would have destroyed him if both his daughters . . ."
She paused to pull herself up tight again. "This is all
beside the point. We're not here to discuss my past;
we're here to discuss your future and the future of the
family's reputation," she insisted.
"Can't you remember what it was like to be my
age? You couldn't have worried about all this back
then."
"Of course I worried about all this." She shook
her head. '1 knew I should have taken more of a role
in your upbringing. Sara . . . Sara is just not equipped
and she has too much to do with your crippled sister." "May is not crippled, Grandma. She has a
handicap, but it hasn't stopped her from being a good
student and doing most of the things other young girls
her age can do. She's very helpful around the house, does her chores, looks after her own things. She's far from a burden to Mommy, Grandma. If you would just let me teach you some sign language, you could talk with her directly and see for yourself how bright
and wonderful she is."
"Ridiculous. I have no time for that sort of
thing. Besides, you all shield her too much because of
this . . . this imperfection. She should be made to
expect no favors and she certainly shouldn't be
babied. Only then will she have the strength to stand
up to her deformity."
"It's not a deformity," I insisted. "And May is
smart and strong enough to live a good life with her
handicap."
"I didn't bring you out here to waste time on
this topic, Laura. I brought you out here to give you
the benefit of my years of wisdom and my sense of
family responsibility. Unfortunately;i am the one who
has to have all the strength in this family. Your
grandfather is becoming more and more forgetful. I'm
afraid he's falling into his dotage and will end up in a
rest home sooner rather than later."
"Grandpa? He looks wonderful."
"You don't live with him," she replied dryly.
"Anyway, I hope you have heard some of what I have
said and will behave properly, doing the right thing." "I like Robert Royce, Grandma. I'm not going
to hurt him by telling him he's not good enough for
the Logans," said softly, but firmly.
She stared at me a moment and then slowly
shook her head.
"I expected more from you, Laura. You leave
me no choice but to speak to your father about this." I felt the tears come to my eyes.
"Daddy likes Robert, too," I said, but I knew
how strong my mother's influence was on my father.
Usually, her words were like Gospel. "Please don't
say anything bad about him."
"If I have your word that you will not do
anything hasty or foolish with this person," she said.
"Too many young people today think nothing of
embarrassing their families."
"Of course, I won't."
"Very well. We'll see how things progress.
Someday, you will be grateful for what I've said to
you today, Laura. You'll look back and laugh at
yourself for being so foolish."
She looked confident of that, but inside, I
thought, No, Grandma, never be grateful for your
telling me that magic between people is merely emptyheaded foolishness. I'll never be grateful for your
telling me that people have to be judged by their
family lineage instead of the content of their
character, that status is more important than
anything, even honest feelings. No, Grandma, I won't
be grateful; I'll always be full of pity, and not for
myself but for you.
I said none of this, of course. Instead, I sat
silently watching her look toward the beach where the
men were making their way back to the house. "It looks like the great minds have settled the
problems of the world and are returning," she said
dryly. "Why don't you ask your mother and sister to
come out now."
I rose quickly.
"When I was your age, I always thanked my
elders for taking the effort and time to talk to me and
share with me their wisdom, Laura," she said as I
started away. I paused and turned back slowly. "I know you want only happiness for me,
Grandma. I thank you for that," I said.
It didn't please her enough. She gave me the
most chilling and piercing look I could remember, a
look that sent me hurrying into the house to get
Mommy.
4
A Sign from Above
.
During the days that followed, an uneasy truce
developed between Cary and myself. He continually tried to maintain an air of anger and disapproval, once again trying to prove that he knew more than I did about dating. He would talk to me through May, signing and delivering his lectures aloud, even though we both knew she could hear nothing. He claimed May needed to learn what to do and what not to do on dates, since I had obviously never been taught the rules. He sounded like Daddy, complaining about young people being too forward, too advanced for their age. At times, when he put on Daddy's face and took on Daddy's voice, I was afraid I would laugh, so I had to turn away to hide my smile. Cary didn't have to imitate Daddy's temper. He had one of his own that was bad enough.
"Now that you're getting older, May," he lectured, shifting his eyes to me, "you have to be careful you don't waste your time on foolish boys or boys who think of girls as trophies and not as people."
"She doesn't have any idea what you're talking about, Cary," I said. "That's more reason to talk to her now, before it's too late. You're a big influence on her," he growled. "A negative one," he added.
"What's that supposed to mean, Cary?" "Just what it means. What she sees you do, she'll think is the best thing to do, the right thing to do."
"I haven't done anything in front of her that I shouldn't," I protested.
"Maybe not yet," he muttered.
He was infuriating, but it was better for me to bite my lip and swallow back my words. He simply continued to make his speeches, talking about boys as if they were poisonous. Poor little May was smart enough and sensitive enough to know she shouldn't contradict him, but she looked to me continually to see if I would reinforce or challenge anything Cary said. I said nothing and looked away. Later, when we were alone, she asked me why Cary was so mad at the boys in school. I told her he was just trying to protect her; he was worried about her. She fixed her large hazel eyes on me and waited for me to say more, but I couldn't.
