The Golden Unicorn

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  So she must have consoled herself and quieted her conscience over the years for what she had done.

  “If you take Alice away from me,” I said, “you leave me with nothing. There’s not even an illusion I can cling to.”

  “You don’t really know us yet,” she said calmly. “When—when everything is settled, you must come back for a happier visit. This will be your home, you know.”

  I stared up at her helplessly. Judith Rhodes lived in a world of illusion, and Herndon had always kept that world safe for her—like a cocoon around her. Perhaps that was why, in the end, she had never left him. He was the one who would never fail her, never condemn her, no matter what she did. The question came into my mind without warning.

  “Why did you slap Stacia?”

  The words were sudden enough to take her aback, and she stepped away from my bed, as though I had reached out toward her with some rough gesture. But her composure was quickly recovered.

  “My daughter threatened me,” she said quietly. “She threatened me in a way I couldn’t accept. I don’t often forget myself like that, and I was sorry afterwards. I went to John about it and he quieted her down. Unfortunately, she pays little attention to her father.”

  I let the matter of the slap go.

  “I suppose I am thankful to you, in a way, for taking me to New York. It would have been dreadful to grow up here at The Shingles.”

  For a moment longer she stood looking down at me, neither smiling nor frowning. Then she went out of the room, moving softly down the hall, with my door left open behind her.

  I felt too weary to get up to close it, and some twenty minutes later Mrs. Asher brought me a tray and arranged it on a table in my room.

  “Can I help you out of bed, miss?” she asked.

  “Thank you, but I’m not ill, Helen. Just tired. I’ll be fine now.”

  She edged toward the door a few steps and then halted, so that I knew she had something to say.

  “What is it?” I asked gently.

  Her face worked for a moment, and then she managed the words. “You saw her yesterday, didn’t you, miss?”

  I didn’t need to ask whom she meant. “Mr. Faulkner took me to see Olive Asher.”

  “Is—is she coming back to live in these parts, do you know, miss?”

  I could reassure her about that, at least. “No—she was only here on a short visit. I don’t think she’ll be back at all.”

  “William said she’d try to stir up trouble about the old days. I think it worried him—her being here. And—and it scares me.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. She’s gone.”

  She looked more relieved than the circumstances seemed to warrant, and I asked a question.

  “Did your husband tell you what it was that made him feel concerned about Olive?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Oh no. He doesn’t like to talk about that time. It makes him sad. He worked for Mr. Lawrence Rhodes when he was young, you know. And what with two of them dying so close together—those were painful days. And then the baby— But that Olive—she must have been a strange one. Sort of creepy, I think.”

  Before I could respond, Helen scuttled off abruptly, perhaps feeling that she had already said too much.

  When she had gone, I got up and found that I had enough appetite to eat the soup and cold chicken and salad that had been sent up to me. Then I set the tray out in the hall for someone to pick up, and went determinedly about my packing. Tomorrow I had to leave—somehow. My arm had stopped hurting for the moment, and when I got back in bed I went to sleep quickly, the continuing rain at my window whispering a lullaby that was more soothing than Stacia’s on the piano. Just before I fell asleep I heard her playing again. Something brilliant and a little staccato that I did not recognize. Another of her own compositions, perhaps? I didn’t want to waste myself like that. I wanted to do something that mattered with my life. Even if I had to do it alone. Marrying wasn’t everything. These days women were perfectly capable of living happily alone.

  I touched the unicorn at my throat. In spite of everything, it was comforting to know that it had been my mother’s hands that had placed it about my neck.

  When I fell asleep, my pillow was damp beneath my cheek.

  Awakening to a gray morning, I got stiffly out of bed to look from a window. It was no longer raining, but fog had come in from the ocean and drifted in wisps that obscured the beach below the dunes.

  It was quickly obvious that I would not be able to put my arm to the strain of driving, but this, nevertheless, was the day when I must go back to New York. If no one else could drive me in—and I didn’t think I would care to ask that of any of them—I would return by train and come back for my car later.

  That settled, I should have felt cheerful and purposeful. Instead, I dragged through the chores of bathing and dressing, and went gloomily down to breakfast. They were all there at the table except Stacia, who was apparently sleeping late. Only Judith smiled at me with a forced cheeriness and I mumbled a “good morning” in response. Evan gave me one quick glance, seemed to dismiss my existence, and did not look my way again. I fought back the stab of pain. John and Herndon were engaged in some interfamily argument, and paid me little attention. I was glad enough not to be noticed until I’d had my coffee.

  When Asher had brought it and I’d finished my first cup, I dredged up the energy to make my announcement.

  “I’m going home today,” I said a little too abruptly, so that the words sounded defiant.

  They all looked at me, and Judith said, “But your arm, Courtney. You can’t possibly drive.”

  “I don’t mean to. I’ll take a train for New York as soon as I can. I don’t need my car in the city. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave it here until I can come back for it.”

  They all regarded me in a silence that was oddly tense, and I had no idea what any one of them was thinking. Evan was only a stranger.

  Herndon spoke first, his voice quiet, the words unhurried. “Apparently I have been the last to be told who you are, Courtney. I wish you had come to me with the truth at once, so that you could have been given a happier welcome.”

