Darkling

by R. B. Chesterton

  “Let’s stop by the cemetery.” Donald was happiest outside, and the old wrought-iron-enclosed burial ground for the Desmarais family held no horrors for him. We’d done tombstone etchings, and I found the marble statuary melancholy but also an interesting art form. Since our biology field trip had been a bust, the cemetery might yield a history lesson.

  “Annie might be interested,” I said.

  “Margo went on to the house.” Erin was slightly miffed that her older sister defied the rules and seemed to get away with it. “It’s hot and the mosquitoes are feasting on my legs.”

  “Berta won’t be pleased with Margo. Let’s give some time for the dust to settle,” I said. Margo had to learn, and the lesson would be as painful as she made it. “Part of growing up is learning that there are consequences to our actions. Margo is about to learn that in spades.”

  “You’re right. Let’s stay outside for a little longer.” Erin didn’t like confrontation.

  We veered down a narrower path. Hoof prints told the story of Erin’s latest ride. His fear forgotten, Donald ran ahead and pushed open the wrought-iron gate to the cemetery, an enclosure that covered a couple of acres. The perimeter had been planted in cedar trees, and as we entered I touched the gnarled trunk of a tree over two hundred years old.

  “Mimi!” Donald’s cry brought me to full alert.

  “Donald!” He’d ducked behind one of the larger, more ornate monuments, and I couldn’t see him. I found him a moment later standing beside the broken image of an angel. The marker had graced the grave of Sigourney Desmarais, Henri’s wife. As I stepped closer, I felt a chill of distaste. The figure once had all of the accoutrements of a heavenly host, but she had fallen into ruin. The marble eyes were blackened by mold. She lay on the ground, her wings snapped from her body.

  “What a shame,” I said. I doubted the markers were monetarily valuable, but they were of historical interest. They’d been created at a time when statuary was a mark of wealth. The more ornate, the more revered the dead person.

  Donald knelt beside the fallen angel. His hand traced the words at her base. “Death has not marred your physical beauty, and God have mercy on your soul.”

  “Do you think Sigourney was beautiful?” Donald asked. “She must have been. She had the biggest tombstone of all. She had an angel, but now it’s broken.”

  “Maybe Bob can repair it,” I said.

  “I want to be cremated.” Erin glanced around. “I don’t like this place. I don’t want to be buried anywhere.”

  “Dead people can’t hurt you,” Annie said. “It’s the living you have to keep an eye on.” She stood back from us, almost as if she were reluctant to get too close to the graves.

  “Do you really think Dad can fix the angel?” Donald was deeply worried.

  “We can ask.”

  “Henri and Sigourney were the … founders of the family here.” Donald talked to Annie. “They had a daughter, Chloe. She’s buried over there.” He pointed toward a tombstone with a lamb lying beside a lion.

  “That’s an ornate marker, too,” Annie said. She walked over, slowly. “Born 1858, died 1874. A hundred years ago.” She looked at me. “She was only sixteen. What did she die of?”

  I shook my head. “We’ve looked for records of her death, but we can’t find any. According to my grandmother, Sigourney fell down the stairs in the house. Henri died of a fever. But we couldn’t find the records for the daughter, Chloe. She was said to be ravishing, but shy. There are lots of local stories about her beauty and how Henri meant to create the most original scent in the world and name it for her. It is strange that no one knows what happened to her.”

  “Maybe she didn’t really die,” Annie said. “Maybe she ran away or something.”

  It was a peculiar thing to say. “But the tombstone has a death date.”

  Annie shrugged. “Rich people can make things look exactly as they want them to.”

  “Do you think the police would come and see who pushed over the angel?”

  Donald was all but obsessed.

  “We’ll tell Bob. He’ll know what to do.”

  Erin looked concerned. “We aren’t far from the barn. What if they messed with Cogar?”

  “Bob will take care of it, but we’ll stop by and check on your horse just to put your mind at rest.”

  “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a father like that,” Annie said to Erin. “And a tutor like Mimi.”

