As I walked down through the dunes the roar of the surf crashing up ahead grew louder and louder. I had a sick and helpless feeling that was almost paralyzing. I had to keep wiping the rain out of my eyes to see and with each flash of lighting I would duck instinctively, sure the next bolt would hit me directly and blow me into a thousand charred pieces. When I was able to get far enough down the beach to see in both directions along the waterline, I was furious to realize the heavy rain and dark clouds allowed me to see only a few hundred yards. I yelled out for Melanee again, an almost hopeless gesture against the fury of the elements. I ran up into the dunes to the west where we had watched the turtle’s nest, but she wasn’t there. I started turning in a slow circle, trying to think where she might have gone, the rain stinging against my face, my clothes drenched and hanging tight and soaked against my skin. I felt the most helpless fear I had not been able to protect this little girl and something terrible had happened. In a near panic, I began running in my crooked gait back toward the hotel. After a while, I was out of breath and couldn’t run anymore. I staggered on as quickly as I could through the wet loose sand back toward town.
When I got to the hotel, Sara came out onto the porch to meet me. “She’s not here, Mathew,” she said. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Where’s Farley?” I asked, looking at the cut on her face and the dried blood on her swollen cheek.
He ran out to find Melanee when I told him she was gone,” she said, and her voice sounded as if the fear for her daughter was bringing back some measure of sobriety. “He said he was going down to the lake where she liked to feed the ducks with us.”
“Where by the lake?”
“Just past the Headley’s cottage and down toward the beach," she said. "We found a little shelter in the heavy scrub when Bobby was still here. We used to take her down there. It was like her little sanctuary.”
“Show me,” I said, and I took her hand and pulled her down the porch with me into the rain and gusty winds. We were almost pushed down the road toward Headley’s place by the force of the wind. The road led on by the little cottage and then turned to a sand trail through the scrub brush and trees down to the lake. The rain swept across the rough surface of the black lake in relentless gusts. Sara led me on a narrow path edged in tall grass along the shore. Up ahead I could see a sandy beach area that came up into the grass from the lake and heavy growth of scrub trees up to the right. Sara turned into a small opening in the blowing branches of the scrub growth I would have never even seen in passing. I ducked down and followed her and then we were under a small canopy of branches I could stand up in. There was finally some relief from the rain with the cover. Then I heard Sara yell out, “Oh Melanee, thank God!”
I came around her and saw Melanee cowering back in the corner of the little clearing. Sara ran to her daughter and threw herself down next to her. She put her arms around the little girl and rocked her. I fell down to one knee and hung my head down, trying to catch my breath. I said a silent prayer of thanks and looked over at mother and daughter reunited. Then I thought about Farley for the first time and looked around for any sign of the man.
“He’s gone, Mathew,” I heard Melanee say in the most eerie voice. I looked over at her and she was staring sightlessly up into the canopy of the limbs and leaves, water dripping down all around us and the wind still rushing by overhead in a deafening roar.
“What do you mean gone?” I asked, crawling over toward both of them.
Sara looked at me with a bewildered expression. “Where did he go, Melanee?” she asked.
Melanee turned her face toward me and in a calm voice said, “He’s out by the lake.” Then she pointed toward the opening we had come through.
I wasn’t sure what to think, but I started back out and had to stoop over so I could get through the opening. Outside again, I noticed the rain had let up some and the sky was beginning to lighten. The wind was still whipping across the surface of the lake and the tall grass was thrashing about. I walked down the sand bank to the edge of the lake and looked down to my right.
Feelings of shock and horror ripped through me. It was a staggering sight and I actually fell back a few steps in recoil from what I was seeing. Farley lay half in the water, only his legs up on land, twisted at grotesque angles. In the water two large alligators were ripping at the man’s back and arms, throwing their heads high with the torn bloody flesh, only to swallow and go back for more. Instinctively I started forward to try to do something. The closest gator flared up and hissed at me, not ten feet away. I backed away slowly and watched as it went back to feeding on the lifeless form of the man who had been called Farley. I turned and felt a nauseous bile rise up in my throat. I fell retching in the sand, over and over.
When I was able to stop, I crawled slowly back into the shelter where Sara and Melanee were still huddled. Even in the shadows of the heavy brush and darkness of the storm, I could see Melanee had a look of calm serenity on her face as her mother rocked her slowly back and forth.
I woke on the couch at Headley’s place the next morning, my head and hand aching and a dreadful sour taste in my mouth that almost made me gag again. I had brought Sara and Melanee back here through the calming storm, avoiding the path that went near the gators and the carnage of Farley’s body. They fell asleep in one of the bedrooms. I got up and went over to the sink and pumped the well handle until the cold water began to flow. I held my head under it and took a long drink, spitting out the bitter taste of the previous night.
I walked out through the screen door onto the porch and sat down on one of the old chairs. Thoughts and images of the terror of the past night caused me to shiver. I looked down at my right hand and saw it was swollen and bruised, surely broken in several places. The storm had passed and there were patches of blue sky showing through the remnants of the clouds. Debris was spread across the yard and out in the street. I heard the door squeak open and I turned to see Sara come out. She sat beside me in another chair. Her face was ghostly white.
