Sanctuary

by Jennifer McKissack

  I hesitate for a moment, thinking of Aimée. He leans toward me in that hesitation. I walk away, not too fast, not wanting him to think I am afraid.

  I find Dr. Clemson in the hold, tending to one of my neighbors.

  “What is your given name?” I ask him in French.

  “William,” he says, looking surprised I am speaking to him.

  “I heard you arguing with the captain yesterday.”

  He laughs. “I do that daily.”

  “It was on our behalf. I do thank you, William.”

  His smile is wide and sincere.

  I want to keep him close. He could help us. It is true he is handsome. The captain chides him for his kindness and how it makes him weak. Perhaps it does, but I like that he is kind …

  Finally, we reach Virginia. Staring at the shore, I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know what life will be like here. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll be returning to Acadie soon. When Aimée is well, I will find us a way home. And I’ll find Papa and my brothers. We’ll be a family again.

  The crew is unloading us onto boats taking us to shore. The people in the town don’t want us here, so the captain is abandoning us like cargo on the beach. I will breathe easier when I am away from his dark eyes. I know his kind. He is both suspicious and tempted, his own desire crafting his fear.

  We wait our turn to get in one of the small boats. I approach William, who is sitting on a pile of thick rope with his book in his lap. I want to thank him, but I struggle with how to do it. I look down at his sketch.

  “You are gifted,” I say.

  He stands immediately.

  “May I see?” I ask.

  He hands me the journal, and I study the drawings.

  “None of me?” I ask him, teasing.

  He blushes so fiercely, I wonder if he has some hidden away.

  We stand at the railing together, staring at the wild coast of Virginia. He is very quiet and seems nervous. Finally, I ask, breaking the silence, “Why didn’t you keep all of us together? Would no town have us all?”

  He hesitates. “They feared you could be a threat to the Crown.”

  “We’ve lived in peace in Acadie for more than a century,” I say, still shocked by the beliefs of the English. “Why do you see us as your enemy?”

  “Because you wouldn’t agree to be our friend.”

  “That document you asked the men to sign? They agreed to be neutral in your war with the French. Why isn’t that enough?” I sigh, weary from the senselessness. “It should have been enough.”

  “I agree.”

  I look at him, liking the look of his chin. Not soft, but one with strength and character. Papa always says you can know a man from the set of his chin.

  I lean toward him, which startles him. “Then why are you on this ship?”

  “I’m a doctor. I’m duty-bound to help the injured or sick.”

  “You burned our cottages.”

  Shame reddens his cheeks. “So there would be nothing for you to return to.”

  “You are fools if you think that will keep us from our home.” I look at him steadily, so he knows I tell him the truth. “We will return to Acadie. We will not rest until we do.”

  Maman is waving at me. “Amoret! It is time.”

  I hesitate. I do not dislike him as much as I did before. In other circumstances, we might have been friends. “Good-bye, William,” I say, still not able to say thank you.

  He struggles for words. I smile, which makes him more flustered, and finally leave his side. My reluctance to leave him confuses me.

  Aimée is very weak. I yell at the crew to be careful with her as they lower her into the boat below. I jerk away from the man trying to help me down. When I feel a grip on my arm again, I shake him off, thinking it’s one of the crew.

  “Not you,” the devil says, and pushes me back.

  Alarmed, I lunge for the side, the railing biting into my palm. One of the crew grabs my waist and holds tightly. I see my mother and sister in the boat below, looking up at me.

  “Amoret!” Maman screams. She tries to get back in the ship, but the oarsman pushes the small boat away.

  “Maman!” I yell. “My mother needs me!” I say to the men restraining me, as if they could understand. I kick them fiercely in the shins. The shorter of the two slaps me, the sting burning my cheek.

  The captain lashes his whip at the short man’s legs and hips. “You’re not allowed to hit what’s mine.”

  I hear William’s voice trying to reason with the captain. I hear Maman yelling. I hear my own voice scream and scream. “Maman! Maman!”

  I flew up out of my bed, thrashing, sending the lamp to the floor. I thought I was screaming. I expected to see the sea before me, Maman’s face looking up at me, but I only saw the shadowy dark of Anna’s room. My heart was feeling, remembering, pounding. Amoret’s anguish at hearing Maman’s screams became my anguish at hearing my mother’s when she was taken from Sanctuary.

  I closed my eyes and waited for the sense of terror to leave me. I’m not there, I’m not there. I began to breathe more easily, steadying myself.

  In my dream, what Amoret saw, I saw. But I knew her better than she knew herself. She didn’t know what she felt for William. She was drawn to his kindness and his decency. And there was more—a desire to be with him, to listen to his voice, to hear his thoughts. I knew what it was to feel these things.

  I righted the lamp and crawled back under the covers, thinking of Eli.

  For me, it was more now. I had an intense yearning for Eli that shocked me. I lay in bed for a while thinking of him, until I could stand it no longer. I had to see him. But I took care in getting ready. I scrubbed my face and brushed my hair one hundred times. I put on a nice skirt and blouse and went into the kitchen.

  Mary and Patricia were busy with Anna cleaning up after breakfast and didn’t notice me because they were so involved in their conversation. I stepped back into the service hall, listening.

