A rustle. A moment passing, then he issued forth like someone who’s just been nabbed for making a hand print on the butter. He is small for his age, dark-headed with a fringe of hair in front almost meeting his eyebrows. A small pair of spectacles rest on his nose.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, blinking at the sun. “I only wanted to see who was coming when I heard the door close. I didn’t mean to be discourteous.”
“Discourteous? Oh, it’s all right. I think I know who you are—James Byron. My name is Serena.”
He stared at me as though I’d pulled a rabbit from a hat.
“Your cousin Claire told us you were coming yesterday.”
“Oh, I see. Then you know … everything?”
“About your coming? I’m afraid so, and I am dreadfully sorry.… But I’m glad we’re going to be neighbors, and I hope you’ll like Galveston. Have you ever been swimming at the beach?”
“No, ma’am. Only in the pond back home.”
We stood either side of the fence for a few moments, each of us reluctant to say anything else. “Look, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for dancing class. Tell you what, though, if it’s all right with Claire you can go to the beach with me tomorrow morning—not today, because if I’ve time to go today, I’ll go straight from the studio. But tomorrow I’ll leave at nine o’clock, unless, of course, it rains.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ll be waiting here.”
“Good. See you then.”
“Is that your dog there, the German shepherd in the backyard?”
“Yes. Don’t be afraid of him, though. He’s gentle. He just looks a little vicious because he’s big. His name’s Porky.”
“May I play with him sometime?”
“Certainly. Tomorrow we’ll take him to the beach. He always goes with me.”
“All right, but I don’t have a proper bathing suit. Can I wear my knickers? We always did, at home in the pond.”
“Of course. Now I’ve got to go. Madame frowns on tardiness,” I said, and started off. He traced down the fence to the end.
“You won’t forget tomorrow, will you?”
“Of course not.”
As I turned my back and kept walking, I realized he could be a real pest. However, there was something so lost about him. Even then I felt guilty walking away from him. He was such a long way from home and no doubt in need of a good friend.
I tried to slough off this feeling of responsibility toward him, which caught at me so unsuspectingly. He was only a kid who’d moved in next door, after all. He would be there today, tomorrow, and the day after. Why should I worry about him? He wasn’t even related to me.
Yet I kept thinking of his face. All through ballet class I compared it with that of his mother in the picture. More than any other of Mother’s paintings—her seascapes, flowers, birds—the painting of Ruth Miller Byron had always held a certain magnetism for me, and when she died I felt almost a sense of personal loss.
After they received the wire about the dual death in Grady, Claire and Helga had taken the next train out. Helga Reinschmidt has been with Claire since shortly after Charles passed away three years ago. I can’t imagine why anyone would want such a woman as Helga around, but then I’ve never pretended to understand Claire anyway.
While she packed for the trip, Helga was dispatched to our house to explain their leaving and say they might be two or three weeks before coming back. Yet they returned within eight or nine days, and Claire came to tell us of the funeral and the boy, James. She talked in short, staccato sentences, as she always does when upset or nervous.
“Lord knows, I hate funerals,” she said. “But after all, I am the closest living relative except for the boy and the old man, Edward’s father. Thank goodness some friend had already made the arrangements by the time we got there. So I was spared that.
“The boy will be here soon. I couldn’t persuade him to come with us after the funeral. He begged to stay with his grandfather. Poor lad, I couldn’t blame him. Like as not if his grandfather were younger—he’s ninety and in bad health—James would live with him. He’s never even seen me before. Probably thinks Galveston is the jumping-off point. I did, when Charles brought me here, you know.”
She huffed and puffed, leaned back in her chair.
“I’m going to give him Ruth’s room, but I’ve been storing some of Charles’s things in there that were sent from his office after he died, for lack of another place to put them. Lands, you never saw the like of books and boxes in your life. And his office is already piled high with the same kind of things—you know, he never got rid of all that stuff he collected when he ran for mayor back in ’86. And of course the attic’s been full for years.” She sighed. “I’ll just have to get in there and get busy. I’ve never really gone through the boxes properly—seem to be full of duplicate papers and so forth. How I dread the task now.”
“Perhaps I could help,” said Dad.
“Oh, no, no bother. I’ll probably throw away most of the stuff.”
“It’s quite a responsibility, having a youngster thrust on you suddenly,” said Dad. “But I know you’ll welcome him because he was Ruth’s boy.”
“Yes. But there’s an awful twist to it. I’m finally going to have a son to take little Charlie’s place, but not until I’m too old to be a proper mother to him and, worse still, I’m getting him at the expense of the person I loved most in the world. Ah well, it’s nothing new I guess.…”
“Will you be going back to Grady for him?” said Dad.
“No. He told us quite emphatically that if he decided to come, which of course he really has no choice about, though I didn’t point it out, he is capable of coming alone on the train. He’s a sharp youngster, keen on books, and says his dad taught him reading was one of the best things a person could do.”
“That’s unusual,” I said.
“You’re going to find James quite an unusual boy.”
