Stones of Sandhill Island

by Peggy Chambers

  “My dear Giselle,” it read. “I will never forget the night we met, and I await your answer.”

  No signature. Her mother must have known who sent it, or she would not have kept it all these years.

  Her mother always said that Billie’s father was a dancer who could not marry her. She said no more whenever Billie brought it up. Could he have been the man who sent the note, and if so, what answer did he await? She would never know. Why did she wait so long to open the box, and why the big secret? She and her mother had a beautiful life together, so what did it matter? But she wanted to know.

  She fingered the matches as her heart once again ached. It felt like a new cut on top of an old wound that still had not fully healed. And the infection bubbled to the surface.

  Chapter 26

  Carol carefully knelt and peered under the wooden porch. She could smell the doggy odor of the mother and pups. But they weren’t there. Where had they gone? Then she heard the whine deep under the house. Lillie had moved her puppies further back from the sun and possible danger.

  Holding her hand up to block the sunlight that shone in her eyes, she looked deep into the dark shade of the porch. Then she stuck her head in, and slowly her eyes began to adjust to the difference in the light. She could see Lillie laying with four puppies attached to her, having a late afternoon snack. Lillie lifted her head to see the intruder and then promptly lay back down breathing out slowly.

  Carol lay the precious mirror beside the house. Sliding carefully, she crawled under the porch combat style, using her knees and losing one flip flop along the way. The light filtered through slats and shone on the sand under the porch. Scooting with elbows in sand, slowly she made her way to the dogs.

  Lillie lifted her head once more and gave Carol a doggy smile then lay back down. Muffled cries from the babies said they were still hungry when siblings shoved them away. Lillie had plenty for all. Carol lightly stroked the mother’s head and then slowly ran a finger down each tiny body as it fed. She thought she might like a girl dog that looked like her mother. If one of the brown ones was a girl, that would be her dog.

  ****

  Billie lifted the ballet program from the hat box and carefully opened the brittle paper. She slid a finger down the list of principal dancers stopping on a faded picture of the woman who now inhabited the urn sitting in the living room. And the knife in her chest twisted.

  The room swam, and she grabbed the bedspread like a drowning victim, twisting it in her fingers as she sat. The box and its contents slid off the bed and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Billie could once again see the bonfire in her mind’s eye as she looked at the pile of mementos. She picked up the match book and carefully pulled a match from the cardboard and struck it on the outside—without closing the cover. It bloomed into a red, then yellow flame and quickly burned her finger, but not before catching the others in the book. She stared for a moment before realizing she had dropped the flaming matches into the pile on the floor. The tiny bonfire blazed.

  ****

  The new mother smelled smoke. Her nose lifted up at the floor above her and she knew danger. Lillie stood as best she could under the porch and the pups fell off one at a time complaining. She nosed past the girl who took up most of the room in her new den shoving her out of the way. The girl slid sideways but stayed near the puppies.

  Lillie again lifted her nose and smelled the dangerous scent. She had to get her babies somewhere safe. She crawled back under the porch and grabbed the closest puppy’s neck in her mouth and crawled back out into the light. She looked around and until she saw the car that always sat by the house. She could hear the girl call her name, as she once again slid under the house for the next baby.

  “Lillie, where are you going? Where are you taking your babies?” The girl lifted her head as if she also smelled the danger and tried to turn around.

  With baby number two under the car, Lillie went back under again. This time the girl had turned and lay in her way, but she had the two remaining puppies in her hand holding them out to the dog. She yelled and banged on the floor above her when Lillie took one more pup out into the open.

  ****

  When Jake and Sandy arrived at the house they heard yelling from the side of the house. Smoke oozed out the open front door and from the end of the porch. Sandy ran for the house calling her best friend’s name. Billie was most likely in the house—and maybe her daughter.

