On that note, Willadee ran back to the house without a backward glance. Mystified, Randy watched her go, her arms breaking out into goose bumps.
* * * *
Colton Bainbridge arrived home at 6:05. Randy was there to greet him as he climbed out of his blue Porsche. “Hi, Uncle Colton. How soon can you see me handle the boat?” Her smile was a mile wide.
Colton made a face. “Well...hello to you, too. The boat, huh?” His hand raked through his thick, black hair. “Let me see...it’s 6:07...just let me change into something more relaxed and check with Amanda. If she agrees, we’ll go down to the dock. Say I meet you there in fifteen minutes. How would that be?”
“Uncle Colton, that’d be great. I’ll be there.”
Randy waited thirty-nine minutes for her uncle and aunt. She didn’t mind and was content to dangle her legs from the dock and cool her bare feet in the dark green water. It was high tide—at least the channel seemed quite full. When she heard their voices, Randy slipped into her shoes and stood up, making a tepid attempt to conceal her eagerness. “Ready,” she called out.
After starting the motor three times, backing away from the small dock twice, demonstrating cruising up and down the channel, turning around, and nosing back to the dock, Randy felt she’d proved her point. Her aunt wasn’t convinced, however, so next she showed how she’d secure the boat to the dock, what she’d do with the line, and how she’d get in and out of the small craft. Finally, she stood with held breath while they made their decision. It’d be difficult not to say something downright rude if they refused.
Aunt Amanda asked her several more questions about tides and currents and weather, and Uncle Colton quizzed her about no-wake and other people’s boating rights. She answered all their questions without faltering—focusing on a nearby magnolia to keep from rolling her eyes. She even bit her tongue to keep a few sharp quips from escaping. Her aunt and uncle walked a few paces away and conferred quietly together. When they returned to stand beside her, Randy was about ready to burst.
“Well, Miranda...we have decided to let you take the boat out tomorrow for one hour...one hour only. We’ll see how you do,” Aunt Amanda said.
One hour. Randy swallowed the word she was tempted to say and put on her widest smile. “Thank you, Aunt Amanda and Uncle Colton. I promise I’ll use my head.”
“See that you do.” Aunt Amanda’s rejoinder.
Despite the tight rein and ridiculous stipulation, Randy returned to the house in higher spirits, entering through the kitchen door so she could see a friendly face. Esther was in the act of rolling out dough for biscuits. The woman was like a port in a storm. “Hi, Esther. Guess what. I get to use the boat tomorrow. I can’t believe it, but they’ve given their blessing. Thank God. Finally something positive to do.”
The cook beamed at her. “Well, that is somethin’ to sing about. You goin’ to want a lunch to take with you?”
“Probably not tomorrow. Queen Amanda decreed I only be out one hour the first day, if you can believe that. Me. Practically a veteran sailor. Oh, well. Maybe next time. Thanks. I’m going to find Willadee. Hope she’ll still want to go along.”
Randy sprinted down the hall, into the dining room, calling for her cousin. Willadee appeared at the top of the stairs, a stern look on her pinched face.
“Miranda, for heaven’s sake. Be quiet. If Auntie hears you yelling in the house, you’ll never see the light of day.”
Randy stopped on the third stair to catch her breath. “Sorry, I keep forgetting. I’m allowed to use the boat for an hour tomorrow. You coming along?”
Willadee seemed to wilt. “Oh...I...I don’t know...I’ll have to ask Mama.”
“What?” Randy couldn’t help rolling her eyes this time. “I’m sure she’ll say okay since your dad and Aunt Amanda were the one’s giving their blessing. C’mon, Willadee. It’ll be fun. We’ll go to the beach and look for shells and get into the water, sun-bathe...please say you’ll go. I’m not sure they’d let me go alone.”
“I’ll-I’ll think about it. As I told you, I don’t like the marsh…”
“We won’t really be on the marsh...just on the channels...and it’ll be high tide so there’ll be plenty of water. It’ll be all right, I promise.”
“Well...okay.”