He was fifteen minutes early for our first appointment to go to the beach, standing the other side of the fence, gripping the wooden pales with both hands. “We are going, aren’t we?” he said. “I mean, you haven’t changed your mind or anything?”
“Of course not. I’ve even made chocolate cookies in honor of the occasion.”
“Here, let me take Porky’s leash.”
“I don’t know … he may not be easy to handle.…”
“It’s all right. We became friends through the fence while you were at dancing class yesterday. Come on, fella.”
Porky was in a running mood that day, and kept darting around the shrubs and trees along the way, jerking James behind as though he were nothing more than a rag wrapped around his tail. I was afraid he’d take a sudden leap and pull James off his feet, but the boy obviously took pride in being able to keep up with him, so I didn’t mention it.
“I hope my clothes will be suitable,” he said.
“Of course they will. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. There won’t be anyone around where we’re going.”
“But I thought there were always lots of people on the beach.”
“Porky, calm down! What? Oh, we aren’t going to the public beach, unless you just want to. I’ve a friend who lets me use her place when she’s away, and she left for Europe two weeks ago.”
“You go by yourself?”
“Porky’s along for protection, if anything should go wrong. He wouldn’t hurt anyone unfriendly, but he has an uncanny instinct for recognizing troublemakers.”
“That’s good. I’ll have to tell Cousin Claire. I think she and Mrs. Reinschmidt are afraid of him.”
“Well, I don’t know about Mrs. Reinschmidt, but Claire has always had a fear of dogs. She was against Charles giving Porky to me for my fourteenth birthday, made a big stink about it.”
“She is a bit strange.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, exactly. When she met me at the train the other day, she was all hugs and kisses. I told her I didn�
�t like her making over me as though I were a kid or something. But now I’m here, living with her, she doesn’t act the same.”
“She probably decided to respect your wishes, that’s all. Before you came, she told me what a bright boy you were, how grown-up you seemed.”
“Maybe that’s it, but she came into my room night before last, or maybe it was Mrs. Reinschmidt. Of course I didn’t open my eyes because I was supposed to be asleep. But I could sense the light over me. Someone had brought a lamp, or a candle, and stood over me for a long time.
“Of course it could have been a dream, but I don’t think so …”
“Maybe you screamed in the night from a nightmare, and they came to see about you.”
“Yes, theoretically it could have happened. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m only going to be here till the end of summer, then I’ll go back home to live with Grandfather.”
“James, who taught you so many big words? Someday you’ll say one I don’t know, and I’ll feel like an idiot.”
“My dad. He taught me almost everything I know—more than they teach you in school. He was the smartest man in Grady. We read Greek mythology together, and I’ve a whole set of Dickens. We also played parlor games. My dad believed they took great skill to play properly, and one should never let an opponent win just out of kindness. When I beat him, it was fair and square. Do you know backgammon or chess?”
“I’ve only played backgammon a few times.”
“That’s too bad. I’ll have a time finding a chess partner around here, I guess.”
“You must have loved your father very much.”
“I loved my mother, too!” he said indignantly, and his face clouded up. He looked straight ahead then, and walked on in silence. Porky slowed down to an even gait, sensing authority in James’s voice. I had no idea what to say next, or whether to speak at all.
“She was beautiful, you know,” he said finally, as though to himself.
“I know. My mother painted her portrait. Would you like to come see it?”
“See it? Oh, I don’t know … uh, maybe sometime. In a couple of days, maybe.”
“Any time. It’s hanging in our dining room.”
“Mother read books and things too, and played the piano. Her fingers were small and dainty, but she could stretch them better than an octave on the keys. She and my father had a lot in common. They met in the library.
“She was going to give me a brother or sister at one time, but had a miscarriage. So now, except for Grandfather, I have no one.”
“It’s too bad about your mother losing her baby. When did it happen?”
“Three years ago. She told me she was sorry, and cried a lot after it was over and stayed in bed. I brought her flowers everyday from the garden and read to her, and she told me I was like a golden nugget among a cluster of rocks. She always said I was her undeserved treasure, especially after she lost the baby.”
“Well, you must make friends here in Galveston, just as I’ve had to do. I have no brothers or sisters either, or even any cousins around here, but Marybeth Fischer—we’re going to her place now—is almost like a sister.”
“We’ll be friends, you and I,” he said. “If you’ll take me along wherever you go, I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”
“No, I don’t think I would ever regard you as trouble.”
“You know, I wasn’t going to tell you this so soon … but you remind me of my mother somehow. You’re pretty like her. Of course, you’re not as pretty as she was, you understand, but like her just the same.”
“You flatter me.”
“What does that mean?”
“Aha, caught you on one. Flatter means … well … to make someone feel very special inside.”
Each time I’ve passed the public beaches on my way to Marybeth’s, I’ve been grateful all over again for the privilege of swimming off her private beach. Like cattle jammed together inside a fence, the people play in the water, there being scarcely enough room to move one’s arms up and down or sideways. For lack of space, no one can swim, and if anyone ventures outside the ropes, a lifeguard stationed high above blows a whistle, and orders the adventurer back inside the bounds. Bathing in such confinement would be no better for me than staying at home, sitting in Mother’s room all day.