  The smoke came from Giselle’s bedroom, and after the thorough cleaning of Billie’s kitchen, Sandy knew where the fire extinguisher sat. The house was small; she ran through the bungalow to the kitchen in the back and then up front to the open bedroom, thanking the Air Force for the mandatory annual fire extinguisher training she had taken for years.

  As she ran through the door to Giselle’s bedroom she saw nothing but a bed smoldering until she rounded the end. There sat her best friend in the world staring at the flaming pile of trash on the wooden floor as the bed smoldered and then caught. Bright flames licked up the side of the bed as a light breeze blew past the open window oblivious of the activity inside. It sucked the flames to the window catching the curtains.

  Sandy pulled the pin and aimed at the base of the flames squeezing the trigger of the extinguisher covering everything with the white foam.

  ****

  Carol twisted to give the puppy to his mother when the pain pierced her shoulder. Something above her held her captive. She once again twisted and cried out in pain. Lillie took the puppy from her and again left her alone under the house—unable to move with the lone pup in her hand. Suddenly someone yelled her name from the opening under the house. Jake! He found her!

  “Carol!” Her big brother called out as he stuck his head under the porch. “Are you under here? The house is on fire you have to get out!”

  He yanked on her bare foot and she screamed kicking out at him. “I’m stuck on something.” She felt the warm blood running down her arm as she tried to back out. “My shirt is hooked on a nail or something. I think I’m bleeding.” She tried not to whine. She knew her brother hated it when she whined.

  Jake slithered under the porch as it became more and more smoky in the enclosed area. He coughed once or twice. Carol knew Jake had allergies even though he tried not to admit to it.

  Lillie appeared beside him slithering along on her belly to Carol’s side. Carol still held her last baby in her hand. The underneath side of the porch became very crowded as the smoke thickened.

  “I found it. Your blouse is stuck on a nail. I’m going to tear it lose. We have to get out of here before we burn up too.” Jake gave orders to his sister as usual.

  “Where’s Mom and Aunt Billie?” The pup in Carol’s hand whimpered when its mother came near.

  “Mom ran in the house. I don’t know where Aunt Billie is, but we have to get out of here.” Jake ripped the cloth from the nail scratching his hand in the process. “Come on!”

  Jake twisted and crawled toward the entrance, Carol right behind him, when Lillie got in between them nosing Carol’s hand. She gave the dog her final pup and then slithered out behind her.

  Once out into the sunlight, Carol grabbed the mirror and then turned to see the smoke that now billowed out of the door she left open. She ran for the house and her mother.

  ****

  Billie became aware of someone else in the room. A blast of cold froze the flames on the floor and bedspread. She found herself jerked to a standing position; someone yelled into her blank face. Sandy. Where had she come from and why the yelling? Billie felt herself grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged from her mother’s room, through the house, and out the door. Tears streamed down her face, and her eyes stung from smoke.

  Shoved off the porch, she saw Carol and Jake coming around the corner covered in dirt except for a bloody spot on Carol’s shoulder. What had happened and why couldn’t she remember?

  Chapter 27

  When she awoke, the sun shone through clear glass making her squi
nt. The room smelled of disinfectant, and the bed was not hers. She wore yellow institutional pajamas under a green cotton blanket and a needle protruded from her hand. When she looked up, she saw the IV pole hung above her head—then the door opened with a bang.

  “Oh, you’re awake.” The nurse—barely out of her teens—wore pink printed scrubs and clogs on her feet. The stethoscope hung around her neck and her name tag said L. Terry, RN. She must have been older than she looked.

  L. Terry, RN, went about the business of checking vitals as Billie wiped the sleep from her eyes. She remembered Sandy taking her to the hospital. She was insistent, but gentle. She remembered begging her friend not to leave her, then things became foggy. Something in the back of her mind reminded her of a fire, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. A bonfire at her home. No, a bonfire in her home. Did the house burn down? She showed no signs of burns.

  “Ms. Stone, how are you feeling this morning? Do you remember being admitted last night?” Nurse Terry flipped the stethoscope back around her neck.

