What Lies Beneath, page 4
“Mr. Osborn said that the fishermen don’t like them because they steal the fish.”
Before I could make a sharp retort, Emma said, “I thought they were sweet. They were looking right at me with such expression in their eyes—I was waiting for them to swim up and say hello and invite me in for a swim.”
I wished I weren’t driving, because I wanted to turn again to look more closely at Emma. Was she why the seals had been so excited?
We passed a handful of houses, big, solid saltboxes, classic Cape Cod cottages and a few Victorians separated by thickets of scrubby cedar and jack pine and bayberry and beach rose. Mrs. Wetherell’s house was another half-mile through the cedar and bayberry thickets. I turned the wagon into the short U-shaped drive, leading up to a sturdily handsome Queen Anne Victorian sided with the same silver-gray cedar shingles as the hotel. A deep porch wrapped around its side to the back, and the scent of lilacs wafted from tall hedges to either side.
“Lilacs?” Emma said. “At the end of May?”
“Everything blooms later here,” Mrs. Wetherell said. “It’s the ocean. It freezes later in winter here, too, so I still get roses in December some years. Here they are, Josiah,” she called. “They missed the ferry, but we all managed.”
Josiah Barnes, who’d always reminded me of a beanpole topped with graying brown hair, was just coming around the side of the house. He’d worked for Mrs. Wetherell as long as I could remember. He came up to the wagon to help her down then froze, staring past her. “Miss Laura,” he whispered, his face paling.
“I warned you, you great lummock,” Mrs. Wetherell said, but not unkindly. “Girls, this is Josiah Barnes. I’m afraid you’re going hear a lot of the old-timers here telling you how much you look like your mother, Emma dear.”
“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” she said, politely. “Gran’s often spoken of you.”
Josiah’s face took on a little more color as he continued to stare at her, then shook his head. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Emma. I—well, I was awful fond of your mother, once.” He shook his head again and helped Mrs. Wetherell down.
We all unloaded the wagon; I offered to carry the trunks upstairs, but Josiah bristled at the suggestion that he might need any help.
“Thank you, Malcolm,” Mrs. Wetherell said. “What would we do without you?”
“I expect you’d do just fine, but I’m always glad to help. Old Sally here is probably wanting her supper, so I’ll say good night.”
I climbed back onto the wagon seat and picked up the reins, but something made me pause and look back. The others had already gone inside, but Emma was still on the porch stairs, half-turned, to watch me. Her head was a little tilted to one side and her lips slightly parted as if she’d been about to call out to me. Our eyes met, and something just seemed to fall in place inside me, something I didn’t realize I’d been waiting for.
“I—I wish we could have gone in your boat,” she said. “It looks more fun.”
“I’d be happy to take you out in it some time,” I said immediately. And meant it. “As soon as you’re settled in.”
“I’d like that,” she said.
It took an impatient snort from Sally to make me tear my gaze away from hers. “Good night,” I said, and set Sally toward home.
Chapter Four
Emma
I stood in the driveway, watching till Malcolm disappeared from sight around the curve of the road, and tried to figure out why I felt like we already knew each other. I had to be imagining it, but still. He’d been at Harvard, just over the river from Dad’s university; might we somehow have met before, somewhere in Boston?
No. I would have remembered if we had.
“Coming, dear?” Gran was back out on the porch. “I’m sure you’d like to freshen up before supper.”
“Yes, Gran.” I climbed the stairs to join her, not letting myself turn again to see if Malcolm was still in view. “Gran, that Mr. Galbraith—”
“Malcolm. As your Mr. Osborn said, ‘Mr.’ is too formal for Cape Cod,” Gran said teasingly.
“He’s not my Mr. Osborn.” I wrinkled my nose at her. “But Malcolm—he…” I floundered into silence.
“What about him? Malcolm is a charming young man. All his family is, though they can be reserved around strangers, like most native Cape Codders.”
“Are they natives?”