  “I’ve had quite enough welcome in this house,” I told him stiffly. “All I want is to go home.”

  “But now that we do know”—he went on, as though I hadn’t spoken—“there are legal matters of some urgency to take care of, and a final identification to be made. I think you must really stay for a few days more, Courtney.”

  “You don’t seem to understand,” I said. “I don’t want Stacia’s heritage. I’m not Anabel Rhodes. I’m Courtney Marsh and I have my own life back in New York. If you think I’m going to cooperate with you in any way, you’re mistaken.”

  “I don’t think you have much choice,” John put in quietly. “Stay and see it through, Courtney. It will be harder if you run away.”

  “I didn’t run away, in the first place!” I told them all, once more defiant. “I was given away. I was stolen—if you want to know what I think of it. I was taken away deliberately—away from my father and my family. Though that’s something I’m glad of now. Today I can have a choice—and—and—” My voice broke, and I gave my attention to swallowing orange juice.

  Judith made a soft moaning sound and Herndon leaned to comfort her. No one else said anything, and I couldn’t bear to look at John.

  When I could speak again, I tried more quietly. “I did have a talk with Stacia, and I promised her that if she would not sell this house I would go away and you’d never need to hear anything of me again. I tried to bargain with her. But I don’t think she believed me.”

  “She wouldn’t,” Evan said, speaking for the first time.

  “In any case,” Herndon went on, “matters—legal matters—can’t be worked out like that. You are here now, Courtney. You exist. There are no promi
ses you can make that will affect the circumstances. You must accept the fact that all this is now out of your hands. Of course I should have been told. I should have been told at once so that wheels could have been set in motion.”

  I faced them angrily. “I didn’t come here for that! I only came because I wanted to find out about my family. What if I refuse to save your precious house? What if I sell it out from under you, just the way Stacia wants to do?”

  “But you won’t,” John said. “It’s not in you to do that, is it, Courtney? Thank God you’re not one of us. You’re still capable of generosity.”

  “I don’t think you know what I’m capable of!” I could hear the frustration in my voice, and knew I was flailing at the stone wall the Rhodes had raised against me.

  Only Evan was not a Rhodes and I turned to him in pleading. No matter how much he disliked me, no matter how disgusted with me he had been, he was the only one who could help me now.

  He was stirring cream in his coffee cup, but he must have sensed my silent entreaty, and he spoke without looking at me.

  “I’ll drive you back to New York, Courtney. But not until this afternoon. I have to go out to the lab this morning for something that’s just come up.”

  “I won’t be here when you get back,” I said. “Not even if I have to take a taxi to New York!”

  “Then you’ll have to go with me to Montauk,” he said, suddenly fixing me with a look down the table, his eyes dark with his own determination. “You can come out to the lab with me, and that will keep you out of trouble for the morning. This afternoon I’ll drive you back to the city.”

  I was caught. I wanted to protest hotly that I couldn’t be managed like that. I wanted to get away from Evan Faulkner, more than any of the others, because being with him meant pain. Yet I wanted to be with him. Some treacherous part of me wanted to acquiesce meekly, no matter how unpleasant the day with him might be. And while I was being pulled by my own ambivalence, Judith spoke up as cheerfully as though there had been no show of emotion around the table, as always unaware of others’ feelings.

  “I know what! We’ll all go with you, Evan. I haven’t been out to the Point on a picnic since I was a girl. It will be lovely!”

  We stared at her in astonishment. This was Judith Rhodes, the recluse, speaking. Judith, who seldom left the shelter of The Shingles under any circumstances. What was up now? I wondered. Why was Judith suddenly determined that Evan and I shouldn’t go out to Montauk alone? I didn’t think she cared in the least about her daughter’s marriage, but something must have moved her strongly to make her step out of the protective cocoon of the house.

  Herndon seemed aware of none of this, perhaps as obtuse—or indifferent—to the rest of us as his wife. He actually looked pleased over the suggestion. “A very good idea. Since it’s Saturday, I can go with you. Perhaps you can do some sketching out at Montauk, Judith.”

  “I’m tired of sketching, tired of painting. I just want a change!” Judith cried.

  Herndon reached out to touch her hand. “Then you shall have it.”

  She looked around the table again. “Did anyone else see Alice walking the beach the other night?”

  There was a startled silence before Evan spoke quietly.

  “What did you see that made you think of Alice?”

  “A woman in a flowing white dress. Like the one Alice used to wear.”

  “That was only Stacia,” Evan said. “She found an old box of Alice’s clothes in the storage room. I saw her flitting around in that dress.”

  “To torment me,” Judith said. She pressed her hands over her face. “Yes—we’ll go to Montauk. I’ve got to get away.”

  I watched her warily, never sure of her direction, and more than ever doubtful of her motivation. John was watching her too, sardonically amused, and waiting to see which way the tide would carry us. He would go along with it, I knew, whatever happened. Right now Judith was the tide, and it was settled—we were going to Montauk.

  “Are we taking Stacia along?” I asked.

  “No,” said Herndon firmly. “Let her sleep this morning.”