Sadness was like a spider weaving a web around us. Cary's face of gloom cast long shadows in our house. Whenever he entered a room May and I were in, her eyes swung from me to him and back to me in anticipation of some nasty wave that might drown us all in a sea of depression. Cary spent more and more of his time alone, up in his attic workshop. At school, he stayed to himself, even in the cafeteria. Sometimes, he sat with some of the boys from other fishermen families, but his eyes were always on Robert and me, making me feel self-conscious, making me feel guilty for every laugh, every smile, and especially, every touch.
Robert tried to be friendly toward Cary, tried to have conversations with him, but Cary would only respond in monosyllabic grunts, usually hurrying off or simply ignoring him. I told Robert it would just take time. I told him to be patient, that once Cary saw how nice Robert was, he would stop being so protective and concerned.
"I suppose if I had a sister who looked like you, I'd be walking around
with a shotgun over my shoulder, too," he told me. It brought a smile to my face and laughter to my lips. Robert had a way of parting the clouds and bringing the sunshine into every desolate moment. I had never known anyone as hopeful or as cheerful. After I met his parents, I decided it was because of them, because they appeared to be so happy and in love themselves.
"A flower blooms best in a happy pot," Aunt Belinda once told me when I visited her at the home. I thought she was referring to Grandma Olivia not being a flower that showed much bloom. I thought she was complaining about her own family life, but I couldn't get her to explain any of the things she said. Most of the time, she would just follow something with a laugh and the words would float from us and dissipate like smoke.
I met Robert's parents one afternoon when school was ended early because of a teachers' conference. I asked Cary if he wanted to come along to see how Robert's parents were fixing up the Sea Marina.
"Why would I want to waste time looking at a run-down tourist hovel?" Cary snapped in response. "And why would you?"
"It's not run-down anymore, Cary, and it's certainly not a hovel."
"Who's picking up May?" he countered.
"I will, if you want," I said.
"If I want? You used to care about your little sister," he remarked coldly.
"You know I care about her, Cary. That's not fair. I said I would pick her up."
"Never mind. You'll probably forget; you'll probably be too distracted by loverboy, and she'll be standing there alone and afraid," he said.
"I'm never that distracted, Cary, but even if I were, May could come home herself easily."
"Sure, and not hear a car when she goes to cross the road." "She knows how to cross a road."
"I don't think going to see some junk house for tourists is more important than May's safety," he said. "I'll look after her."
He turned and marched off before I could respond and left me simmering, my hands pressed into tight fists at my sides, my stomach feeling as if it had been twisted and turned inside out. The way some of the other students were looking at me as they passed me in the hallway made me think I had ribbons of steam coming from my ears.
"Are you feeling all right?" Robert asked me when we left school that afternoon. "You haven't said a word."
"I'm fine," I said. "It's just . . . my brother gets me so angry sometimes, I feel like screaming."
"Maybe you should, Laura. Maybe it's time you let him know just how you really feel," Robert said.
"Maybe."
I looked at him, at his face full of concern, and I knew that he was right.
"I'd better wipe the frown out of my face before I meet your parents," I said, "or they'll think you've chosen a witch for a girlfriend."
He laughed and we got into his car and drove to the Sea Marina.
Although the building itself had been neglected, the property on which it lay was prime seaside real estate. Only the front of the hotel had any real lawn. The rear was sandy beach with a pathway that led to a small dock. At one time, the hotel had a sailboat, but it was long gone. All that was left were two rowboats, neither looking very seaworthy, both covered with mildew and both with small leaks. Robert's parents had been concentrating on the building itself, replacing broken shutters, worn, cracked, and broken porch floorboards, painting the walls, repairing the kitchen, putting down new flooring, and replacing the bedding, sitting room furniture, lamps, and electrical fixtures.
"My father's always been pretty handy," Robert told me as we drove up. His father was on a ladder, repairing a loose clapboard.
I knew that the Sea Marina had once been one of the most interesting houses in the area. It had been built as a mansion for a Captain Bellwood, who had developed a successful whaling business when sperm oil was in great demand. As with many great houses, the family lost its fortune and eventually converted the home into a rooming house for tourists. A sign bearing the words THE SEA MARINA was slapped over the entry doors and a new history for the building began. It was never well kept and four or five years ago was finally shut down. Robert explained that the bank had foreclosed on the inn and Robert's parents were able to buy it cheaply enough to have money left over to restore it.
It was a three-story building with twenty-two rooms available for renting. Robert and his parents lived in the downstairs rear of the house. Above the roof was a large cupola with a round dormer. The house had been constructed with a great deal of decorative detail, cresting along the roof line, a widow's walk, paired windows above the front doors, bay windows on the lower floor, and a one-story porch with carved railings and posts. The entire outside of the building had to be stripped and sanded before it was repainted. The-cement steps that had cracked and chipped were replaced, as were a half dozen cracked and broken windows. I had ridden my bike past the Sea Marina before and knew how rundown it was before Robert's parents began this prodigious remodeling. It was no wonder he was occupied and working so much of the time.
