult going; there were nearly impenetrable thickets of woody mountain laurel and black ash, and fallen trees blocking the way. Before Carlin could catch herself, she tripped over the hem of the black coat, a misstep that pitched her over the twisted roots of a willow. Although she quickly regained her balance, her ankle ached. Surely she would pay for this foray into the woods at swim practice the following day; her time would be thrown off and she’d probably have to visit the infirmary, where Dorothy Jackson was bound to recommend ice packs and Ace bandages.

  Carlin bent to rub at the pain and loosen her muscles. It was then, crouching down, still cursing the spiral roots of the willow, that she happened to see the boys gathered in the woods. Peering through the dark, Carlin lost count after seven. In fact, there were more than a dozen boys seated in the grass or on fallen logs. There was a leaden quality to the sky now, as though a dome had been clamped down hard onto the face of the earth, and the cold was surprisingly harsh. Carlin had a funny feeling in her throat, the sort of sulfury taste that rises whenever a person comes upon something that is clearly meant to be hidden. Once, when she was only five, she’d wandered into her mother’s bedroom to find Sue and a man she didn’t recognize in a pile of heat and flesh. Carlin had backed out of the room and fled down the hallway. Although she never mentioned what she’d seen, for weeks afterward she didn’t speak; she could have sworn that she’d burned her tongue.

  She had that same feeling again, here in the woods. Her own breathing echoed inside her head and she crouched down lower, as though she were the one who needed to keep her actions shrouded. She might have gone unnoticed if she had cautiously risen to her feet, quietly and safely continuing on to the school before she saw any more. Instead, Carlin shifted her weight to ease the aching in her ankle and as she did, a twig broke beneath her heel.

  In the silence, the popping sound of cracking wood was thunderous, reverberating as loudly as a shotgun’s blast. The boys rose to their feet in a group, faces pale in the darkness. The meadow they occupied was particularly dismal, a spot where mayflies laid pearly eggs every spring and swamp cabbage grew in abundance. Something of this desolate place seemed to have settled onto the boys as well, for there was no expression in their eyes, no light whatsoever. For her part, Carlin should have been relieved to recognize them as boys from Chalk House, and even more thankful to spy Harry among them, for she might just as easily have come upon a nasty group of boys from town. But Carlin found little comfort in the fact that these were Haddan students; the way they were staring brought to mind the bands of wild dogs that roamed the woods in Florida. At home, when Carlin went out at night, she always carried a stick just in case she happened to meet up with one of these stray canines. She had the very same thought about these boys she went to school with as she did whenever she’d heard the dogs howling in the woods. They could hurt me if they wanted to.

  To counter her fear, Carlin faced it, leaping up and waving. A few of the younger boys, including Dave Linden, with whom Carlin shared several classes, looked terrified. Even Harry appeared grim. He didn’t seem to know Carlin, although he’d told her only nights before that she was the love of his life.

  “Harry, it’s me.” Carlin’s voice sounded reedy and thin as she called through the damp air. “It’s only me.”

  She didn’t understand how truly unnerved she’d been by those staring boys until at last Harry recognized her and waved back. He turned to the others and said something that clearly set them at ease, then he advanced through the woods, taking the shortest path, not seeming to care what he stepped on or what he might break. Bare wild blueberry and the last of the flowering witch hazel were crushed beneath his boot heels; horsetails and poison sumac were stomped upon. Harry’s breath rose up in cold, foggy clouds.

  “What are you doing out here?” He took Carlin’s arm and drew her close. The jacket he wore was rough wool and his hand had clamped down tightly. “You scared the crap out of us.”

  Carlin laughed. She wasn’t the sort of girl to admit she’d been equally frightened. Her pale hair curled in the damp, chilly air and her skin stung. In the underbrush, one of the frightened rabbits came nearer, drawn by the tenor of her sweet voice.

  “Who did you think I was? A scary monster?” Carlin escaped from his grasp. “Boo,” she cried.

  “I’m serious. Two guys thought you were a bear. It’s a good thing they didn’t have guns.”

