What Lies Beneath, page 3
“All summer,” Helen said quickly. “Do you live on the island too, Mr.—?”
“No. My family’s house is on the bluff, up from the lighthouse.” A note of pride had entered his voice. “And I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I’m George Osborn.” He looked at me expectantly, as if I should know who he was.
I opened my mouth, hoping something sensible would emerge from it, but Helen was already replying. “How do you do, sir? I’m Helen Sutton, and this is Emma Verlaine. We’d be happy to accept your offer if it isn’t too much trouble. Wouldn’t we, Emma?”
I hesitated. If Helen didn’t have any concerns about the idea, then it was probably all right. But still—“If—if you’re sure…”
“It’ll be a pleasure, Miss Verlaine. Just give me a moment and I’ll have the Fast Lady here directly.” He smiled at me, then turned and walked quickly back toward his boat.
Helen waited until he was out of earshot then poked me triumphantly. “Ooh, this is much better than the ferry! Isn’t he handsome? I think he likes you, Emma.”
“Oh, pooh.” I laughed nervously, then said, “Do you think so? How can you tell?”
Helen smiled. “Oh, I can tell.”
This was probably another one of the things I’d missed out on by not going to school. But I wasn’t sure I wanted this Mr. Osborn to “like” me, even if he was being nice enough to bring us over to the island. For one thing, why hadn’t an able-bodied young man like him volunteered for the army, like the ones we’d seen in South Station—oh! “Helen! Our trunks!”
Helen glanced over her shoulder at the wagon. Abe and the horse seemed to have dozed off again. “Don’t worry. Just say something about our bags and blush as prettily as you did a minute ago, and he’ll have them unloaded and on his boat in no time. I can never blush when I need to; it’s such a useful skill.”
I blushed again, to my chagrin. “I didn’t do it on purpose!”
She poked me again. “I was only teasing. I’m sure he’ll be glad to take care of them for us.”
She was right. When Mr. Osborn came putt-putting up to the Never Late’s dock and tied up his boat, I hesitantly mentioned our luggage. He looked at the wagon and may have winced—I couldn’t tell from where I stood—but squared his shoulders and went up to Abe. “I say, good man—lend me a hand with the ladies’ trunks, will you?”
Abe opened one eye. “Cain’t,” he wheezed. “My rheumaticks are kickin’ up something fierce. And b’sides, that ain’t my job. I jist drive.”
I looked from our things piled on the wagon to Mr. Osborn’s boat. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to fit everything in anyway—”
“Hello! Are you here to visit Mrs. Wetherell?” someone called. I felt something bump into the dock and turned.
A dory—the one I thought I’d seen crossing the channel?—had drawn up alongside us. A young man was seated at its oars, holding onto the edge of the dock and looking up at me with a quizzical half-smile. His brown hair was tousled and he wore a shapeless cotton jersey, sleeves rolled partway up his tanned forearms.
“Yes,” I said. His eyes were light brown, almost amber-colored and startling in his tanned face. There was nothing off about his mouth, I couldn’t help noticing; Miss Ayers would definitely have approved. “Did she send you? Our train was late so we missed the ferry.”
He nodded. “She guessed something like that had happened and asked me to come see if you’d arrived. I can bring you right over.”
“That won’t be necessary,” George Osborn said, coming to stand by me. “I’ll bring the young ladies across. You can see to their baggage, boy.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a dime, and flipped it toward the boat.
“But—” I looked at the young man in the dory. After all, Gran had sent him for us.
The young man didn’t move, but watched the coin bounce off one of his oars and fall into the water. Then he smiled, a soft, curious smile.
That smile caught me, just as his eyes had. The corners of his mouth quirked with humor and a certain wickedness that made me wish I could hear what he was thinking, though after Mr. Osborn’s condescending behavior, it wasn’t hard to guess.
“It’s all right,” he said to me. “I’m happy to oblige your grandmother in whatever way’s needed. You go.”
It took me a minute to realize Mr. Osborn was trying to catch my attention. I tore my gaze away from the young man and let him help me into his boat. He settled Helen on the bench seat next to me, cast off the lines holding us to the dock, put the engine in gear, and turned us toward Monomoyick.
