Under the Cypress Moon (46 page)

"I'm Sara, Sara Kenner.  I believe you and I are of relation, Sir.  I believe you and I shared a father, a Thomas Crady, though I must confess, I hardly knew the man at all."

"Well, I suppose you are right, Ma'am," Mark replied, giddy with the realization of his hope.  "I guess that does, in fact, make us brother and sister.  Now, what do we do?"

"Well, to be quite honest, I do not know.  I saw your... I mean our father only a half a dozen times in my entire life.  I know hardly a thing about him or about the... our family.  I knew that I should come here, out of respect, though I... I do not know how it is that I am to pay respects to a man that walked out of my life when I was eight years old, a man whose idea of love was sending his illegitimate daughter a check for her sustenance.  I assure you, Sir, that I am not here for money.  The attorney, a Mr. Stanley Walker, has informed me of what I am to inherit, and I will not put up a fuss or ask for more than what has been offered to me.  I don't know if you and I are to be of a kindly way with one another or if we are to part as if we are merely acquaintances.  Are we now to get to know one another and share a sort of bond?  I haven't the faintest what to do, Sir."  Mark could see the tremendous nervousness and fear displayed by the woman, hidden as she tried to make them.

"I would have to say, Miss Sara, I do not know either.  Why don't you come on back to the house and visit a while?  Maybe, we can figure somethin' out.  I'd love for you to meet my girlfriend.  Who knows?  Maybe you'll come to like this place and maybe see how it feels havin' a big brother.  What do ya say?"

"I'd like that.  How about just for now that I call you Marcus?  Or do you prefer Mark?"  With a great flutter of her beautiful eyes, Sara melted Mark's heart.  He felt a strange and almost uncomfortable but longing desire to get to know the woman and to one day call her sister.

"Mark is fine.  I'm never too formal.  Well, I guess tragedy does sometimes bring great miracles.  You know, I wanted to curse my... our father's name for havin' another family, but this might just turn out to be the best thing that could've come of all this."  Mark wanted to put his arm around Sara and make her feel completely welcome, and on that same note, make himself feel more comfortable with the idea of having a new family member.  He refrained, as difficult as it was and satisfied himself with walking Sara to where Shylah remained seated.

Shylah could see the instant shock in Sara's eyes as she first encountered her.  Suddenly, a sensational and overwhelming vibe came over Shylah as she took Sara's hand into her own and introduced herself.  Something seemed greatly amiss, but Shylah had no clue what it could be.  She immediately wondered about this strange new woman standing before her, this elegantly-clad woman only a few years younger than herself who moved with grace and what some would call a real hoity-toity demeanor. 

Sara clammily accepted Shylah's hand and gave all appearance that she was pleased to meet her, but what it said to Shylah was that she instantly disliked her and did not accept her being with Mark.  "Definitely Tom Crady's
daughter," Shylah thought to herself as she pulled her hand away. 

Mark once again invited Sara back to the house so that they could spend time getting to know one another, but every fiber of Shylah's being told her that it was not a good idea and that she wanted no part in it.  She knew, however, that she would have to take part in it.  She could not outwardly refuse to speak to the woman.  Shylah found herself hoping that her brother, her father, her mother, anyone, would save her from the mess and take her away, anywhere.

Shylah reminded herself that she could, very well, be wrong about it all and that Sara could just be in awe of everything and overcome with grief, joy, or both, but no matter how much Shylah said this to herself, the same creeping feelings of doom and chaos overtook her.  There was no way to say anything to Mark about it.  Whether her feelings were right or wrong, Mark would not accept them.  He was only now meeting his sister that he had never known of, and he would not be willing or open enough to hear any words that would speak ill of the said relative.

