Darkling

by R. B. Chesterton

  “She wants Bob. I told you—”

  “I asked her. She denies it, Mimi. I confronted Bob, too.”

  I felt betrayed. “You told him I said he’d screwed Annie?”

  She shook her head. “I asked him if Annie had behaved inappropriately, if there was any reason I should find another home for her. He assured me she was not a problem.” She touched my cheek. “He’s worried about you. He says you’re always up and guarding the house, going off into the woods, hurting yourself.”

  Somehow it had all been turned around. Fighting it was pointless. Annie lied and everyone lined up to believe her. “One day you’ll discover that I’m right. Annie is a threat to everyone.”

  Cora started to embrace me, but I ducked her arms. “I’d really hoped you and Annie would hit it off. I wanted you to help her. She has no one else.”

  “Annie isn’t my concern. I care about the Hendersons, and so should you. Everything bad started to happen after she came.”

  Cora didn’t deny that. “I know Margo felt Annie was an intruder. I tried to persuade Bob not to give Annie the third floor. It felt wrong. Margo wanted that room. She’d pinned her dreams on having it.” Cora sipped her coffee. “Margo was jealous of Annie, that’s true. Berta was aware of it, but she felt her children had all the benefits. Annie had none.”

  “She scares Donald and Erin. There’s a darkness in her, Cora.”

  My grandmother didn’t disagree. “There is. I see it, Mimi. The loneliness, the way she tends to stay by herself in her room. Children who grow up hard are often afflicted with depression and an attraction to the dark elements of life. But living with the Hendersons could impact that positively. That’s why I worked so hard to get her there.”

  But what about me? I wanted to ask her. Did you consider how this would affect me? But I didn’t say it. “What if she impacts them negatively?”

  Cora pushed the piece of pie I’d ignored toward me. “Eat something, Mimi. You’re too pale and too thin.”

  Obediently I forked a bite into my mouth.

  “How could Annie, a sixteen-year-old girl, negatively impact this family? Think about what you’re saying, Mimi.”

  I had to keep it solid, factual. “Someone followed her to Belle Fleur. I’ve seen her.”

  “This is the stranger you saw and Mark went to check on. He said he didn’t find anything.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. “Not anything human.”

  Sadness touched her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She came around the table to me. Her hands, the skin so smooth because of her age, pressed both of my cheeks. “Mimi, I’m worried about you. Not human? That sounds … crazy.”

  I’d taken it one step too far, time to retrench. “Annie’s friend was in the yard the night Margo disappeared, I don’t care what Mark or anyone else says. Donald saw her, too. I’m not saying Annie is responsible. Maybe it’s just a person who followed her. Maybe Annie’s in danger, too. Maybe we all are.”

  “Donald is susceptible to ghost stories and spooky talk. He’s a child. But you’re twenty-one, Mimi. You have to think before you make accusations. What you’re accusing Annie of is serious. That she has intentions to harm people.”

  “Next time you’re having a chat with her, ask her about the spoon ring with the engraved M. Just ask her. She bought it for Margo and she lied about it.” I flung that fact at her like a gauntlet.

  “I will ask her.”

  I stood up. “I have to get back to the Hendersons.” Anger throbbed in my temples. Annie had wormed her way into Cora’s confidence, and nothing I said now would make any difference. Cora might act like she was listening, but she didn’t believe anything I said.

  “Stay the night here, Mimi. Like the old days.”

  “I feel I should be at Belle Fleur.”

  “I need you, too.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. Not the way Berta and the children do.” I had no proof, nothing I could show her. I left the pie unfinished and the coffee barely sipped. I walked out of the house to the front lawn.

  Cora followed to the screened door, where she stopped. “Mimi, please stay with me.”

  “Call Annie.” I couldn’t help the bitterness.

  “Oh, child,” she said, “it isn’t like you think at all. I haven’t chosen Annie over you.”

  “But you have,” I told her. “And maybe Bob and Berta have too. Maybe it’s time for me to leave Belle Fleur and Coden and get a teaching job somewhere else.” For a moment freedom opened to me like a shot of silver light from a cloud.