I looked back and was surprised to see that Abe had evidently forgotten his rheumatism and was helping the young man load our trunks into the boat. Gran’s friend was evidently very persuasive. When they were done, he took up his oars once more and pulled them with long, easy strokes that propelled him swiftly across the channel behind us. Considering how much lower the dory rode in the waves with our belongings on it, he must be extraordinarily strong. If only I’d thought to ask him his name—
Something round and sleek and brown poked up suddenly from the surface of the water, not far from the boat. I blinked at it for a few seconds before realizing what it was. “Helen, look!” I pointed. “I think it’s a seal!”
Mr. Osborn glanced casually at it. “Oh, yes. There are a lot of them around here. Smelly things. The fishermen think they steal their fish.”
I frowned. That hardly seemed fair—after all, the seals had been here first. Wouldn’t the fish more properly be theirs?
Helen made a face. “It gives me a turn, seeing animals wandering around free like that. But then, I’m a city girl.”
I think Mr. Osborn said something in reply, but I was too interested in watching the seal to pay attention. It seemed to be looking at me…and there was another, its whiskered nose pointed inquisitively toward our boat.
“Hello,” I said softly, though there was no way they could hear me. Their dark, shining eyes seemed to gaze directly into mine. I had a sudden urge to jump in and swim over to them.
Gran was waiting on the Never Late’s island dock as Mr. Osborn cut the engine and eased alongside it. “There you are, girls!” she said, tossing a line to Mr. Osborn. “Was your train late? I thought I saw Abe’s wagon over there and sent Malcolm to look for you. Did you see him? Helen, my dear, it’s lovely to see you again.”
So the young man in the dory was named Malcolm, was he? I was up on the dock before Mr. Osborn had quite finished tying his boat to it. “Yes, we saw him, Gran. He’s bringing our trunks across. I’m so glad we’re here!” I took Gran’s outstretched hands and kissed her cheek.
Gran was as handsome as ever, though it seemed funny to see her in a spring frock and cardigan rather than the tweed suits she always wore when visiting us at Christmas. “Well, all’s well that ends well,” she said briskly. “Thank you, young man—?”
“Gran, this is Mr. Osborn, who was kind enough to bring us over,” I explained as he helped Helen onto the dock. She’d waited nicely for him to do so, as I probably should have.
He removed his hat. “It was my pleasure, Mrs. Wetherell. I’ll say, though, that it’s nonsensical of them to stop the ferry at five when it’s May and no one needs running lights on till after seven. We wouldn’t be aiding and abetting the Germans, if there are even any out there. But I can’t complain about the rule, at least not right now.” He smiled at me. “And please, Miss Verlaine, call me George. ‘Mr.’ is too formal for Cape Cod.”
Gran cleared her throat. “Nonsensical or not, Captain Abbott has asked us to comply with it for the duration.”
“Who’s Captain Abbott?” I asked.
“He’s the commander of the naval air station here on the island—didn’t I write you about it? It opened just before we declared war. They have seaplanes and dirigibles to help guard the approaches to Boston Harbor and Nantucket Sound against U-boats.”
An air station! Now that I thought about it Gran had mentioned it, but it hadn’t really sunk in. Since my nursing school correspondence course didn’t seem to be all it was cracked up to be—though I wasn’t sure that horrid Miss Richards hadn’t made it all up just to spite me—maybe I could get work at this air station. Dad’s secretary in the Geology Department had showed me how to use a typewriter, and Dad bought me a book on teaching yourself shorthand because he thought it might be useful for me to learn for note-taking in college. He couldn’t be upset at me doing war work if I were living with Gran, could he? This just might turn out to be a better summer than I’d expected.
Gran was still speaking. “It isn’t easy to keep over three hundred young men in order on a remote place like this. I think the captain’s curfew has something to do with that.” She looked at George Osborn. “You’re not an islander, young man.”
It was phrased as a statement, but he took it as a question. “No, ma’am, but I hope to spend more time here, especially if the Ocean Hotel is still holding its dances.”
