Summer's Passing (9 page)

"Why the sand?" She asked when we were barely a twenty feet up the beach. 

"As I've told you before, it's either this or the Port Grace Park. If memory serves, the last time we tried the park you complained about the drive, there and back."

"I'm sorry. I complain. It's a bad habit I'm trying to break."

"Try harder," I added.

The rubber tip of her left crutch found my foot as she hobbled along next to me.

"Ow! Be careful where you're walking!" I said loudly enough to draw the attention of the woman who was reading nearby.

"Oops. Sorry," Beckie said, but the grin on her face gave me the impression she didn't mean it. "You're falling behind. Monroe. Hup! Hup!"

I limped behind her as she exhibited a rare and short-lived burst of speed. Not long after, it caught up with her. 

"If you don't want to carry me, I suggest we turn around," she said to me behind her back.

"Fine. My foot's bothering me anyway," I grumbled.

"Poor baby, I'll kiss it and make it better when we get back to the blanket."

It would have been around that time, if Beckie had been walking normally on both legs, that I would have grabbed her and tossed her unceremoniously into the Gulf of Mexico. Believe me; the temptation was strong, even with her bad leg.

"Come around," she said as she stopped.

When I faced her, she dropped her crutches and collapsed into me. We held each other close, with the surf lapping the shore providing the background music. 

"I should tell you everything about my father. You've earned the right to know." She whispered against my neck.

I held her in my arms. Rebecca, the girl whose past was broken into small sharp pieces, and those shards cut when held; when gripped tightly in the harsh light of day, they cut deep. 

"It's best here, with you holding me, in the daylight."

"You don't have to tell me anything," I looked into her eyes. "I know what you went through."

The gulf breeze had ruffled my hair. She ran a hand through it.

"If I don't tell you, it becomes a secret and I don't want any secrets between us."

I think I might have fallen in love with Rebecca the first time I saw her. I was almost certain of it. But maybe it was then, that very minute, on the beach, with her hand in my hair and a secret on her lips; it may have been then that I fell in love.

Tales told to those who were once strangers. Tales of pain and sorrow. Everything said once, never to be spoken of again.

We walked the beach slowly and I did carry her the short distance from the surf to the blanket. She seemed lighter than before, perhaps the cast had added the weight, but I imagined it was something else entirely.

"I think I'll sleep for a while. Do you mind?" she asked, once we were in the umbrella's shade.

"No, go ahead. I'll go get the laptop. Need anything from the house?"

"Not now. Take the crutches with you. I won't need them for the time being."

The glare on my laptop bothered me even in the umbrella's shade, but I wrote anyhow. I didn't dwell too much on Beckie's words. I felt safe in the daylight, in the warmth of the sand, with the sound of the waves. 

I wrote, not seeing the words as much as my face reflected back at me off the computer's screen.
This is why I came here
, I told myself as I typed.
This is the reason I came to Port Grace, to write this story.
 

Time passes quickly when writing; most authors will tell you that. The sun shifted lower in the sky, as the day grew older, and had begun to creep onto Beckie's legs. I placed the laptop on the blanket to adjust the umbrella when I saw something in its reflection. A man standing directly in front of the beach house porch, standing without movement, looking down at us.

I turned quickly. For an instant, the sun's glare obscured my view. I held my hand above my eyes. Nothing. No one stood there. 

I flashed back to the night I saw the girl in the summer dress,the girl who left a necklace for me to find.

"You okay?" Beckie lay on her stomach, leaning on her elbows.

I turned to her and smiled. "I'm fine, just seeing things."

"Join the club," she added. 

We stayed on the beach for a little while longer, talking about the present, not the past. We packed our things when the sun began its slow descent toward the gulf.

"Let me get rid of the chairs and umbrella. I'll come back for you," I said with my hands full.

"Don't forget me, I know where you live," she said as I walked away.

I glanced down as I drew closer to the house. What was I looking for? Another necklace? Or something else, something to prove I wasn't going crazy?

When I saw the footprints in the dirt near the house, from shoes, or maybe boots, I felt some relief, but I also felt dread, a real and certain fear of the unknown, now free from the shadows and showing its scarred face in the bright light of the day.

The season passed and Rachel healed, with the help of Morgan who always seemed close by when needed. They walked often and each time he supported her less. She became stronger as the summer aged; stronger physically and stronger in spirit.

The days flowed together with an unexpected ease. Morgan became a teacher, with Rachel as his attentive student. Some days they sat together in a field of clover and wildflowers, while Morgan talked of past adventures in faraway lands. On other days, she read from the many books Morgan had acquired through the years, or she amused herself with his collection of jewels and trinkets collected on one of his voyages across the great seas.

Morgan held her near at night and when in his arms, the strange noises of the forest ceased and she only heard the strong beating of his heart.

"Would you care to join me for a stroll to the market?" Morgan asked, shortly after their morning meal. "I believe you're up to it."

"I'd love to join you," Rachel replied. "Do I need to bring anything with me?"

"Your courage will suffice," Morgan answered.

Morgan kept a slow pace as they walked through the trees. Rachel suspected it was due to her hobbling. Her leg had mended properly but remained weak and unpredictable. She found that if it took too much of her weight, it would simply give up and she would tumble to the ground. On that occasion she wanted no part of the soil beneath her feet; she wore her favorite dress, one of the several given to her by Morgan after a long day away.

"I traded some trinkets with a gypsy traveling along the path for these,” Morgan had said, lying the four dresses in front of her. “I hope they meet your approval."

"They are beautiful," Rachel replied, though one caught her eye immediately. The dress was white and adorned with the most beautiful flowers, some of which she had never seen before.

"The gypsy told me the dresses would last forever if properly maintained. I trust you will take care of them."

