Stardust: A Novel

by Carla Stewart

  She didn’t waste any time with greetings. “Guess you’re so busy you forgot about fixin’ supper.”

  “Hello to you, too. And no, I didn’t forget supper. I thought we’d have grilled cheese tonight since I don’t know who might be coming next for a room.”

  “Hmmph.” She pulled her cigarette purse from her pocket, fished out a Pall Mall, and lit it.

  I patted the step beside me. “Have a seat.”

  We sat without talking, her puffing, me watching the newest guests unload their car and disappear into their cottage.

  Mary Frances spoke first. “How long do you think O’Dell was in the bayou after he drowned?”

  The question came out of nowhere. I wasn’t even certain I’d heard her right, but her eyes were steeled on me, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “I remembered something while we were at the cemetery… a phone call.”

  “From O’Dell?” My stomach clenched, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “I think it was about a week before they found him. I wasn’t thinking too clearly then.”

  She hadn’t thought clearly since Earl died, but I didn’t remind her of this. “You remembered it now, though.”

  “Earlier. I’ve been beating my brains out trying to think it all out. He had something to tell me and wanted to do it in person.”

  “Any idea what?” Fiona Callahan. Was that it?

  “No, but he acted nervous. Do you think someone could’ve killed him? Either on purpose or by accident?”

  “No. Sheriff didn’t find anything unusual. O’Dell didn’t have any enemies that I know of.”

  She sent a few puffs of smoke out into the already stale air, then turned abruptly to me. “Who was the woman O’Dell was seeing? You said he had an insurance policy in her name.”

  “He did. I still have it in my bedroom. Do you suppose that’s what he wanted to tell you? Maybe let you hold on to it?”

  “I’d think he would give it to her, so that doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. Maybe he had second thoughts and was thinking of coming back to you.”

  “Then he would’ve called me, don’t you think?”

  “Would you have taken him back?”

  “Children should have a daddy. For them I suppose I would have. It’s not something I dwell on in light of what happened. I’ve wondered, though, what I should do with the policy.”

  “Burn it. That’s what I would do.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Wheels crunched on the drive as a station wagon pulled to a stop. A head popped out the window on the driver’s side. “Ya got any vacancies?”

  “Yes, sir. Come on in and I’ll set you right up.”

  Mary Frances threw down her cigarette butt and ground it out with her shoe. “Looks like it’ll be awhile on those grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  “It does. Unless you want to get things started. I’d like that… to have you be more a part of the family activity. Maybe even help out some in the office.”

  “Not tonight.” She shuffled off as the man introduced himself and rented a cottage for the entire weekend.

  Only two vacancies.

  My dreams came in fits and spurts that night. No matter what position I tried, I couldn’t sleep. And then when I did, everything was twisted and bizarre. I blamed Mary Frances, but the rain pounding the windows might’ve been partially responsible. Oddly enough, the girls didn’t come running into my bed as they usually did even though fierce streaks of lightning lit up the windows. Thunderclaps shook the walls, and with each one, a vision of O’Dell being swept through the bayou, the water engorging his body, leaching it of all its color, ricocheted through me.

  I got up and put the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea. Worrying the sheets into tangles certainly hadn’t helped. And whatever O’Dell intended to tell his mother now rested in the bosom of the bayou—bobbing along the dark waters among the cypress.

  I’d nearly finished my tea when the buzzer sounded in the office. Who on earth would be out on a night like this? I started to ignore it, then thought better of it. What if it was Mary Frances? Or someone in need of a dry spot to get in out of the rain? Aunt Cora’s warnings of all the awful things that could happen zipped through my mind, but I grabbed my robe and went to open the door.

  A man of sixty or so ducked in the door, his hair plastered to his head, clothes sopping wet. “Sorry to be so late.” He took a good look at me, then stammered, “Y-you… you’re not Doreen. Or Paddy. Mighty sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to bust right on in.”