Dances? I looked at Helen. She raised an eyebrow at me and said, “I hope you do. Emma and I will be put out if you don’t come and make sure we aren’t wallflowers.”
“You aren’t likely to be,” Gran said drily. “Mr. Galbraith at the hotel is doing his part to help keep the men from the station entertained, so you’ll have more dance partners than there are dances.”
They continued chatting, but I couldn’t help turning back to look out at the channel. The dory with our baggage was nearly across. “That was fast,” I murmured to myself.
Gran heard me. “There’s no one faster than Malcolm with a pair of oars in his hands,” she said, smiling fondly. Evidently they were friends. “He’s been a tremendous help, with the ferry being on reduced hours.”
“Lucky for him. He can save up for a motor boat with the extra work he’s putting in,” George commented.
Gran laughed. “He doesn’t charge us. Why should he? His father owns the hotel.” She tilted her head to indicate a horse and wagon waiting near the end of the dock, which couldn’t have been less like the one we’d been picked up in by the bewhiskered Abe. The wagon was painted glossy sea green, with “The Ocean Hotel” emblazoned on its sides in royal blue and gold. “And he loves rowing too much to use the hotel’s motorboat. He rowed for Harvard, after all.”
George’s face reddened. I thought of the coin he’d tossed to Malcolm and Malcolm’s smile as he watched it drop into the water and turned away in embarrassment. It was more pleasant to watch the boat skimming across the channel toward us.
“That looks like fun,” I said, mostly to myself.
“Get Malcolm to teach you to row. He’d be happy to, I expect,” Gran said.
Hmm. “Maybe I will,” I said.
Chapter Three
Malcolm
After Abe and I finished loading the young ladies’ cases and trunks in the dory, I pushed off. It felt good to be on the water, if only for a little while; I’d been stuck indoors all day at the front desk, training our new desk clerks. My shoulders opened as I settled into the rhythm of rowing, and my muscles stretched and yawned like they’d just woken up and were eager to get to work. Not the same as an eight on the Charles with the crew team, but a good feeling nonetheless. It would have felt even better to put on my skin for a swim, but I’d be out on patrol tomorrow morning bright and early. Besides, I liked Mrs. Wetherell and was happy to do her a favor.
I’d liked her granddaughter, too, and not just because she was stunningly pretty. I’d been caught by that little worried frown she’d given me before she got onto the boat with the fellow in white trousers; I’d wanted to make that worried look go away. And the white trousers…white trousers! Did he think that runabout of his was a yacht?
The growing strip of water that separated me from the mainland glowed silver in the early evening sun. I was partway across it when a dark head surfaced from the water. I nodded to it. “Hello, cousin. Is all well?”
The seal looked past me, toward the island. I glanced behind and saw the motorboat was just tying up at the Monomoyick dock. “Yes, more boats and more people. It’s that time of year. What about them?” Apart from the fact that one of them was such a beautiful girl. This summer might turn out to be better than I’d expected.
Another seal surfaced. It too looked over to the dock, then back at me. I was able to catch just a flavor of its thoughts: like us.
I looked over my shoulder again. “Of course they like you. You’re very likeable.”
The seals continued to gaze at me. Something was troubling them, either about the boat or its occupants. I wished I had my skin with me so I could get in the water and hear their thoughts more clearly. Maybe I’d do that after I got the Wetherells taken care of, if Mother didn’t mind me missing supper. “It’s all right. You don’t have to worry.”
The pair looked at me again, and it finally hit me that they weren’t worried. Deeply interested, yes. And excited. I’d have to look into this—along with the seven hundred other things on my “to do” list.
Another dozen strokes brought me close to the dock. I gave one last pull, then let the boat’s momentum take me alongside it, right to where Mrs. Wetherell waited. “Thank you, Malcolm,” she called.
I grinned up at her as I shipped my oars. “Aw, I just did it because I had to, Mrs. Wetherell. You know how much I hate being out in boats.”
Mrs. Wetherell snorted, then grinned back at me. “Smart alec. Come and meet my granddaughter and grandniece.”
