What would Nancy Drew do? Clearly, the girl detective wouldn’t flinch from adventure. Penny slipped out of the closet to start packing for the journey.
*
Once he’d loaded Penny and her luggage into his Oldsmobile, Haughton was even less cheerful than he’d seemed at a distance, and he’d apparently exhausted his supply of conversation with her stepfather. Worse, he smelled of mothballs and cellar must. But Penny was content to curl up in the back seat with her book. After just an hour, the hum of the tires on the highway lulled her to sleep.
When she awoke in the heat of the morning sun, she discovered that he had driven straight through the night. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and gazed out the windows, wondering how she’d managed to snooze through Haughton’s fuel stops. They passed neat rows of downtown stores: a Woolworth’s, a soda shop, a hairdresser’s, a diner.
Her stomach rumbled when she saw a man step out of the diner with a half-eaten turnover pastry. He shoved the remaining piece into his mouth and chewed it mechanically, expressionless, his eyes staring out at something so far away that Penny had no chance of spying it.
“I’m hungry; may we stop for breakfast?” she asked.
“Your aunt will have a fine meal waiting for you at her house.” His tone made it clear there was no room for negotiation.
She was suddenly aware of an intense pressure in her bladder. “Please, I need a restroom.”
“Of course.” He pulled off at a nearby filling station and hovered near the door while she used the cramped women’s facilities.
Afterward, they drove on in silence. Penny watched the townspeople in their Sunday best walking along the concrete promenade. Something about their countenances unsettled her. It wasn’t that they all looked unnaturally pale in a place where the sun beat down so ruthlessly, nor was it that they all seemed to have the same dust-colored hair that fringed Haughton’s balding pate, his same sharp features. It was the expressions on their faces that sent a chill into her marrow: every person she saw, even the few children, looked so grim that she imagined none of them had experienced a single bit of joy in their entire lives.
“What do the people do here?” she asked.
“Many are farmers or mill hands. Others are craftsmen, shopkeepers. The same as anyplace else.”
“No, I mean...what do they do for fun?” The moment she spoke, she realized that this was not a favored word in her cousin’s vocabulary.
“Our town is devout and we don’t have time for juvenile nonsense,” he replied. “But many folks enjoy our church dances. Those are...fun, I think.”
“What about concerts?” she asked, once again imagining her mother playing piano on TV.
“Oh, we haven’t had concerts here in over a decade. Not since your—not since the theatre burned down.”
At least there’s dancing, she thought, feeling suffocated in the over-warm car. Not that it would do her much good; she’d never learned any good steps, and the school dances she’d attended had been boring exercises in watching the popular boys and girls show off for each other. She wished she’d thought to bring her record player and her albums; a whole summer without a single Beach Boys song seemed grim indeed! But, she reflected, her aunt certainly had a radio, and there was always television.
Haughton drove through the rest of the town and down a long road lined with tall pines. He turned off onto a long driveway paved in blacktop that opened onto a roundabout in front of what Penny could only think of as a genuine mansion. The three-story house had to be at least three times the size of her parents’ ranch house, and the front bore double porches supported by thick, whitewashed columns. In the middle of the roundabout grew a large magnolia with pink, fleshy blossoms that attracted a profusion of bees and flies.
“Here we are,” said Haughton. “A servant will be along to get your things.”
Penny expected someone like a British butler to emerge from the massive brass-fitted front doors, but instead, a slim teenaged girl with black braids and caramel-colored skin slipped outside and padded toward the car. She wore a simple sleeveless daisy print shift, and her left wrist and forearm were in a plaster cast.
“Oh,” Penny said, staring at the girl’s injured arm as Haughton unlocked the trunk. “It’s okay; I can get my own bags.”
“She’ll do her job if she wants to be paid.” Haughton scowled down at the girl.
“Yessir!” Not meeting his gaze, the girl slung the medium-sized bag across her body, tucked the smallest under her injured arm, and hauled out the big suitcase with her right.
“I’ll take you to your room, Miss Penny.” Her back, legs, and shoulders straining with obvious effort, the girl stumbled toward the door. Feeling awkward and mortified, Penny trailed behind, following the girl into the house. The girl led her past a huge staircase with a banister too ornately carved to slide upon, through a hallway and into a large, high-ceilinged bedroom dominated by a massive four-posted mahogany bed. The walls were painted an icy white, and the two narrow windows wore heavy maroon drapes half-closed to block out the morning sun.
Sweating in the cool air, the girl carefully set the luggage down on the floor. “Your bathroom’s through there, Miss Penny.” She inclined her head toward a small door that Penny had taken to be a closet.
“Are you okay?” Penny asked when the girl doubled over, leaning onto her knees.
“I’m fine, Miss Penny.” The girl straightened up, smiling although she was obviously still in pain.