Mr. Royce saw us drive up and waved. Immediately I saw that Robert had inherited his smile from his father. When we drew closer and he came down the ladder, I also noticed that Robert shared his blue eyes as well. His father was an inch or so taller, with the same lean, muscular frame.
"What are you hooky players up to?" he asked.
"I told you school was out early today, Dad," Robert said. His father winked at me.
"Yeah, he told me, but can I believe him?"
"Yes you can, Mr. Royce," I said quickly and he laughed. "I see you have a loyal partner there, Robert. You going to introduce us or just stand there looking foolish?"
"This is Laura Logan, Dad. Laura, my father, Bob Hope."
"Bob Hope? If I was that good a comedian, do you think I'd be out here sweating over clapboard? Hi, Laura. Well, what do you think so far?" he said, stepping back, his hands on his hips. We all looked up at the Sea Marina.
"It's looking very good, Mr. Royce. It's going to be beautiful."
"Thank you. Robert's had a hand in all this, but you should see what his mother's accomplished inside." "Come on," Robert said.
"It's nice meeting you, Mr. Royce."
He smiled and gave Robert a look of approval that broadened his shoulders even more.
"Feel free to drop by anytime, Laura. We could always use another hand clutching a paint brush," he said.
"Dad!" Robert protested.
"I'd like to," I said. "It looks like fun."
"Fun? You call this fun?" he joked. "I like this girl, Robert."
"Bye, Dad," Robert said, rolling his eyes and seizing my hand. "Come on, let's meet my mother," he added in a deep, low voice, filling me with
trepidation.
We went up the front stairs and inside. Unlike the outside, the inside of the inn looked like it needed weeks and weeks more of work. The floors were still bare, the walls in the sitting room had only been sanded down and prepped for paint, wires hung from ceilings waiting for their fixtures, and doors were still off their hinges, lying against the walls like impatient guests waiting to be checked in.
"Ma!" Robert called from the hallway. We heard what sounded like a collapsing tower of pots and pans and then a curse. "Uh-oh," Robert said. He widened his eyes and held on to my hand as we continued down the hallway toward what had to be the kitchen.
Robert's mother was sitting on the kitchen floor, her face buried in her hands. Pots and pans were scattered around her. She wore a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt knotted at the bottom, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair, Robert's color, was tied in a ponytail. When she lifted her face from her palms, I saw she had the same soft, perfect features as her son. Even though she was obviously upset at the moment, she had the complexion and youthful glint in her eyes that made her seem ten years younger.
When she focused on us, she smirked, and leaned back on her hands.
"Welcome to the Sea Marina," she said. "Dinner," she continued in a style imitating an English butler, "will be slightly delayed due to
catastrophe."
"What happened?" Robert asked.
"Those shelves I put up decided I had put them in the wrong place and rebelled," she explained and pointed to where the brackets had come out of the wall.
"I told you I would do that today," Robert said.
"I didn't think it was going to be a big deal. Obviously, I underestimated the weight of my cookery." She gazed at me and then smiled. "Are you the new cook?"
"What?"
"Ma, you know who this is," Robert said impatiently. "Oh? Oh," she added and jumped to her feet, brushing off her jeans. "The lobster girl."
"What?"
"Ma!"
"Hi, I'm Jayne Royce," she said, coming forward to shake my hand. "Robert has told me everything about you, so I don't have to ask you a single question."
"Ma."
"Ma, ma. He sounds like a confused sheep. It's ba, ba, Robert. Come on," she said, taking my hand, "let me show you my jewel."
I looked back helplessly as she pulled me along, back through the hallway and into the dining room, so far the only finished room I'd seen. It had a long, dark maple table with very comfortable-looking captain's chairs. There was a silver candelabra and very pretty placemats that looked hand-stitched. There were two teardrop chandeliers that sparkled like ice in the sun, and a large oil painting of a whaling vessel in pursuit was on the far wall. Hanging across the room was another oil painting that I recognized as one of Kenneth Childs's earlier works. It was a beach scene with terns just starting their turn toward the setting sun.
"Well?"
"It's beautiful, Mrs. Royce."
"Please call me Jayne. I call my mother-in-law Mrs. Royce."
I laughed as Robert came up beside us.
"You want to see the dock?" he asked.
"Why would she want to see the dock? It's uglier than a one-eyed bulldog in heat."
"Ma."
"Maybe we should help your mother with those shelves, Robert," I suggested.
"Now here is a girl I could grow to adopt. When you're ready to run away from home, this is the place," she said. "She's very pretty, Robert. You didn't exaggerate."
"Mmm--"
"Don't say it. Wait a minute, Robert," she said, pressing her forefinger into her cheek as she feigned deep thought. "I have it. Why don't you call me Mrs. Royce," she suggested and I laughed. "Come on," she said, taking my hand again, "we'll go back to the kitchen and you can tell me all about life on Cape Cod while I pick up my pots and pans."
Music in the Night Page 7