  Carlin hooted. “What brave hunters!”

  “Don’t laugh. There used to be bears in Haddan. When my grandfather was at school here, one came crashing into the dining hall. Grandpop swears it ate fifty-two apple pies and six gallons of vanilla ice cream before it was shot. There’s still some blood on the floor where the salad bar is now.”

  “None of that is true.” Carlin couldn’t help but smile, charmed out of her misgivings about the gathering in the woods.

  “Okay. Maybe not the salad bar part,” Harry admitted. He’d ringed his arms around her, pulling her back to him. “Now, you tell the truth. What are you thinking, running around in the dark?”

  You and your boys are out here, too.”

  “We’re having a house meeting.”

  “Right, and you’re all the way out here because you’re going to cut off puppy dogs’ tails and eat snails or whatever it is you do.”

  “Actually, we’re here to drink the case of beer Robbie managed to snag. I have to swear you to secrecy on this, you understand.”

  Carlin held a finger to her lips, an assurance that she never would tell. They laughed then at all the rules they had broken and how many consecutive suspensions could be levied against them. They had spent several nights in the boathouse, and such romantic evenings, although fairly commonplace among students, would land them in serious trouble if the houseparents ever found out.

  Harry insisted on walking Carlin back to school. Although it was after midnight by the time they reached the campus, they paused to kiss in the shadows of the headmaster’s statue, a bit of bad behavior they liked to engage in whenever they passed it by.

  “Dr. Howe would be shocked if he could see us.” Carlin reached over to pat the statue’s foot, an act that some people said brought good fortune in matters of love.

  “Dr. Howe shocked? You’ve obviously never heard the guy’s history. He’d likely try to score himself and I’d have to fight him off.” Harry kissed Carlin even more deeply. “I’d have to break his neck.”

  The leaves of the beech trees rattled like paper and the scent of the river was powerful, a rich mixture of wild celery and duckweed. When Harry kissed her, Carlin felt as though she herself were drowning, but when he stopped, she found herself thinking of Gus at the bottom of the river; she imagined how cold it must have been, there among the reeds, how the trout must have created currents as they rushed by on the way toward deeper water.

  As if he knew, Harry’s expression turned sour. He ran a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was annoyed but trying his best to keep his emotions in check. “Is that Gus’s coat you’re wearing?”

  They were standing on the hourglass path that Annie Howe had designed with lovers in mind, but now they no longer embraced. Red spots had appeared on Carlin’s cheeks. She could feel the cold thing inside her chest that had formed when Gus died; it rattled and shook to remind her of the part she’d played in that loss.

  “Is there a problem?” Carlin asked.

  She had stepped away from him, and the chill she felt had sifted into her tone. Usually, the girls Harry went out with were so grateful to be with him they didn’t talk back, and so Carlin’s attitude was unexpected.

  “Look, you really can’t go around wearing G
us Pierce’s coat.” He spoke to her as he would to a child, tenderly, but with a degree of stern righteousness.

  “Are you telling me what I can and cannot do?” She was especially beautiful, pale and colder than the night. Harry was more drawn to her than ever, precisely because she wasn’t giving in to him.

  “For one thing, the damned coat is wet,” he told her. “Look for yourself.”

  Beads of water had formed on the heavy, black fabric and Harry’s jacket had grown damp simply from holding her near. No matter; Carlin already held a fierce attachment to the coat and Harry could tell she wasn’t about to back down. He also knew that the more sincere a fellow sounded in his apologies, the bigger the payoff.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I have no right to tell you what to do.”

  Carlin’s green eyes were still cloudy, impossible to read.

  “I mean it,” Harry went on. “I’m an idiot and I don’t blame you for being pissed off. You’d be within your rights if you wanted to sue me for stupidity.”

  Carlin could feel the cold thing inside her beginning to dissolve. They embraced once again, kissing until their lips were bruised and deliciously hot. Carlin wondered if perhaps they would wind up in the boathouse again, but Harry broke their embrace.