Sanctuary

by Jennifer McKissack

  “That was why I didn’t mail the letter. I wanted you to come home.”

  Closing my eyes for just a second, thinking about home and loss, and if I had ever had a home to lose, and knowing that I did, I finally asked him, “How did the letter get on my desk?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe Mary put it there.”

  That stopped me cold. “Why would she?”

  “She doesn’t like you.”

  “I’ve figured that out,” I said, picking up the letter. “But how could giving me this hurt me?”

  “Maybe she wants you to be scared so you’ll leave.”

  “Why do you think that, Ben?”

  “Because I heard her say it to Anna.”

  “To Anna,” I repeated, feeling a little stab in my heart. I put the letter back in the envelope. “Did you give the letter to Mary?”

  “A few days ago, after Mary changed the linens on my bed, the letter was gone.”

  “Do you know if she also has a journal? A very old journal?”

  “I haven’t seen it,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

  “Maybe in her room? Have you seen something like that in her room?”

  “Mary never lets anyone in there. Not even Patricia.” He looked at me. “Are you going to leave again?”

  “I have some things to do,” I told him.

  He was about to say something, but then pressed his lips together.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You know how Mama was pregnant with me when she had that sickness.”

  I nodded. “The influenza. The year the villagers all left.”

  “Is it my fault Mama died? In the letter, she talks about how she’s weak. And Anna told me once that Mama was never the same after she had me, that she was very weak.”

  I took his hand, glad he didn’t pull it from me. “No. It isn’t your fault.” I didn’t have any idea what sickness Aunt Laura died of, but I wasn’t going to let Ben carry that guilt around with him.

  “But—”

  “There are no buts,” I said, taking the book from him. I began reading it out loud to him. When I turned the last page, he asked if I’d stay and read it to his momma one more time because he was hungry and had to go inside.

  “I always read it three times. Exactly.”

  “Sure.” I was reading the book when he walked away and still reading when I heard footsteps behind me. I smiled, looking up. “I told you I would … oh, hi, Patricia.”

  She plopped down beside me. “Just what are you doing?”

  I smiled. “Something for Ben.”

  “Ah,” she said, picking at some grass.

  I closed the book. “Everyone finished with supper?”

  “Your uncle has,” she said, “if that’s what you’re really asking.”

  “Your uncle too now.”

  “Hey, I guess we’re cousins of a sort.”

  “Cousins,” I said, thinking of the cousin I hadn’t even known. Did I have even more? Patricia was looking at me, waiting. “Do you like living here?” I asked her.

  “Not really. But Mary does. She has grand plans.” We both stood, then sat on a bench by the dry fountain. “But when I was growing up, the kids in town would pepper us with questions after we returned from summers helping out Anna. It gave us a dangerous celebrity at school and in town, and Mary liked that. I think even Anna liked it.”

  “Anna? She doesn’t seem the type to be into all that.”

  “There’s a lot more going on with Anna than we know, I’ve always thought.” She slid a glance at me. “You know your mother wasn’t kind to her.”

  I let out a bark of a laugh. “My mother wasn’t kind to anyone.”

  Her brow furrowed. “She was kind to you. She loved you very much.”

  “My mother? I don’t think so.”

  “But, Cecilia, I could see how much she loved you. I mean, sure, she talked to Tess a lot, but the way she looked at you, I always thought she adored you.”

  “That’s not the way I remember it,” I said, distracted by an image to my right. Slowly, I turned my head and saw the faint outline of Sanctuary’s ghost. I could feel her presence in the air. I grabbed Patricia’s arm.

  “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  “Don’t be alarmed,” I said. “But look in the trees, just there.” I pointed, looking at my lady ghost. When I turned back to Patricia, she had a puzzled look on her face.

  “Are you trying to scare me?” she asked with a laugh. “It was always your sister who played those games.”

  “Look there, Patricia. In the trees, there.”

  She stood then and walked over to the trees, approaching the image with no hesitation in her step. She peered so closely and the ghost just hovered. When Patricia looked back at me, I saw alarm there, but I knew it was for me, not because she’d seen something disturbing.