“One moment, ma’am.” I secured the dory at both bow and stern before climbing up on the dock. “We’ve partly met,” I said, looking at the blonde girl.
“But not entirely. Emma, this is Malcolm Galbraith who so kindly came to your rescue.” I saw White Trousers scowl. “Malcolm, my granddaughter, Emma Verlaine.”
Emma. I’d always liked that name. “I hope you’ll enjoy your visit here, Miss Verlaine,” I said.
“I’m sure I will,” she said, and then grinned as impishly as her grandmother had. “However did you get that Abe to help you load our things?”
I laughed. Abe liked to put on his yokel act for the “dam turrists,” as he called them, but all I’d had to do was mention my mother, and he’d been out of the wagon in a heartbeat. He’d worshipped her ever since she nursed him through a bout of pneumonia some winters back.
“You just need to know how to ask him nicely,” I said. Behind Emma, White Trouser’s scowl deepened.
“And this is my great-niece, Helen Sutton,” Mrs. Wetherell was saying.
“How do you do, Mr. Galbraith?” the other girl said, giving me a wide smile. I supposed she was pretty enough, but there was something about Emma that just made me want to keep looking at her.
But looking at Emma wasn’t going to get her luggage in the wagon. I turned back to the dory and unloaded it as quickly as I could, then hefted one of the trunks to my shoulder. We got everything loaded—even White Trousers pitched in, though he didn’t look happy about it—and I dragged my dory back to its place on the beach and went to Mrs. Wetherell, standing by the wagon. “All set, ma’am. May I help you up?”
“I suppose I’d best be going before it gets any darker,” White Trousers said. “Don’t want to break your Captain Abbott’s precious rules.” He smiled at the girls. “I hope it will be all right if I pay a call in a day or two?”
“We would be delighted to see you,” the cousin purred, but I saw that White Trousers was looking at Emma as he spoke, which kind of set my back up for some reason. And what was his problem with Captain Abbott?
“Um, yes—do.” Emma didn’t sound very enthusiastic about the prospect.
As White Trousers turned to go, a sudden impulse grabbed me. “Say, boy?” I called after him, reaching into my pocket.
He stopped in his tracks, then turned, glaring at me. I found a quarter and flipped it toward him. He caught it.
“Thanks for bringing the young ladies across. It saved me a second trip.” I nodded to him, then turned back to the wagon, hiding a grin. I heard him stomp away down the dock to his boat.
“What was that all about?” Mrs. W. asked, eyebrows raised.
I shrugged. “Just returning a favor, though I probably should have restrained myself.” After all, he probably couldn’t help the fact that he was an idiot. Even though I’d given him fifteen cents more than he’d thrown at me.
I untied Sally and climbed into the wagon, and we ambled past the handful of shops and houses that was Monomoyick village. Some minutes later we passed the granite pillars and glossily painted signboard on the left that marked the drive up to the hotel.
“Is that your family’s hotel? It looks delightful,” the cousin—what was her name?— said.
I glanced down the long road at the large building with its two deep wings, all covered in silvery cedar shingles and surrounded by extensive lawns and gardens, Mother’s especial pride. White-painted shutters trimmed each row of windows across the face of the hotel, three rows on the main building and two on the wings. Beyond it the open Atlantic was a dark, cold-looking blue. “We think so,” I said, trying to sound off-hand. “I expect we’ll have a busy season again this year, since no one’s going to Europe on holiday.”
“That’s true.” Emma sighed.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Wetherell sounded concerned.
“I expect she’s tired. We both are,” the cousin said sympathetically. “Emma, your hands are like ice. You should be wearing your gloves.”
I glanced behind me. The cousin was rubbing one of Emma’s hands. She withdrew it, a little sheepishly. “I know, but I hate gloves. The seams always chafe between my fingers.”
“I hate ‘em too,” I said. Emma looked at me and gave me a small smile.
“Well, it was chilly enough on the water that I was glad to have mine,” Helen—that was her name!—said. “Oh, Aunt Dorinda, you won’t guess what we saw from Mr. Osborn’s boat! Seals!”
My ears pricked up. “There are a lot of them around here.”
