Serpents in the Sun

by Cave, Hugh

  So, Cliff's parents had stopped at the post office on their way home that Friday, and there was a letter from Lee. She, Luari, had been helping Cliff in the office, and when the Bennetts got out of their car in the yard, Mr. Bennett waved an envelope and started yelling.

  "Cliff! Luari! Come here! Got something to show you!" She hadn't seen him that excited in a long time.

  The family had known about Lee's Dr. Carey Aldred, of course. Lee had written about what she was doing, and all her recent letters had been full of him—how she'd gone dining and dancing with him, or visited the hospital where he worked, or spent a day at some secret beach he knew about. The man certainly had kept Lee busy! In her last letter she had written that they were planning some sort of wilderness hike, and she would not be writing again until they got back.

  Now it seemed they had made the hike and realized they were in love while doing it and were coming to Glencoe in a few days to be married. "And look at these!" Mr. Bennett said, grinning from ear to ear as he thrust a handful of photos at Cliff and herself.

  "Yes," Mrs. Bennett echoed, with a brightness in her eyes that said she too was excited. "Oh, we're going to like Lee's Carey. I just know it!"

  There had been another letter Saturday. "If only you had a phone at Glencoe so we could talk to you," Lee had written. "But never mind, here's what we're up to." Carey's mother and father would be flying over from Florida, she wrote. Not to worry. She and Carey would be at Glencoe by then and would take care of meeting them at the airport. "All you have to do is meet us," she wrote. They would fly over on Tuesday. She gave their time of arrival. "And look, all of you. I know we probably ought to be married in church, but do try to arrange for the wedding to take place at Glencoe. Please, Mother and Dad? I'm so proud of what we've done there, and being married in that wonderful old drawing room would mean so much to me."

  A wedding. Was it a good time for one, really, with Mr. and Mrs. Bennett so concerned about Roddy? But time wouldn't stand still just because people had problems to solve, would it? Look at Jamaica itself. The other night Mr. Bennett had explained that the country was no longer a crown colony of England but practically independent.

  Since 1955 Norman W. Manley had been Chief Minister. He was a good man, Cliff said. He'd been a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford, a track star, and a fine courtroom lawyer. The country was doing well under his leadership.

  But Mr. Bennett didn't share Cliff's opinion, and it was hard to know which of them was right. There was a big flaw in the present governmental setup, Mr. Bennett said. Both Bustamante's Jamaica Labour Party and Manley's People's National Party were built upon labor unions. Both parties, Mr. Bennett said, were too often reluctant to curb the sometimes reckless and dangerous demands of their union leaders, and that could be the beginning of big trouble.

  Cliff and his father had been getting into some pretty hot arguments about what was happening in Jamaica. Only last week they'd gone at it hot and heavy at the dinner table until Mrs. Bennett flung out her arms like a Kingston traffic cop and made them stop. "JLP, PNP—what's the difference?" she'd said. "We didn't come here to get involved in the island's politics, and anyway, we can't do a blessed thing about it. So stop the arguments, please, and stick to growing coffee!"

  "All the same, we'd better stay tuned to what's going on," Mr. Bennett said. "One of these days a union leader may come out here and organize our workers." He looked at Cliff. "I suppose that would be all right with you if the union happened to be Manley’s."

  "And all right with you if it were Busta's," Cliff shot back.

  "Now stop it, please!" Mrs. Bennett begged them. "Enough is enough."

  They hadn't argued at the table again. But the fire still smoldered under the surface, Luari suspected. The simple truth was that Cliff believed the People's National Party was best for Jamaica and his father backed the Labour Party. Most other people in the district were on one side or the other, it seemed. They argued in the shops about it all the time. Sometimes, when they'd been drinking, actual fights broke out.

  Anyway, the Great House was ready for Lee and her doctor. Except for the flowers, of course. Those would not be picked until the day of the wedding. But every room in the place, even the downstairs kitchen which was used only on special occasions, had been cleaned within an inch of its life, asMrs. Bennett would say. Yes, indeed. Even the Siamese Blue Point, Yum-Yum, seemed to approve as she trotted in from the veranda and sat to look around.