  I was about to comment when in the distance I heard a scream so shrill, I winced. My gut reaction came a split second later. “Margo!” She was the only one of my brood who’d wandered away. While her pique might have sent her down the path alone, I’d allowed it.

  “Come!” I grasped Donald’s hand and ran toward the path Margo had taken.

  The scream came again, high-pitched and frightened.

  “What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.

  Annie, so thin and dainty looking, shot past me. She ran like a gazelle. I’d never seen a human cover ground so quickly and effortlessly.

  “Annie! Wait! It could be dangerous.”

  She didn’t pause or look back. She disappeared behind a cluster of oak trees, and I was left trying to keep up with Erin and tugging Donald behind me.

  8

  We broke through a thicket of wild azaleas and stumbled to a stop. Margo stood in the center of the path, her arms wrapped around the neck of a dark-haired boy who kissed her with a passion that bent her backwards. He hugged her to him tightly, lifting her and spinning as they held the kiss. Margo’s blue canvas shoes flew from her feet into the bushes. Annie was not a yard away and they totally ignored her.

  “Margo!” I spoke sharply.

  She broke from the embrace, flushed but bold. “I suppose you’re going to tell Mother about this, too. I don’t care. I’m sick of doing everything she says. I’m old enough to know what I want.”

  Arguing with Margo would be spitting into the wind. “Andrew, you should leave. Now.” I recognized the boy. He’d graduated from high school this past year. Andrew Cargill, captain of the Coden High School football team and the owner of a muscle car that ripped down the county roads at breakneck speeds. He was a bad boy through and through with no ambitions. The military draft had ended—no hope he’d be called up for duty. He’d been sniffing around Margo all summer and would continue until someone put a stop to it. Or he got arrested for dealing dope. It wasn’t a well-kept secret in town that he made a little extra cash, on top of his mechanic job, with the weed he grew in the woods.

  “Good to see you, Mimi.” He grinned. The boy had the very devil of charm in his smile.

  I nodded. It was clear he had no fear of, or respect for, me. He kissed Margo’s lips briefly. “See ya later, babe.” He sauntered down the path.

  I caught Margo’s wrist. “Did he follow us down to the swamp?” I asked. “He was in the woods watching us, wasn’t he? That was Andrew sneaking around.” That he’d made me afraid roused my anger.

  Margo shrugged as she felt around in the bushes for her shoes. “He jumped out of those azaleas and almost made me pee my pants.” She laughed. She was hooked on the boy and saw no reason to hide it. “Are you going to tell Mother?”

  “Why would you kiss him knowing we were coming along behind you? You wanted to be caught. You should tell your mother yourself.”

  She shrugged. “I’m tired of sneaking around. I’ve been seeing Andrew since May. He’s cute and sexy and he treats me like I’m a person and not a child. Mother has Annie to be her little baby girl now. She can let me be free.”

  “Berta won’t approve of Andrew, especially not if you’re sneaking around.” That was an understatement.

  “She’ll never approve of me. You’re so perfect, Mimi, and Annie is so wonderful. She doesn’t see me, not me, separate from her. She thinks I’m going to UCLA, her alma mater. I’m not. Not unless Andrew goes. We’re going to get married.”

  “Not likely. Annie, please take the chi
ldren to the house.” I motioned the children to go ahead of us. I wanted a serious word with Margo. When we were alone, I grabbed her arm, and not gently. “Listen to me. You are about to screw up your life. Andrew doesn’t have the ambition, the finances, or the drive to go to a top school. You do.”

  “No, I don’t. Mother does. That’s what she wants. That’s her fantasy of my life. That’s what she did and she thinks I should follow every step she took. Lot of good it did her. Look at her now, tending her vegetable garden in Coden, Alabama. The freaking back woods without even a movie theater. I’m not living her life over for her so she can get it right. I’ll join the Reverend Sun Myung Moon and sell roses at the crossroads before I turn into her. At least with the Moonies Andrew and I can be together!” She dashed her sweaty bangs off her forehead.

