The Soul of the Sun (The Argos Dynasty)

by Genevieve Crownson

  When I awoke, the police were there waiting to question me. I told them all that I could remember, up to the point of my blackout. They now realized Thomas was involved and that he and Wilfred were somehow working together. I was angry with myself that I could not help them more. I couldn’t even explain the strange burns found between my eyes and over my heart. They were like no other burn the doctors had seen, but seemed to be healing at a rapid rate. After they’d left I drifted off again, all the images clouded and unsure.

  8

  Bette, Folly Beach 1939

  I’d just arrived home from the hospital after Margaret had been released. Margaret and Abby had gotten themselves into some kind of pickle and now my beloved niece Abby was dead. I didn’t like it, not one bit. There was something fishy going on, and in the back of my mind I thought I just might know where the stench was coming from.

  I sighed and placed my purse on the kitchen table and crossed to the stove to put on a cup of tea. Fred appeared out of nowhere and started rubbing on my legs and purring. That was all right as long as that’s all he did. These were new stockings and I didn’t need a run.

  I put the hot water in the cup and got down some biscuits. I loved biscuits, that was half my trouble. If only I couldn’t eat in times of trouble. I put a few on a plate and carried everything to the table. My legs wobbled in relief as I sank down. Fred leapt up beside me and tried to lick the milk out of the pitcher. I swatted him off, his shiny collar glowing in the sun.

  It made my heart lurch a little, seeing that shine. Reminded me of things I didn’t want to think about, things like ancient Greek necklaces. Did the family secret have anything to do with this horrible crime? Even I had trouble believing that. It just seemed so farfetched. I was being a ridiculous old woman. It was shameful; I was turning into my sister Christina, putting all these worries into the world that had no place being there.

  I was startled out of my musings, when Margaret walked in.

  “What on earth are you doing here, young lady? Shouldn’t you be at home in bed, resting?” It was hard not to sound irritated. Land sakes, the girl was missing the good sense the Lord had blessed her with.

  “I just can’t go back there, Aunt Bette. I tried but everything reminds me of Abby. Her room is the same—as if she is still here. Her suitcase is still sitting at the foot of her bed, waiting for her to go off to New York. The wedding dress is hanging on the back of the bedroom door…” Margaret broke off, her body wracked with sobs.

  “Come now girl, sit down and pull yourself together. I know it’s hard, and knowing your Mama, she’s buried her head in the sand. But you have got to come to terms with this. Be strong.”

  Land sakes! How would this family manage without my guidance? My sister Christina could be a real pansy. I hoped Margaret wasn’t made of the same cloth.

  Margaret nodded but the tears continued to pour down her face. Darn girl would be the death of me.

  I pushed myself up and went to the hutch and pulled down the newspaper I’d been saving. I adjusted my girdle, something a lady must wear if she carried a little extra.

  “Here this is the paper, talking about Abby’s murder. Pretty big news for these parts. I think your sister gave Hitler a run for his money grabbing the front page. I knew your Mama wouldn’t even look at it. And well your Daddy, he’s a whole other mess that needs to be sorted out. Go on down to the beach and take some time for yourself.”

  “I don’t know if I can Aunt Bette, it’s all so confusing.”

  “Of course you can, you silly girl. Now go on.” I puffed.

  Margaret took the paper from me and got up from the table. In a rare show of affection I gave the poor thing a hug and pushed her out the door.

  She looked at me gratefully. “Thanks Aunt Bette.”

  9

  Margaret, 1939

  Our town was like most places across America, all abuzz about what was happening in Europe. Hitler was on everyone’s mind, wondering what his next move would be. But despite all that, Abby and I certainly made our mark in the paper. Everyone knew us, or at least knew who we were. Mostly because of Abby. There was the usual gossip around town, speculating about what had happened; the old men at the post office ranting about the antics of young people and such, but the majority of people were kind. I went down to the beach and sunk my toes in the warm sand. I breathed deeply, letting the briny sea air fill my lungs and revive my spirit. It was freeing to be away from the gloom of the house. The sun was dipping just below the horizon, the red and yellow of the sky reflected off the water like fire. I gazed down at the paper. It suddenly felt like lead in my hands. We had made the front page, Abby and I. There we were, together and laughing. I sat and studied the page.