"I certainly will," she said. 

Rachel sat on her bed and ran her hand across the fabric. 

"I must try these on. Do you mind?"

Morgan took a seat in the chair facing the bed. "Not at all," he said.

The sun had not yet centered itself above them when they walked out of the trees and on to a well-worn path. 

"This is the carriage road," Morgan said. "We can follow it into town. Do you need to rest? We still have a distance to travel."

"No. I'll rest in the town." She turned onto the path and resumed her awkward gait.

"Rachel."

She turned behind her. "Am I going too fast for you?" She asked with a bit of smugness.

"No, but you are going in the wrong direction." He pointed to his left. "The town is this way."

The town, when they came to it, was everything that she had imagined: a collection of open stalls lining both sides of the dirt road. A smattering of cottages and shops completed the scenario, along with the mass of humanity, of all ages, wandering about, shopping and browsing.

There would be no rest for Rachel now. She insisted on seeing everything, in a leisurely manner, and with Morgan by her side, proceeded to do just that.

They strolled one side of the road, and then traversed to the other, stopping at every stall no matter what the wares.

"So, Morgan, is this the young beauty I've heard so much about?" An elderly woman behind a counter of assorted vegetables asked.

"It is indeed," Morgan answered.

"My dear lady, I am Corinna, daughter of Samuel the town's horseman."

"Pleased to meet you," Rachel said as she curtsied. It became a somewhat awkward maneuver as she favored her good leg, and drew a smile from the merchant. 

"My dear, careful you don't take a spill out of politeness," Corinna added.

"If I may ask," Rachel said once she regained her dignity. "What is a horseman?"

"The town's horseman stables the horses of those passing through and tends to their needs, which may include replacing old shoes with new if necessary," Morgan answered. "We'll have some produce while we are here, Corinna." He turned to Rachel. "Would you care to pick out an assortment?"

"Love to," she replied.

They walked on, stopping and starting, and soon Morgan had two large cloth bags of food, one in each hand. 

"Paintings!" Rachel shouted as she spied a stall close by.

Many paintings decorated the merchant's area, some on the ground braced against the stand, others hanging from hooks. One in particular caught Rachel's eye, a portrait of a man who looked remarkably like a younger Morgan.

"That one," Rachel said, pointing to the painting hanging from a taut rope above the proprietor's head. "May I see that one please?"

The man took the portrait off its hook and placed it in Rachel's hands. She held it gently as if it might break apart in pieces should she grip it tightly.

"May I have this one please?" She addressed the portrait but Morgan responded with a handful of trinkets. "How much?" He asked the man behind the stall. 

"Well now, let's see." The man combed through the jewels, picking out three of various colors and sizes. "This would do," he added.

Morgan took one trinket from the man's hand and returned it to his pile. "Two should be sufficient payment I would think," he said.

"And I would agree," the merchant answered. "We have a deal."

"I think I should carry the painting," Morgan said as they walked. 

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," Rachel said. "The young man in the painting reminds me of you. Did you sit for it, a long time ago?"

"Just how old do you think I am?" Morgan asked her as he took the canvas from her hands.

"I'm sorry," Rachel added. "I didn't mean it in that manner."

Morgan smiled. "It's not me, though I see a resemblance." They had arrived at a tavern at the town's end. "We'll rest here for a time before our journey back."

They sat at a table in the shade of an oak tree. Morgan savored a tankard of ale while Rachel sipped a sweet tea. A young girl ran in front of them in pursuit of a chicken.

"I've seen her before," Morgan noted. "She never catches the chicken." He looked at Rachel in time to see her wipe a tear from her eye.

"Now, it's not that bad. She's looks well fed," he added.

"She reminds me of a carefree time of my childhood, before the bad," Rachel said.

"Those days are behind you," Morgan said.

"Yes." She took his hand and brought it to her lips. "Thanks to you they are." 

Rachel waited while Morgan sought out the establishment's proprietor. She raised the tankard of tea and drank the last few drops. As she lowered it, she noticed someone watching her from the shadows of a stall across the road.

The man was large and wore tattered clothing, of that much she was certain. His face remained hidden beneath a wide brimmed hat. He remained as still as a statue, and though she could not see his face, she felt his eyes burning into her flesh.

"The tavern owner assures me he will deliver an ample supply of ale and wine in the morn," Morgan said as he sat beside her.

"Do you see him?" Rachel said, pointing with a finger. 

"See who?"

"There, across the street." As she said this, the man shimmered, much like heat rising from a fire, and vanished.

"I see no one," Morgan said.

“He's gone." Rachel turned to Morgan. "He was there, just now. I saw him with my own eyes. He wanted something from me. I could feel his need. It felt like a curse."

"I think we've both had enough for one day." Morgan stood. "We need to get the food to a cool place, and you need some rest."

Rachel nodded. "I'm sure you're right. Too much for one day." 

Together, they walked out of the town and when Rachel turned to glance behind her from time to time, Morgan said nothing.

I woke with a start. I had heard a noise, either in a dream or outside of it. I lay still. Next to me, Beckie mumbled something. Was it her I heard talking in her sleep? No, it was a scratching sound. I was sure of it.

I turned to the open bedroom window and listened. Nothing but the breeze ruffling the curtains. I realized why this beach house was such a deal. No air-conditioning. If I closed the window, the house would quickly become an oven. Besides, the window sat a good eight feet off the ground. At that height, no one could see in.

Despite my anxiety, I was beginning to relax into the first stages of slumber when I heard the scratching noise again. This time the sound came from directly under the window.

I sat up. No doubts this time. Something was either in the wall or outside of it. My mind raced. I knew I must check it out, but should I take something with me? I looked around the dark room and saw absolutely nothing that might make a decent weapon.