“It’s just Penny. You really don’t have to call me ‘Miss.’” She’d thought it would be fancy to have a servant call her “Miss,” but now that it was happening, it just felt uncomfortable, like trying to wear a formal dress tailored for some other girl.
“Miz Rinda wouldn’t like it if I didn’t address you proper.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bessie. Bessie Turner.”
Penny brightened. Bess Marvin was one of Nancy Drew’s best friends; perhaps this was a sign? “It’s good to meet you, Bessie!”
The girl eyed her, still smiling dutifully. “Uh…good to meet you too, Miss Penny.”
“So, how did you hurt your arm?”
Bessie’s smile faded. “I said something I shouldn’t have, and Miz Rinda didn’t like it.”
“...what?” Penny goggled at her in shock.
A sudden realization sparked in the girl’s eyes, and she smiled and shook her head as if she’d made a joke. “Oh, pay me no mind! Ain’t nothing! My mama’s setting the table right now, and Miz Rinda says she wanted me to make sure you join her for breakfast. I put some fresh towels out for you in the bathroom if you want to wash up. Please pull the cord by the door if you need anything; it’ll ring a bell downstairs and I’ll come up right quick.” The words spilled out of her, panic clear in her tone if not on her face. “I need to go help Mama with breakfast. Bye now!”
The girl curtsied awkwardly and ran from the room.
Penny blinked after her. The room was suddenly oppressively quiet.
*
Face and arms washed and changed into a fresh cotton dress, Penny went downstairs and found the dining room. It held a dark wood table big enough to hold a dozen people, but the only person who was seated there was a thin, elderly woman with a regal bearing who—after the girl’s eye was able to move past her wild mane of white hair and her sagging, spotted skin—Penny realized bore a striking resemblance to her dead mother.
Even the dead part, she thought to herself. Though surely she was quite lovely when she was young.
And then, a more alarming thought: Will I look like that when I’m old?
“Ah, child, you’ve come down to join us.” The grand old lady speared her silver-topped cane on the floor and pushed herself to her feet. She stood an imposing head taller than Penny. “Come give your Auntie Rinda a kiss hello!”
Stomach tightening, Penny made herself smile, stepped forward, stood on tiptoes, and planted a light kiss on her aunt’s powdered cheek.
Like Haughton, the old lady smelled of mothballs and mold, although her lavender perfume nearly overwhelmed the odor.
“Ah, my child.” Morinda held Penny at arms’ length. “You look so much like your dear mother. You have the stars in your eyes, just like her! But, alas, you’re short like your father.”
It was hard to keep herself from frowning; nobody had called Penny short before, and she didn’t care for it. And Morinda had pronounced “father” in the same tone as most people said “maggot” or “rat.”
Bessie and an older, chubby woman with skin the color of molasses—she had to be the girl’s mother—were bustling back and forth bringing dishes from the kitchen. It took Penny a moment to notice that the woman had a black eye. She was wondering where Bessie’s mother had gotten her bruise when she realized that there was a third place setting on the table.
“Is Mr. Haughton joining us?” she asked.
“Well, bless your heart!” Morinda released her and sat back down in her chair. “No, Ezekias is attending to church business today. We always leave a place at the table for my brother, the Reverend; he’s long been afflicted with a sleeping sickness he caught on an expedition in Arabia, but we hope that the warmer weather will help his blood along and he’ll join us one of these days soon.”
“An expedition?” Penny asked, still standing.
Bessie hurried around the table and pulled Penny’s chair out; feeling uncomfortable again, she sat and the servant girl pushed her close to the table.
“Yes; Eleazar is an expert in certain mysteries, and they needed him to identify relics in a ruined city amongst the dunes. The journey was a spiritual revelation to him, but sadly took a toll on his health. His rooms are on the third floor; it’s important to preserve his rest, so nobody is allowed up there unless I can supervise them myself. We have strict rules here at Haughton Manor to prevent noise that might disturb him. No horseplay, no raised voices, no hammering or sawing near the house, no music.”
“What about television?”
Morinda looked aghast. “My word! We would never allow an idiot box in this house!”
Stunned, Penny stared down at her plate as Bessie opened a biscuit upon it and ladled gravy across the halves. No Lassie? No Walt Disney? No Bonanza? No Alfred Hitchcock? No Man from U.N.C.L.E? How would she survive the summer in such isolation?
“I trust you’ll enjoy your breakfast, dear,” her aunt said, oblivious to Penny’s dismay. “Georgia cooks it exactly according to Haughton family recipes. Don’t you, Georgia?”
“Yes’m, I do,” the woman replied, her voice cautious rather than proud.
Penny’s mother’s biscuits were light and flaky; these were thick and dense. The gravy was heavy, and even warm it had an unpleasant gelatinous feel in her mouth and left a strange, bitter aftertaste. She dutifully ate what was on her plate.
“Have some cantaloupe, dear; it’s fresh from the garden! And try the peaches!”
