‘Can’t remember who gave me the recipe, but it’s good. Least I think so. If you don’t then leave it. No points gained under my roof for being members of the clean plates club.’ Nellie set her cane aside and sat down with the same enthusiasm that she did pretty much everything else. I heard from your Twyla, Oliver, that you’re starting piano lessons with Mrs Garwood. A real nice woman and seems happier about her son these days. Says she’s never seen such a change since Twyla came. By the way, I appreciated your note thanking me for making the suggestion. Of course it was my spirit guides who put the idea in my head.’
Oliver pretended not to notice when Brian gave him a pointed look. He told Nellie that he’d started his piano lessons yesterday afternoon and that he really liked Mrs Garwood and her son. ‘Twyla likes being there a lot.’
‘Those two women were born good. Some of us have to work real hard at getting there and others just can’t be bothered putting shoulders to the wheel. They’re not what you can call bad; just want the easiest path to what suits them.’ For emphasis Nellie reached for her stick and pounded on the floor. ‘My old mother used to say you can learn yourself out of some habits – telling lies, making free with other people’s things, a lousy temper – but selfishness is different because you just can’t fathom there’s any side but your own. Take Willie Watkins. Saw himself entitled to live off his daughter while drinking himself into the grave, if not fast enough to my mind. All that business of him holing up in the Cully Mansion last winter and worrying her half to death with his absence.’
Oliver nodded. ‘She’s put up with a lot and keeps right on going.’
‘Not a word out of your aunt and uncle about Willie being found in the cellar? Why, that’s what brought her up to Sea Glass for the first time ever – to check out that he hadn’t robbed the place and talk the situation over with the police. Maybe it points to them,’ she said as if begrudgingly giving the devils their due, ‘that they kept that from you for Robin Polly’s sake. All the talk couldn’t have been easy on her, but on the upside it did end with his being taken into Pleasant Meadows.’
‘He’s Grandpa’s roommate there.’
‘Is he now? And I hear Robin Polly’s back working at the mansion after all her years with Emily Cully. Wonder what’s behind that? Her idea of restoring what she’d see as her tarnished good name after what Willie pulled, or because no one else would break their backs digging through all that rubble? How’d you like her, Oliver?’
‘She’s great.’
Nellie nodded. ‘Her size could put some folks off hiring her. Hard to boss around a woman that can look down her nose at you from the clouds. Emily told me straight out that’s how she got her on the cheap. And maybe she’s felt obliged to cut her rate even lower for your aunt and uncle, if she thinks she owes them.’ The dark eyes, well-padded face with its mesh of cobwebby lines turned thoughtful. ‘Dora Jones who comes in to clean for me one morning a week is off to spend a month in California with her daughter. So maybe I’ll talk to Robin Polly about filling in for her. Well,’ she got nimbly to her feet, ‘no point in sitting here wasting the day. You boys go off and amuse yourselves while I talk this over with my spirit guides. If I ignore them for more than a day or two they get uppity and threaten to go where they’re appreciated.’
When they’d finished doing the dishes, over Aunt Nellie’s protests, Brian asked her if it would be OK if they went off on their bikes for an hour or so.
‘Suits me, so long as you ride safe.’
‘What bikes?’ Oliver followed him out the door.
‘Yours and mine. Dad brought them over in the back of the truck last night. You can take yours home if you want to, or leave it here in Aunt Nellie’s garage. Whatever. How ’bout we ride over the historical society to see if they have pictures of Nathaniel Cully as a boy?’
‘Right. Tell your Dad thanks for bringing over the bikes,’ Oliver said as he and Brian pedaled back to Salt Marsh Road. The water shimmered a deep blue and there were quite a number of sail boats drifting sleepily under the sun’s gold haze. Oliver found himself thinking of the drawings tucked at the back of Oliver Twist. They had been really good. If only he could know if Nathaniel, or someone else, had done them.
‘I expect that’s why Gerard and Elizabeth keep the door from the hall to the cellar locked,’ he spoke the thought out loud as he and Brian glided down an incline.