  Her reference to the North Korean businessman who’d recently moved to Bayou La Batre and started the Unification Church, an organization that most locals viewed as nothing more than a cult, showed me how desperate she’d become. Members of Moon’s church, Moonies, worked for no wages, living within the framework of the church. Margo’s threat, and threat was all it was because she couldn’t go a day without her cosmetics, fine clothes, and luxuries, would torment Berta, though.

  “That’s something you should take up with your parents,” I said calmly. The temptation to argue was strong, but I didn’t. This was Bob and Berta’s battle, not mine. I was responsible for her safety when she was in my charge, but I couldn’t govern her personal life. I brushed past her and continued to the house. At least the mystery of the person watching us at the lilies was explained. Andrew Cargill. Berta would not be pleased that the young man was lurking around on Henderson property with the clear intention of seducing Margo.

  Berta returned from town before lunch, and we threw together sandwiches and lemonade. The children were reading the stories I’d assigned them, and Berta turned the radio on in the kitchen so we could listen to the local Mobile disc jockey’s humorous ramblings. Doctor Love was a show Berta and I both enjoyed at lunch time. The local spin jockey, who took calls from listeners, handed out ridiculous advice for teenagers in love. The silly radio show had become part of the daily routine at Belle Fleur. We listened as we prepared lunch, and Berta often offered counter-advice, which was sensible.

  “Can I help?” Annie stood in the kitchen doorway.

  “We’ve got it, Annie. Are you through with your book?” I’d assigned her To Kill a Mockingbird.

  “Yes. I love that story. I read it before.”

  “Oh, really. When?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. I only know I remember the story. Atticus Finch, a lawyer.” She went to the counter and began to shake out the lettuce Berta had washed. “He was a good man. He reminds me of Bob.”

  “Except Bob is an architect and isn’t Southern.”

  “But Bob would stand up for what’s right. He would. Even if it cost him.”

  Berta stopped behind Annie and pulled her wild hair back and began to loosely braid it. “That’s a nice thing to say, Annie. Bob will be flattered.”

  “Did Mimi tell you what happened in the woods today?” Annie asked.

  The bottom dropped out of my stomach. Andrew Cargill’s influence on Margo weighed heavily on me, but I wanted to give Margo a chance to tell Berta herself.

  Berta dropped Annie’s hair and tilted her head at me. “What happened?”

  “Erin nearly walked into a moccasin in a tree. Donald saved her.”

  “I hate the snakes here. Everything is just so … lush. The grass, the trees. There’s too much of everything, and it’s soft and wet.” She shook. “Maybe you should stay out of the woods until winter.”

  Berta was overreacting, but it would be nothing compared to what she’d do when she heard about Andrew Cargill. I gave Annie a warning look, but her expression was all innocence. I wondered if she was so naïve, or if she meant to get Margo in trouble. “Did you get any of the library books?” I changed the subject.

  “I did.” Berta washed her hands and went to her book bag and withdrew several volumes. “I found this local history on south Mobile County that showed the area as it had been from the boom period of the 1880s up to 1906, when the ‘second September storm’ struck with tides ten feet and above.” She shuddered. “I hope we don’t have a hurricane while we’re living here. Anyway, Coden was devastated. Some thirty people drowned.”

  I’d heard about the numerous hurricanes that hit around Coden, but it was the 1906 storm that extracted a high cost in my little community. “The storms are horrible. Some summers, they hit all around us. But Belle Fleur has withstood all the storms since it was built.” I looked up to see Donald and Erin standing in the doorway. “Come and look at the history book on Coden your mother found.”

  With Donald and Erin on either side of me and Annie at my shoulder, we leafed through the local history volume. I noted the author was Chad Petri, a Coden native. I knew his grandson, Trevor.

  “And one of the grandest homes on the Coden shore was that of Henri and Sigourney Desmarais.…” I flipped the page, only to find that the story had jumped to shrimp production.

