Dream of Orchids

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  He got up to turn on the porch light, and I saw that the intruder was Eddie Burch. For once he wore no cherubic smile of innocence, his expression blank and his eyes wary as he stared at Marcus. He didn’t look at me at all.

  “Hello, Eddie,” Marcus said.

  He didn’t bother to return the greeting. “I just heard about Alida. How is she?”

  “Doing as well as can be expected,” Marcus told him. “Have you any idea why she did this?”

  Eddie sat down on the steps, a picture of gloom. “She was a good lady,” he muttered. “She was okay. A whole lot better than me.”

  This seemed a surprising admission, considering that the last time I’d seen him he’d denounced her thoroughly.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Marcus said.

  “How should I know? She wasn’t exactly chummy with me.”

  “Yet you did come to see her that day I caught you in the garden,” I said.

  He looked at me for the first time, his eyes malevolent under sandy brows. “I let you catch me. And what Alida wanted is none of your business.”

  “That’s enough, Eddie.” Marcus pulled him to his feet. “Let’s go over to Derek’s Place and have a drink. We both need it. Okay?”

  Eddie nodded, still lost in gloom as he walked toward the gate.

  Marcus turned back to me. “I’m sorry, Laurel. This needs to be taken care of. See if you can get some rest, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I’d chosen my road and was too far along to retreat gracefully. “I can’t wait any longer! I need to know now.”

  Marcus was already propelling Eddie toward the gate. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

  “Then let me come with you.”

  His look didn’t find me endearing, and he simply pushed Eddie through the gate and followed him along the sidewalk. Marcus’s car waited at the curb, and he put Eddie into the front seat, then went around to get behind the wheel. They drove off without a backward look for me.

  For a moment I stood staring after the car, as frightened as I was angry. Whatever Marcus was involved in had its dark side. Key West had its dark side, like any seaport town. From the beginning, there had been murderers here, thieves, adventurers of all kinds, and of course drunks. It had been cleaned up a lot since the bad old days, though drugs still came in over the keys. Eddie Burch belonged to that seamier side, and perhaps because of this very darkness Alida had tried to kill herself. What Marcus’s connection was I couldn’t begin to guess, and that made me even more afraid.

  I went slowly into the house, still carrying Alida’s letter. Just before I went upstairs, I slipped it under the door of my father’s room. I no longer felt like waiting up for him.

  Upstairs, I left the light off in my room and stepped out on the porch overlooking the garden. I listened to palmettos rustling their everlasting clatter in the wind, and the heavy sweetness made me long for a breath of clean, bracing pine. Down in the orchid house, lights burned, and I knew Fern was still there. The soft night did nothing to calm my spirit.

  If Alida died with all her secrets still untold, what then …?

  Only one thing I knew for sure—whatever was happening had begun long ago. But now the pace was quickening as events moved toward some climax that made me afraid.

  The first thing I must do tomorrow was to see Marcus alone and convince him that I must no longer be shut out of whatever was happening. I was involved—committed—and he had to let me in.

  9

  I wasn’t to see Marcus for three days. I tried to call his apartment early, but he didn’t answer.

  When I went downstairs for breakfast I found my father outside drinking coffee at one of the small tables. His “good morning” was grave as I sat down with him.

  “How is Alida?” I asked.

  He’d already been in touch with the hospital. “They think there’s no immediate danger, but she’s not recovering as quickly as she should. Maybe because she didn’t succeed in what she attempted, and because of whatever drove her to try. Iris stayed with her last night and just came home a little while ago. She says Alida’s in a state of not caring about anything—not wanting to live.”

  “Did you find the letter she left for me?”

  “Yes, but I don’t understand it. What did she mean about the orchid photos?”

  I explained and he listened without much interest. “She can be a foolish woman. I’m sorry if she upset you.”

  The photos were no longer important. “Have you seen Fern this morning?”

  “Not yet. I suppose she’s asleep.”