‘What?’
‘Because of Willie Watkins hiding out there last winter and wanting to be sure no one else could get in them and up the stairs. When I couldn’t find a picture of Nathaniel as a boy in the attic I thought I’d go search the cellar, and when I asked them at dinner the other night that I’d like to check them out to make sure there’s nothing scary down there so I wouldn’t be nervous at night, Elizabeth said she didn’t have a clue where the key was and didn’t care because nothing would make her go down there – the rest of the house was bad enough. And she wouldn’t want me doing so either because there could be a well or something equally dangerous.’
‘Well,’ replied Brian as they moved closer to the side of the road when seeing a car coming toward them, ‘I suppose that makes sense.’
‘Yes, but there was something about the way she said it, sort of a panicky look in her eyes. And right away she started talking about something else, saying what a shame it was that Gerard had twisted his knee last year and been told by his doctor to give up golf for a while, which meant he couldn’t join the club here.’
‘What about the outside door?’
‘Also locked. I thought at first it could just be stuck, but I pushed and pushed. No go. I’m going to ask Mrs Poll if she knows where Miss Emily kept that key, the one to the hall door. Could be there was more than one. If I don’t have any luck at the historical society finding out what Nathaniel looked like as a kid I’m going to get down there somehow.’
‘Cool! But obviously it can’t be when your aunt and uncle are around. You’ll have to sneak down in the middle of the night and make sure you don’t fall in the well.’
‘There isn’t one. I asked Mrs Poll and she said she knows there isn’t one because she went in with the police to persuade Willie to come out peacefully. I was just about to mention the key when Gerard showed up.’
Brian’s eyes glinted with excitement behind his glasses. ‘Count me in on your midnight adventure or I’ll never speak to you again.’
‘First I have to get the key.’ They had reached Narrow Street and stood straddling their bikes outside the Sea Glass Historical Society.
Brian’s focus was still on the key to the cellar. ‘Bet your Mrs Poll knows. She looks like she has magical powers. I was afraid when she let me into the hall that she’d turn me into a toad if I didn’t smile right. When she comes through you’ll have to get Gerard and Elizabeth to let me come for a sleepover. It’ll be like being pirates boarding a vessel for plunder. Captain B. Curdle and Walker Plank again strike terror in the hearts of honest seamen bringing back treasure for King and Country!’
They leaned their bikes against the side of the building and went inside. Seated behind an old-fashioned desk sat an equally old-fashioned lady who greeted them in a friendly if somewhat nervous manner, as if children were something she had read about but not previously encountered.
‘Oliver Cully! How very exciting. I must shake your hand and your friend’s too!’ Unfortunately her answer to Oliver’s question was disappointing. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any paintings or photos of Nathaniel Cully, or his two brothers for that matter, when they were young boys. Those we have show them later in life; although never all three of them together after Nathaniel’s marriage to Amelie Courtney. You will know of course that she was a great beauty, from one of the most important Baltimore families?’ At Oliver’s shake of the head she continued rapidly as if reciting from a brochure. ‘Amelie met the Cullys while vacationing here one summer and all three of the young men fell desperately in love with her. But it was Nathaniel, the middle
son, who she accepted. One gathers this came as quite a shock to the family, he being the prosaic family doctor and the other two far more dashing and sought after by belles of the ball. The younger one never married and the oldest remained a bachelor until late in life, producing no children. Sadly, according to Miss Emily Cully, it was one of those rifts that never healed, the bitterness being all on the part of the disappointed brothers. Such a pity. The three of them were all so close as children.’
The volunteer now offered to show them the portrait of Amelie Cully, gifted to the society by Miss Emily. ‘If you will follow me upstairs to the room which also houses the scrimshaws I think you will agree with me that she was indeed very lovely. Nathaniel commissioned its painting shortly after their marriage. How very proud you must be,’ she did all her talking to Oliver, ‘of your illustrious family tree.’
‘You’re giving him a big head,’ Brian warned.
