The Jumbee (2 page)

Esti turned away, staring bleakly over the low stone wall that surrounded the grassy hills of Manchicay School. Bougainvillea and honeysuckle framed a breathtaking view of islands and turquoise water fanning out from the beach below.

For a few minutes in the theater she’d been happy again. She was certain she hadn’t imagined that part. It still crept around somewhere deep within her. She had to believe in the tiny flash of hope that sparked when her mom agreed to move to Cariba Island for Esti’s last year of high school. At her dad’s funeral, an old family friend had reminded them that he owned a house here. It was empty at the moment, Rodney Solomon said, within walking distance of Manchicay School.

Esti had jumped at the idea, but she’d felt cursed from the moment they arrived a week ago. She hadn’t left her painful memories behind at all. The airlines had lost her luggage, including a big box packed with a bunch of clothes and her dad’s last Shakespeare treatise, the one he had lovingly signed to her just before he died. Then she was sick for three days from something she’d eaten on the plane.

“Paul, he was wrong.” The girl with the solemn eyes stood several feet away, her expression hard to read. “I had tell Paul’s uncle you was the last one talk to he.”

“You?” Esti asked, startled. She sat up straight, studying the girl’s yellow T-shirt and matching head-wrap. “Do I know you?”

“Lucia. I come in with Ma while she clean this morning. We watch you practice.”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

“You had not look.”

Esti locked eyes with her. “Did you see Paul fall?”

“Nah, we was in the back when it happen.” Lucia scowled, then gave Esti a piercing look. “You gotta try out for Juliet. ’Tis a good thing you do.”

“A good thing?” Paul’s last words still filled Esti with anxiety. She’d been through countless auditions in her life, each one overprepared, but this one was different. Her dad was no longer here to hold her hand. “A good thing,” she repeated.

Lucia’s lip curled with a cynical expression that seemed too old for her. “I will try out, also. Sometime Mr. Niles does let in freshmen. The jandam had tell Headmaster Fleming he close Manchicay School this week to respect Paul, since he pass. Next Monday you do Juliet, eh?”

Lucia waited until Esti nodded, then she turned and walked away.

Who was the jandam? Esti doubted she would ever understand the local customs, or why half the school had apparently been hiding in the theater this morning, watching her. All she’d wanted to do was to get a fresh feel for Juliet, to bring her favorite character alive again in this new place. Instead, she had left the building too embarrassed to even look at Paul, desperately longing—as usual—for her dad’s reassurance.

With a pensive shake of her head, she started across the parking lot. Had she imagined the rich murmur as the theater door thudded to a close behind her? A ghost of Shakespeare emanating from the stone walls.
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac’d. . . .

She had definitely imagined it. Maybe she was pulling a Hamlet and finally going crazy after her dad’s death. Strangely enough, the idea brought a brief smile to her face.

Act One

Act One. Scene One.

Esti stood outside the screen door for a minute, letting the breeze dry her damp tank top as she recovered from the hot, muggy climb up Bayrum Hill. Sandalwood incense wafted out the door, her mom’s chirpy voice singing
“what a long, strange trip it’s been”
along with the Grateful Dead.

“Hey, sweetie.” Aurora sat cross-legged on the floor, her hair pulled into a disheveled braid, while she finished unpacking. She was twenty years older than Esti, but she still looked like a hippie, with her bare feet, her swirling skirts, and dangling earrings. Esti couldn’t remember ever really calling her “Mom.”

“One of the airline guys found your suitcases in the freight area,” Aurora said without looking up, “so I got them this morning. The only thing still missing is your box, but the woman I talked to promised they should have it by the end of the week. How was your day?”

Esti suppressed a fleeting urge to crawl into her mom’s lap for reassurance. “I tried calling you all afternoon.”

“I just got home a few minutes ago.” Aurora finally looked at her. “What’s the matter?”

As the story of Paul Wilmuth unfolded, Aurora slowly rose to her feet, then led Esti out to the balcony with a glass of mango juice. When Esti finished talking, they both stared in silence at the nearest small island, lush green hills smoothing into long white stretches of sand. A single, rocky cliff reared up from the island on the northeast side, reaching toward Cariba. From the corner of her eye, Esti saw a lizard scramble up the wall beyond the balcony railing.