  Luari picked the cat up. "Are you going to sing for me?" The purring began. It always did when she asked for it.

  After a moment Yum-Yum looked up, and one pair of incredibly blue eyes gazed into the other pair. For a long time now, Luari and the Siamese had been inseparable.

  Ima laughed her merry laugh as the purring continued. "Now it's your turn. Sing her the old song Manny Traill did teach you. She bound to like that."

  Luari sang.

  The cat reached up and licked her throat. She and Ima both laughed.

  A wedding, Luari thought. Right here in this house, Lee and the man she loves are going to be married. And soon there'll be another one—for Cliff and me.

  Lee arrived with her doctor, and everyone liked him.

  His parents came, and everyone liked them too. Emily Aldred was a plump, comfortable woman who obviously felt that life had been good to her. Dick, a pharmacist, was as tall and nearly as good looking as his son.

  For the wedding itself came Desmond and Milly Reid. And Ginny Beaulieu, from Haiti. And Kim Tulloch with her barrister son Eric Reckford and her friend Dr. Tom Kirk. And at Alison's insistence, the young forester, Terry Connor, who was so faithfully helping her with her pine-forest project. And at Lyle's insistence, headman Manny Traill, who came proudly in his Sunday best.

  The Bennetts had made other friends in their seven years at Glencoe. Some of those came, too. And assisting Ima Bailey was an attractive, younger friend of hers, Beryl Mangan.

  Flowers filled the Great House drawing room, most from Glencoe's own gardens, others brought by Kim Tulloch and the Reids. With Ima, Alison had spent days shopping for hard-to-get foods for a reception buffet. The minister, with his wife, drove up from Morant Bay.

  "Carey Alan Aldred, do you . . .”

  I already have, back there in those mountains. And believe me, nothing said here is going to make it any more binding . . .

  "Leora Gwendolyn Bennett, do you . . .”

  Oh yes, yes, I do. And please, God, help me to be the kind of woman who can work with this wonderful man and help him in what he is doing . . .

  "With this ring I thee wed . . .”

  Luari sang Oh Promise Me, the words and melody taught her by Alison. Floating through the Great House drawing room her voice, as lovely as she, all but mesmerized those present. Especially young Terry Connor, who stared . . . and stared . . . and stared.

  Kim Tulloch noticed and spoke to Alison about it that evening. They were in the schoolroom where Alison, asking Ima to bring her a cup of tea, had hoped to relax for a few minutes and think about the wedding. But she had been alone for only a few minutes before the hoped-for solitude was disturbed. First YumYum had found her and jumped up on her lap to be stroked. Then Kim, who would be staying overnight as she so often did, had guessed where Ima was going with the tea and followed her.

  "I was right next to Terry when Luari was singing," Kim said, "and I'm telling you, Alison, the look on that young man's face gave me a start. Oh, I know he's been a big help to you with your pine planting and you're fond of him, but mark my words . . . if he can take Luari away from your Cliff, he'll do it."

  Alison stroked and the cat purred, gazing up at her with adoring eyes. "Nonsense, Kim. He was probably just charmed by her singing, the same as everyone else."

  "Let's hope so."

  "No, I mean it. His brother owns a recording studio in Kingston, so he's bound to be impressed by a good voice when he hears one."

  "Well, all right." Kim shrugged it off. "Anyway, I thought
Lee was beautiful. In fact, radiant. In everything she did, every move she made, you could see how much she loves that man. I liked her gown, too, though of course I expected her to be wearing yours. In Jamaica it's the custom to—"

  "I wasn't married in a gown," Alison said. "My folks couldn't afford to come from Oregon and his were in England, so we had a very simple wedding."

  "How did you happen to marry Lyle anyway? You've never told me, you know, and I must admit I've been curious, he being English and you so very American."

  "Really, Kim—" The Siamese had squirmed over on her back and was affectionately pawing Alison's wrist.

  "Oh, come on. Drink your tea and tell me. Everyone's gone home but Carey's folks, and you need to stay off your feet for a while."