  “Yes, I remember being admitted, but I’m fuzzy as to why.”

  “Well, you’re here for observation under Dr. Flint’s care. Do you know Dr. Flint?” The nurse eyed her carefully.

  “Yes, she is my psychiatrist. Has she been in to see me?” Billie tried to sit up in the bed; the hand with the needle gave her trouble.

  “Yes, she’s been in, and she has you scheduled for a session today. I understand you attempted suicide in your home yesterday.” The nurse reached up and squeezed the almost empty IV bag.

  “No. I’m sure I didn’t. You must be mistaken.”

  “Do you remember starting a fire in your home?” The nurse helped her sit up and then adjusted the bed and pillow behind her.

  “A fire? No. Oh yes, I was going through my mother’s things. We had her funeral, and I was trying to clean up afterwards. But I don’t think I tried to kill myself. Was there a fire?”

  The nurse nodded.

  “And the girl? Carol, is she okay?” Bits and pieces were beginning to fall into place for Billie. She did remember the hat box of mementos and the book of matches. But she didn’t strike them, did she?

  The door opened, and Dr. Flint walked in with a file in her hand.

  “How are you feeling, Billie?” The light scent of lavender wafted from the woman with kind yet knowing eyes.

  “A little fuzzy, but okay.”

  “I want to see you later today after lunch. We’ll talk about what happened at home yesterday. You’ve been under a huge stress with the funeral and everything, and we need to discuss what transpired and how you feel about it. Okay?”

  Billie nodded.

  The doctor wrote in the file and handed it to the nurse. “Okay, Billie, we’ll meet after lunch.” She smiled and left the room.

  Billie wished she could remember what she had done to end up in the hospital. The nurse gently removed the needle from her hand and put a tiny band-aid over the wound.

  “I’ll be back with your lunch tray,” she said and left the room.

  ****

  “So, you say you had no intention of ending your life?” Dr. Flint sat in the room reserved for consultations. She crossed her legs and took off her glasses, staring at Billie, making her self-conscious.

  Billie fidgeted in her seat. “Dr. Flint, I know the nurse thought I tried to commit suicide. Maybe my friend Sandy did too. I remember so little of it, but I don’t think that was my intention. I wanted to get rid of the things in my mother’s house, or maybe I wanted a bonfire in her memory. I know that sounds stupid, but those are the thoughts I remember having, not ending my life as you say.”

  “Well, how do you feel about what you’ve done?” The doctor looked up from the pad where she took notes.

  “Like I said, it was stupid. Maybe I had an incident of bad judgment, but I didn’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I want to get better.”

  The doctor again wrote on the pad. “I’m going to increase your anti-anxiety meds for now. If all goes well, we’ll reduce the dosage later, but for now, let’s be careful. You’ve had a great shock to add to the other problems you already had. You recently had an episode with Joe Franks and then your mother’s funeral after a break-in. I want to be careful. Your friend Sandy tells me she will be around for a while. Also, you have her mother, and the people you work with. I want you not to be alone for a while. I need you to stay today for observation, and if things are good, I’ll release you tomorrow. Once home, stay busy and see me again in a week. Does that seem like a good idea to you?”

  “Yes. I want to go home, and I’ll be sure to surround myself with help.”

  “Good. I’ll see to your release tomorrow, and I’ll see you again before you leave. Then I want you back in my office next week for a meeting. Take the meds and call me if there are any problems.”

  Billie shook her head.

  Chapter 28

  Once again on the island after leaving Billie in the capable hands of the hospital staff, Sandy walked into the house that smelled of smoke. How had she not seen this coming—how could she have not seen the effects of the funeral on Billie? She should have realized when her mother’s death came so quickly, but Billie appeared to be handling it so well.