“About as native as you can get, without being an Indian. His grandfather started the hotel, but they’ve lived on the island since—since forever, practically. Local legend has it that the first Galbraith on Monomoyick arrived while Queen Elizabeth was on the throne—a sailor washed off a Scottish fishing ship who managed to make it to shore and survive.”
“My goodness.” I linked my arm through hers and we went into the house. The front hall was large and airy, with white painted woodwork and Chinese wallpaper. The newly installed phone sat in solitary glory on a console table next to the stairs to the second floor. To either side I caught glimpses of a library and a sitting room, but Gran had let go of my arm and was already heading up the stairs.
“You can see the house later,” she said over her shoulder. “Let’s get you settled first, shall we?” At the top of the stairs, she paused and looked down at me. “I’ve put you in your mother’s old room. Is that all right?”
A sudden lump rose in my throat. I nodded.
Gran led me to the end of the hall, to a room on the back side of the house. “You can see the water from here,” she said, going in. “Laura liked that.”
I hesitated on the threshold, feeling as if I were intruding on someone else’s private space. “Is this how she had it?”
There were the usual bureaus and bedside tables and a wardrobe with a mirrored door. Two large windows with a cushioned window-seat looked out over the back lawn and an expanse of salt meadow leading down to a low dune and the ocean beyond. I went to gaze out at them. Night was finally starting to fall, and their colors were muted yet beautiful in the soft dusk.
“The furniture is hers.” Gran touched the wardrobe gently. “The rugs and linens are new, and the curtains—everyone on the island has been asked to use black curtains, so no light is visible at night in case there are German U-boats out there. Make sure you have them drawn well before dark or one of our zealous blackout watchers will report you.” She joined me and pulled the heavy black curtains closed, checking that no crack showed between them, then drew the blue-and-white toile curtains over them. I was sorry; the view had been entrancing.
“I was thinking just now,” I said, not looking at her. “No one’s ever told me much about my—about Mom.” It was hard to say the word; when had I ever needed to use it? “Dad never talks about her.”
For a while when I was younger, I used to lie in bed before going to sleep and make up stories about her, stories of impossible adventure where we’d travel to India and ride elephants or rescue orphans from Ottoman slave-traders who turned out to be long-lost princesses (the orphans of course, not the slavers.) Despite the heroic bravery and cleverness I endowed her with, my mother remained a shadowy figure. I stopped doing it eventually.
Gran put her arm around my shoulders. “I’ve wondered about that,” she said, sounding sad. “I don’t like to criticize your father, and I would never have said this to you before, but you’re almost an adult now. I think it’s wrong that he’s kept her from you because remembering would cause him pain. I’ll try to help you get to know her while you’re here.” She gave a soft chuckle. “You should ask Josiah about her. He thought the sun rose and set on your mother. I think he was more than a little in love with her, though he would never admit it to me.”
“Who’s in love?” Helen was standing in the doorway. “Oh, how nice your room is, Emma! Come see mine—it’s just as pretty. I can’t thank you enough for inviting me, Aunt Dorinda.”
Gran smiled and gave me a squeeze. “You’re welcome, dear. I’d better tell you about the curtains, too.”
Helen’s room was across the hall and down a little from mine, all in buttercup yellow with touches of green. She’d already begun to unpack her valise but came to examine the black curtains. “My goodness. It makes the war seem so much more real, doesn’t it? Even more than the ferry stopping early. I hope that nice George Osborn got back all right. Are private boats not allowed out at night too?”
Josiah came in, hoisting a trunk. He let it down with a thump. “He’ll be all right, so long as he doesn’t have any lights showing in that fancy runabout of his.”
“Oh, do you know him?” Helen asked.
“Know his boat,” Josiah said. “Flashy, but I wouldn’t want to be out in it when there’s any kind of sea running.”
“Don’t let Josiah fool you.” Gran winked at us. “He knows all the gossip about everyone here. Men always do. Who are the Osborns, anyway? I don’t think I’ve met them.”