  “It’s fine. I’m Georgia Peyton.”

  “Are you open? The light was on. I got a late start, didn’t figure on the rain being so blasted hard. Only thing that kept me from running my car into the bar ditch was seeing the neon sign.”

  “I’m glad it was a beacon for you. Are you a friend of the Palmers?”

  “Of sorts. I reserve a room for every weekend during the summer starting with Memorial weekend. Didn’t Doreen tell you?”

  “No.” I told him about Paddy’s passing and Doreen moving to Oklahoma. That I was the new owner.

  “So sorry to hear about Paddy. Fine fellow. Any chance you have a room?”

  “Two left. Take your pick. Number one or nine.”

  “Nine suits me. I can show myself in.”

  He fished a wad of bills from his wallet and passed them over to me. “We’ll settle the bill later. I’m ready to get these wet things off and get some shut-eye. The fish’ll be biting like piranhas at first light with the bayou stirred up like this.” He took the key, scribbled his name in the guest log, and showed himself out. He’d written Malcolm Overstreet, a name I didn’t recognize. Oh, well. He’d paid me a hefty amount. I gave him time to get to his car before I turned out the porch light.

  One cottage left. It wasn’t a matter of pride. I was merely doing what I was meant to do—provide a spot for weary bodies and happy vacationers. I stood at the window and peered through the rain at the neon sign. The red and blue and yellow letters swam together, a wavy welcome even in the storm. I rested my chin on the sill and let the glory of it wash over me.

  [ CHAPTER 22 ]

  Rain kept us all in the next morning, but by midday the sun won out over the clouds. When Ludi didn’t show up, I busied myself with taking fresh towels to the cottages. I hoped it was just the rain that caused her absence and not another setback with her ailing mother.

  After supper, though, she appeared at the back door, twisting her coal-black hands in her apron, working it like a lump of bread dough. The evening sun had that angle that made everything hard to see, like you needed to squint to see if your eyes were deceiving you. Mine weren’t.

  Behind Ludi stood a rake-thin woman about my age with hair of spun gold. She held the hand of a towheaded girl of four or five and also quite thin. They both looked as if they’d had the life spooked out of them.

  Ludi rolled her eyeballs up so all I could see were half-moons hanging down in the whites of her eyes. “Georgie, I knows it ain’t the best time, but I got myself a problem.”

  It appeared Ludi had two problems since there was a white woman and a white child standing behind her. And after a second look, I saw that the woman only appeared thin because of her height. She was, in my estimation, at least seven months pregnant, and the way she rubbed her back and winced, I suspected she might be in labor.

  “Ludi, what’s going on? Are these ladies your friends? Do you need a doctor?”

  “No, ma’am. I’s hopin’ you could put them up in one of your units. I know you’s getting pretty full up, but…” She gave a long look at her companions. “It’s like this. They was in an accident in the rain. Their car skidded into the crik near as I can tell off Mason Road. The momma, here, she weren’t making no more sense than a hoot owl in Hades when they wandered up in Zion last night.”

  The woman stepped forward. “I’m feeling worlds better now. My headache’s nearly gone, and I think the w
alk is what made my back start acting up. I’d be so grateful to have a place to rest so I can figure out tomorrow how to get my car.”

  “I do have one vacancy. Number one—right here close to the office. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor? I’m not equipped for delivering babies.”

  She smiled, the glow of pregnancy adding interest to her delicate features. “Rest is all I need. My little girl’s as tired as I am, so we just want a good night’s sleep.”

  Ludi’s head bobbed back and forth following the conversation, and when I agreed to show the woman the room, she was nodding with practically her whole body. She took the child—Bonnie, her mother called her—by the hand and hollered over her shoulder. “I’ll show them the room while you do the book work. Do you want me to fetch my keys in the washhouse or be waiting for you to bring the key?”

  “I’ll be right along, Ludi, with the key.”

