by Jane Peart
"Well, if is any of your concern, which it isn't" Cara said defensively, "I'm going to meet Owen."
"With this?'' Seeing a book on the table, he snatched it up and read the title. "Aha! The Lady of Shalott! Are you and Owen planning to read poetry together?"
"Give that to me!" Cara grabbed for it, but Scott held it out of her reach and flipped it open. "'She has a lovely face'," he read aloud. "'God, in His mercy, lend her grace'—"
"Here, give me the book, Scott. I mean it!" She circled her brother, but he kept the book high above her head. "We need it!"
"Need it?" he scoffed.
"We're going over our lines for tonight's performance," she told him huffily.
"Need some extra practice, eh?" H e raised his eyebrows. Then he closed the thin volume and handed it to her, still holding onto it. "All right, all right, here. But just a word of caution, little sister. Owen's way out of your league. He's not one of your eager lads looking for a romantic fling, a summer romance, like some of these other poor fellows who think you hung the moon. I'd suggest you not try to make something more out of this than—"
"Oh, Scott, for pity's sake! Don't try to dictate whom I can or cannot have as a friend!"
"We're not talking friendship, Cara. I've seen you operate, and I know how you enjoy twisting some luckless fellow around your little finger . . . like an industrious spider weaving a web around him until he's utterly helpless!"
"Thanks a lot, Scott," she said scathingly. "I really appreciate being compared to an insect I loathe and despise."
Scott laughed a little sheepishly. "Well, as they say, if the shoe fits—" He paused. "But then, I give Owen credit for being intelligent enough to see through any ploy you can come up with. Maybe this time it will be your heart that gets broken."
"That sounds like a prophecy."
"Sometimes our chickens come home to roost, little sister."
Cara flounced away angrily. "Oh, you're certainly full of proverbs and pithy sayings today, aren't you, big brother! Well, don't worry about me . . . or Owen, either, for that matter. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, and so is he."
She got a skeptical smile in return. "I'm not so sure—"
But he made no further objection, and Cara gathered up her basket, grabbed the wide-brimmed Panama hat off the rack by the kitchen door, and went out, letting the screen bang shut behind her.
Still seething from her brother's criticism, Cara walked briskly down to the beach and started toward the stone jetty where she was to meet Owen.
Today there was only a light breeze, skimming the surface of the sea, and leaving behind only a whitecap here and there to mar its glassy stillness. Gulls called to each other in their raucous voices, promenaded at the water's edge, then suddenly, with a flap of wings, took flight, diving into the sea.
Cara had been so happy before her conversation with Scott, looking forward to this day alone with Owen, a day as cloudless as the sky above her. Why had he said all those things and spoiled the day for her?
Unconsciously, Cara tossed her head, as if shaking off all those troubling warnings. Then she saw Owen and her heart began its excited race. He was waving, and she waved back, then started running to meet him.
That night everyone gathered for the final production of the Fair Winds' players' production. Cara had rehearsed well for her role as Elaine, which she was playing to Owen's Lancelot in Tennyson's Lady of Shalott. With Meredith as narrator, the two alternated lines, bringing a depth of meaning that mere rehearsal alone could not have produced. When Cara as Elaine, feeling the frustration of being compelled to view life through the mirror above her loom, quoted: "I am half sick of shadows," there was not a dry eye in the house.
The play ended to riotous applause, and Cara and Owen were given the Best Player's Award of the summer by a unanimous consensus of their peers.
Two weeks before the Meredith family was to leave the Island to return to Milford, they hosted a crab bake and invited all the young people who had become such good friends over the summer.
The twins were initiated into what was a New England and particularly a Cape Cod tradition. The crab bake was a day-long procedure with much ceremony. The crabs in their shells were buried in hot coals in a pit on the beach. At exactly the proper time, potatoes, ears of corn, and onions were added to the still smoldering coals. In the meantime, tables covered with blue-checked cloths were set up and laden with other typically New England dishes.
