Diann Ducharme (36 page)

The tree was still there, of course, buried up to its middle in sand. I ran my hands over the rough bark of a low branch.

I clenched and unclenched my jaw, then said loudly, “You’re still alive.”

Then I sat down in the sand and looked across the tops of the trees and the Roanoke Sound to Roanoke Island. The students were likely burying Elijah today, and mourning the loss of their only leader. I didn’t know how they were going to get by without him, in the face of so many threats. I supposed that was the point of Daddy’s costumed violence.

I groaned, fighting tears, and from my reticule pulled out the Prayer of the Ephesians, copied onto a piece of paper that I had carried along with me. It was the first Bible passage I had heard Elijah read to the class.

I read it to the tree slowly, remembering the way Elijah’s voice had pulled me outside myself. With the students, I had learned that there was no
us
, no
them
. We had been one group, united with a common purpose—fighting off the encroaching sand.

I took Elijah’s copy of
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
and walked a few yards down the dune to where the sand was in the process of drifting. I buried the book in the soft sand so that when the dune finally moved on, maybe even hundreds of years later, Elijah’s book would reappear, resurrected.

Daddy returned to the cottage the second day after Elijah’s murder. I was in the kitchen, helping Hannah with a tomato pie, when I heard his boots stomp into the house. My hands paused on the tips of the crust, my heart hammering. Hannah glanced worriedly at me and took the pie to finish herself.

He hollered to the house at large about supper plans at the hotel, his ugly tenor raising the hairs on my arms. “We’ve got things to celebrate! Get dressed, and don’t dillydally!”

I heard Charlie ask, “Why are we celebrating, Daddy? Winnie has gone off and left us.”

Daddy paused for a few moments, then said jovially, “Oh, well. People come and they go, son. You’ll survive.”

“Mama’s been ill today. I don’t think she wants to go to the hotel,” said Martha petulantly. Martha had been grumpy with Daddy ever since Ben had stopped coming for his tutoring sessions.

“Oh, she’ll go all right. I’m making an important announcement tonight.” I heard him stomping around the rooms. “Abigail? Where are you?”

I walked slowly out of the kitchen, my hands wrapped in a
dishrag, eyes everywhere except on him. When I did finally raise my eyes to his, my whole face tightened in protest. I would never be able to look at him again without seeing him in a red robe and a devil mask.

“Wear your best dress tonight,” he said. And from the flatness in his eyes, I didn’t think he would ever be able to look at
me
again without seeing me as a teacher in a schoolhouse for freedmen.

Then he galloped up the stairs two at a time, to see about Mama. Mama had been hollering for Asha for two straight days, even though I had told her the same thing that I had told Charlie and Martha. But she kept forgetting, I suppose.

Apparently Hannah couldn’t make toast nearly as well as Asha could. That morning I had found two burned pieces of bread half buried in the sand, directly under Mama’s bedroom window.

That evening we all arrived at the hotel with long faces, except for Daddy. He wasted no time in grabbing a waiter and ordering a bottle of champagne. When the bottle arrived at the table, Daddy insisted on popping the cork himself, and the final crack made me flinch.

He stabbed the flute into the air victoriously, yet his voice sounded as hollow as the now empty bottle. “I want to make a toast, for I am the happiest of men tonight. My daughter Abigail has accepted a proposal of marriage from none other than Hector Newman, whose name speaks for itself here. Our family will soon merge with the Newman house, and we couldn’t be more pleased.”

Mr. Adams hollered, “To the lovebirds!”

Daddy finished, “To North Carolina. As we all remember her.”

I hadn’t even corresponded with Hector since he’d proposed to me. My face flushed with five different emotions, and I put my hands on the edge of the table, ready to push my chair back.

But the way that Daddy wasn’t even looking at me caused me to
stay seated. The air around him vibrated with malice and manipulation. This was my punishment.

I forced my hand to take a glass of champagne and tap it against Maddie’s and her mama’s. The air resounded with the clinking of glassware and a boisterous “Hear, hear! To Abby and Hector!”

Maddie sipped her champagne, gazing at me. Then she cupped her little hand to my face and whispered, “For a while there, I was wondering if it wasn’t going to be Mrs. Abigail Fisherwoman.” She raised her voice and asked, “Do you love him?”

Everyone turned to me, even Daddy.

I murmured, “Oh, Maddie, hush now. Don’t embarrass me.”

I began to butter my roll, but Maddie wasn’t done with me yet. Thankfully, she lowered her voice this time. “I liked him. He had some honest quality that you just don’t find in a lot of beaux. Dirty as all get-out, and I declare I’ve never smelled such a stink!” She giggled and drank the remainder of her champagne. Then she said, “But I knew you best of all, Abby. I knew you could fall for a man like that.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. He was my daddy’s guide, an ignorant Banker. That’s all.”

She scolded, “You can’t hide it now. You’ve got that look about you, even while you’re denying it. You love him still.”

I suppressed the urge to cover my face with my gloved hands. She was so wrong. I hadn’t even been able to think of Ben without getting angry all over again. My idea of him was now entwined with brutality and secrecy, and I couldn’t separate them to save my life.

Daddy’s voice distracted me then, when I heard him say quietly to Mr. Adams, “Got my
Old North Statesman
today. Did you see Zeb’s editorial yet?”

Mr. Adams grinned from ear to ear. He said under his breath, “Oh, yes. Read it first thing this morning. Made Patience’s burned-up biscuit taste just like heaven.”