  “I can’t believe her!” Mary was saying. “Going off every day with him like that! Walking all over the island—I saw them traipsing across the lawn back and forth—and then off in the boat toward Lady Cliffs yesterday. It’s not proper.”

  My face grew hot.

  Patricia was laughing. “Since when have you worried about such things, Mary?”

  “I don’t go off with boys,” Mary said indignantly. “Oh, why does she get him anyway?”

  “Ha!” Patricia exclaimed. “You’ve lost your eyes. She’s stunning and with that wavy, silky hair, just like her mother.”

  “There’s something odd about her,” Mary insisted, “I’ve always thought so. Especially her eyes, the way they change colors—sometimes dark gray, sometimes green, sometimes brown. And the way she looks at you when you talk to her, and she doesn’t say anything, just stares.”

  “That’s called listening, little sister,” Patricia said. “Something you know nothing about.”

  “Oh, she’s very odd. I don’t like her at all. In fact, I dislike her most strongly.”

  “Really? Most strongly?” Patricia asked in a mocking voice. Mary didn’t notice.

  “And neither does anyone else. In town, they talk about how strange her family has always been—her, her mother, her sister, even her grandmother. The whole lot of them! I don’t see what Eli sees in her.”

  “I most certainly do.”

  “And he’s been very kind to me,” Mary said. “Did you see how he looked at me when I gave him his plate at dinner the other day? The way he thanked me for it extra politely?”

  “He’s like that with everyone,” Patricia said. “Mary, you need to just leave them alone. I’ve seen you sneak out after them. You’re spying on them.”

  That stunned me. I remembered the feeling I’d had of someone watching me, but I didn’t think of Mary. I thought, if anyone, it was Uncle.

  “So what if I am!” she said, not the least bit embarrassed. “And where is the princess now? Still asleep!�
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  Impatient for their conversation to end, I finally went into the room, sitting myself down at the table and scooping up Jasper for a kiss. Everyone was now quiet.

  “Am I too late for breakfast, Anna?” I asked.

  Patricia gave me a plate of cold ham and cheese, saying, “Good morning,” while Mary shot me irritated glances.

  “Good morning, Patricia.”

  I hugged Jasper and put him back on the floor, glad that at least he was glad to see me. I ate my breakfast in the tense silence, which was only broken by Mary banging cabinet doors closed and clomping loudly about.

  When Ben came into the room, I asked him to step outside with me for a moment. He pulled his jacket off the peg by the door, and we stayed close to the house out of the whipping wind. The temperature was dropping now, snatching summer from us.

  “Tell me about our cousin, Ben.”

  “I told you already.”

  “You said that Uncle got rid of her.” His eyes slid away from mine, and I put my hand on his arm. “Look at me. Did Uncle hurt her?”

  “I didn’t help him.”

  “What did he do?” I asked quickly.

  He clamped his mouth shut, but I could see the truth in his eyes. Ben couldn’t easily hide things.

  “Ben.”

  He looked off.

  “You tried to warn me about Uncle. I want to know just how worried I should be.”

  He gave me a sullen look. “I saw him put her in the boat, Cecilia. You need to stay away from him.”

  A chill went through me. “Was she dead?”

  “She was trying to hurt us,” he whispered.

  “Ben,” I said, frustrated with his suspicion, put there by Uncle.

  “She was sleeping, I think. He carried her.” His eyes watered. “I didn’t hurt her, Cecilia.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  “Don’t tell Papa I told you.”

  “Uncle can’t just get rid of people. You understand that?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Are you going to tell the police?”

  “We must. Don’t you see?”

  “I’ll say you’re lying.”

  “Ben,” I said softly.

  “I’ll say I never saw Papa with the lady.”

  “We have to report it and tell the police what we know.”

  “I remember when they came after the fire. They don’t like us.”

  “That was a long time ago,” I said.

  “I don’t like the Lady Cliffs people,” Ben said. “They aren’t … nice.”

  “Have they been unkind to you?” I asked quietly.

  He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m not dumb.”

  I paused, thinking. “I remember one day years ago I went down to the harbor and you were sitting on the pier, with one of the motors to the boat, and all these pieces were everywhere.” I laughed. “Do you remember?” I prodded.

  He shook his head, eyes to the ground.

  “And I said, ‘Oooh, Cousin, you are in so much trouble.’ You explained it was broken, and you were fixing it. By afternoon, the motor was working again.” I shrugged in disbelief. “You couldn’t have been more than eleven years old.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me, but I saw the grin breaking out on his face, and he looked eleven again.

  “Let’s go back in,” I said, looping my arm through his, resting my head on his shoulder for just a moment, the affection so unlike me it must have surprised him. “It’s cold out here.”

  PATRICIA HAD LEFT, BUT MARY WAS STILL IN THE KITCHEN WITH ANNA, peeling potatoes over one of the stone sinks. “I cleaned your dishes,” she said, looking up, the knife hovering over the potato.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You left your dirty dishes on the table.” She glanced at Ben, but he avoided her eyes and sat down.

  “I would have done it, Mary,” I said.