As mourners ushered their way into the house, some staying immediately after the burial service, some coming back after retrieving their contributions, Mark and Shylah took seats on the parlor couch, on either side of Sara.  Shylah did not like being separated from Mark, especially by a woman that she did not know, but it was how Sara established the moment.  Shylah thought that Sara
had likely calculated her position so that she could squeeze out anyone who might intrude upon her conversation with Mark or take any attention away from herself.  Mark, oblivious as could be, did not notice a bit of it.  He happily sat with Sara, hanging on her every word, listening to her tell of her life in the northern part of the state, of her upbringing, of her stepfather, the medical doctor, of her one year in college, of everything that she knew of the Crady family, and so on and so forth.  Shylah wanted desperately to believe any of it and to accept the woman, but every successive second around Sara only proved further that the attention had to be solely on her.

Shylah tried time and again to tune Sara out, to ignore her and focus on anything else.  She thought of leaving the room, visiting with some of the guests, searching for her own family in the crowd, anything that might be better than listening to the intruder.  When she overheard Mark ask Sara where she was staying, Shylah focused her attention once more, deciding that she needed to listen in, to look for any clues that might cement her own feelings on the matter. 

"I am staying at a motel for the moment, dear brother.  I am afraid that I do not have a place otherwise.  I am taking time off from attending my university.  My stepfather became quite angry with me for deciding against becoming a doctor, though I have not been able to come to any reasonable conclusion what it is that I might like to do.  With that, the man, callous as he is, threw me out of his house.  When Mr. Stanley Walker informed me of our father's passing, I immediately came here to wait for news of the services, but beyond this day, I do not have plans of where I am to go or what I am to do.  Frankly, it does sadden the heart to think of such things."  Sara seemed quite able and skilled at presenting herself as the victim of familial cruelty and uncertainty of life.  Shylah could only shake her head at these words, thinking that next, Sara might ask to stay there, in the Crady house.

"Well, there are some vacant rooms here, if you need a place," Mark joyously chimed at his sister's pronunciation of her dire straits.  "We don't even use the upstairs.  You could have your pick of any room up there.  You'd have the whole floor to yourself."

"Oh no, dear brother, I could not impose on one so sweet and benevolent as yourself.  I would not hear of it.  I shall find my own place soon enough, but perhaps, we could still, in time, come to know one another as kith and kin should.  All I ask is that you will be to me the loving relation that I have so often longed for."  Shylah sensed that Sara was only trying to present herself as the damsel in distress, the detractor from obvious over affections that does such things only to draw all the more close to the subject of their dastardly plans. 

Luckily, T.L. showed up at that moment and was quickly introduced to Sara.  Shylah felt relieved to have someone else there, someone to diffuse a bit of the turmoil going on in her own mind; however, as T.L. offered his hand to the young woman of questionable relation to Mark, his hand was coldly taken, shaken with clammy coolness.  "Pleased to make your acquaintance, I am sure," Sara casually remarked, never looking fully in T.L.'s direction but quickly turning all of her attention back to Mark.

Shylah, upon seeing that she would never get a word in edgewise or have any chance of attempting to convince Mark of her thoughts about Sara, rose from her seat and followed her brother into the backyard.  As Soon as Shylah pushed T.L. through the door, she let loose with the worries that were vexing her so deeply.  "T., I don't like that woman.  I'm dead serious.  I do not like her!  There is somethin' really really wrong here!  There's just somethin' about her.  That woman is gonna try to push me out of Mark's life, one way or another.  I'll bet you everything I have on that!"

"You ain't got nothin' but a broken down ol' car and the clothes on your back, Sis."

"Maybe so, but I'd bet 'em on the fact that that woman has somethin' goin' on that Mark can't see.  Do you think she's really his sister?"

"How the hell would I know?  She could be.  I bet Tom had more'n just one love child stashed away.  I'd reckon the girl is probably who she says she is.  You really get that bad feelin' about her, though.  Don't you?"  T.L.'s mouth hung open, awaiting his sister's urgent reply, thinking about everything that was just said and beginning to see the possibility of Shylah's worries.

"I get a horrible gut feelin' about her!  Really horrible!  It makes me kinda sick.  That's how bad it is.  I've only had that a couple of times in my life when I met somebody, and I got that feelin' about her the second she grabbed my hand at the burial.  Even if she is who she says she is, I know somethin' terrible is gonna happen!  I feel it in my gut and in my bones, T.!"