  He ate dry toast and stirred his coffee absently.

  “Have you any idea why Alida did this?” I persisted.

  “She’s been brooding ever since Poppy died. I’ve always felt she knew something she hadn’t told me. Whatever it is, maybe I’d better not know.” He looked dispirited himself.

  I told him about Eddie Burch coming to the house last night and that Marcus had gone off with him to the Banyan.

  “Eddie can be a nuisance, but I wouldn’t worry about him,” Cliff said. “In his own way, I think he still cares about Alida.”

  “I’ve been trying to call Marcus,” I said, “but he doesn’t answer.”

  “He’s gone to the Bahamas. I sent him off to do a spot of research for me. He should be back in a couple of days.”

  With that I had to be content. The moment Marcus returned, I would try to see him and have everything out.

  While there was no way in which I could fully recapture the feeling of that warm interlude with my father last night, and while this morning was different and filled with concerns that we weren’t able to talk about, we had moved subtly into a closer relationship. Now I could bring up the subject of Derek’s boat party and question whether it was a good idea.

  “What does it matter?” Cliff said. “Derek wants to do it, so I’ll go along. I don’t feel up to opposing Derek these days, and it matters to Iris.”

  I put a hand on his arm. It was a hesitant gesture, but it seemed to bring him back from some distant place to which he’d retreated. He covered my hand for a moment with his own, and the gentle pressure of his fingers was something I would always remember.

  Cliff finished his coffee, and I watched with a sense of sadness as he went off to work on a book he had lost interest in. I had come a long way from those years of resentment I’d grown up with.

  For three days more I drifted aimlessly, frustrated by the lack of anything useful I could do. I phoned Stan in Bellport and learned that the bookshop was going on nicely without me. Though Stan demanded crossly that I come to my senses and return home at once. He wasn’t interested in any developing relationship I might find with my father or in any new understanding of myself that I might reach. I ended the conversation as quickly as I could. Bellport seemed very far away—not only geographically, but as my life’s center. The days I’d spent in Key West had changed my outlook on so many things that my old existence seemed strangely distant and no longer appealing.

  When Marcus came home and called me up cheerfully on the phone, it was as though there’d been no disagreement the last time we’d met.

  “Fern and I are taking you to Sunset this evening, Laurel. I’ve just talked to her, and it’s all arranged. I’ll pick you both up in half an hour. Okay?”

  This wasn’t what I wanted, but he said, “See you,” and rang off.

  I set the phone down on the hall table with a thump. He was behaving in his usual way—racing ahead with decisions, not waiting to hear what I wanted. He was putting obstacles in my path that I would have to find a way around.

  In a little while Fern came to my room with word that we were to wait on the porch downstairs.

  Since she’d been moping around for days, I was glad to see her looking more cheerful. From the first, she had refused to visit Alida in the hospital—for a strange reason.

  “If I’m there and Alida dies,” she’d told me, “I couldn’t bear it.
I want to see her, but it must be safe for her first.” Apparently Fern had become even more superstitious about death and her own nearness to it.

  At least attending the “happening” called Sunset was something reasonably peaceful for us to do. Or that was what I expected. It didn’t turn out that way.

  Sunset, of course, took place every night, by arrangement with nature, and the skies were usually clear. Even some residents, as well as tourists, turned out for the event.

  Marcus, still cheerful and friendly in an impersonal way, took us to the pier an hour ahead of time. A crowd had already gathered, packing the space from water’s edge to water’s edge. Every possible manner of dress was evident, from gaudy visitors, to Key West’s informality, to sailors on shore leave, and to a few hippie types that drifted in and out of Key West, long of hair and beard, and gentle in manner. Marcus said that residents often gathered more privately at another pier to watch the sunset.