  I checked on the girls, grabbed the key and the registration book from the lobby, and headed to cottage one. Fireflies, the first I’d seen at the Stardust, flitted from one Indian hawthorne to the next along the walk, filling me with a buzzy glow. All my cottages were full—just like my dream, and I couldn’t wait to throw the No Vacancy switch on the Stardust sign. In the neon blur, the cottages stood, and at the far end, Peter’s silhouette as he sat with his guitar on the steps. Soft strains of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” came through the shadows, and by the time I got to the cottage where Ludi waited, she’d joined in with humming, the sound from her throat thick as blackstrap molasses.

  The woman thanked Ludi for helping her, assured both of us she didn’t need a doctor. She then gave me cash for one night’s lodging and signed the guest book. Ludi checked to make sure there were towels, and we left the mom and her daughter to get some rest.

  On the way to the washhouse, Ludi was still twisting her apron in her hands. “Shore do ’preciate your helping, Miz Georgie. Tell you somethin’… a white woman and her child ain’t got no business in Zion. Worried me plumb silly somethin’ gon’ happen to her and the authorities be making trouble for Zion.”

  “Why would they do that? You were being a Good Samaritan.”

  “White folk got different ways to make trouble for colored peoples. Not ones like you and Mr. Peter, but some of them from your crawdad party the other night, they might get a stitch in their britches if’n somethin’ happened over to Zion.”

  “Are you worried something might happen to the woman? Or her child? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No, ma’am, I just ain’t never seen no one holdin’ their head and rockin’ back and forth and moanin’ forty ways to nothin’ like she was. Me and my sister talked it out, and we was fixin’ to make a litter to carry the poor thing up here so you could fetch a doctor. Then the Lord Almighty answered our prayers, and she took a turn for the better. Here we be. You want me to sleep here in the washhouse and keep an eye on her?”

  “Gracious, no. You go home. I’ll check on her later. You’ve already done more than most people would have. She’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  She shuffled off toward Zion. A glance toward the newcomers’ cottage assured me they’d already gone to bed. Uneasy, but satisfied all was well, I went in the back door.

  “Hey, girls. Get your jammies on while I put these things in the office, and I’ll come read you a story.”

  Rosey followed me into the office instead, telling me Avril was learning her ABC’s and tomorrow they were going to play school again. “And maybe we can get that new girl to play, too.”

  “What new girl?” I threw the No Vacancy switch and changed the sign in the front window.

  “The one who just came. She looked lonely. And scared. I think she needs a friend. And maybe to learn her colors or her shapes. I’ll be the best teacher.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will, but you can only play with the guests if their parents agree. They’ll probably be leaving tomorrow, but if not, you can see if she wants to play.”

  “What are their names?”

  “I’m not sure. I think the girl is Bonnie. But I didn’t catch the mom’s name.” I put the money in the locked drawer and opened the guest register. “Here, let’s see. Her name is… oh. Oh.”

  My head swirled, and I tried to clear my throat, but I couldn’t utter another sound. Words wouldn’t form in my mouth. When I tried to swallow, my throat was frozen.

  And no matter what, I could not tell my daughter the woman staying in cottage one was Fiona Callahan—the woman who stole her daddy.

  [ CHAPTER 23 ]

  Mommy? What’s wrong?” Her small, determined hand clamped my wrist.

  I gulped down a bitter taste and willed myself to respond to my daughter. “Well, nothing a scoop of ice cream won’t fix. Let’s see if we’ve still got some Neapolitan in the icebox freezer.”

  “You didn’t tell me the lady’s name.”

  “Her name’s Fiona. Now, about that ice cream. Which one do you want?”

  “Strawberry. And chocolate.”

  “You got it.” I slammed the guest register closed and let a final shudder work its way out of my shoulders. What was Fiona Callahan doing in Mayhaw? I hoped she didn’t start asking questions and that her showing up was entirely happenstance.

