Sanctuary

by Jennifer McKissack

  “There’s a guest in the house,” Anna snapped at her. “You and Mary need to be up earlier.”

  Patricia wiggled her eyebrows at me. “He’s quite handsome.”

  “He looks smart,” Anna said.

  “He works at a university,” Patricia told me.

  “Isn’t he a knockout?” swooned another girl as she rushed into the room.

  “About time, Mary,” Patricia said, repeating Anna’s words, giving a teasing smile to her aunt. “Aunt Anna says we need to be down early, spit-spot ready to go, now that there’s a guest in the house.”

  The top of Mary’s brown hair was neatly pulled back and clasped with a bright blue bow. Mary was nothing like her sister—in looks or in personality.

  “Go wipe that red lipstick off your face,” Anna told her.

  Mary ignored her, glancing up and down at me. “Is this Cecilia Cross, then?”

  “Hello, Mary.”

  “You’ve come back. Why on earth would you?”

  Where else am I to go? “Sanctuary is my home,” I said.

  “But things are different now, aren’t they?” she said, laughter in her eyes. “With you in my aunt’s old room and her upstairs in your aunt’s room?”

  “Mary!” Anna exclaimed. Patricia whacked her sister on the shoulder.

  “I’m only saying the truth,” Mary said, giving Patricia a little push. “It’s just strange.” She looked back over at me. “You’ve still got that long hair. Like your aunt, and your mother too. Very Victorian of you. I would have thought you’d cut it while at that fancy boarding school.”

  “The school valued learning, not fashion.”

  She burst into laughter. “You’re just as serious as you always were, I see. Always so formal, with a dash of odd.”

  “Shush!” exclaimed Anna.

  Mary shrugged. Her eyes darted in the direction of the hallway. “Ooh, I think I hear him,” she said.

  Patricia’s eyes lit up. “I want another look at him. Particularly from the back.”

  “Patricia Marie!” Anna exclaimed.

  “You’re so uncouth, Patricia,” Mary chastised.

  “Well, have you seen his bum, as our British cousins would say?” She gave me a wink.

  “Go ask him in for coffee and breakfast, Patricia,” Anna said.

  Patricia gave Anna a pleased nod, and she and Mary left us alone in the kitchen.

  “Don’t you want to see the young man as well?” asked Anna gruffly.

  I didn’t answer, just kept kneading the dough, but flipping and pounding more harshly than I should. Anna gave me disapproving glances because the biscuits would suffer. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and gently slapped my hands, gesturing for me to move aside. With brisk efficiency, she rolled the dough out and began to cut the biscuits. I pinched a piece of dough and popped it in my mouth, thinking.

  The biscuits came out of the oven hot and smelling like memories. I slathered one with butter, then another, and ate them quickly, burning my mouth. Jasper and I waited, but no one appeared—not Patricia, not Mary, not the visitor.

  As Anna washed the pan, I stood beside her, fidgety, and played with the tin measuring cups. “I found the fireflies this morning.” Anna’s head was down, and I couldn’t see her face. “They wouldn’t stay out of my eyes,” I said, still unsettled by the incident.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, vigorously drying now.

  “The fireflies,” I said. “Remember Tess calling them ghost candles? The lights, Anna. The tiny wisps of light.”

  “I’ve never seen them,” she said. “But I believe your mother used to talk about lights. Of course your mother saw a lot of things.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked slowly.

  She looked at me in a distracted way. “Your mother was trouble, Cecilia. For your uncle, but your father too.” She put away the pan and hung up the rag. “Now where are those girls? I have work for them to do.”

  ELI BAUER WAS IN MY LIBRARY SITTING ON THE LOVE SEAT IN FRONT OF the window. He stood and smiled when I came in. Jasper gave a low growl before losing interest and settling down at my feet. The feeling of longing I had sensed in the library still lingered in the air.