  Cora came out on the porch, the screen banging behind her. “Come in and let’s talk about it.”

  “Another time. But when Annie does something terrible, don’t say I didn’t warn you and everyone else.” I got in the car and slammed the door. Berta would be waking at Belle Fleur. Bob might be back, but if he wasn’t, Berta and the children were alone. I wasn’t sure how far Annie would push to have exactly what she wanted.

  41

  Bob’s car was in the garage when I pulled up to the house. The day was overcast, and the yellow paint of Belle Fleur had taken on a sickly cast in the storm light. The front door was unlocked when I turned the knob. I went inside, closed the door softly, and listened. There was only the ticking of the hall clock. The house yielded no secrets about its occupants.

  Belle Fleur. Home of the Desmarais family.

  I walked into the parlor and couldn’t help but notice the blood hues trapped in the plush puddling of the velvet draperies. The hand-carved sofa, also highlighted in carmine, was original with the house. Berta had planned the décor of the room around the brocade upholstery—she’d been so pleased to find some of the original pieces. Cora had known exactly where to look.

  I thought about calling my grandmother and asking her about Trident, but something held me back. Guilt was part of it. I’d worried Cora, and I’d been happy when I did. But there was also distrust. Cora knew more about Annie than she’d let on. A lot more. It stood to reason she knew more about Belle Fleur. She’d withheld the facts from me, and while I presumed her reasons were innocent, doubt niggled at me.

  All of my life I’d been painted a picture of this house as the cultural center of the town, of a place where locals had found employment in the most beautiful of places—flower gardens filled with exotic blooms and heavenly scents. Belle Fleur had represented an ideal. The Desmarais family had been held up for admiration, and then pity at the young death of their only child. It had all been a fabrication, a complete lie.

  If Chad Petri were to be believed, horrible things happened in this house. A young girl had been held prisoner, her infant thrown into a well and left to die. The idea of it made my throat catch. Cora had to know the true history, yet she and everyone else in town had buried it.

  From the parlor I went to the den. Bob had modernized this room with a television and leather sofas and two recliners. A fire had been laid but remained unlit. The past didn’t reside as heavily here; there was more comfort and less coldness. From the den a hallway led to Bob and Berta’s room. I went to the door, careful not to betray my presence by stepping on a squeaky board. Pressing my ear to the wood, I listened.

  Silence.

  Berta remained asleep, and I hoped Bob was curled beside her, holding her against the grief and loss. He’d betrayed her with Annie, but I knew how manipulative Annie could be. I wasn’t excusing him, but I also knew he was the backbone of the family. He was Berta’s strength, the core of stability that gave Erin her confidence and Donald his humor. My job was to see that Annie never again had a chance to get her hooks into him, because I no longer doubted it was her goal to have him for herself.

  Easing away from the door, I went to the back staircase—poorly lit with steeper stairs and narrower treads. Normally I avoided it because it was steep and dangerous. Sigourney’s theory, I supposed, was that if a servant broke her neck, she would be easy enough to replace. Today, I wanted to move to the upper levels without bein
g seen. I wanted to know what Annie was up to so I could search her room and plunder through the suitcase she’d brought into Belle Fleur.

  For a moment I paused on the landing of the second floor. The main staircase split the floor in the middle, but I was at the far south end of the hall. My room was across from the stairs. Erin’s was nearest the servants’ stairs. Donald’s at the far end of the hall. Not a sound came from any of the rooms.

  I was ready to move up to the third floor when the door to Margo’s old room slowly creaked open. “Come in, if you dare,” it seemed to say.

  My ribs ached from the pressure of the fear that swept over me. My impulse was to run downstairs and out of the house. To keep running until I was back at Cora’s. Light from a beautiful stained-glass window colored the hall in fragments of green, red, yellow, and blue.

  From the third floor, Donald’s sweet voice came to me as he sang “Stop and Smell the Roses.” He was obsessed with Mac Davis. Relief touched me. It was only a draft that had blown open the door to Margo’s room.