“Okay? That mean you will?”
“Yes...I’ll go with you. But just for an hour.”
“Awesome. This’s going to be great.”
NINE
That night Randy hummed as she prepared for bed. Things were looking up. Maybe staying here for a month wouldn’t be that bad after all, she mused, hopping up into bed. She reached for her cell phone and called M.C. on the chance she’d catch her at home. Her friend’s cheery ‘hello’ was like frosting on the cake. Yes, she’d been on a camping trip, which had lasted only three days—thank God. No, she hadn’t enjoyed it, due mostly to her two obnoxious cousins and older brother. Yes, her parents were taking her with them to San Francisco. Yes, she planned to shop and sightsee and shop some more while her father attended a business convention. And yes, she was more than sorry she hadn’t been there when Randy needed her. The rest of the hour-long conversation filled M.C. in on any and all pertinent facts about life at The Shadows. M.C. sounded properly sympathetic.
Turning off the bedside lamp an hour later, Randy lay back on the plump pillows and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She felt a thousand times better. Hearing a familiar voice was just what she needed. Yep, things were looking up.
The moon outside was almost full, and it scattered eerie shadows throughout the room. Randy didn’t care. The promise of tomorrow was emotionally illuminating and outshone the creepy pockets of darkness with their bizarre tendrils and sinewy fingers that reached for the bed. Tomorrow she was taking the boat out, and for an hour she and Willadee were going to swim, jump waves, beach comb, and hang loose. Randy slipped into sleep.
She’d been sound asleep. Her dream, a nonsensical one about school and past soccer games. But then her dream dissolved, bringing her back to her darkened room, and she smelled something. A faint whiff of roses. Turning over, she opened one eye and gazed in bewilderment at the hazy silhouette of a figure dressed in a floor-length dark robe with a voluminous hood. Scrambling to a sitting position, Randy clutched the sheet around her and hissed, “W-who are you? What do you want?”
The figure didn’t answer. Instead, it swished through the open door—consumed by the darkness.
Randy opened her mouth to scream but only a croak came out. With a strangled groan, she pulled the sheet up over her head and lay back down. Breathing hard under the thin cover, she willed her heart to slow, all the while straining to hear any sound that would indicate the specter had returned. The only noises heard were the natural night sounds outside her open window. After a heart-pounding minute, she pulled the sheet away from her face and sat up.
The door to her bedroom stood open to the yawning black hole of the hallway.
Her hand trembling, Randy leaned over and turned on her bedside lamp. Its soft glow aroused the corner shadows, so she jumped out of bed and ran to switch on the overhead light. The shadows settled back on their haunches. She closed the door, leaned against it, and listened to the myriad night sounds outside her open window. Her heart still pounded like a bass drum and just drawing in a breath proved difficult. She lifted her hands in front of her, fascinated. They shook as though afflicted by some palsy.
It was a dream, she told herself over and over. Nothing else. She didn’t believe in ghosts; wouldn’t believe in ghosts. It was all those creepy shadows, and Willadee’s cryptic remarks about ghosts and vague warnings—that was all. Just a dream. Absolutely no ghosts. This was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud.
“Mom, please help me.” She whimpered out loud then gasped. Where did that come from? She’d never called out to her deceased mother before. Why do it now?
Her eyes drifted to the small, framed photo that sat on the dresser. Emily Bainbri
dge Smith. Her mother. Randy stepped closer to the picture. The fresh-faced young girl who smiled out at her was pretty. “I have your eyes, Mom...but I think I look more like Dad…” She picked up the ceramic frame and pressed it to her heart. “Who are you, Mom? Or, maybe I should ask, ‘Who am I?’ I don’t know you. I don’t remember you. I never really thought about you all that much. Now...now, I wish...I wish…” She set the photo back on the dresser and gave her head a hard shake. “No. I’m not going to go all weepy over something that can’t be fixed.” Her eyes darted about the room, desperate for something positive to latch onto. There was nothing that didn’t scream out Emily. Mother.