  Last night, the darkness had hidden Mr. Bauer’s face. Now I guessed him to be in his early twenties. He had sandy blond hair and inquisitive eyes and a presence about him that made me feel suddenly shy, especially as I thought of our talk in the darkened foyer, as if we’d shared something illicit.

  Why had we stayed in the dark last night and dallied in the hallway, making awkward conversation?

  “What book do you have?” I asked, trying to see around him. The library was mine, not his.

  He didn’t even look at the book, just kept his quiet eyes on me with the same look I’d caught on the faces of men on the train. But his gaze was different than theirs, more one of surprise than anything. It made me hesitate for a moment, my eyes unable to leave his. He kept on looking, giving me a smile so thoughtful and catching it made me want to smile back, but I didn’t.

  “That book there,” I said, gesturing to the open one on the love seat. Then I noticed which one it was. My eyes darted to the case, the glass cover propped open.

  “Oh, no,” I said, picking up the book, placing it back on the worn red velvet, shutting the top. “You mustn’t touch these books in here.” I paused and then grudgingly said, “You may look at the ones on the shelves.”

  I noticed he was wearing gloves. “What are those?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t said anything.

  “What?” he asked, still looking at me. Then he glanced down, rubbed his hands together lightly. “The gloves? To protect the books from the oils in my fingers.”

  I rubbed my own fingers together, dismissing the thought of wearing gloves myself. I looked up into his intent eyes and his slight smile and, not able to help myself, smiled tentatively before glancing away. Something else was nagging at me, distracting me, but my thoughts were on Mr. Bauer.

  “Your uncle invited me to stay for a few days,” he said.

  “Oh, all right, then.”

  “It’s a long trip back and forth in one day. And I wanted some time to look over the volumes he has for sale.”

  “For sale?” I’d thought this was what Uncle had been planning.

  “The university has some private donation funds to expand our collection. When I saw the books your uncle sent, I knew I had to come.”

  “He sent you books?” I asked quickly.

  “He did,” Mr. Bauer said with a nod. “Outstanding volumes. He has a 1594 quarto of Shakespeare’s ‘The Rape of Lucrece.’ ”

  Oh, no, no, I thought. People might leave, but the books needed to remain. And these weren’t Uncle’s books. Uncle didn’t use the library, except apparently to steal books to sell.

  I went to the shelves, as if I could see which ones were missing. I ran my fingers over the spines, not liking that even one of them had left Sanctuary.

  My fingertips slid through the dust covering a gold-embossed leather volume, the touch of it both bumpy and silky. I heard a soft murmuring in my ear, with insistence. I brushed the air with my hand.

  When I turned, Mr. Bauer was at the desk—my desk—with his pile of books in front of him. He looked up. “These are remarkable. Many of them are first editions.” He patted the stack with his gloves. “And some are original documents.”

  “Yes, they are remarkable,” I agreed reluctantly.

  “This is Greek,” he said, tapping the book. “Modern Greek.”

  “Is it?” I asked, going over to him, looking at the script. “I never knew what language it was. It has so much depth—forceful and elegant at the same time.”

  He carefully pulled out a fragile manuscript. I appreciated his delicate handling of the material. I sensed that he felt, as I did, that the value of these wonderful volumes was beyond money.

  “This one,” he said, “this one is Egyptian.”

  I pa
used. “Do you read Egyptian and Greek?”

  He gave me a quiet smile. “I recognize them.”

  “I’d like to study languages,” I confessed haltingly. “I think my sister knew another language.” I shook my head and smiled. “Well, it was probably gibberish she made up to fool me.”

  “But you could learn,” he said. “Have you thought of going to a university?”

  “No.”

  “Did you attend school on the mainland before you went to boarding school?”

  I shook my head. “We had a governess for a year or two. She left.”

  He leaned back in his chair, looking interested. “Your education stopped for a time?”

  Again, I heard whispering. I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering … something, but I couldn’t quite catch it.

  “Miss Cross?” he asked.