When the crabs were deemed ready to eat, they were shoveled out of the coals and spilled, clattering, onto a huge platter, where guests were encouraged to help themselves. Thereafter, all previously accepted table manners were put aside. Pots of melted butter were provided for dipping the luscious white meat, pried out of the shell with small forks or fingers. Finally, napkins were tied around necks for easy access to buttery chins during the course of the meal.
Afterward, when not another bite could be eaten, everyone gathered around the fire, sitting in a circle, Kitty across from Cara. Vance Langley had brought his guitar, and soon their voices were blending, rising above the pounding of the surf.
Kitty led out with her sweet, clear soprano, along with Vance, who seemed to know the words to every ballad ever composed. Someone would suggest a song—a school fight song, a popular ballad, or one of the old-fashioned tunes everyone knew by heart. Then Vance would try to finger the melody on his guitar, after which the others joined in.
When the air off the ocean grew chilly, Kitty decided to run up to the house for extra sweaters and blankets. Bringing them back, she began to distribute them and noticed that Cara was missing. It took her only another minute or two to realize that Owen was gone, too.
Shivering, Kitty sat down next to Meredith, snuggling under the blanket. She wondered if anyone else was aware that Cara and Owen had left the circle. She started to ask Meredith, then put the thought aside and joined in the singing again. Remembering Cara's complaint about "privacy," Kitty decided that maybe they did live too much "in each other's pockets," as her twin had suggested.
Suddenly the wind came up, sending a whoosh of sparks and embers everywhere. There was a great shouting and scrambling as people struggled to their feet, brushing the flying sparks from their clothing. By the time someone had the fire under control and everyone settled down again, Kitty saw that Cara had returned and was sitting in her place on the other side of the circle. Quickly checking, she saw that Owen was back, too. Kitty felt a sharp twinge in her heart. Cara was keeping something from her, and it involved Owen Brandt.
chapter 7
WHILE CARA dreaded to see the summer come to an end, Kitty had mixed feelings about it. In a way, she would welcome not having to deal with her feelings about Kip, not being in his presence constantly. She couldn't seem to act naturally around him anymore—not since the night of the kiss that had not, after all, been intended for her. Maybe, once she was away from the Island and all reminders of him, back at Fern Grove College, she could get over him.
The reality that their summer idyll would soon be over hit them when Merry received a letter from Peabody College, giving the date of the orientation week that all new students were required to attend. As they read the brochure enclosed, Cara breathed a secret sigh of relief that she would not be among those enrolled.
Poring over the information, they read with interest the stated objective of the school, printed in the brochure and pronounced solemnly at the beginning of each school year by its president, Miss Adelia Smythe: "This institution was begun for the purpose of educating young women, with its chief end to graduate women whose minds have been enlightened and uplifted but also who have been taught the great Christian lesson that the true end of life is not simply to acquire knowledge but to give oneself fully and worthily for the good of others, recognizing as their guiding rule that the Bible is the only true textbook of morality. We hope that our graduates will go out into the world to elevate and purify wherever they are placed."
&n
bsp; To elevate and purify—It was a high ideal, and one which fun-loving Cara knew she might never attain. Not only that, but the list of rules to be obeyed was endless and, to Cara, impossible. A picture of a dormitory room showed that it was sparsely furnished, almost monastic—a narrow iron cot, washstand, bureau, desk, a small bookcase, and two straight chairs.
Other requirements specified that parents were not to send jewelry, expensive gifts, clothes, or food, to their daughters in the interest of maintaining the communal status for everyone.
Besides these rules, the daily routine was equally disagreeable, thought Cara. The rising bell rang at 6:30 A.M., breakfast in the dining hall to be served at 7:00 A.M. Tardiness for meals or classes resulted in demerits, which were calculated at the end of each week. Weekend privileges, which included walks into town, were permitted or withheld, depending on one's debit or credit status.
There was compulsory daily chapel, a weekly prayer meeting and, of course, Sunday church services. No one could leave the campus without special permission, and only visitors named in letters from parents were permitted to visit on Sunday afternoons.