  "Well, it's not much of a story," Alison said. "My life hasn't been as exciting as yours, you know. I was teaching English in high school and Lyle had just come over from England. We met in an evening class at Brown."

  "Brown?"

  "University. There in Providence, Rhode Island. It was a course in early American history." °Remembering it, Alison had to smile. "Lyle thought he ought to take it because he might be prejudiced. I was there because I'd met the professor and hoped he might want to know me better."

  "That's all?"

  "That's all. The professor hardly looked my way, but one evening Lyle asked if I would have coffee with him at Child's after class, and we went on from there. I kept thinking, 'Imagine it, I'm a teacher of English and dating a real live Englishman who went to Cambridge!"

  White-haired Kim Tulloch reached across Yum-Yum to pat Alison on the hand. "Well, anyway, I'm glad you married him, otherwise I probably wouldn't have met you, would I? And the wedding today was wonderful, Al. It really was."

  Lee had used her own bedroom when she and Carey arrived at Glencoe. Carey had had to be content with a guest room. Now as man and wife they shared Lee's bed.

  In an adjoining bedroom, fourteen-year-old Luari listened to the sounds of their bridal-night love-making and hugged her pillow.

  For three days Carey Aldred had been a married man. In that brief time the relationship between him and Lyle Bennett had developed into a solid friendship based on mutual respect.

  Tomorrow Carey and his wife would return to Haiti. This evening, with the power plant softly throbbing to provide light, they sat with Lyle on the Great House veranda while he spoke of his biggest problem: what to do about Roddy.

  "I've tried everything I can think of to get him over his depression. He was better when we were doing the house over and he's not too bad now, with the warehouse and headman's house to keep him occupied. But I've run out of things for him to do." He looked at Lee and Carey. "Any suggestions, you two?"

  "What does he want to do?" Carey asked.

  Without being aware of it, Lyle let a note of despair slow his speech. "Yes. What does he want to do? I wish to God I knew. A while back he mentioned potato farming. There was a ruinate farm in Devon he might be able to lease, he said. I thought it might be an answer, but Al reminded me that Devon was where Heather was trapped in the cave and Roddy saved her. He didn't want the potato farm. What he wanted was to be there where he'd been so close to her. .

  "Since the breakup she's never tried to see him?" Lee asked.

  "Never. Judge McKenzie is the law in that family, it would seem."

  Carey had been told about Roddy and Heather McKenzie. Now he aimed a frown at Lyle. "Mr. Bennett, you were successful in real estate. Does Roddy have any interest in that field?"

  "He did when we lived in Rhode Island. Why?"

  Carey turned to his bride. "Lee, remember the beach I took you to near Bayeux?"

  "The most beautiful beach in the world. Of course, I have reason to be prejudiced."

  “Do you remember the little resort hotel there? Boarded up? Where we prowled around like burglars and tried to look in the windows?"

  "Yes."

  Carey turned to Lyle again. "Mr. Bennett, I knew the man who built that hotel. Unfortunately, he died before he could get the venture off the ground, but I think he had the right idea for a resort hotel in Haiti. You don't want the usual thing there. What you want is a small, off-the-beaten-track place that will attract a special kind of guest."

  Lyle frowned. "What kind of guest?"

  "One who would consider it an adventure to fly to Cap Haitien, and then be taken by jeep to a part of Haiti the ordinary tourist wouldn't see. Something he couldn't wait to tell his friends back home about. And it's for sale. The builder's widow was a patient of mine recently and told me she doesn't feel up to reopening it."

  "M'm. I wonder." Lyle's fingertips began a quiet drumbeat on an arm of his chair. "Bay—what did you say? I don't think I've heard of it."

  "Bayeux. From Cap Haitien you drive west to a town called Limbe—"

  "The road you towed Ginny and me over, the day I first met you?" Lee interrupted.

  "Right. Then from Limbe there's a road that runs north along the Port Margot River to the sea. No big towns in the area, but guests could visit Le Cap, Port-de-Paix, even the old buccaneer island of Tortuga—La Tortue it's called now—if they wanted to spread their wings a bit. Most important, they'd be away from negative things like the Port-au-Prince slums that tourists find so disturbing."