‘Oh, I’m sure not,’ the volunteer tittered awkwardly. ‘Much too nice a boy, if he’s anything like his father.’ Oliver was too startled to speak and she proceeded on. ‘Once, years ago, Miss Emily very kindly invited me to one her evening soirees – in appreciation of my work here – and she told me, or I should say the group I was standing in, that she was enjoying a very pleasant correspondence with a distant cousin’s young son. I remember her saying his name was Max, because mine is Maxine.’ Before there could be more the doorbell pinged downstairs and she departed to attend whoever had stepped inside.
The portrait of Amelie Courtney Cully hung above a cast iron-fronted fireplace. She was beautiful in her long green velvet gown with her corn-colored hair curled over one shoulder, but more importantly she looked lovable with her kind, amused eyes and gently curving mouth. Not at all the sort of girl to enjoy breaking guys’ hearts. Oliver felt sure she had done everything she could to put things right with Nathaniel’s brothers, which had probably only made things worse. Angry people, he thought, want . . . need other people to behave badly. Probably Gerard and Elizabeth preferred it when he was difficult. He followed Brian over to the glass cases displaying the scrimshaws, but unfortunately he couldn’t concentrate because he was thinking of his father alive, young – maybe in high school or college, writing letters to Miss Emily that made her happy.
‘Imagine climbing the rigging of one of those vessels in gale force winds,’ mused Brian as they came down the stairs. ‘Better than any ride at the fair, I’d say.’
‘Because you seriously could die? I don’t think so.’
‘Forgot you’ve a problem with heights.’
An uneasy memory crept in on Oliver of mentioning this weakness in the car with Emjagger and Stone when their mother mentioned that she had grown up in Colorado and asked if he liked skiing or snowboarding. He caught the slyly considering looks the brothers instantly exchanged. But what could they do about this discovery except gloat?
He and Brian collected their bikes and pedaled around the green onto Salt Marsh Road. Neither let their eyes drift to the Cully Mansion. The visit to the historical society museum had been a bust as far as finding out what Nathaniel Cully looked like as a boy. Oliver felt bad not telling Twyla about him, but remained worried she would think his appearance on the window seat resulted from the stress of living at the Cully Mansion.
Aunt Nellie made sandwiches for them on their return and afterward they went down to the shore and skipped stones. Brian was the better of the two at this. One of his popped up eight times, like it was having great fun itself. They couldn’t remember if this was a record or not. By that time it was a quarter to one and Oliver decided he’d better head back to Gerard and Elizabeth. After some thought he left his bike in Aunt Nellie’s garage. He wouldn’t put it past Emjagger and Stone to make off with it if he took it back with him. Brian agreed that this was too big a risk and they parted after an exchange of friendly punches.
Oliver had forgotten Elizabeth’s suggestion that there might be a surprise waiting for him. The hope that it might be a dog or cat had quickly dwindled. What met his eyes wasn’t pleasant: Emjagger and Stone were with her in the drawing room. To him they were fiendishly, horribly alike, except that Emjagger, the older by ten months – twelve to Stone’s eleven – was an inch or so taller. Other than that they could have been identical twins. Thin, greasy-haired, narrow-eyed and horribly pleased with themselves.
‘Look who’s come round to see you,’ she said as if fully expecting him to dance with delight. ‘They’re off for ice cream and their mother’s given them the money to treat you. Aren’t you lucky to have found such nice friends so quickly?’
Fortunately Oliver didn’t have to answer. ‘We just love Oliver, Mrs Cully!’ Emjagger bared his ferrety teeth in a smile. ‘Don’t we, Stone?’
‘Too true!’ The equally dreadful brother gazed dreamily into Oliver’s eyes. ‘This summer will be the best ever. The three of us will do everything, absolutely everything together. We won’t let him have a lonely or dull moment. Every time he sets foot out of doors we’ll be waiting for him, with some great scheme we’ve thought up for the day. That’s the idea, isn’t it, Emjag?’
Oliver wondered numbly how Elizabeth gave no sign of hearing the threat behind the words. Playing for time, he reminded her of the promised surprise.