  In one corner a banjo player held court, collecting any coins the good-natured crowd chose to offer, and he was fine at fast renditions of old-time tunes—“Turkey in the Straw,” “Oh, Susannah!” and something toe-tapping that he informed everyone he had written himself: “Mallory Square Blues.” Two magicians worked together with their sleight of hand and somehow found elbow room. Even more remarkable, a juggler tossed balls in the air with never a slip. Most popular of all was the banana bread man, doing a good business with his wares.

  There seemed to be a feeling of carnival excitement, and now and then someone even glanced at the sun, keeping track of its progress toward the Gulf of Mexico as it left a trail of gold and flame in the sky.

  We must have been there for half an hour or more, packed in by the press of the crowd, when I began to sense that someone was watching us. Once or twice I looked around quickly, but was never in time to catch anyone staring at us.

  Perhaps Fern, always sensitive, felt it too. “Let’s get out of this,” she said. “Let’s go over to the next pier, where there’s more breathing space.”

  She did look a little green, I thought, and Marcus promptly pushed his way toward the back, pulling us after him. That was when someone gripped my arm. I jumped and looked around at Eddie Burch. He was plainly frightened, and he sounded breathless when he spoke.

  “Let me come with you. Somebody’s after me. Look—over there!”

  This time I was quick enough to glimpse the tall, burly man whose head rose above the crowd not far away. He looked like the same man I’d seen breakfasting on Mallory Square with Derek, and I felt all the more uneasy.

  “Hang on,” I told Eddie, and we pushed our way after Marcus and Fern. When I glanced around again, I saw that we hadn’t shaken the other man. There was something threatening, even brutal, about the way he moved through the crowd.

  Eddie shoved past me to reach Marcus. “Get me out of this!”

  Marcus recognized Eddie’s fear, and he didn’t hesitate. “Laurel, take Fern over to the next pier. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  He moved fast, jerking Eddie out of sight around a building. The burly man had been blocked by a juggler, who didn’t like his angry plunge through the crowd. It looked as though there might be a fight, and I hurried Fern away from the pier.

  A strip of water divided the two piers, and we found our way to the street and went around to the other pier on a higher level. Here only a few people stood watching the sky, or looking down at the jammed spectacle we’d just left. From this new vantage point, I tried to locate the man who’d followed Eddie, but he’d apparently made his own escape from the crowd.

  Fern had revived and seemed to have noticed nothing. Her attention was caught by a young woman flying a huge kite, making it dip and soar and dance. I watched too, but my thoughts were still on Eddie and Marcus. The tall man had looked liked serious trouble.

  In a few moments Marcus reappeared and found us watching the woman with the kite. “Would you like to try that, Laurel?” he asked.

  Fern was immediately eager. “Let’s both try!”

  For once, she had put on shorts and a shirt and looked less like a moth or an orchid. Her spirits still seemed to dip and soar like the kite, but she’d stopped looking green.

  “What happened?” I asked Marcus.

  He shook his head. “Not now, Laurel.” He drew us toward the kite flyer, where several bystanders stood watching her, as well as the sunset.

  “She’s advertising a store that sells those kites,” Marcus told us. “I know her, and she’ll be glad to let you try if you want to.”

  I wasn’t interested in kites, and I once more had the feeling of pressure rising toward some alarming event still to come. But there was nothing else to do but mark time for now.

  The woman with the kite was tall and rather lanky, with brown hair she wore down her back in a thick braid.

  “Hello, Connie,” Marcus greeted her when we came near.

  She smiled and nodded as Marcus introduced me, keeping her control of the diving kite. It was black and red, with a great spread of wings, like an exaggerated bat. At Marcus’s suggestion, Connie transferred the cords to my uncertain hands and showed me how to make the kite perform. I hung on, pulling against its rebellious tug, and began to feel my control gaining. I could make this beautiful live thing do as I wished.

  Fern knew Connie too and had flown such kites before, and when it was her turn she ran along the pier in the direction of the naval station, the kite following in the sky like some great darting predator.

  “I’m glad we met,” Connie said to Marcus. “There’s scuttlebutt.”

  “There always is. Want to tell me?”