“That poor boy,” Aurora finally said. “I wish the police had called me before talking to you. Are they sure it was an accident?”

“What else would it be?” Esti wiped her eyes.

“Your dad told me this might not be the best place for us to live.”

Frowning at the lizard, intent on its single-minded pursuit of food, Esti wished her own needs were that simple. Her dad had discussed Manchicay School with Rodney several times, of course, finally concluding that Esti was better off in Ashland.
Safely hidden behind his overpowering presence,
she thought with a touch of resentment.

“I love Cariba,” she said firmly to her mom, although she wasn’t yet sure about that. “The police did call you, but you weren’t here. I tried calling too.” Hiding a sigh, she swirled mango juice around the inside of her glass. “I guess the answering machine isn’t unpacked yet. We need cell phones that work here.”

“You’re right, we do. And I’ll hook up the answering machine tonight.” Aurora’s fingers twitched, almost like she wanted to reach for Esti’s hand. Instead she took a sip of her wine. “Did you say they’re closing school for a whole week?”

Esti’s eyes lingered on her mom’s short-bitten fingernails. “That’s what a girl—Lucia, I think—told me.”

“I’m glad they respect the death of a student so much. I don’t know if they would do that back in Ashland. Look, I’ll give the police a call right now, then maybe we can go down to the beach for a while.”

As her mom picked up her wineglass and went back in the house, a wave of sadness swept through Esti. She watched the dark strands of a distant rain column reach down to the sea from a puffball of white clouds. The sweet soprano of Sarah Brightman drifted across the balcony, muting Aurora’s request to speak to Officer Wilmuth.

Esti turned to study her mom through the sliding screen door. Despite her strong facade, a hint of puffiness around her eyes suggested she’d been crying again.

“Inside? Anyone home?”

Esti jumped to her feet at the unfamiliar voice, hurrying in from the balcony as her mom looked toward the front door.

“I’ll get it,” she whispered, gesturing for her mom to take the phone in the other room.

A pretty girl in a white sundress stood on the step, her blond hair swept up into a precisely tousled knot, her fingernails and toenails perfectly lavender. She leaned against a dark-haired boy with deep brown eyes, his arms and legs as nicely tanned as hers.

“Esti Legard?” the girl asked.

“Yes?” Esti pushed away her sudden shyness. “Please, come in.”

“I’m Danielle Graaf. You know, Gabrielle Simpson-Graaf’s daughter? And this is Greg
Timmons
.” Danielle’s eyes swept Esti from top to bottom as she entered the house, taking in Esti’s long tangled ponytail and sweaty tank top, the faded jeans and rubber flip-flops. “We didn’t get a chance to meet after class today.”

Esti kept the smile on her face, unsure how to react to the name-dropping. “I saw you in history this morning,” she said, “but I had to run back to the office to find my science class.”

“History is a freak show,” Greg said with a chuckle. “Miss Rupert spent half the class talking about ghosts.”

“On Cariba, that’s all history seems to be sometimes,” Danielle’s smooth voice almost purred, in stark contrast to the interest in her blue eyes as she glanced around the living room. “Rodney Solomon told my mom you would be living here.” She peeked through one of the two bedroom doors, then quickly turned back when she saw Aurora on the phone. “Everyone’s talking about The Great Legard’s daughter, of course.”

“Uh—can I get you something to drink?” Shoving down a burst of confused emotions, Esti slipped into the perfect hostess role she had so often played for her dad. Danielle couldn’t possibly know how her casual words sliced through Esti’s hopes to separate herself from her past.

Esti followed them out to the balcony with a pitcher of mango juice and chilled glasses. Ice cubes rattled against each other as she set the pitcher on the glass-topped rattan table, and she firmly told herself she was happy they were here, no matter what their reasons. Her issues weren’t their fault. She wanted to have friends on Cariba.

“Where are you guys from?” she asked.

“Greg’s from New York,” Danielle answered before Greg could speak. “His family’s all over Broadway.”

Greg gave Danielle a cynical smile, then turned so she wouldn’t see the quick wink he shot at Esti. Esti pretended not to see as she carefully poured juice for each of them, wondering if Greg liked having a famous family.