  She couldn’t see Amoret. Or at least she said she didn’t.

  But it didn’t matter because I knew Amoret was there.

  THE NIGHT PRESSED IN UPON ME. I WAS IN THE KITCHEN, ALONE, LOOKING out the window into the darkness, seeing nothing. I’d been dreaming of Amoret and William again, but when I woke I was left with only a vague remembrance of soft words spoken. In the daytime, the dreams, ghosts, and images receded, as if they couldn’t coexist with the bright light of day. Our simple conversations about meals or if it might rain were somehow loud enough to drown out the elusive frightening things haunting our minds dusk to dawn. My mind. Haunting my mind.

  Tess had always been fascinated by the supernatural or the past or anything you couldn’t grasp in your hands. For me, it was the opposite. It was rocks and water and animals and books. For both of us, it was Sanctuary. But for me, it was the house itself: the exquisite elegance of the archways, the solidity of the stone … Tess wanted to know the house’s stories created by those who roamed its halls, alive and dead. That had been a scary game to me, one I didn’t like to play. She hadn’t seen it the same way. The things that disturbed our mother and me hadn’t weighed on her soul.

  With each day at Sanctuary, I felt as if the house itself were falling apart and bit by bit someone was heaping its rubble of marble and mahogany on my chest. My breaths seemed short and shallow, as if I was afraid to take a full gasp of air into my lungs. The only easing I felt in the pressure was when I was with Eli. He was becoming so important to me, almost vital to living. The need I felt for his presence was disarming, but thrilling too.

  But right now I needed to be alone, really alone. I never felt alone anymore, even in my dreams. I dressed and took a flashlight and went out. I traipsed through the dark woods, going away from the house. The night was dark; heavy clouds hid the moon.

  At the deserted village, I walked through the cottages, thinking of Tess. Even in our childhood playground, I wasn’t alone. I was with my sister. The memories were so acute and fine they were a sweet hurt. But still I couldn’t turn from them.

  Memories were tricky. You shape people in your past by what you remember. But your mind latches on to certain things, gives some words, some events, more meaning than others. Some moments are pushed down so deep you don’t remember them, or if you do, you don’t even know if they’re real. Did you see it in a photograph? Did you dream it? Was it someone else’s memory that was told to you? And could you trust that?

  Now, after weeks back at Sanctuary, I finally found the Tess I’d been looking for. She was right here beside me. Not a ghost like Amoret. Not images like those I saw in the dining room. Memories I thought must be real. Must be.

  I settled on the dirt floor of my favorite cottage, remembering Tess brushing my hair. “You have nice hair, Cici,” Tess had said to me. “Like Momma’s.” She piled it on top of my head, letting some of it fall to my shoulders. “You could be a mysterious sea princess.”

  I sensed something in her voice I didn’t recognize. I turned to her, facing her, our young knees touching. “Your hair is like silk.”

  She laughed that confident
laugh she had. It was direct and open, no secrets there in her laugh. “You mean flat.”

  “No, soft and fine.” I ran my hand down the side of her head, stopping at her chin. She had short hair. She always took scissors and cut it off herself, saying it got in her way. But maybe she cut it because she didn’t like it.

  She studied me then. I worried a little because when Tess got thoughtful she was planning a scheme I wouldn’t like. Something involving séances or the cemetery or reciting strange words I didn’t understand.

  “No,” I’d told her that day in the cottage when I saw that look.

  “No, what?”

  “I won’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Do whatever you’re thinking.”

  She grinned. “Yes, you will, Cici. Because you always do.”

  I folded my arms together angrily. “I won’t.”

  She’d wrapped me into her arms then in an unexpected hug. “But you do because you know I’ll always look after you.” She caressed the top of my head. “You are my sister. And sisters are special.”

  “Why are they?” I asked suspiciously, pulling away.

  “Sisters have a spiritual bond,” she said, repeating words Mamie used, losing my interest. I knew she was about to go off on one of her speeches. “We know what the other is thinking.”