  The gleam in Lyle's eye was brightening. "Lee, do you know where Roddy is?"

  "In his room, I think. He was a little while ago."

  "He should be hearing this. Hold on a minute till I get him, will you, Carey?"

  While he was gone, Carey reached for Lee's hand. "Has your brother ever been to Haiti?"

  She shook her head. "But he'd never been to Jamaica either, and he was keen about being here until he lost Heather. Carey, believe me, the Roddy you've seen isn't the real one. I wish you'd been here when he broke up the hockey games in the attic."

  "When he what?"

  She told him solemnly about the rats, the empty tin cans, and the toy tank. By the time Lyle returned with Roddy, Carey was more than ready to repeat what he had said about the beach and resort hotel. He did that, and then said, "How old are you, Roddy?"

  "Twenty-four."

  "Old enough, I'd say. You'll have to train your employees and will need their respect. But you're still young enough to take unexpected problems in stride. There'll be some of those, believe me.”

  "Does it interest you, Roddy?" Lyle asked.

  Knowing what lay behind the anxiety on his father's face, Roddy sat with his hands on his knees and gazed at the veranda floor while thinking. It was true . . . he had been hard to live with since that night in Constant Spring when a mistake in judgment had changed the whole course of his life. No one had to tell him, either, that if he continued to let the loss of Heather McKenzie fill his thoughts, he would go on drinking too much and probably end up having an accident while driving home drunk one night. Maybe in Haiti things would go better for him. At least he would have an honest chance to solve any problems he might encounter there.

  His father was talking to him, he realized.

  “. . . and look at it? Roddy?"

  "I'm sorry, Dad." Roddy raised his head. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."

  "I said would you be willing to go there and look at it? There's no need for a firm commitment now. From what Carey has told us, it's a place I'd like to see anyway."

  Silence. It was so hard to think, with all of them staring at him.

  "We could fly over with Lee and Carey tomorrow," Lyle said. "What do you say?"

  Gazing at them, Roddy had a feeling that he was swaying on the edge of the world's highest cliff, suffering from vertigo and about to lose his balance. "I . . . guess . . . well, all right . . . yes," he heard himself saying.

  BOOK FOUR

  For some time Alison had sensed that her beloved Ima, who was now more a friend than a housekeeper, was unhappy or upset about something. Luari had noticed it, too, and they had talked about it. Should they ask Ima what was troubling her,
or would that only make the situation worse?

  They disagreed on how the problem should be handled.

  Alison was for a forthright, "Ima, what's wrong?" Luari thought they should at least wait a little longer, to see whether the housekeeper herself would come forward.

  They waited. And Ima did indeed speak first.

  She did so on a Tuesday evening when after finishing her work in the kitchen she came into the drawing room to say goodnight. Alison was alone in one of the fireplace chairs, looking at a book on tropical wild flowers. On this cool April evening, a log flickered in the fireplace.

  Stopping beside Alison's chair, Ima spoke in a strangely subdued voice, trying to use the improved English Luari had taught her. "Mrs. Bennett, can I—may I ask you something, please?"

  It could be the long awaited moment. Alison quickly closed her book. "Ask me something, Ima? Of course."

  "Does you—do you know anything about doctoring, mum?"

  "Home remedies, you mean? A little, I suppose. What's the problem?"

  "Only that—well, I have some kind of trouble down here that is a bother to me." Ima dropped a hand to touch herself below the waist. "It seem—seems—to be some kind of a rash, and it itches me all the time. Would you have something I could put on it?"

  "So that's what's wrong," Alison murmured with a little sigh of relief.

  "Pardon, mum?"

  "We've been wondering what was troubling you, Ima. Luari and I, I mean. A rash, you say?" She took time to think about it. "About all we have in the house is some Vaseline. You might wash yourself well and put on some of that. Shall I get it for you?"

  "Please, Mrs. Bennett. I would be truly grateful."

  "How long have you had this problem?"