  She glanced at me uncertainly, and he said, “Laurel’s Cliff York’s daughter from his first marriage. She’s okay.”

  Connie nodded and went on. “There’s talk about Derek Phillips finding a lot more treasure around that wreck than he’s letting anybody know. Of course rumors always fly—like kites. But maybe he’s asking for trouble.”

  “You mean with the government?”

  “That’s not the problem. There are always those around who watch for easy prey. Somebody ought to talk to Derek—maybe warn him.”

  “I imagine he knows whatever’s going on,” Marcus said. “But I’ll tell him, if I get a chance.” He glanced at me. “Don’t say anything to Fern, will you, Laurel? But you might tell Iris, if you can.”

  Connie retrieved her kite from Fern, and when she’d reeled it in like a fish on a line, she wandered off.

  “Connie Corson’s a Conch from way back,” Marcus said. “She’s juggling two or three jobs around town right now.”

  Fern’s eyes were still shining with excitement. “That was wonderful! I felt as though I were flying too!” As always, she was mercurial, ready to soar herself.

  The sun had dropped low by now, and we found a spot where we could look down on the heads of the crowd we’d mingled with across the strip of water. Everyone was quiet now, staring at the horizon. The sun dipped behind the black dot of an island, and the sky burned with a deepening fire. When the last sliver had disappeared, a burst of applause sounded from the crowd below, and from the few people on our side as well. I joined in the clapping, along with Marcus and Fern.

  As we walked back toward Mallory Square, Fern came to a decision. “Tomorrow I’ll go to see Alida,” she announced. “Tomorrow I’ll be brave enough. Will you come with me, Laurel?”

  I told her I’d be glad to, and she went on, musing aloud.

  “The day after tomorrow is Derek’s party. I’m looking forward to that.”

  “It’s also a year from the day Poppy died,” Marcus said.

  “You don’t think I’ve forgotten that?” Fern cried. “I’m glad Derek’s doing this. It’s good for Cliff, especially. And maybe for the rest of us too. Anyway, I’m going home now, and you needn’t come with me—either of you. I’m still trying to select the right orchids to pick for the display at West Martello. Iris is no help at all right now. I’m doing thi
s for Poppy. It’s what she’d have wanted, and I’ll give her orchids a beautiful showing. Have you told Laurel about the Martello towers, Marcus? When the time comes, Laurel, you must come with me and help with the orchids. West Martello is the spookiest place I know, and you’ll love it!”

  “I’ll tell her about the towers,” Marcus said, “but first we’ll see you home.”

  She shook her head and hurried off alone. In spite of her troubling vulnerability, Fern could sometimes display an independence that no one could shake.

  Now I would have my chance to talk to Marcus, and I was not going to be put off again.

  He surprised me by pulling my hand companionably through the crook of his arm. “I’m glad to have you to myself for a while, Laurel. We need to talk about a lot of things. Will you have dinner with me now?”

  Again the wind went out of my sails, and I wished he wouldn’t be so disarming. “All right—I’ll go to dinner with you. But only because we do need to talk.”

  The restaurant was called Lazy Afternoon, and it was tucked away in a garden on Simonton Street, adjacent to one of the old houses. Trees and a white picket fence shielded diners from the street. There were only ten tables in the garden, and since we were early, we had the place almost to ourselves.

  Our small table was set near a grove of Norfolk Island pines, and other big trees surrounded the cleared space. Paper lanterns hung from branches overhead, shedding a gentle, romantic light, while the trees sheltered us from the wind, with only its whispering in branches far above.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t feel romantic.

  “I must tell you about the East and West Martello towers,” Marcus began.

  I cut him off. “First, tell me about Eddie Burch!”

  “I plan to,” he said mildly. “I don’t blame you for being upset about the other night, or about what happened on the pier just now. I’d rather not go into any of this, but since you’ve got yourself into a state of worrying I suppose you’d better know. First, let’s order our meal.”