  I put a foot on the tread to go upstairs to Donald when the door to Margo’s room shut. Softly. As if someone had closed it. Maybe Erin had gone there to mourn her sister. To remember their time shared in a fine room in a new home with the future before them. She would be heartbroken.

  Since Donald was okay, I walked down the hall toward Margo’s room. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of my footsteps. When I got to the door, I tapped lightly.

  “Come in,” Erin said.

  I stepped through the door into gloom. Erin had closed the curtains, and the day outside was gray to begin with. Margo’s bed was tumbled but empty. Erin’s bed was neatly made. Erin was in the room, but in the dim light I couldn’t spot her.

  “Erin, where’s Annie?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice came from a dark corner of the room. She sounded empty, hollow.

  “I know how upset you must be. I’m so sorry.” I could take a moment from my quest to comfort her. When she didn’t answer, I stepped fully into the room and closed the door. I caught a whiff of a peculiar odor. Sweet, but sickly. Rancid. I inhaled. “Erin?”

  The room was completely silent.

  Anger began to burn. “Erin! Stop doing this. Where are you?”

  The branch of a tree outside the window raked across the screen. The sound was like ice down my spine. “Erin!”

  I went to the curtains and pushed them back. When I looked down into the front yard, my heart almost stopped. Annie, Donald, and Erin were sitting down by the water. Erin wore her favorite navy coat, and Donald was bundled in a gray windbreaker, a cap on his head against the cold stormy wind. Annie’s hair billowed around her, a cloud of dark curls that the wind caught and tossed.

  Around me the odor became stifling, nauseating. I started back to the door, but it grew stronger. I moved slowly to Margo’s bed. My hand shook as I found the covers and pulled them back. Weeds and muck from the bottom of the bayou smeared the sheets, as if something dragged from the bottom of deep water had lain on the bed. My hand trembled as I reached toward the debris.

  “What the hell are you doing, Mimi? Where have you been? Bob’s looking for you.” Annie stood in the doorway.

  Her unexpected appearance almost made me scream. I stopped myself. “I had some errands to run.” I struggled to regain my composure. She’d frightened me, and I didn’t want her to see the dirty sheets. I started toward the door.

  “You’d better have a good explanation. Bob’s upset. You’re just making more trouble for yourself.” She leaned closer to me. “You can’t best me. You shouldn’t try.”

  I pushed past her and went into the hall. “Have the children eaten?”

  “I gave them the sandwiches you’d made. I’m making soup for Berta. She has to eat.”

  Good luck with that, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. Once Annie was busy in the kitchen, I would snoop. And I would have her out of that house before Thanksgiving. But I had to be very careful how I handled myself. Annie was smart. More than smart, she was cunning. And if I became an impediment, she would do whatever it took to remove me.

  “I’ll help you chop vegetables for the soup,” I said. “Berta does need to eat. And the children, too.” I smiled at her and thought how I, too, could play the wolf. The game had changed, but I couldn’t let her know it.

  Night had fallen when Bob gathered us around the kitchen table. I hadn’t had a chance to explore Annie’s room, but I hadn’t given up. Now, we sat at the table, all except Berta, who refused to leave her room. “We’ve agreed on the funeral arrangements,” Bob said. “We’ll have a service Thursday at St. Mary’s by the Sea.” His voice wavered, and he put a hand over his eyes for a moment as he composed himself. “The burial will be here, in the cemetery. Tomorrow I’ve arranged for someone to come out and repair the broken angel.”

  “I thought we’d go back to California.” Erin looked shocked. “Mother wants to bury Margo here? What if we move away? What if we go home? She’ll be here alone.”

  I got up and went to the sink. I couldn’t bear this.

  Bob pressed her against him. “This is our home now,” he said. “What happened to Margo is a tragedy, but it could have happened in California or Maine as well as here. We aren’t leaving Coden, Erin.”

  “I don’t want to stay here. I don’t! Someone murdered my sister!” Her howl echoed off the red walls of the kitchen. A place I’d always viewed as so homey and safe now held only pain.

  “We can’t just pack up and leave, Erin. I’ve put everything we own into this house, into building my reputation here. Alabama is our home now.”