"So, what do we then," T.L. worriedly asked.

"Dunno, T.  I just don't know.  We wait, I guess.  Let's see what she tries to pull here.  If Mark doesn't see her for what she is... I just don't know.  I wanna be proven wrong.  I want to.  I hope I am so very wrong about her, but I know I'm not.  Sometimes, you just know.  You know the sayin', 'go with your gut?'  That's what I'm doin'.  I'm goin' with my gut, and my gut tells me not to trust that woman any farther than I could throw her, and you know me.  I'm not that strong.  I couldn't pick her up, let alone throw her!"  Exasperated, forlorn, and completely confused, Shylah grabbed ahold of a pillar supporting the roof overhanging the back veranda and slunk down to the ground.  "I wanna drink!  I wish I could right now, more'n ever!"

"You can't, Shy."

"I know that!  I know I can't.  And don't call me Shy!  You know I don't like it, T.  I'm not yellin' at you.  I'm just really upset here, but I don't like bein' called that.  I never have."

"I used to call you that all the time when we were kids," T.L. reminded his little sister, staring down at her with a cold beer in his hand.  "I called you Shy or my little Shy Bug cuz you had these great big bug eyes.  You remember?"

"Yeah, I do, and I don't know why, but I don't  mind Shy Bug as much as I do Shy.  Anyway... hey!  You're drinkin' in front of me?  That's really fair.  Could I have just a sip?  Pweeze, big brother.  Pweeze.  Just a sip."  Shylah reached out her arm to try to take hold of T.L.'s beer and received a quick swat to the hand.

"No!  You're pregnant.  You can't have it.  You know better.  If Mama heard you, she'd skin you as quick as hear ya out.  Sorry, but I don't give beer or anything else to ladies with child.  Plus, Mark'd kill me.  You'd have Mama to kill you, and I'd have him to kill me.  We'd both be dead.  The last thing Mark needs right now is to worry about you drinkin'.  I'll go get ya a Coke or somethin'.  What kind you want?"

"Coke Coke."

"Ok.  You jes sit tight there.   Be back in a sec."

T.L. and Shylah sat outside for much of the afternoon, occasionally visited by others but completely left alone by Mark and Sara.  This was not what Shylah wanted.  She wanted to be there for Mark, to comfort him, to be, at least, his primary shoulder to cry on.  Part of Shylah wanted to see Mark grieve.  It seemed as if he were not even torn up at all about his father's death, and though Shylah knew that this was largely due to Mark's finding out that his father had fathered another child as a result of an extramarital affair, a complete absence of grief was too much to make sense of or accept.

If not for the general dislike of Sara, Shylah might have been ok with Mark's leaving himself among others and being the polite and expected host to his guests.  It was the sensation of impending calamity that brought Shylah to the point of confounded worry and pain.  She tried, as hard as she could, to let it all go or, at least, to pry it far from her mind, but she could not.  She would not.  It would weigh itself upon her and implant its slimy tentacles
into her brain for a long time to come.

When Shylah finally meandered back into the house, dreading that Sara might still be there, much to her saddened amazement and culminating, sickening disgust, Mark was showing Sara around the house and introducing her to all of its environs, including the entirety of the upper floor.  Now, Sara had agreed to stay in the house and would be assuming her role as heiress to the place and occupier of Mark's mother's room.
  Mark appeared not to see anything wrong with or the hypocrisy prevalent in allowing his father's illegitimate child to take a room that had belonged to his mother, the official and legal bearer of Thomas' children.  To Shylah, it seemed a slap to the face of the woman so long dead and so deeply missed.  It was the finest room in all the house, and why such a woman as Sara deserved it, Shylah could not ascertain. 

Shylah left the upper echelons of the house as quickly as she had ascended to them. 
She neither could not take hearing Mark's praises and joys of his sister's presence nor imagine the coming guarantee of her place among the rulers of the property. Surely, Shylah told herself, the woman would be bossing everyone around soon enough, taking full advantage of all the property had to offer, butting into all of the private affairs of her brother and mother of his child, and maybe even trying to get her hands on more of the family fortune.