“Farley is gone,” I said. “There were gators down by the lake.”
“Yes, I know,” she said. “Melanee told me last night.”
I looked at her in disbelief and asked how she could have possibly known. Sara just stared back at me and shook her head. She turned and looked out across the vacant expanse of the little town, deserted at this early hour.
“We need to go back to New Orleans, Mathew,” I heard her say and then she looked back at me. “I have friends there who can care for us, for Melanee and me. I can’t be here anymore. It’s just too much.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Grayton Beach, December 1928
I decided to let my wife sleep a little more. I looked over at her lying on the pillow beside me with her brown hair falling all about and the most peaceful look on her face. I pushed the blankets back carefully and got out of bed as quietly as I could, walking barefoot to the closet to grab a robe. Out in the main room I looked around at what had once been the Headley’s cottage. A month ago, I had convinced Jimmy they should sell it to me. Their family was committed to traveling to south Florida now and the old place sat mostly vacant. I brought a few new comforts and necessities in, but for the most part it was as I had found it when I first came to Grayton Beach. The small Christmas tree in the corner with presents beneath was the only noticeable change.
I put coffee on and rinsed out a cup in the sink. When the pot of coffee was done, I walked out on the old porch that had been blown away in the hurricane and rebuilt by me and Jonas Bidwell. There were a couple of creaky boards, but it was serviceable. The few homes in town were mostly vacant. The hotel was also dark and quiet and no guests had been registered for some time. Jonas and his new wife had recently arranged to purchase the place and were planning to come in the first of the year to work on getting it ready for the spring season.
The dunes off toward the beach were just getting the first light from the sun coming up
over the lake behind our cottage. The sand was almost a blinding white in the early morning hour and the Gulf water out beyond was calm and shimmering in brilliant tones of green and blue. The coffee was hot and steaming and kept my hands warm against an early chill in the air.
I heard them before I saw them, the two little mockingbirds Melanee and I had befriended and kept fat and happy with too many crackers. They both flew in and landed on the rail in front of me, Champ first, followed by the one Melanee had named Maggie after my sister. They jumped around and squawked at me and I quietly went back inside and brought out the box of crackers that was kept for them. I gave them each their own snack to peck away at. Champ looked up at me between every mouthful and bobbed his head and made little mockingbird sounds I’m sure had some special meaning.
The screen door pushed open slowly and Sara walked out, her eyes still swollen and sleepy from the night’s rest. She pulled her white robe up around her neck and settled herself down into my lap. After burrowing in and shivering a bit in the cold, she turned and kissed me on the cheek.
“Merry Christmas,” she said. “I see your little friends have come for their presents.”
“Every day is Christmas for these two,” I said. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Coulter.” As I said those words, a pain stabbed at my gut as I thought of Annie back in New York.
On my long trip back to New York after leaving Sara and Melanee with the Bidwells, and with the danger of Farley no longer a threat, but the next calamity surely only a short time away, I couldn’t stop thinking about the little blind girl and the uncertain life she faced. When I was finally back in the city, I met Annie for dinner the first night. For days on the train, I had been thinking about the women in my life who had abandoned or betrayed me and here I was staring at a woman I loved, knowing in my heart I was about to do the same. I recall only a shattering sense of complete self-loathing as I told Annie about my trip to Florida and the events that had transpired. She looked on, speechless, as I told her of the death of the drifter, Farley, and then Sara’s decline and declaration of returning to the dangers of New Orleans.
We both had tears in our eyes as I continued on. “Annie, I’m so sorry about all this…” I said.
“Mathew, please stop!” she said, and then took the napkin to dry her eyes. “You’re going back to them, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t stand to say the words. My heart was bursting in my chest. I was hoping it would explode and I would be out of this life and away from hurting this woman any more than I already had.
“I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to Melanee,” I said.
She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, looking around the restaurant blankly at the others around us. Then she rose slowly and placed the napkin at her plate. She came around the table and stood beside me. I looked up at her face, the devastation of what I was doing etched in every strained feature. I reached for her, but she pulled back. She took my grandmother’s ring off her finger and placed it on the table. Then she reached out and traced her hand along the line of my jaw before she turned and walked out of the restaurant and into the night.
“What time are Jimmy and Rebecca coming over?” I heard Sara ask as she tried to pull her robe down to cover her bare feet.
I tried again to put thoughts of Annie Martin out of my head, as I found myself doing so many times since that last night in New York. I told Sara I expected them around eleven. Jimmy had finally come around to ask Rebecca Bidwell to marry him. The wedding was scheduled for the spring up in Atlanta with a big affair his mother had insisted on. Jimmy was staying with Rebecca over at her parent’s house for the holidays and they were planning to join us later for Christmas dinner.”
“Do you really think we should go back to New York?” I heard Sara whisper, her face tucked down inside the warmth of our robes.