The public beaches were particularly crowded that day, all the kids being fresh out of school, and James looked on intently, then remarked, “The people look like ants in an ant colony. It was never that crowded in the pond at home.”
“Nor is it where we’re going.”
“What’s that building up ahead?”
“The Seaside Pavilion. They have band concerts and three-act plays there, tightwire walking and so forth.”
“We didn’t have anything like that in Grady. Only traveling shows.”
“We’ll have to go in the next night or two, then. There’s a group playing from New York. They come here every summer.”
“It’s certainly an odd building, with all those flags and things poking out.”
“Yes. It’s patterned after the old Galveston Pavilion that burned down when I was younger. In fact, Mother and Father and Claire and Charles and I were in the building when it caught fire. I don’t remember of course, for I was only three. But Charles used to talk about it. He said the Galveston Pavilion had two towers just like this one, but it was round instead of rectangular. Claire still calls it the great mushroom.”
The Seaside Pavilion was deserted that day, and it seems odd now to look back on our casual conversation about it, knowing what an important part of my life it became. Even the band members, who often played ball on the beach nearby during their free time, weren’t there that day. I supposed them to be rehearsing for the evening performance, a lot of young men from so far away they might as well have been from another country, and I wondered idly as we went along how they were able to draw so many people to their shows year after year. People in Galveston still regard Yankees as rather low-down individuals, though the war has been over almost half a century. Of course, they’re not openly ostracized, yet occasionally you hear a slur or two against a person who isn’t otherwise well thought of, and if he’s also from the North, well … it seems to make him all the worse, somehow.
The sunlight shone like a beacon against the Gulf that day, giving off glitters of light on the water’s surface like silver beads on a lady’s evening gown. The tide was a little low, not the best for playing in the surf, but it would do for my friend and me, and the still cool June breeze would keep James from tiring too easily. A newcomer has to grow accustomed to the climate here.…
“Is that where we’re going, up there at the big fence?”
“Yes. You can see the pier from here. When you jump off the end, you’re in five feet of water.”
“Five feet? That’s as deep as I am tall.”
“Yes, of course, I never thought. We needn’t go all the way to the end. There are stairs along the sides midway down. See the little building at the pier’s end, with the pointed roof? That’s the bathhouse where we’ll change clothes. Now, just here, you can get a view of the house. It’s really grand.”
“Gee, must have fifty rooms.”
“Well, maybe half that. The Fischers are from Massachusetts originally, and the house is patterned after one they owned on Cape Cod. Mr. Fischer owns a big fishing fleet here.”
“He must be very rich.”
“He is. Now, if I can just find my key in this bag. Hold still, Porky. We’ll be there in a minute.”
“Does Porky go in the water?”
“Sometimes. But he likes to sun on the pier, too, on his back with all four legs in the air. I never stay in the water long because I freckle too easily.”
“Yes. Your freckles were something I noticed because Mother didn’t have any. But then she didn’t get out in the sun much, either. She was too busy helping my father with the store, you see, then she had the house cleaning and cooking.”
“Y
our father owned a store?”
“Yes, second-hand furniture; though he did handle new things from time to time. I helped after school, dusting the furniture for sale and cleaning the mirrors. Do you know how to tell if a mirror is any good? You tap the glass with a closed pocket knife. The sound will tell if the mirror is cheap and thin or good quarter-inch plate. My dad always demonstrated that for customers.
“He never really wanted a store, though. He’d rather have been a teacher. He just did it because my grandfather wanted him to, so it was an obligation.”
It occurred to me then there must be many people in the world who inherit what they do from others, spending their lifetimes hacking away at some piece of stone they’d just as soon not fool with. It seemed to be precisely my own lot in life.
And here we were at Marybeth Fischer’s, the most independent person I’d ever known. She almost seemed to be breathing down my neck, telling me I ought to consider the wisdom of the little dark-haired half-man who now walked across the lawn with me, gaping openly at the beauty of the house.
His awe reminded me of my own reaction the first time I’d walked with Marybeth across the tree-shaded lawns and gazed at all the pointed gables and graduated levels of the white wooden house. She’d never made any pretense of being rich, and until I went home with her one day after ballet class, I’d never dreamed she was related to the Fischers of Galveston, whose names appeared in the paper now and then. She walked into the house ahead of me, throwing her clothes bag down on a mahogany table, almost upsetting a large pot of fresh flowers there, then directed me to a parlor and slumped down into a sofa and ordered a servant to bring ice cream.
That was long ago, and by now I walked across the grounds of her place almost with an air of propriety, had even been guilty a time or two of pretending to myself I really lived here, and might suddenly decide one day to order a servant to pack my bags, and send some employee in my charge to arrange a trip to the Orient. “We’ll close up the house,” I would say, “and get Marybeth’s friend to watch after it while we’re gone.…”
We’d changed our clothes now and were sitting midway down the pier, dangling our feet in the water. “Serena, I hope you won’t get angry with me if I tell you something I did last night,” James began. “I meant no harm. If I had, I wouldn’t be telling you, would I?”
Galveston Page 22