  “You would have left them there, like you always do. You could help out around here. Everyone works but you.”

  “Let me do the potatoes, then,” I offered.

  She grunted and turned back to the sink.

  Anna glanced at me, and then turned quickly around, not wanting to get involved as usual. I was put out with her for lying to Eli about Ben’s eye, especially because she was protecting Uncle.

  I thought of how Anna had been here when my mother was taken away, when the fire had happened, when my aunt had sent me away. She’d been here through all of it.

  I heard someone in the dining room and—despite all the unsettling things going on—felt twinges of excitement at the thought of seeing Eli. When he came into the kitchen, my stomach did giddy cartwheels.

  His eyes brightened. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” I said, wanting to go to him, but staying where I was.

  He put his hands on the back of a chair across the table from me.

  “Can I get you anything, Mr. Bauer?” Mary asked.

  “No, thank you,” he said, keeping his eyes on me.

  “Maybe a drink of water?” she pressed.

  “No, thank you,” he said, giving her a quick smile before turning back to me. “I want to show you something. Will you come to the library?”

  A smile played on his lips.

  “What did you want to show me?” I asked from across the library, feeling the spines of my books brushing my back.

  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug of one shoulder.

  My face must have been beaming with pleasure, plain for him to see. I shuffled my feet and looked up at him. “Mary has a crush on you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Mary.” He patted the seat next to him. “Will you sit by me?”

  I gave him a slow smile, but didn’t move, my eyes not leaving his.

  He grinned and broke his gaze, letting out a laugh. “You are stubborn.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  “Shall I come to you, then?”

  “No,” I said, “you stay right where you are.”

  He laughed again, and when his eyes caught mine again, the humor in them changed to softness. “What shall we do today?”

  “Get out of this house.”

  And for the next several days, that was what we did. I packed us cold sandwiches and hot coffee in a thermos. We took long walks and ran through gentle tides, and investigated caves I used to play in as a child. At night, my dreams were free of Amoret, or at least I didn’t remember them the next morning. I also was able to push my fears about Uncle out of my mind. It was like Sanctuary was giving me a reprieve.

  One day, Eli and I went to the beaver pond and spied on a turtle basking on a rock in the sun, his neck stretched out.

  Lying on our stomachs while we hid in the grass, we whispered back and forth to each other so as not to disturb him.

  “I’m itching to pick him up,” Eli said, his eyes gleaming, “and bring him back with us.”

  “We can’t,” I whispered.

  “We could.”

  “But we won’t.”

  “Did you know,” Eli said, still watching the turtle, “that some sea turtles will migrate back to their place of birth?” When I was quiet, he looked over at me. “What are you smiling at?”

  “Why do they?” I asked, still smiling. “Tell me.”

  “Well,” he said, a little bashful at being studied so intently. “Well, they return to have their eggs. Sometimes they are thousands of miles away and they swim back.”

  “But why do they?” I played with his hand beside me. “Swim back?”

  He kept looking at me, watching me like I’d watched him.

  “You’re not answering me,” I said.

  “No one knows,” he said, stroking my cheek. I closed my eyes and he caressed my eyelids too. “I guess they want to go home,” he said softly.

  I forgot about turtles.

  Another day, I showed him a small trickling waterfall at the south tip. We brought blankets and books and lay in the sun, the sound of the water burbling from th
e shadows.

  “Doesn’t the university miss you?” I asked.

  He hesitated for a moment. Something passed over his eyes that I couldn’t read. Finally, he glanced over at me. “The university doesn’t miss me.”

  “Well, good,” I told him.

  He read passages to me about long-ago kings or goddesses, sometimes translating from other languages, stopping to add asides about the various histories or mythologies. I grew more impressed with how much he knew, but sometimes just let his dreamy voice lull me into bliss.

  “I don’t think you’re listening to me,” he said.

  I was on my back, he beside me on his stomach. I opened my drowsy eyes and turned my head to look at him. A lock of his sandy hair had fallen over his brow. I brushed it away to touch his skin warmed by the sun.

  “Tell me something else about you,” I said.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” I said.

  He fidgeted with the book, looking uncomfortable.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t talk about myself very much usually.” He smiled at me. “But I find I want to tell you things.”

  “Why do you?” I asked.

  “I want you to know me. And I want to know you.”

  “I don’t usually confide in people either.”

  “I know you don’t,” he said. “So when you tell me things, I … am …”

  “What?” I prompted.

  “It means a lot to me that you trust me.” But he looked unhappy when he said it. “Cecilia,” he said, very serious now. “I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

  “I haven’t either,” I whispered, thinking this must be what love felt like. With one finger, I traced his eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones.

  His look changed, his eyes dropping to my lips. “If it’s all right,” he said, leaning in, very near, his lips whispering close to mine, but still too far, “I’d like to kiss you.”

  “I think that would be all right.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes,” I said, raising my head toward him.

  He pulled back. “You’re sure?”

  “Come here,” I told him, pulling him to me. Desire swept over me, and he responded. His arms wrapped around me, mine about his neck. He pulled me to him and pressed against me, and the kiss went deeper and longer. Our lips came apart, but our eyes were locked.