“I don’t understand what’s happening in this house. I don’t believe in ghosts. I’m sixteen, practically an adult. Right? So why am I dissolving into a pathetic emotional mess? Why do I feel like a scared little kid who’s afraid of the dark? I’ve always been able to take care of myself. I’ve never been a sissy. Right? So, Mom...wherever you are and whoever you are...tell me. What am I supposed to do? Should I tell someone what I think I saw? Who? Who would believe me? And who the heck was she? Why was she in my room? What did she want?”
No good. Nobody answered. She was talking to the wall.
For several minutes Randy stood there by the door and listened, tense and clammy with perspiration. Finally convinced the “ghost” wasn’t going to return, she switched off the main light, leaving the bedside lamp on. She climbed back into bed but sleep was a long time coming. For over an hour she lay there, listening to the night sounds outside. And then, to her horror, the faint, unmistakable sound of someone crying, deep in the bowels of the old mansion drifted in with the night breezes.
TEN
Randy was up the next morning before seven. She put on her bathing suit—a dark purple two-piece—with a T-shirt and shorts over it. In ten minutes, she was downstairs greeting Esther in the cheerful kitchen. As she walked through the swinging door, the kitchen’s brightness impressed her anew.
“Good morning, Esther. Did you know this kitchen is the only cheerful room in the whole house?” She settled on one of the sturdy wooden chairs.
The cook beamed at her. “Don’t I know it. That’s why I like to stay down here as much as I can. I’d be content to leave the rest to Evangeline and dear Louisa if I could get away with it. I don’t go upstairs if I can help it...not me.” She put a bowl of steaming grits in front of Randy. “Eat up, child. You’ve got a brand new day ahead of you.”
“Thanks, Esther. I love your cooking.” Randy sighed then spooned a mouthful of the corn concoction into her mouth.
The elderly cook’s eyes narrowed. “You frettin’ about something, child?”
For a brief moment, Randy was tempted to pour out the night’s events to the gentle woman, but then thought better of it. She shook her head and smiled. “Heavens, no. I’m A-okay. Just didn’t sleep too well, that’s all. Everything’s still kind of strange. You know...humidity, marsh smells...so different from Seattle.”
“Humph,” was Esther’s reply.
Just then, three staccato taps sounded on the kitchen’s back door. Before Esther could say a word, a dark, curly head poked around the door, and the face of a very pretty African-American woman smiled a greeting. “Hey, there, Auntie. I’m early for a change.”
Esther’s white teeth flashed. “Well, don’t just stand out there waitin’ on me. Get yourself in here and meet Emily’s baby girl.”
The young woman stepped in and closed the door behind her. She walked over to Randy and stuck out her hand. “Hello. I’m Louisa...Auntie Esther and Uncle Henry’s niece. You must be Miranda.”
“Yes. And you’re the soon-to-be teacher, right?”
“Yes, I’m the one. I have only a few more credits, and then, out I go, into the world of pencils, books, and homework. I cannot wait.”
Randy nodded. “That’s great. I’m thinking about majoring in education, too.”
“Good for you. My major is in English, with a minor in education, so I’ll be prepared for both elementary and high school.”
Randy grinned. “Sounds good. Just thinking about it gets my juices flowing.”
The older girl rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. It’s been a long four years, but I’m ready. I really am. It’s been difficult, but I’m ready. I’ve wanted to be a teacher all my life, and I can’t wait to have a classroom of my own.”
“Well, now, Louisa, you just sit down and hush for a minute and eat these grits before they get too cold. You and Miranda can visit while you eat.”
With a chuckle, Louisa obeyed. For the next ten minutes she plied Randy with questions about Seattle, and Randy tossed back questions of her own. She enjoyed talking with the young woman about South Carolina, muddy marshes, and everything in between. When the old cook left the kitchen to carry her loaded tray into the dining room, Randy leaned forward to ask a question.
“Louisa, may I ask a dumb question?”
“No such thing as a dumb question. Go ahead.”