Both twins agreed privately that they were glad to be returning to the more relaxed regimen of Fern Grove in the fall. Still, Cara willed the summer days to last, fearing that the end of summer might mean the end of her relationship with Owen.
Why can't he say the wards? she wondered. Tell me what I see in his eyes, what I sense in his heart? Did he feel for her all the strong emotion that rocked her each time she saw him?
For the first time in her life, Cara knew the bittersweet anguish of being in love with a man who wouldn't declare himself. A line from a poem came to her now: There is nothing held so dear as love, if only it be hard to win—
It was his vocation that troubled her most. She knew what everyone would say, what they would think . . . that she was too restless, too volatile, too impatient, too worldly for a minister. Maybe they would even try to talk him out of loving her, too. But what did they really know about her . . . about the real Cara, her thoughts and aspirations? How judgmental people could be, and how very wrong about her—
With only a few days remaining before the house would be closed for the season, Kitty, Cara, Kip, and Owen volunteered to do errands in the village. On the way, they saw a canvas banner strung across the main street from one lamppost to another. In large red letters it spelled out: REVIVAL TONIGHT, 7:00 AT THE OCEANSIDE CAMPGROUNDS, ALL WELCOME!
"Have you been 'saved,' Carmella Cameron?" Kip asked in his most theatrical voice.
Cara threw him a disparaging look.
"Want to go to the Revival?" he persisted, half-teasing, half-serious. "You could do with some soul-searching."
"In the words of the immortal Priscilla Mullens of Pilgrim fame, Why don't you speak for yourself, John?'" Cara retorted.
"Well, it probably wouldn't hurt any of us after all that's gone on this summer," put in Kitty. "Remember when we were performing the Haunted Castle, Mary Shelley's story of Frankenstein, and you played the wicked Dr. Salavori, Kip?"
"Oh, come on!" Kip rolled his eyes. "Maybe our Massachusetts Puritan ancestors frowned on the theater, but surely our forefathers didn't really believe that sin falls upon their descendants."
"As usual, you've got your metaphors mixed and your quotations all wrong," Cara pointed out to him with acid sweetness. "Is T h e sins of the fathers shall fall upon the third and fourth generations,' and is from the Bible! And, from what I gather from your Uncle Norville, the Meredith clan goes back to the witch-hunting days in Salem, so you'd better think twice before shrugging off the idea of going to the Revival meeting!" she warned him laughingly.
Afterward, Cara was to recall that Owen hadn't taken part in any of their lighthearted jesting. The following evening he didn't appear at Fair Winds, nor for the next four nights. Everyone simply assumed he'd been called to work the dinner shift at Dover Inn, so no one asked, nor did Owen offer an explanation.
Only Cara wondered where he had been. But she was too proud to let him know how much she missed him. Later when Scott told them that Owen had been asked to speak at the community church the following Sunday, she had a strong premonition that she couldn't put into words.
On Sunday morning, Cara yawned prodigiously and turned over, saying that she did not think she would go to church.
Kitty looked shocked. "Cara, you've got to! Everyone's going! We're all expected to be there. Besides, Owen would be hurt if we didn't show u p — " She paused significantly. "Owen likes you very much, Cara. Haven't you noticed?"
Cara stretched. "Oh, Kitty, don't be such a monitor. Don't we have enough of that at Fern Grove? I don't see why they asked Owen to preach anyway, or why he accepted. We were all going swimming at the Cove today and take a picnic. Now our plans are all spoiled!" she declared petulantly.
"No, they're not spoiled at all. It just means we'll start an hour or so later," Kitty said sensibly. "Come on now, what are you going to wear—your blue dotted Swiss, or the yellow?" She pulled both dresses from the armoire and held them up on their hangers for Cara to choose.
Still, Cara sat on the edge of the bed, her full red mouth in a pout. "I don't want to go at all. Don't want to hear Owen sermonize! But, oh, well—" she relinquished. "I guess the yellow."