‘Oh, yes. Mustn’t forget that.’ She pushed back her always untidy, thickly curling hair. ‘Take a look around the room and see if you spot anything different.’
Staring up and down the room, Oliver shook his head. But after turning back to her he saw that she was smiling, really quite pleasantly in the direction of the four-poster bed with the birdcage that had once been home to Miss Emily’s parrot Polly, hanging from its pole alongside it. He felt suddenly cold, as he had half feared what might happen in the church at Dobbs Mill. That cage was now covered with a cloth. He thought he’d told Gerard and Elizabeth that he hated the idea of caged birds, but maybe he hadn’t.
‘Come and take a look!’ She was still smiling, almost like a real aunt who was genuinely fond of him. ‘We were sorry to disappoint you about a dog or cat and one can’t do more than look at goldfish.’ He trailed miserably down the room after her, with Emjagger and Stone prowling in his wake. ‘So here’s what we came up with!’ A shudder passed through him, all too visible to Emjagger and Stone, as she tweaked off the cloth. A blue and yellow parakeet was perched on the swing, apparently unfazed by the sudden light. Not that the room was ever really bright. ‘Of course we’ll expect you to take responsibility for filling the trays with seed and water, and doing the cleaning out. As Gerard said when we went into the shop, “If a child wants a pet they can’t expect others to look after it.”’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Oliver stared bleakly at the beady eyes and sharply curved beak. ‘And I am grateful, Elizabeth.’
‘You don’t sound it.’ Her smile vanished as if wiped off with a washcloth.
He heard a giggle escape one of the brothers. ‘It’s just that I have a phobia about indoor birds.’
‘Oh, not another one!’ Rolling Stone oozed sympathy. ‘As if it isn’t bad enough for you being terrified of heights. Maybe you should get him help, Mrs Cully – sounds like he’s badly scarred from something in his childhood. It could be anything from his parents dying in that plane crash or being spoiled to death by his sick old grandfather and that black woman, and then her deciding she couldn’t be bothered looking after them any longer. No offence, Oliver. We’re only thinking of you, aren’t we, EmJag?’
Choking down tears, he rounded on them. ‘You’re haters! Racist ones!’
‘Now you’ve hurt our feelings,’ responded Emjagger mournfully, ‘but because we’ve been well brought-up we won’t go back on our offer to take you out for ice cream. There’s this place called Cones on the other kind of the common. You really should try their butter pecan, Mrs Cully.’ The smirk was back full force. ‘We’ll bring some back for you.’
‘That’s very kind, but I stay away from anything frozen for fear of aggrava
ting my headaches.’
‘And being made upset can’t help, I’m sure.’ Stone sounded ready to spurt tears.
‘You’re wonderfully understanding, and so is your brother.’ Elizabeth turned to Oliver, jerking at the sleeves of her flowing flax shirt. ‘This parakeet isn’t going back. You’re petulant because you didn’t get exactly what you want. And Gerard and I aren’t giving into that behavior. You have been spoilt. That’s why we haven’t welcomed Twyla Washburn here – so she can’t keep it up – and why we haven’t encouraged too many outings with her, but we’ve decided to relax on those. That should have been apparent when we agreed to the piano lessons at the house where she works, even though there’s that impaired man under the same roof.’
A realization came cold and clear to Oliver. Mrs Garwood’s coming here made you worry that people could start talking if you and Gerard don’t loosen up on the reigns, that they could start wondering just why you want to keep me mostly to yourselves. The remnants of his gratitude for the piano lessons vanished.
Elizabeth appeared to get her anger under control. Her voice when she continued was almost conversational. ‘I know we’ve come late into your life, Oliver, and it’s understandable that you harbor resentment for that, although there are always two sides to a story. The point is we’ve now brought you to live with us and, whatever you may think, we have your best interests at heart. It’s important to us that you be responsible and respectful. So before you and the boys leave I’m going to fetch Gerard out of his office so you can thank him – and it must be nicely – for picking out this bird for you. While I’m gone why don’t you think of a name for it?’
Sea Glass Summer Page 20