“Well...I was wondering about something Evangeline said yesterday when she brought me fresh towels.”
“Yes?”
“Well, she said, ‘The king would turn in his grave if he saw me now,’ or something like that. When I asked her who the king was, she just shrugged and said something I couldn’t understand. Evangeline is always saying really cryptic stuff.”
“Hmm, let me see. She was probably referring to the African king from whom we’re descended. According to tradition, the African-Americans here on this island are descended from African royalty. We call ourselves the Gullah, which is also what we call the language. As you may already know, the early slaves received no education and so their language deteriorated and became an adoption of French, English, African dialects, some Native American...a mishmash of everything.
“The Gullah were pretty isolated from the rest of the United States, and even after the Emancipation, they stayed a fairly close-knit community. My uncle and aunt didn’t receive the best education but poor Evangeline didn’t have hardly any...that I know of, anyway. I know Aunt Esther got a job here when she was in her teens, and I believe Evangeline had already been here several years. But times have changed, thank the Lord, and schools are much better and accessible to all.”
“Interesting...about the Gullah, I mean. I’d never even heard of the Gullah before this trip.”
“That’s understandable. A lot of the young people are leaving the sea islands and moving to the big cities, going away to college, finding jobs far from these barrier islands. In a way, it’s sad, as some of the old ways were pretty special...like the basket weaving. Girls aren’t learning the skill any more. It’s a dying art and such a waste of incredible talent.”
“There’s a beautiful basket in my mother’s room that Evangeline said was made by the Gullah. I didn’t know what she was talking about at the time.”
“Yes. The baskets are beautiful. I’ve thought about asking one of my elder relatives to teach me so I can carry on some of our traditions. So far, I just haven’t had the time.” Louisa glanced at her watch. “And speaking of time, I better get upstairs to those bedrooms. I’ve got to be out of here by one to catch an afternoon class. It was nice talking to you, Miranda. I hope we can talk again before you have to leave.”
Louisa gave Randy a quick hug and rushed up the back staircase. Randy already missed her warmth and friendliness. There was nothing really to do until after two o’clock that afternoon when the tide would be high enough to take the boat out. Until then, Randy decided to go back to her room and read some more of her mother’s diary. She’d peeked at the last few pages and was surprised to see that the fat little book covered more than five years. Based on that, she knew her mother hadn’t written every day but enough to give Randy a vivid picture of her deceased parent’s earlier years.
Upstairs and settled on her bed, Randy retrieved the diary from under her pillow and thumbed the pages. Skipping the entries written from boarding school, s
he decided to go to the back of the book and read some of the last things written.
April 11, 1984
I finally got up enough courage to ask Evangeline about Elizabeth. At first I thought the poor dear was going to drop dead at my feet she was so terrified. I know she is superstitious but I never dreamed how much. I told Evangeline that I knew about Elizabeth’s doctor and was worried, and did she think I should tell Mama or Daddy but she got all upset and begged me not to say a word to anybody…
Her mother had known something about Elizabeth that had worried her enough to ask the Gullah maid about it, but not her parents or brothers or sister. Why? What had she thought the maid could do? Why tell an aging employee and not your family? Randy skimmed over the next few entries until her eyes caught the word ‘doctor’ again.
…I’ve never heard Arthur raise his voice like that. Of course I know I shouldn’t have been listening but I was already in the hallway next to their room and couldn’t help it. He kept saying he wanted to take Elizabeth into Charleston to see a real doctor to give her something to calm her nerves, but she only laughed and said she already had a real doctor and not to push her or he’d be sorry. Then she cried and said over and over ‘it’s not fair, Arthur. It’s not fair.’ And how much she detested living ‘like this’—whatever that means. I could hear Arthur trying to calm her, saying over and over how sorry he was but that it was too late to change things now and she’d just have to be patient. Elizabeth really worries me lately. And so does Arthur. He and I have never been close, but at least he used to be tolerable when I was real little. Now he goes around either looking worried or annoyed, or going on and on about the Civil War, and he and Elizabeth are always arguing…
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