  Erin pushed away from him with a violent surge. “I hate this place. And I hate you.” She ran out of the room, and I heard her footsteps pounding on the stairs.

  Donald remained at the table, large tears rolling down his face. I went to him and put my arm around him. “Erin’s just upset. This is an awful thing.” I ruffled his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” Bob said. “Berta is upset, too. She doesn’t understand that we can’t just leave.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if you were here or in California,” Annie said. “She would be upset. We all are. What can I do?”

  Bob shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

  I’d never seen him so defeated. I had to keep a sharp eye on Annie. He was prime pickings now—an angry, grieving wife, children who were mad at him, his own grief swamping him like a tidal wave. Oh, Annie could smell the opportunity.

  42

  Storm clouds massed behind Father Lorett, the Episcopal priest from St. Mary’s. In contrast to the mores of Coden, Bob and Berta had opted for a graveside service. Their decision had caused gossip to fly around the community, but Cora had quelled most of it—a child dead for months, submerged in water, it was best to conclude the service as quickly and quietly as possible. There was only so much loving parents could bear. Still, the lack of a wake and funeral service in a church drew a stark contrast between the Hendersons and the rest of Coden.

  “Let us pray,” Father Lorett said.

  I gazed through my eyelashes at the handful of mourners. The family, Cora, Annie, me, and Andrew Cargill’s family, who stood in a corner of the cemetery, paying respect but not intruding.

  Margo’s coffin, a sleek bronze, rested on the frame over the open grave. The mound of dirt was covered by a green carpet.

  Wind whipped off the water and blew the priest’s black robes around his legs. The pages of his Book of Common Prayer fluttered, and he glanced up from the service for a moment. The storm was bearing down on us. Dead leaves blasted across the small cemetery, and a sob tore from Berta’s throat.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we return our daughter, Margo, to the ground from which she came.” Father Lorett concluded the funeral service. The mechanical lift slowly lowered the coffin into the ground.

  Unable to watch, I assessed the clouds. The storm had been building for a week, and with each passing hour, the day gre
w darker and heavier. Though it was 11 A.M., it was as dark as twilight.

  Berta sobbed against Bob’s shoulder, and Donald clung to his mother’s other side. Erin stood alone, still angry at the indignity of burying her sister in foreign soil. I hung back, finding a spot beside the wrought-iron railing of the small cemetery. Cora stood with me.

  Mrs. Cargill cried silently into a handkerchief, her remaining children beside her, stoic and dry-eyed. Andrew’s funeral, a less formal Baptist service, had been conducted the day before. It had been an orgy of grief and emotion, so different from this bitter calm ritual. Bob, Cora, and I had attended, but Berta couldn’t bring herself to go, which was a good thing. And I’d made sure Annie remained with Erin and Donald, though constant worry for their safety nagged at me.

  When the coffin was in the ground, each family member walked forward to throw a pale yellow rose. Bob tossed in the first dirt. And then it was done.

  “Please join us at the house,” Bob said.

  Supporting Berta, he led the way out of the cemetery. I lagged behind, and when everyone else was gone, I knelt by the open grave. “I’ll find out who did this, Margo. I will.”

  Movement near the gate almost made me cry out, but it was just old Junior Motes and Abraham Leggin, the gravediggers. They’d been hiding out of sight until the service was finished. I had no doubt they’d been told to cover the coffin as fast as possible. The open grave would be like a wound to Bob and Berta. Best to get it covered and the sod put back in place.

  I’d found out from the funeral director that Bob had commissioned an arch decorated with butterflies and ivy for Margo. It would rival Sigourney’s angel, which had been repaired. I was tempted to push the angel over, to destroy the last monument to Sigourney’s power, but it wasn’t my place to do so.

  Dead leaves crunched beneath my feet as I walked back to the house. I dreaded the social convention of the funeral feast. To me, it was macabre to shovel food down my gullet in response to death, but in Coden it was how the community showed support. Casseroles, pies, fried chicken, and cakes—handmade goods showed caring hearts—had been arriving for two days.