"And your hat with the daisies—" Kitty brought it out from the closet shelf and handed it to her sister. "It's so becoming."
Cara grabbed it out of Kitty's hand and jammed it on her tousled head, making a silly face and sticking out her tongue. "Oh, all right! But, please, no more lectures!"
The church was almost full when they arrived, with some of the people they had met at the dance the night before now in their Sunday best, looking properly serious and reverent. Kip managed a slow wink as he stood at the end of the pew to allow the ladies to enter. Mrs. Montrose went first, then the Colonel, followed by Merry, Cara, and then Kitty.
Sliding into the place next to Kip, Kitty felt breathlessly conscious of his nearness. She slipped to her knees, closed her eyes in the outwardly penitent position of private prayer, before seating herself again and trying to control her uneven breathing.
Beside her twin, Cara felt alternately too warm, then chilled. She hugged herself a little as the ocean-scented breeze swept in through the open windows.
Reverend Miles entered, followed by Owen, looking handsome in a navy blue suit, his white shirt accentuating the deep bronze of his tan. His expression was serious but relaxed, and it came to Cara very suddenly that Owen was in his "rightful" place here where he wanted to be, where he had been called, and that all her indignant, rebellious opposition would not change that elemental truth. Owen was God's man, like David, "a man after God's own heart."
The opening hymn was played with vigor on the wheezy ancient organ, and the voices of the congregation rose in happy praise. When Owen took his place behind the lectern and announced the text from which he would draw his sermon, Cara felt so tense she could hardly look at him. His voice, with the resonance so notable in the theatrical productions at Fair Winds, filled the small church with its mellow ring.
"This morning let us 'enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise,'" he quoted. " 'Be thankful unto him, and bless his name, for the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.'"
Most of what Owen said passed over Cara's head, but it was the sound of his voice that touched her heart, bringing with it a sense of separation. While a part of her felt proud, another was devastated. Her throat ached, and she dug her fingernails into the soft palms of her hands to keep from crying. Hearing him today brought home the truth that, despite the good times they had had this summer, on all the really important matters they were really worlds apart.
The truth was crushing. This had been the happiest summer of her entire life—her summer and Owen's. For the first time, someone besides Kitty had cared enormously how she felt, what she thought. She knew that Owen
didn't think of her as one of a pair but as a unique individual. And loving him had changed her, no matter what anyone else believed.
Thinking of the carefree days just past—the sun and sand, the tingling cold of the ocean, the laughter and kisses—Cara closed her eyes, experiencing again the feel of his firm mouth on her own—its sweetness, its tenderness, its promise. There was music in the roar of the surf, the pounding of her heart like the pounding of the waves against the rocks. As she remembered it now, all the loveliness of this special summer seemed to be slipping away from her. No more the glances across firelit beaches, or moonlight strolls along the ocean's edge, or harmony sung together in the soft summer nights on the porch. If she had not realized it before, she knew it now. It was over, gone.
Finally everyone was rising. Hymnbooks were being opened again as the organ pealed through the raftered church, and the closing hymn was begun.
Outside the church, Cara unpinned her hat and shook down her hair. "Whew! That's done," she remarked to no one in particular.
Kitty glanced warily behind her sister. In Kitty's direct line of vision was Owen, surrounded by members of the church and friends wishing to congratulate him.
She would have liked to join the others to offer Owen her own congratulations, but Cara had already started out of the churchyard.
"Come on, Kitty, let's go. I'm dying for a swim."
Back at Fair Winds, Sunday supper was a casual affair, with friends dropping in and helping themselves to a cold buffet set out on the sideboard. By twos and threes they drifted out onto the porch to eat and watch the ocean roll onto the beach in foamy scallops as the day faded in pink and mauve glory.
Nobody seemed surprised when Owen showed up. There was a second round of compliments for his part in the morning's service. Over the shoulders of the others his eyes searched out and found Cara, but she moved over to the porch railing and leaned against it, staring out at the sea.