  I looked away, not wanting to know what she was thinking.

  “Cecilia, we are part of each other. We won’t be separated.”

  But Tess had been wrong. Very wrong.

  A noise yanked me into the present. A swaying light moved across the glassless window. I caught a glimpse of a shoulder, a hand, not much more. Quickly, I stood, accidentally kicking my flashlight, the light spinning, spinning. “Who’s there?”

  Things were quiet, but it seemed a forced quiet. He was off to the side now, whoever it was. But I could still see the light out the window.

  “Ben, is that you?” I called out, down on my knees, grabbing for my light, while looking up toward the door.

  It flew open. My light illuminated heavy shoes. I looked up the large frame to see my uncle’s face staring down at me. Grabbing my flashlight, I scrambled backward until my back was against the wall. “Why are you here?” I yelled up at him. Raindrops began hitting the roof of the cottage, plop, plop.

  Uncle blocked the door, not saying anything, as I stood, gripping the light, my hand shaking. “What are you doing here?” I asked again, my heart speeding.

  “Following you.”

  I had nothing to defend myself with. “What is wrong with you?”

  He scrunched his eyes. “I see you. I know who you are.”

  “Of course you do,” I said, too scared to add you fool. The words felt like Amoret’s. My eyes darted past him, desperate to see my cousin there. But Uncle was alone. “I’m Laura’s niece, Uncle, her blood,” I said, trying to connect with this man so he wouldn’t harm me. “You’ve known me since I was born.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. “Do you think you have any right to this place because you were born here? Sanctuary is mine. Do you hear me?” He stepped toward me again. “Mine!”

  The rain was harder now, some of it dripping into the cottage through holes in the roof. Water trickled down the wall, dampening my back. “Yes,” I said, trying to calm him. “Yes. It’s yours.” I would fight him. He wouldn’t throw me dead into the sea without going in himself.

  “It’s time for you to go,” he said. “Do you understand me? It’s time for you to go.” But he was still, not moving toward me. He didn’t have anything other than a lantern in his hand, looking at me with venomous eyes in the swaying light. He reminded me of Winship, something in his eyes, his expression. Physically, he didn’t look like him. But the contortions of his face arranged his features to be like Winship’s. That similarity stunned me. I repositioned the flashlight in my hand, gripping it tightly.

  I had this odd feeling he was afraid of me. I drew strength from that. “Move, Uncle, and I’ll go back to the house, then.”

  “I mean—girl, witch—whatever you are: You’re to leave Sanctuary.”

  “If that’s what you want, then I will.”

  “You’re to leave now.”

  “You know I can’t do that, Uncle.” I wasn’t going to let him get me anywhere close to a boat. “Everyone will wonder where I am. Eli will wonder. He’ll see my clothes and suitcase. He’ll think something happened to me. He’ll involve the police.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. I saw it in the light. He seemed lit from within by something else. Again, I thought of Winship.

  His voice changed, became less possessed, more sure. “I’m taking you off the island. Right now.”

  And I knew he intended to throw me into the sea, along with my cousin.

  He was reaching into his pocket. I whipped the beam of my light directly into his eyes. His hand went up. I tried to rush past him, but he grabbed me easily in the small space. His grip was strong. I fought against him, but he held me fast with only one hand. Like Amoret, I scratched my attacker’s face, going for his eyes. Vile words flew from his mouth, strange words in the way they were spoken, as if from another time.

  Then I saw them, the lights. Fireflies were all about us, swarming around Uncle, stabbing him in his eyes and face. He swung at them, his voice frightened, yelling, “Off, demons! Off!”

  I flew out of the cottage, the rain stinging my face. Outside the door, I slipped down into the mud, dropping the light again. I got to my feet and left the light. I didn’t look back. I tore through the trees until I was back at Sanctuary. Through the kitchen door, I went, tracking mud along the way. I yanked a drawer open and grabbed two very sharp knives. I went to the library, the only place I felt safe in the house. I locked the door and went to the love seat. My heart was pounding. Eventually, I heard the kitchen door slam. I thought about how the tracks of mud would lead Uncle to the library.