“I think it’s best,” I said. “Let’s go make some breakfast.” We both slowly got out of our comfortable little nest. I dropped two more crackers on the rail for the birds before following my wife back inside.
We were rustling around the kitchen getting the stove lit and the food out of the icebox when I heard a scuffling of feet behind me. We both turned to see Melanee in the doorway of her bedroom, the long wool nightgown hanging over her bare little feet. She also had a new stuffed bear in her arms, a gift I had brought down from New York. Sara walked over and leaned down to give the little girl a warm hug.
“Merry Christmas, honey,” she said. Melanee put her arms around her neck and hugged her close.
“Did Santa come?” she asked in that playful and innocent tone that children have, trying to keep the spirit of Old Saint Nick alive for one more year.
I walked over and knelt beside the two of them and swept them both into my arms. “Didn’t you hear him last night?” I asked.
There were wrapped boxes lined all around the base of the tree and we led my new stepdaughter over and sat down next to her, handing her the first present to be opened. The expression of joy and excitement on her face was so marvelous and as I watched Sara help her with the gift, I felt the most overwhelming sense of love and connection at that moment I may have ever experienced.
I heard Melanee squeal and I watched as she pulled a beautifully finished violin out of its case. I had been so impressed with her musical ability, I wanted Melanee to get formal training when we returned to New York. I listened as Sara showed her how to place the instrument beneath her chin and how to hold the bow. As Melanee pulled the bow across the strings for the first time, I was caught breathless at the most lovely note that hung in the air.
A final gathering.
Grayton Beach, May 1985
I was married to Sara Dalton in early December of 1928, and soon after filed papers to legally adopt Melanee. We did indeed return to New York that winter and I continued on with the newspaper for five more years before my second book seemed to catch enough attention I was convinced I should turn my efforts full-time to writing fiction.
I think often of Annie Martin and the sad and painful moments we shared when I first came back to New York after running off to help Sara and Melanee. I don’t believe I even slept on that long train ride back north, thinking only about the choices before me.
I had stayed on in Grayton Beach a few more days to help Sara recover some after the terrible night her daughter was lost and Farley was killed. I finally convinced her to stay on for a while with the Bidwells over in Point Washington, yet I was terribly concerned she would leave at the least provocation to go back to New Orleans or down some other destructive path.
I’m sure Annie Martin has never forgiven me for my decision and I know I broke her heart that night because I’m not sure mine has ever completely healed. I was pleased to hear some years later she had returned to Michigan and married and raised a large family there while teaching in her hometown.
We are all back in Grayton Beach this spring. We will celebrate my 85th birthday later today with family and friends. The old Headley place I bought in 1928, is still here, although updated considerably and is now used as a guest house. After the second War, we built a new home on the property next door and we have been coming down on holiday almost every year since. Sara and I spent much of our later years down here as well.
This old beach town has fortunately kept much of its familiar charm. Many of the original cottages remain and the blight of high-rise condominiums and t-shirt shops have been kept far to the west and east down in Destin and Panama City. It’s certainly more active now with tourists flocking in each day to visit the few quaint galleries and shops, and of course, the bar and restaurant just down the road that’s in the old general store that was built in the 30’s. Lila’s old hotel was closed years ago, but is still standing and now features the work of local artists. The beach and the water remain as marvelous as ever and with a permit you can attempt to drive one of those big SUV’s out through the loose sugar white sand to t
he shore to set up for the day. The sunsets are still simply spectacular.
Sara and Melanee both found their way fairly well, living in New York when we moved there in 1929, Melanee in particular. Fortunately, we were able to navigate the years of the depression with little discomfort. The Coulter money, for the most part, had been safely invested and diversified.
Melanee was enrolled in a very good school for the blind that helped her to grow into an even more special young woman. She was accepted at Juilliard and studied music, eventually playing violin for the New York Philharmonic for much of her later life. She also married a man she had met in the orchestra and they have lived a fine life, still in the city, their two daughters grown now with families of their own. Her uncanny sixth sense has continued to amaze us all.
Sara struggled throughout her life to control the darker forces that constantly pulled at her, although with love from our family and much professional help, we managed to keep them at bay for most of our life together. In 1935, we had a son, our only child together. His name was Patrick and he was a terrific fellow. He followed the Coulter tradition of the military life and eventually chose it as his career. He was lost to us in 1967, one of the casualties of that war in the jungles on the other side of the world. Ten years ago, cancer suddenly took Sara from us.
I’ve never considered remarrying and there has been no one romantic in my life since Sara’s parting. At this age, it’s enough to try to find energy each day to move on with just my own issues to deal with. Our life together was a true blessing, although we certainly got off to a rugged start those first months I met her and Lila and Melanee down in Grayton Beach those many years ago.
Our daughter, Melanee, was a steadying force we could always find comfort and direction from. Her love and incredible spirit kept us and everyone around her, centered and whole. She and most of her family are down here for my birthday celebration.
Grayton Winds Page 32