“New people with new money—pots of it, from all accounts. They’re from up Lowell way.” He made it sound like deepest Siberia. “The old man started out as a mill boy in a factory and now owns the place. Built one of them big houses up on the north bluff last year and thinks he’s king of the hill.”
“Good for him,” Gran said. “Don’t be such a snob, Josiah. There’s nothing wrong with new money—it has to start somewhere. I ought to call on them to thank your Mr. Osborn.”
Helen brightened. “Would you? Oh, thank you, Aunt Dorinda! When will you go?”
Under cover of their discussion, I slipped out after Josiah who was already halfway down the stairs. “Er—Mr. Barnes?” I called.
He stopped and looked up at me. A smile softened his craggy features. “It’s just Josiah, Miss Emma.”
“And it’s just Emma, please. I feel like I already know you, Gran’s talked about you so often. Thank you for being here for her.”
He didn’t actually blush, but his ears reddened a bit. “I’ve worked for her since I was a boy. I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I hesitated. “I was wondering…do—do you know the commander at the naval station? Captain Abbott?”
“Enough to pass the time of day with. He’s a good ‘un, from all I hear. Why?” His smile faded. “You aren’t thinking about messing with none of those navy boys, are you?”
“No! Well, not exactly. I hoped you might be able to put in a word for me with him if I…” I trailed off as his face grew downright stern.
“You don’t go setting foot anywhere near that station. It’s no place for a properly-brought-up girl to be even thinking about going.”
“But I only want to—”
“Didn’t your grandmother tell you to keep away from there?”
“No, she didn’t.” Honestly, Gran had barely had a chance to say anything yet.
“Well, I’m telling you now. You don’t go near that station, do you hear?”
I took a deep breath. “Josiah, please. All I want to do—”
“What?” He scowled at me.
“All I want to do is ask for a job there, to do my bit for the war,” I said in a small voice. “As a secretary, maybe. I can type and all.”
I waited for him to explode, either in anger or laughter. He did neither. Instead, he rubbed his jaw and looked at me. “Just like your mother, ain’t you?” he finally said, almost gently. “She’d have wanted to do that, too. Thing is, though, they won’t hire you. They got their own secretaries—enlisted men who they can trust.”
“I’m trustworthy!”
“But they don’t know that.” He shook his head. “I’d give up the notion.”
I looked away from him so that he wouldn’t see the disappointment in my face. “Are you sure they won’t hire civilians?”
He sighed. “Well, not entirely. But I never heard of any non-navy folks working there. I’m sorry, chickie. But there’s still things you can do for our boys—the churches are all doing Red Cross work for the duration, and I know they’re always looking for help. Your grandmother’s already doing that—”
“Thank you, Josiah.” It was the Red Cross lady at the train station all over again. “I—I’ll look into that.”
“That’s good.” He nodded, then looked at me for a long moment. “Just like your mother,” he said again, but to himself this time, then went down the rest of the stairs.
I watched him go, suddenly feeling better. After all, he’d said he wasn’t sure that they weren’t hiring civilians, hadn’t he? Miss Richards-the-nasty-nurse had merely given me a temporary set-back; I’d find my war job yet.
Chapter Five
Malcolm
4:00 a.m. patrol duty. Again.
You’d think that since I was the one drawing up the schedule, I’d have given myself a more civilized shift—say, from noon to four. But Father needed me at the hotel during daylight and also had pointed out that I shouldn’t expect others to do what I wasn’t willing to do myself. As much as I liked to grumble about it, I knew he was right. So here I was, a mile off Monomoyick and heading east toward open ocean, where U-boats might lurk.
There were a few benefits to taking the 4 a.m. shift. For one thing, it put a damper on my sister Isabel’s attempts to pair me off with one or another of her friends so that we could “get to know each other better.” She hadn’t listened when I’d reminded her that patrolling wasn’t a social activity. Fortunately, most of them weren’t so eager to get to know me that they were willing to commit to being up this early every morning. But a few were, alas.