  Silently, I went to the door, standing on the inside of it, waiting, a knife in each hand. My throat was so constricted I didn’t think I was breathing. But I could hear him on the other side of the door.

  “Frank?” came a voice, making me jump. “Frank, what is it?” It was Anna.

  He cursed loudly. I listened to him cuss some more. She kept talking to him, trying to reason with him. Finally, I heard him follow her upstairs.

  I collapsed on the love seat, watching the rain until it stopped. I stayed in the library, not sleeping, until the room was lit by morning light.

  I HEARD ANNA BUSTLING THROUGH THE HOUSE. I CRACKED THE DOOR, listening intently. When I heard Mary’s and Patricia’s voices in the kitchen, I crept quietly up the service stairs and went to the attic. I felt time was growing short, that I didn’t have long to discover the secrets of Sanctuary. I had to know if the journal was in Mary’s room.

  I slowly opened the door, peering inside, making sure the room was empty. I shouldn’t be trespassing in Mary’s room, but I hardly cared anymore.

  The small attic room was filled with nice things: a brand-new bedspread, an elegant green glass lamp I recognized from one of the guest rooms, and a dresser top covered in jewelry. I studied the pieces, recognizing my aunt’s and my mother’s, feeling a surge of anger. Looping a gold necklace of my mother’s around my hand, I cursed at Mary. How could she?

  Hearing shouting voices, I looked out the circular window toward the sea lawn. Eli and Uncle were arguing, or rather Uncle was. He grabbed Eli by the arm, and Eli jerked away, leaning in and saying something that made Uncle step back. Uncle stayed where he was as Eli went back into the house. Then Uncle stormed off.

  I sat on Mary’s bed, feeling ill, my heart in my throat. Eli, I thought. What were you doing with Uncle? Perhaps he was scolding Uncle for hitting Ben. Maybe it was about me, that Eli had found out about last night. But how could he have unless Uncle told him?

  And then I saw it, the journal, on a lower shelf of the bedside table.

  I took it, turning it over in my
hands. Mary had stolen it, and my mother’s things, my aunt’s things. I guessed she wasn’t going to wait until Uncle allowed her to move to the second floor to have a nice room of her own.

  I read through Dr. Clemson’s descriptions of Amoret, watching him fall in love with her in these pages. Finally, I got to the part in the story I wanted to know.

  December 25, 1755

  We are back at Sanctuary. They are married.

  January 2, 1756

  Winship keeps her locked in their room.

  Last night at dinner, Winship barked at me, “For God’s sake, stop that tapping of your fork!”

  I put it down; I had not even realized I’d been doing it. “How long will you keep her a prisoner?”

  “None of your affair.”

  “It is wrong.”

  He took a bite of his roast and shrugged. “It’s my island. I decide what is right.”

  January 5, 1756

  I woke to her screaming at him. I stormed out of my bedchamber and banged on the door.

  “Go away, William!” the captain shouted.

  I put my shoulder into it, ramming the heavy door. It wouldn’t budge.

  Finally, he threw it open, his face contorted in rage. I tried to see beyond him into the chamber, but he blocked the doorway, pushing me out into the hall. I threw him a punch that landed on his jaw. But he quickly straightened and came at me with one solid blow to the stomach, sending me to the floor.

  “You were never a good fighter, William.”

  January 8, 1756

  The captain’s father is dead. Winship is sailing to England to tend to his family’s estate and see to his young daughter, who is also my niece. Winship was married to my sister Isabel before she died of consumption. My mother and father care for my niece. Winship has no need for a daughter. He wants a son.

  He warned me not to let Amoret out of his bedchamber.

  As soon as his ship sailed, I went to visit her, not having seen her in weeks. She is much changed.

  She was at the window, pale and listless, looking out at the bay. She barely registered surprise at seeing me, saying in French, “I wish this wretched house faced north. Instead, all I see is that.” She pointed to the coast. “A foreign soil and the sun sinking at the end of the day.”