  “See Abby?” I said. “You became famous, after all.” I slid a finger over the black and white photo, wanting to remember her smell and the ring of her laughter. I read the story and reread it again, until the tears splattered the page, making the ink run and blurring the words that made it official.

  Abigail Rose Potter was dead at the age of 19.

  I sat rigidly on the sand, not moving, my mind numb; it should have been me, not Abby. I was supposed to take care of her. Tears engulfed me in great gulping sobs. I sat there until the dark enfolded me completely, and the stars twinkled in the night sky.

  “Need some company Margaret?” I jumped startled. I didn’t even hear Heidi come up. She was beautiful as usual. Her chestnut hair perfectly rested on her shoulders in soft waves, pulled back only with a purple ribbon. Her lilac colored sundress clung to her curvy figure, it brought out the corn blue color of her eyes.

  Not saying a word, I scooted over and made room for her to sit next to me. “I saw the paper, and it just made me miss her more. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,” Heidi said, glancing at the crumpled newspaper in my fist. “I came out to the beach because I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. She was my best friend, Margaret.” Tears pooled in Heidi’s eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

  “I know Heidi. I miss her too,” I said taking her hand.

  We sat like that in the quiet for a few minutes, each lost in our memories of Abby. Finally, Heidi spoke up.

  “We have to stop feeling sorry for ourselves Margaret. What would Abby want us to do? You know she would want us to live, have fun. Come with me to pick peaches tomorrow, and then we can make a pie.”

  “I don’t know Heidi…” I said hesitantly.

  “Come on, we could both use a friend right now, we’ll make the pie at my house.”

  I considered for a moment. It would keep my mind off of things, and it would give me another opportunity to see her house.

  “All right, I’ll do it,” I said not very enthusiastically.

  Heidi leapt to her feet and pulled me up with her. “Perfect. I’ll meet you in the orchard around ten tomorrow morning. It will be good for us Margaret, you’ll see. In the morning,” she said again looking at me meaningfully.

  She spun on her heel and disappeared into the blackness.

  “Good night,” I called out after her.

  I wondered how much of a coincidence it was that Heidi had come along. Abby had always been my only friend, I had never really had any in school; I was always too different. Maybe Abby decided Heidi and I needed each other.

  I folded the paper carefully under my arm and walked slowly home, my steps heavy. I didn’t realize then that as much as I had lost, there was something else that I had gained. And I was about to find out exactly what that something was.

  I missed Abby more and more. She came to me in my dreams, haunting me, crying out for help. It was always the same, she would try to reach me, her hands outstretched, and then she would give a terrified scream and start to fade back into the void. I would awaken drenched in sweat, shaking, knowing that there was more that I was not remembering, more that had happened to me. Abby’s screams always lingered in my ears.

  I was beginning to think that I was crazy, reviewing all the deta
ils over and over again, and trying to spark the memory of what was buried deep in my subconscious. I knew it was important; I was driven by a certainty that if I could just recollect those last few hours that it would change everything, I just wasn’t sure how.

  I sat on the big front porch, rocking back and forth in the old rocker, enjoying the morning breeze before the sweltering South Carolina summer heat suffocated the atmosphere. My pen was still, the blank page of my notebook in my lap. My passion for my novel was gone. There were too many strange thoughts clamoring for attention in my mind. Foreign notions and feelings ran through me that seemed to belong to someone else. I hadn’t told anyone about these feelings. I didn’t need even more attention with being the crazy woman in town. The pitying looks and loud whispers were enough.

  Our neighbor Mrs. Moody, an elderly woman in her late sixties, broke me out of my reverie as she came ambling down the oak lined street towards my house. She made her way quickly up the path and onto the front porch steps. Today she was channeling the 1920’s, wearing a blue floral flapper dress and a red cloche hat perched atop her untamed snowy white hair; the look was pretty conservative for Mrs. M.