“Best one Viceroy’s ever written,” Daddy said, his eyes glowing malevolently.

Mrs. Adams picked up on their mutterings, too. “I declare, I can’t believe that man was living just over on Roanoke Island! Imagine, a cold-blooded killer in our midst! My precious Madeleine visited the island quite often this summer. I shudder to think of her crossing paths with that murderer.”

Maddie squealed, “And how positively awful, pretending to be a preacher. Those darkies will follow just anyone, I guess. I’ll bet they knew all about his murderous past but didn’t see fit to turn him in. They’re all so sinful.”

Mrs. Adams nodded. “I hope they all crawl back to wherever they came from. They should just leave that island alone and let things settle down. Those island folks haven’t seen a moment’s peace since the war started.”

I put my knife down carefully and took a deep breath. Then I said evenly, “Mr. Africa wasn’t
pretending
to be a preacher. He
was
one. A good one. And that island is a perfect place for those people. I hope they stay.”

Everyone stared at me openmouthed, silverware and glasses poised in midair. Daddy said calmly, a torn-up roll in his hand, “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Abigail.”

My anger made me reckless, and the ignorance of the present company spurred me on. But my voice trembled when I said, “Our country does still have a legal system, I believe. He didn’t deserve to be killed like that.”

“Sure he did. He got what was coming to him,” Daddy said. Then he smiled at the table apologetically and crooned, “Come now, Abigail. Let’s talk of weddings, things you know more about than
this
ugly business.”

Mrs. Adams’s eyes were still round with surprise when she whispered, “Yes, Abigail. I’m just dying to discuss your plans.”

I got up calmly and made for the exit. My sea legs were stronger than they’d ever been. I could feel them flexing under my hoops with determination. Maddie smiled hugely at me, enjoying the spectator role for once, and even Mama, who’d remained silent the entire time, looked curiously at me.

“My, my, Hector sure does have some work to do! Proper doctor’s wife, indeed!” I heard Mr. Adams muse as I walked away. “Takes after her daddy. I always did say that.”

That night I couldn’t sleep, even though I was bone-tired. I felt cool and hardened, as if I had started the summer as a squishy mound of clay and had come through the furnace, strong and ready for work.

My heart hadn’t cooperated during the process, though. It was still soft and warm with life. I could feel it beating childishly in my chest. But I would be a doctor’s wife soon. I tried to harden my heart, too, and forget how it felt to swim in a pond of freshwater.

I had closed my eyes tightly, hoping that the cries of the gulls would lull me to sleep, when I heard Mama’s footsteps padding lightly down the stairs. I heard the screen door nearest my bedroom squeak slowly open and close quietly. My breath caught in my throat—perhaps she was ill and needed a doctor. Maybe, in a fit of madness, she was going out to look for Asha! Asha, the one person who could help me with Mama. It was up to me now to care for her.

I got up hastily and, still in my nightdress, followed her into the darkness. I saw her quite clearly, standing at the ocean’s edge, her
white nightdress already soaked up to her knees. Her long yellow hair blew wildly in the ocean breeze.

I hurried over to her through the sand. Over the sloshing of the waves, I said loudly, “Mama, what on Earth are you doing?”

She turned her head slightly to me. “I had to get out of the cottage,” she called. She sounded surprisingly rational, for someone in her current situation. “It’s evil, Abigail.”

The darkness seemed to close in on me, disorienting me for a moment. Fighting panic, I asked, “But why are you standing in the surf?”

She replied calmly, “I haven’t so much as touched the ocean since we arrived here in June.” She paused, then said slowly and succinctly, “It doesn’t smell nearly as bad when you’re standing in the midst of it.”

I could see the outline of her slightly rounded belly through her gown. The wash swirled and frothed around her feet, causing her to lose her balance every now and then. I called, “You’re making me nervous, Mama. It’s too dark out here to save you if you get sucked out to sea. Come on back to dry sand now.”

She turned to face me. “Your daddy … he’s still not home. He’s at the hotel, drinking with some men.” She paused and gave me a peculiar smile. “They’re celebrating.”

She looked at me for a long time, her back to the waves that marched toward her. Her face was ghostly white, surrounded by so much darkness. She finally asked, “What happened over on Roanoke Island?”

I had thought that with all of her health problems this summer, she hadn’t a notion of what was happening under her very nose. But I knew now that I had underestimated her.

“Oh, Mama,” I cried.

She spoke carefully now, each word heavy with meaning. “Your
daddy was involved in something over there, something terrible. You know what he did.”

I nodded slowly, my long hair blowing into my eyes.

“How
do you know?”

I couldn’t lie to her anymore. I was beyond that now. I waded into the warm, slapping surf to look her in the eye. “I was teaching at a school for freedmen at night. I was there when it all happened.”

She put a hand over her mouth, then looked back out to sea.

Then, with tears running down the back of my throat, I told her about the school, about the students, about the nights of teaching. I told her about bringing Asha with me, and about her decision to stay on Roanoke Island. I told her about Elijah Africa and his many gifts. I told her that Elijah had been murdered “by some bad men bent on revenge,” and she covered her face with her hands.

And then I couldn’t stop myself. I told her about the pile of burning books in the middle of the street. She moaned out loud and doubled over, physically affected by the crimes.

And confessing those things to her lightened me of the burden. I filled my lungs with the salty breath of the sea, and the ocean washed over my calves. I could just make out a handful of stars, peeking through the silver night clouds.