  “The pages have been removed.” Erin pointed to the thin stubs of what would have been two or three pages. Checking the page numbers, I saw she was correct.

  “Who would deface a history book?” I closed it.

  “They cut out the story of our house.” Donald was disappointed.

  Berta came over to look. “That’s awful. Who would do such a thing?”

  “I’ll see if the library can order another copy.” I put the book aside. Another idea came to me. “If we can’t get the information from a book, maybe the author will remember. I know the Petri family. Mr. Chad is still alive. Cora will know if he’s in a good mental state. If he is, maybe he can tell us the story of Belle Fleur.”

  “That’s even better than reading a book.” Donald was all about field trips.

  “I’ll call Cora and see if she can set up an interview with Chad. It would be an excellent report for each of you to write.” I glanced around the room, aware that Margo was missing. Lately she’d been pulling a disappearing act whenever my attention shifted. She was setting herself up for serious trouble with her parents.

  A knock at the front door sent Donald flying down the hall. His sneakers gripped the hard wood floor, squeaking, as he raced. He swung the door open without looking first. “Cora!”

  “Erin, see if you can find Margo, please.” I spoke softly. In a way I felt sorry for Margo. The phase that had settled on her was unpleasant for her as well as everyone else. She wasn’t a bad kid, she was just headstrong and used to getting her way. I’d had a few problems with her at the first of the summer, but ever since Annie had come into the house, Margo had been impossible. The hard truth was that she only made matters worse for herself by sneaking away and back-talking. She was going to end up confined to her room.

  Donald and Cora came down the hall singing a song about Daniel Boone. I gave them a round of applause before I put on a pot of coffee. I was glad to see Cora. She might have some insight into Margo and how best to handle her. She’d certainly know more about Andrew Cargill than I did.

  “We’re doing a report on Belle Fleur,” Donald told Cora. “Can you make us an appointment with Chad Petri? We want to tape-record him when we ask questions about Coden and the house and all the things that happened here. Maybe he’ll know about the movie star girl who drowned.”

  “What’s the sudden interest in local history?” Cora gave me a curious look.

  “Actually, it’s because of Annie and her stories that Berta got the idea to study the area. It’s a wonderful chance for the children to speak with a living source.” I grinned at Berta as I talked. “Annie did some research and she’s whetted our appetites to know the whole truth about Belle Fleur.”

  “Mimi, you know all about the house,” Cora said. “There really isn’t any history. It’s mostly folklore and legend no
w. I doubt you’ll find much written down. So many records have been lost, thanks to hurricanes and such.”

  “Researching Belle Fleur will be good for the children,” Berta said. “It’s like a mystery. I was thinking about this, and maybe Margo can do something with film. It would be wonderful for her to really create an oral history, capture some of the people who lived this history. So many of the older generation are passing on.”

  “Berta, I can see you’re enthused by the project. I just wish there was something more interesting about Coden.” Cora patted Berta’s hand. “And, Annie, how are you? How are you fitting in?” Cora was more interested in her charge than any interviews.

  “I love it here.” Annie blushed, a dark rose of color climbing her cheeks. “I’ve never lived anywhere so … wonderful!”

  “That you can remember,” Cora pointed out. “Still not even a glimmer of a memory?”

  “I’d know it if I had a family like this.” Annie spoke with palpable sadness. “I never want to leave Belle Fleur. Never.”

  Berta laughed out loud. “For right now, Annie is a part of the Henderson family. When she gets old enough to go to college, she’ll find a career she loves. Until then, she’s one of us.” Berta closed the door on the topic and got a bowl of fresh strawberries from the refrigerator. “I bought some pork chops, and garden-fresh squash and tomatoes. Annie, I think you and Margo should collaborate on dinner tonight.”

  “I love to cook.” Annie seemed surprised by the revelation. “I don’t know how I know, but I can cook.” She nodded with a wide smile. “We can grill the pork chops and I can make a squash casserole with sliced tomatoes.”