It was mostly my parents’ fault. Recently Father had started to hint that it was time I found a nice girl and settled down to take on more management of the hotel, so he could spend more time and attention on his other job, which was being one of the elders of our people on Cape Cod. Of course, he meant me to settle down with a nice girl like us—a selkie girl. Hence Izzy’s matchmaking efforts—but I knew it would never work. Ironically, that was Father’s own fault.
My great-grandfather had been one of the first selkies in New England to choose to pose as human; his son, my grandfather, had opened the Ocean Hotel back in the 1870s. Running a fashionable resort hotel in our own backyard, so to speak, gave us the perfect cover to keep a finger on the pulse of the human world. Father wanted me to go to college to get to know it even better, to make connections with important people in case we ever needed their help. I was fine with all that—but.
I hadn’t said anything to them about it, but sending me to college had— well, kind of ruined me. Now I had feet in two worlds, the one of my birth and the human one. What’s more, I wanted both worlds. I had lots of human friends now and liked doing human things. So how could I ever be happy with a selkie girl who knew and cared nothing about the fascinating human world…and how would she ever be able to help us with the hotel, knowing little about humans? Father glowered when I pointed that fact out. Mother would sigh and agree with me; her own adjustment to posing as human when she married Father had been a hard one.
On the other hand, how could I marry a human? We selkies told no one what we were. But I could never court a human without letting her know that her prospective husband could put on a sealskin and turn into a seal whenever he wanted: that wasn’t a secret you kept from someone you love. Besides, the rest of our people would not happily countenance a human who knew our secret—it was too dangerous. We’d certainly been known to dally with humans, but human-selkie marriages had never worked well.
It was, in short, a conundrum.
That was why I’d schemed to go out alone this morning. I usually sent patrollers out in twos, but Dugal hadn’t shown up, and I was able to pair Isabel’s latest protégée, giggly Màiri, with my friend Luthais. The look he’d given me as they swam off probably should have killed me—he loathed giggling girls—but the chance to be alone with my thoughts for a few hours had been too tempting. With summer at hand the hotel was starting to fill up, and Father expected me to be really there and attending to guests, not brooding about my problems.
Not that Emma Verlaine could be considered a problem. But I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head all night—her mischievous smile, the light in her clear brown eyes when she’d looked at me back at the ferry dock, head just a little tilted as if she were asking me a question. But most of all I’d been caught by the sound of her voice when she talked about seeing the seals. I’d never met a human girl who’d reacted to them the way she had; most of the hotel guests who tried to flirt with me pretended to be terrified of them, which just made me roll my eyes. Emma, on the other hand, had liked them.
So yeah, I’d been more than a little taken by her, but that wasn’t the only thing that had kept me awake, thinking about her. Was she what had excited the seals yesterday? If so, why? I would definitely invite her to go rowing in a day or two, both to see what the seals did and because I wanted to see her again, have a chance to get to know her even if she was a human who shouldn’t interest me this much—
I suddenly realized that I’d been hearing a low, whirring hum, edged with a high-pitched whine, for the last couple of minutes. I swore and stopped swimming to listen, and the fur on the back of my neck bristled and my heartbeat quickened because there was only one thing that made a sound like that.
Another German U-boat was nosing around my home.
Damn it! I wished there were a rock nearby, so I could bang my head against it. How could I have let myself get so lost in my thoughts that I’d not paid attention to my job? I’d have torn into any of my patrollers who did the same thing.
I made a quick trip to the surface for a deep breath, then dove. I had to figure out where the invader was. Sound carries much farther underwater than it does on land: that was why we selkies were out here in the first place, listening for U-boats when the humans at the air station couldn’t look for them from the air. I hung motionless about ten feet down, and listened.
I was maybe a mile and a quarter from the beach by now; the U-boat sounded like it was east and south of me, pretty far off—but that still put it uncomfortably in range of the air station itself. What was it doing? There wasn’t enough light at this early hour for it to navigate easily, but there also wasn’t much light for an aviator to scan the sea surface for invaders. Maybe that was it—it could be testing the waters, seeing how close to shore it could creep…