  “You-hoo! Good morning, Miss Margaret. It’s going to be another scorcher today. Too hot to do much of anything I’m afraid.” She eyed my slumped form in the rocker. “And how are you feeling today dear?” she said, a look of compassion crossing her well-lined face.

  “I’m okay, thanks,” I said softly. “Would you like to come and sit awhile? Have some sweet tea?” Before she could even answer, I picked up the pitcher that Mama had put on the table and poured an extra glass, knowing Mrs. Moody would never turn me down. Her blue eyes were dancing at the thought of more gossip for the prayer chain.

  “That would be lovely dear, but I don’t want to be a bother.” She deftly removed a handkerchief from her large white purse and dabbed at the sweat beads forming on her forehead.

  I smiled politely. “No bother at all, have a seat.” I motioned to the empty rocker next to me. Sure enough, she couldn’t sit down fast enough; her body creaked as her waspish figure eased down. She pulled her chair closer and took the iced tea, placing her free hand on my arm.

  “So, how have y’all been doing under the circumstances? It’s such a horrible tragedy and all. You know you can always confide in me, Sugar.” Her rocker paused as she waited expectantly for my reply. Then, sensing my discomfort, she patted my hand to encourage me.

  “We’re okay Mrs. Moody. Thank you for the chicken casserole you sent over; it was really nice of you,” I said.

  She slumped back in her rocker, disappointed. “You’re welcome, Margaret honey. Anything I can do to help.” She took a long sip of her tea and mopped her brow again.

  “Well now, I wish that I could stay and visit longer Mrs. Moody, but I promised Heidi I would help her pick some peaches to make a pie. Please stay and finish your tea. Mama will be back from the store in a bit if you want to wait.”

  “I think that I just might do that. Thank you, child.” She sat up a little taller; her hopes renewed that Mama might be a little more forthcoming with news. I wished her luck with that one. Mama wasn’t talking to anyone. She was screwed on as tight as the cap to a Pepsi bottle.

  I hastily tucked my notebook into the front pocket of my pink cotton dress and waved goodbye to Mrs. Moody. I breathed a sigh of relief as I rounded the corner. It was good to get away from my nosy neighbor. I took the shortcut through the field at the back of the house, following the line of azalea bushes toward the orchard. It was quiet; the only sound came from the blackbirds squawking angrily in the trees. I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear anyone come up behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a familiar drawl echoed in my ears.

  “Good day, Miss Margaret. It’s a beautiful morning, don’t you think? I believe there’s a little unfinished business we need to attend to.”

  I spun around in terror. It was Thomas Mayfield.

  I screamed for help, but my voice echoed across the tall blades of grass in the meadow. I broke out in a sweat and backed away. I struggled to escape his clutches only to trip on a root. I let out a yelp as I fell into the long grass in an unseemly pile. I turned to get up. But his boot caught on the small of my back and I was pinned helplessly to the ground. I sobbed, “You won’t get away with this! The police are crawling all over this area looking for you, you bastard!”

  I screamed again into the stillness, “Help me, someone please help me!”

  Thomas quickly rolled me over and clamped a strong hand over my mouth. “Margaret, you and I both know that you won’t be needing the sheriff. You have no idea what occurred that night. You just think you know.” He laughed, delighted with himself. “Go on, go tell them your story, how you have a feeling it was me. They’ll think you’re crazy won’t they, kitten?”

  I moaned in terror, but he paid no mind.

  “I bet you’re wondering why I saved you. Well Miss. Margaret, you have something of mine that dear Abby simply didn’t have.” He laughed again, took his hand off my mouth and pressed his palms together in a prayerful pose.