  After our ice cream and reading The Bobbsey Twins at the Seashore to the girls, I tucked them in and took a stroll around the front of the cottages, to clear my head more than anything. The scent of pine and damp earth mixed with the occasional whiff of petunia wrapped its arms around me as I walked along the gravel path. Nearing Peter’s cottage, I slowed, hoping he might still be playing the guitar. Instead, an owl hooted high in the sycamores behind the Stardust, leaving the who, who dangling like the questions I had about Fiona.

  Why had she come? What did she know of me? Or the girls? Did she even know O’Dell had died?

  Other thoughts galloped in, unbidden. Whose baby grew in her swollen belly? Was it even the same Fiona Callahan? For certain, if it was O’Dell’s mistress, she was nothing like I expected. Not a ravishing beauty with painted lips. In fact, she had a waiflike quality, an innocent beauty, and even I was drawn to her porcelain perfection, flaxen hair, slim fingers that trembled as she stroked her abdomen and laced fingers with her child.

  Poor O’Dell didn’t have a ghost of a chance resisting her. Or maybe it was the other way around and he’d pursued her. The fire in my belly that had started the minute I read Fiona’s name in the guest register now roared, licking its lips. I thought I’d put O’Dell’s transgression out of my mind. Obviously not.

  I kicked at the gravel, only vaguely aware that a yellow light had appeared in my side vision. Peter stuck his head out his door. “Georgia, is that you? Everything all right?”

  Sebastian darted toward me, giving me a welcome lick on the hand.

  “Perfect. Getting some fresh air.”

  Three long strides and Peter was by my side. “Busy day?”

  “Yep.” I squinted my eyes, sure I’d seen a light flicker in the cottage Fiona and her daughter occupied.

  “Something wrong? You seem upset.”

  “Thinking, that’s all. Actually, I’m glad you came out. Did I ever tell you I sit on the steps every night listening to you strumming your guitar?” Peter stood close enough that I could smell the shower soap on his skin. I forced myself not to look at Fiona’s cottage and focused on Peter instead, who grinned cockeyed.

  “You do? Why haven’t you said something?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe because the songs you play seem personal, like they’re meant for someone else.” In the time since he’d been back, I’d noticed changes in him. Reluctance to talk about his buddy who died. A furrow between his brows that hadn’t been there before. A wounded look, and yet at times he seemed fine. The way he stood behind me, his breath on my neck when we’d had the lighting of the Stardust sign. Our plans for a picnic area.

  “Music is personal. You can take the same song and ask four people to play it
, and they’ll each have their own sound. Play a different lick at the end or change the rhythm.”

  “Where’d you learn to play?”

  “I can’t recall. My pappy played banjo and fiddle, and I can ham around on those, but I got my first guitar when I was ten or twelve. I hear you sing a pretty little song yourself.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Rosey told me you sing every year in the local talent show. That sometimes you win a ribbon.”

  “I’m not all that good.”

  “Someday I’d like to be the judge of that myself.”

  “The talent show’s not until the Mayhaw Festival in July.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  A disturbance at the far end of the cottages stole our attention. A human cry. Sebastian waved his tail, weaving nervously between our legs. The door to Fiona’s cottage burst open, and the child, Bonnie, ran out. “Help! My momma fell over. Somebody please help!”

  From inside the room came an agonizing scream. Cottage doors popped open, and guests from the Stardust streamed out. Peter and I raced to the room, and with each pounding step, I felt my legs carrying me to the brink of disaster, hurtling me into something that was going to change the course of our lives forever.

  And while I’m no prophet, my intuitions that night were dead-on.

  [ CHAPTER 24 ]

  Fiona lay curled in a ball on the floor, her head tilted back and out of sync with the rest of her body. Moans echoed from the walls of the cottage. Bonnie, round-eyed and lips trembling, stood tugging on her mother’s arm.

  Peter scooped Bonnie into his arms, his voice gentle. “Come on, sugar. Let me sit you over here.” He deposited her in a chair, then leaned over Fiona. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”