  Sandy left Billie in the care of a hospital on the mainland, and they called her therapist. Billie had been admitted and would be kept for a few days. Sandy would go back and get her when they released her. They were calling Billie’s breakdown an incident, not an attempted suicide. Sandy was not sure, but she hoped they were right. She only knew she had almost lost her best friend and her daughter in one giant mess. She could not bear to think about those results.

  On the floor, next to Giselle’s charred bed lay the pile of burned mementos. Blackened rubbish piled on the equally blackened wooden floor. Walking to the back porch, Sandy found the broom and dustpan. She would sweep up the memories of a woman who lived a long life, a woman she loved, and simply throw them away. A tear ran down her cheek as she brushed the charred remains into a pile. The hat box lay beside it unscathed. Leaning over she found the program from long ago—brittle and yellow—and now with a corner burned away—leaving the picture of the prima ballerina on pointe looking longingly toward the camera. Billie’s mother danced to her namesake as the lead dancer in the ballet Giselle. How could Sandy simply throw this into the trash like Giselle never lived? If Billie came home and found her mother’s things again, would it trigger another episode?

  She piled the least charred papers into the hat box and took them to the back porch, then swept up the remainder. Returning to the bedroom, she took down the ragged curtains and piled them on the bed, rolling up the bedding and carrying it out the back door where the trash cans sat. Uncle Paul would come by soon and help her dispose of the mattress and box springs. The antique bed frame might still be salvageable for someone who wanted to refinish it.

  Next on the list she wanted to make sure Lillie’s pups were safe and their mother well-fed. Walking toward the front of the small house she heard a tentative knock. Poppy stood by the front door, hat in hand.

  “Hello, Poppy. Please come in.” She opened the door and ushered him in. He looked uncomfortable when not sitting in his place on the dock.

  “Hello Miss Sandy. Is Miss Billie back home yet?” He looked around the room eyes glancing at everything.

  “No, not yet. But soon I hope. What can I do for you?” Nothing escaped Poppy on Sandhill Island, but then most of the island knew what happened. Gossip spread faster than the fire in the bedroom that day—and some of it even accurate.

  “Nuthin’, really. I was just checking on things. I had been helping Miss Billie with the dog and her pups and just wondered if I could still do that? Miss Billie and her mother were really good people, and I want to help them if I can.”

  “Yes, they were. Billie still is.” She nodded toward Billie’s bedroom door like the woman stood there. “As a matter of fact, I need to feed Lillie. I think
she is still under the car with her babies. I hoped to be able to get her to move to the front porch, but I don’t know if she will.”

  “Maybe if you made a bed for her? Dogs are funny. They’ll move when they’re ready, not when you are ready.”

  “I know. I doubt she’ll ever go back under the house with the pups after the fire. Can you help me make her a place on the front porch? Maybe she would feel comfortable under the swing or somewhere out of the way of prying eyes. I hate knowing she is just under the car.”

  “Of course, Miss Sandy. You know I’d do anything for you and Miss Billie.” Poppy smiled an almost toothless smile—one that had probably never seen a dentist.

  “Good, come with me.” Sandy led Poppy to the back porch that doubled as the utility room. In the corner was an almost new hot water heater. On the back wall, the washer and dryer were surrounded by cabinets. Sandy knew rags were stored in those cabinets. The first door she opened held ragged bedding and towels. Giselle came from an older generation who saved things—unlike the throw-away generation of today. Loading her arms with soft bedding for the dog, Sandy handed them to Poppy and led him back to the front porch.

  “Do you think she would be comfortable under the swing? We’ll have to warn everyone to not sit there for the next few weeks. Here, help me raise the chain so it’s a little higher off the ground.” Sandy unhooked the chain and raised it a few notches as Poppy did the same on the other side. Now with the swing too high to use, it might give Lillie a sense of security.

  Sandy knelt and spread the ragged blanket on the floor, then reached up for the towels that Poppy still held in his hands. Unfolding them, she laid them on top, knowing the dog would rearrange them to her satisfaction.