  He grabbed my hand to pull me to a sitting position; my face was practically in his chest. He reeked of body odor and oak. He must have been hiding out here. His fingers continued to hold me tight. All of a sudden, a flash of light exploded inside my mind, and I saw him, not as he was now, but as a small boy. He was crying and screaming at a man who looked to be his Daddy. He was holding his small hands over an open coal fire. The man yelled at him and told him he would teach him a lesson he would never forget.

  The man’s eyes were wild with anger and no amount of begging from the boy made him stop.

  I felt his grip loosen on me just a little, as if he sensed the invasion.

  I tried to push him back away from me, but he was so strong he didn’t even move. He held tight to my hand, not letting go.

  His thoughts filled me. He stripped away the veneer that blocked my mind, making me feel weak and naked. It was as if his soul and mine were connected, and I became aware of everything about him, and he of me. His mind had entered mine and somehow taken control of me. What was happening to me? Why out of the blue did we have this weird connection? Was I going mad? What had he done besides beat and rape me in that room? What did I have that he wanted? Whatever was going on, I couldn’t let it continue. I hastily pulled my hand away.

  I fought him, pummeling his chest with my fists. Thomas’s smile dulled into a heinous smirk. “Well I’ll be! I believe my little kitten has turned into a lioness right before my eyes. Look at how you’re fighting me.” He gave me a mocking look. He leaned forward and peered closely at me. His mouth inches from mine, he whispered, “You would be cooler if you loosened a few of those buttons on your pretty pink dress. Pink is such a good color for you, it matches that lovely flush in your cheeks.” His eyes slid over my breasts rakishly and lingered there with a hunger that I had never seen before in a man. Not that I knew anything about men, Mama had made sure of that, I was trained to be a good Christian girl.

  I struggled against him, again determined to get away. He continued talking, seemingly oblivious of my struggle. I tried to scream again but it seemed the unadulterated fear clamped my throat closed. He was talking nonsense.

  “Run away with me Margaret! Come with me to the city. No one will bother us there. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Your long legs, those beautiful breasts…you could drive a man to distraction.”

  He gently lifted the hem of my dress and slowly started to run his hand up my leg as he leaned in to kiss my ear. I kicked at him, clawing at his skin, anything to get him to stop. He grabbed my hands and twisted my arms around my back. I yelped in pain. I looked around wildly; there was no way to outrun him. He was a very disturbed man. I’d bet anything he’d killed Abby. I had to get away.

  “Going somewhere?” Thomas chuckled. Obviously, the pig was enjoying my discomfort.

  “No need to rush off, let’s just sit
awhile and get to know each other.” My fingers were numb where his hands held me back.

  Panicked, I blurted out, “I know about your father! How he hurt you and put your hands in the fire. I can read your mind. Is that why you want me?”

  Quick as a flash his mood changed. He became enraged. His thoughts turned to white noise and I was terrified I’d made things worse. He must have blocked me out. Rising to his knees, he grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

  His anger sparked my own. I reacted, pummeling his chest again and biting his arm and any other place I could get to. I raked my nails over his arms to rip his skin. I pounded at him with all the rage I had inside. Every kick and punch was for Abby, Mama and myself. I couldn’t play his games anymore.

  Someone screaming brought me back to my senses. It was Heidi’s voice…oh God.

  I looked up to find Heidi in the orchard looking on in horror at the scene before her.

  I felt the hard tip of a revolver press against my hip.

  “Heidi, run, Thomas is here and he has a gun! Run! Get help as quick as you can!” I yelled.

  She froze, her face white as a sheet. “Mr. Mayfield,” she stammered, “what are you doing?” Then, without saying another word she sped off as fast as she could. I prayed she would bring help in time.

  “You stupid idiot,” he snarled. “Who knows what kind of lies that silly girl will invent? Now everything’s ruined.”

  He dropped his gun into the grass and pressed his body on top of me, ripping my dress and underwear away in one deft movement. He forced himself onto me. I screamed as he penetrated me and a searing pain shot through my center.

  I heard the sound of footsteps and men’s voices somewhere in the back of my mind. I felt his weight lift, as Thomas fled into the woods.

  I lay there exposed, the pain intense.