  “Let’s hurry,” Judith said nervously. “Let’s get away before she comes down.”

  There was no telling whether Evan was pleased or not by this intrusion on his plans, but he offered no objection, and as soon as she had finished her breakfast, Judith went out to the kitchen to supervise the hurried preparation of a lunch to take along. I hoped that Stacia would remain asleep. Perhaps more than anything else, we all needed a respite from my cousin. It did occur to me to wonder if we might invite Nan, but no one seemed to think of it, and another person would crowd the car, so I said nothing.

  Thus the die was cast, the plan was made, the steps begun that would lead to an ending we never expected. In the time while I was dressing in warmer slacks and a sweater, and binding my hair back with a green flowing scarf that left its ends trailing down my back—while I was doing all these ordinary and prosaic things—something new and determined came to life in me. I too began to make a plan.

  From the first there had been an air of suppressing the truth about what had happened on the beach near that cottage in Montauk. The house was still there in the family—at least it must belong to Nan now. So perhaps I could get Evan to take me there while we were at the Point. What I could possibly find in an empty house on an empty stretch of beach, I had no idea. Nothing would be left to tell me anything of my mother’s death—yet there was in me a new urgency to see both the beach and the house.

  Now not only Judith had a secret motivation as we went downstairs to get into Evan’s station wagon. There was purpose driving me as well, and I knew I would have to get Evan away from the others and convince him of what I wanted to do. I would find out nothing if they all accompanied us, but if I went with Evan alone, who knew what I might discover?

  As we drove away from The Shingles I wondered idly what Stacia would do when she awakened and found us gone.

  15

  Fall in New York is often the best of all seasons, and September had been living up to the pattern until yesterday’s rain and this morning’s fog. There were still hurricane warnings, but the storm was far south off the Carolinas and no real coastal damage had been done. There was hope that the disturbance would lose itself at sea before it got this far north.

  As we set off on what would be hardly more than a half-hour’s drive to the Point, we found that the fog had lifted somewhat, and while mist clung to the water and rested in hollows, there was no driving difficulty.

  No one talked now, and the atmosphere inside the car was hardly the gay one of a family household setting off on a picnic. John made an effort now and then, but no one helped him, and I didn’t care about pretenses. I only wanted to follow through on my own purpose for this trip—even though I didn’t really know what drove me. Once I got to the Kemble cottage, I would somehow know what to do. Afterwards, I would leave for New York as soon as possible.

  Because he had put me there, I found myself in the front seat beside Evan, with the other three in back. Evan’s attitude seemed to be that he was doing this simply to keep me out of further trouble, and he didn’t have to be cheerful and conversational about any of it.

  I was all too aware of him beside me, and sometimes I stole a guarded sidewise look, memorizing details against the time of drought when this moment would be gone and he wouldn’t be beside me ever again. The present was only the flick of an eyelid before it became the past, and there would be nothing of substance to cling to after today. So at least I must try to be aware of these last hours when I could hold him in my sight.

  The miles slipped away and we drove through the wild section of dunes that was Hither Hills State Park, and then “onto Montauk,” as I had learned the old-timers always said. You went “onto” Montauk and “off” Montauk, and if you were a real native, you even put the accent on the
last syllable and called it “M’n-tauk.”

  Before long we were in the streets of the town and I was reminded of some frontier settlement. There was an end-of-the-world look about this far tip of Long Island that reached out into the Atlantic. The country around was still a little wild, and the town had the appearance of being set down in the midst of a sandy wilderness of scrub growth. Yet, thrust up to a startling height in the middle of low buildings, was a tall office structure that seemed to have no relationship to anything else around. The only thing to match it in size was a huge chateau on a central bluff, which John said was called Montauk Manor. These two oversized buildings that matched nothing else were part of an attempted boom that was supposed to turn Montauk into the Miami Beach of the North back before the crash of 1929. The Montauk boom had crashed along with everything else, but the impressive structures remained.

  We were going first to the lab, and Evan turned down a side road, where we checked in with the guard at the gates of the New York Ocean Science Laboratory. The area was located on Fort Pond Bay, and had its own pier, a seaplane hangar, helicopter pad, and numerous long, low buildings set out rather bleakly on the sandy earth like a government installation, which it had once been.

  In the back of the car there was an uneasy quiet, and when Evan and I got out, the others followed silently. I had the strange feeling that each one of us knew that this period of calm was only a lull before the coming storm, and all I wanted was to escape before any of it broke over my head.

  Only Evan seemed to change and throw off the atmosphere of The Shingles, now that we were on his own familiar ground. Obviously, his work was more than an anesthetic to him, and all this had been his life for a long time, compensating perhaps for the failure of his marriage.

  As we walked toward a smaller building that stood apart from the rest, Judith hung back.

  “I don’t like the smell of fish,” she said, and the other two stayed behind with her.

  When I looked back I saw Judith and Herndon standing together, Herndon’s head bent toward her, as though they talked together earnestly. John had moved a little apart, his expression faintly bitter, as though he sensed exclusion. What, I wondered, did he really think about that blow that had been dealt him last night?