“My mom met my dad on a movie set in Puerto Rico,” Danielle continued, her eyes not missing a detail as Esti wiped a drop of spilled juice from the glass tabletop with the hem of her tank top. “He was born on Cariba, though, and so was I. I’m a local,” she said pointedly.

“Hey,” Greg interrupted, “did you hear what happened to Paul Wilmuth? I saw jandam everywhere when I left school.”

“It was awful.” Esti sank into the weathered cushion of her rattan chair. “Um . . . does jandam mean police?”

“Yeah. A butchered version of the French
gendarme
.”

“It’s not butchered,” Danielle said. “The West Indian patois is a whole different language.”

“What do you bet Miss Rupert thinks he’ll be haunting the theater now?” Greg added. “Cariba’s newest jumbee.”

Esti tried to hide her dismay at Greg’s cynicism.

“Don’t disrespect Paul,” Danielle said sharply. “You know that’s not done around here.”

“Sorry.” Greg shrugged. “I’m not saying he’s another Somand. Just trying to give Esti some of the local flavor. Some
useful
information.”

Esti wrapped her hands around her icy glass, keeping her voice neutral. “I don’t understand.”

“Ghosts are called jumbees.” Greg pointed out to the nearby island. “And that place is haunted by Manchicay’s final slave owner, Elon Somand. Be very afraid.”

“I’m changing the subject now,” Danielle snapped before Esti could reply. “Esti, I assume you’ll be at the auditions?”

“They’re postponed for a week,” Greg added, “in honor of Paul’s jumbee.” He shrugged at Danielle’s expression. “Are you still worried about a Legard stealing your fame?”

“No.” As Danielle’s eyes narrowed, Esti abruptly understood the purpose of today’s visit. Danielle was checking out the competition.

Suppressing her ever-present pang of anxiety, Esti took a deep breath. She understood about competition. She’d almost always gotten the lead back home, but she knew too well how much it had to do with her dad. She hadn’t performed in over a year, and no one—not even Aurora—understood how urgently Esti needed to shine at next week’s audition. Danielle’s dismissal was unnerving, to say the least.

“I’m trying out for Juliet,” she said. “I guess you are too.”

Danielle leaned back in her chair. “It’ll be interesting to see who Mr. Niles chooses.”

Esti slowly nodded at the implicit battle line drawn between them. “Good luck,” she said softly. “It might not be either one of us.”

“Ha,” Danielle actually laughed. “Right.”

When the screen door rasped open, Esti spun around in relief. “Danielle and Greg,” she said, “this is my mom, Aurora.”

They both studied Aurora in surprise, apparently not expecting bare feet and a tie-dyed skirt. “Aurora and I are about to head down to the beach,” Esti continued. “I want to learn how to swim.”

“You don’t know how to swim?” Danielle raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Well, at least you’re in the right place for
that
. The Solomons own a scuba diving shop. Maybe you can get lessons.”

“Rodney said that Rafe might work there when he comes to visit at Christmas,” Aurora said. “He could probably teach you.”

Danielle gave Esti a piercing look. “I’m sure Rafe would
love
to give you lessons.”

“I hope so.” Esti lit up at the thought. She and Rodney’s son had been best friends in elementary school, and she was looking forward to seeing him again. Startled by the growing scorn in Danielle’s eyes, however, Esti turned away to look out at the nearby cay. “I was ten the last time I saw him,” she added uncomfortably. “We might not even recognize each other now.”

Act One. Scene Two.

Several people were already onstage when Esti walked into the theater a week later. Flat wooden panels on the exterior stone walls had been opened to let in a whispery breeze and outdoor light; ceiling fans stirred the humid air. She sat down in the back row, ignoring the catwalk over the stage. Her heart gave a nervous thud as she saw Danielle stride across the stage in crisp slacks and high heels.

“You trying out?”

Esti spun around.

A curvy Hispanic girl met her eyes, her hair braided into a thick rope down her back. “I’m Carmen,” she said, flopping down in the seat beside Esti. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I’m Esti.” Esti returned her smile, pleased that Carmen didn’t already know.

“Misti?”

“
Esti.
Like the initials S.T.”

Carmen grinned. “That’s a cool name.” She glanced up at the stage. “Can you believe what happened to Paul last week?”