  “What? Oh, yes. There was another woman, a Miss Owens, who was here when I was seven or eight, but just for a few months before my mother let her go.” I smiled. “She was a strange governess. She had this way of talking, like a flapper girl stuck in the past.”

  I had tried to mimic her, using her words, like “hooey” and “gams” and “killjoy,” even trying to do that little laugh in her throat that she had. Sometimes she would laugh so hard that she’d double over, holding her sides, tears coming from her eyes. She’d told me I was quaint and must’ve been yanked out of the nineteenth century: “We gotta get ya off this rock, doll!”

  “Why was she dismissed?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But it was not long after the crash. Things changed at Sanctuary then.”

  He nodded. “The world changed.”

  “We lost our money. Anyway, by then, I was educating myself.” I glanced about again, drawing back the heavy drapes to look behind them. But then the whispering came from over my shoulder, and I turned only to find Mr. Bauer looking at me.

  “Do you hear that?” I asked cautiously. It was like two voices talking quietly to each other, like the ardent whispering of … lovers.

  “No,” he said, listening. “Hear what?”

  Then the voices were gone as quickly as a snap of fingers. I listened, but there was only silence. They had felt … familiar, as if I knew them.

  Mr. Bauer was looking at me, his brow furrowed.

  “This is my desk,” I said quietly, “that you’re sitting at.”

  “All right,” he said, still watching me, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “You can sit over there,” I said, pointing to the love seat.

  He picked up the books, being careful with them, and settled by the window. I could tell he wasn’t going anywhere. I pulled a novel out of the shelves and returned to my desk, still shaken. But as the moments went by, I convinced myself I’d only heard Patricia and Mary talking outside the door, eavesdropping, or playing a trick.

  I tried to pretend I was alone, but I couldn’t shake his presence. I kept stealing looks at him, which wasn’t easy to do because my back was to him. But he was engrossed in the manuscripts and didn’t seem to be aware of my attention.

  He was nice to look at. I could see what Mary and Patricia meant. But I didn’t think it was only his features that made him so attractive. He was reading intently, with one hand up on his forehead, absentmindedly pushing back his hair. His body was relaxed as he focused on the manuscript. He was slumped in the seat a little, his long legs straight out in front of him. He seemed comfortable with himself.

  Then he looked up, right into my eyes. I turned quickly around and didn’t look back.

  After a time, Mr. Bauer pulled off his gloves and placed them on the side table, saying he was off for breakfast in the kitchen.

  “Anna is a good cook,” I said and turned back to my novel.

  “What are you reading?” he asked. I showed him the cover and he read the title out loud: “The Castle of Otranto. Are you enjoying it?”

  “A helmet falls from the sky and crushes someone.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “So yes?”

  “And portraits walk.”

  “Now I’ve got to read it,” he said.

  I smiled. “You’re mocking me.”

  “Not you, the book.”

  “But if I’m reading the book …”

  His eyes lit with amusement. “Why don’t you come to breakfast?”

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “You could have a cup of coffee.” He gestured to the book. “We can talk about the other strange things happening at the Castle of Otranto.”

  “I’d rather read.”

  “Oh-ho!” he said, his hands going to his heart.

  “I mean rather than have coffee,” I assured him.

  “All right,” he said, giving me a nod as he left. “Then I’m not so offended.”

  I LAY DOWN ON THE LOVE SEAT, KNEES BENT, FEET TUCKED, SO I’D FIT, AND read my novel. The morning passed quickly, so immersed was I in the story.

  But voices from outside pulled me away from my imaginary castle. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised two hours had passed. Laughter drew my eyes to the window.

  Mr. Bauer was on the path in front of the house. It was Mary’s laughter I’d heard. She stood beside him, touching his arm, lightly, briefly, as he spoke to her. They matched—her looks and his. She had none of my exotic wildness; instead, her American-girl naturalness blended with Eli’s blond good looks to make them quite a pair.

  My eyes went to the graves in the trees. Although I could hear no sound from the cemetery, I felt called and compelled to go there. I was still looking out the window, transfixed, when the library door opened behind me. Uncle was in the doorway.

  He was a large man—almost as tall and broad-shouldered as Ben—with ugly hands that twitched by his side as if they longed to squeeze the life out of something. The library seemed to retreat inside of itself at his presence. I resisted the urge to flatten myself against the wall.

  His eyes darted to the window and back to me. “Spying, aren’t you?”

  “What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to sound confident and sure. I wondered where Ben was.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, girl.” His whole body seemed about to pounce, as if he couldn’t control it.

  Tightness pressed against my chest. I kept my eyes on him, remembering a silver letter opener in the drawer of my desk.

  “I should never have let you come here. I can see your mother in you, that crazy witch, with her nose in the air like she was some sort of queen. She ordered me around in my own house, thinking she was the mistress here. But when your father died, she knew, she knew …” His voice trailed off.

  I was determined not to be afraid. “What did she know?”

  “I’m your guardian, did you know that? I can throw you out into the sea if I want,” he said, thrusting his chin toward the window. Ben’s words came to me. He’s done it before.

  “No one would care,” Uncle said. “You have no one.”

  Don’t listen to him, my books whispered. “No one,” he repeated, as if arguing with the whispering. But then he bit his lip, as if he was surprised he’d spoken those words.

  “I wonder … I wonder why you even brought me here.”

  “Brought you here! I let you come back. You are here because I let you stay. Do you understand, you …” I saw it in his face, a deep loathing or fear that twisted his mouth. But then something passed over his eyes, as if he was confused. His eyes grew fixed, like he was trying very hard to remember something. “I made a promise,” he said finally. “But a man can only do what he can.”

  He slammed the door when he left.

  I collapsed onto the love seat, shaking. I held my book against my forehead and took deep breaths. I had no idea why my uncle hated me so much. I thought it might be hatred and fear of my mother he was taking out on me.

  Mary’s laughter drifted in through the window. As I wrestled with fright and uncertainty, I resented her carefree happiness.
I wanted to flirt with a handsome young man. I wanted a family living in a normal home in Lady Cliffs, and to not grieve or fret or fear. I sat very still until I was calm again.

  The front door creaked, and steps echoed in the foyer. From the window, I could see Mary going around to the rear of the house with a basket. My head whipped back as the library door opened, revealing Mr. Bauer.

  “How was breakfast?” I asked, glad my voice was steady.

  He paused for a moment, then closed the door, saying, “Quite good. Those biscuits.”

  “I told you Anna can cook,” I said, going back to my desk. “I used to think of her biscuits when I was at the boarding school, wishing for them.”

  “Even better than my mother’s,” he said, sitting on the love seat. His eyes lit up playfully. “But don’t tell my mother.”

  I smiled at him briefly. I pictured him with a mother, the two of them together in their kitchen, him helping with dinner. I had always wondered what it would be like to have a mother who cooked, instead of one who danced and threw parties and then went insane. Was he kind to her? I thought he probably was very kind.

  I realized I was staring at him while I was thinking all these things. Coming back to myself, I started. I felt the heat rise into my cheeks.

  He smiled, looking not at all discomfited by my staring. He might’ve even looked a little pleased. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Are you trying to trespass on my thoughts?” I asked, still feeling vulnerable because of Uncle’s visit.

  His brow furrowed. “Are you so private?”

  I shifted in my chair. I didn’t look his way, and he didn’t say anything else, but I heard pages turning.

  All was quiet. I continued to look toward the door, afraid Uncle would barge in. But I didn’t think he would with Mr. Bauer here. And also I’d noticed Uncle had only hovered in the doorway, as if he didn’t want to step into the room. That thought comforted me: that the library might be a place he didn’t like to enter. I was safe here. Finally I fell back into my castle again, immersed in another world far from Sanctuary—interrupted only by occasional glances at Mr. Bauer.