The cantaloupe, which was more beige than orange, had grainy texture and was cloyingly sweet. The peaches looked ripe enough, but they were sour, and the cream had the same bitterness as the gravy. Even a spoonful of sugar didn’t help.
*
After breakfast, a man with a black physician’s bag arrived at the house; he bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Haughton. After a hushed exchange in the foyer, Morinda took him upstairs, presumably to examine the Reverend.
Penny went into the kitchen, where Bessie was drying dishes with a white rag and her mother was putting pots and pans away in the cupboards.
“Did you need something, child?” Georgia asked. Sweat was beaded on her brow.
“I was wondering if Bessie could play cards with me. Later, I mean, when she isn’t busy. You could play, too, if you wanted?”
“Oh, bless your heart!” Georgia said. “We’ll be busy here right up until we need to walk into town to catch the last bus back to Bucktown.”
“Walk?” Penny asked. It had to be at least three miles back to town! “It’s so hot out there; can’t Mr. Haughton give you a ride?”
Bessie gave a bitter laugh, and her mother shot her a look.
“Child, don’t you say a word; you want a cast on the other one, too?”
“No’m.” Bessie went back to her drying.
“I think if you stayed, and if I asked nicely, Mr. Haughton would give you a ride?”
“Bless your heart.” Georgia shook her head and gave Penny an appraising look. “I reckon you really ain’t from around here, are you? You ever met a Negro before?”
Penny thought hard, realized the brief interactions she’d had with porters and hotel maids didn’t really count, and shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
“How you reckon my folk live ‘round here?”
“Like...folks?” she replied.
At their expressions of disbelief, she added: “Am I…missing something?” She felt as though she’d walked into a terrible, incomprehensible situation.
“Miss Penny.” Georgia inhaled through her nose, clearly trying to figure out how to phrase some harsh truth. “Our folks ain’t welcome in Fensmere ‘cept as help, and only as help. Back when the slaves got freed, the town fathers declared that no Negroes could be about after dark. If we’re inside the town limits come sundown, we’re likely to be hanging by our necks from a roadside tree come sunup.”
Penny stared at her in open-mouthed horror.
“Miz Rinda says help from the two of us is worth five round dollars a day,” said Bessie, “And even that’s a cruel robbery of her family fortune. Getting ourselfs home is none of her concern.”
Penny remembered the prices at the Oldsmobile dealership and realized that Bessie and her mother could probably never afford their own car. They’d have to walk forever. She felt sick at the injustice of it. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry yourself about it, child,” said Georgia. “We’re grateful for the work; we ain’t starvin’, and we ain’t in a field all day. And besides, even if we were welcome, I can’t imagine the money that would make me want to spend a night in Fensmere.”
*
Bereft of television, records and card partners, Penny spent time unpacking and exploring her room. The room was large and well appointed, but dull. No books or old clothes to play dress-up in. The only oddity she discovered was a small, hinged hatch set into the bottom of the sturdy bedroom door, like a door for a cat, but it was wider and only half the height of the pet exits she’d seen.
She couldn’t imagine Morinda would allow a small yappy dog, but maybe there was a cat in the house? She loved petting the neighbors’ kitties. So, as was her habit at home, she started quietly making her way downstairs, testing for squeaky boards as she stepped, when she overheard the physician and her aunt talking in the foyer. Penny froze at the sound of their voices, listening with sharpened ears.
“So you think he’ll be awake by the new moon?” her aunt asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Well before then, I’d say. He should be in fine fettle for church.”
“Oh, thank the Great One.”
“How is the girl?” the physician asked.
“Far less fiery and strong-willed than her mother, to my eye. Ezekias says she went with him without complaint. Polite and compliant the whole trip down. A perfect little lady.”
“Good, good.”
Morinda sighed. “I don’t understand where we went wrong with Edna. Her blood was as pure as we could make it, and yet she resisted us at every turn. And she went and bred with a Jew, of all things, after all we taught her! I reckoned Penny would be an utter waste, and yet she seems perfect.”
“There are some who extol the benefits of hybrid vigor,” the physician replied. “Perhaps the Haughton genes were most able to come to the fore when they had lesser genes to work against?”
Lesser genes? Penny frowned. She couldn’t remember her biological father, but her mother told her stories and showed her photos. He’d been handsome, the captain of his college bas
ketball team despite his stature—he enjoyed a challenge, apparently—and later a rising nuclear physicist who died from accidental radiation exposure. She’d seen a letter from the President himself declaring her father’s research to be that of a genius. What greater genes did these Haughtons have? She doubted any of them could shoot a single hoop or walk three miles to the bus stop in the summer heat, much less solve a complex equation.
The doctor departed. Calling for Georgia, Morinda swept towards the kitchen. Penny let out her breath and continued down the stairs. A turn of the corner took her to a huge library with floor-to-ceiling shelves and a pair of red wing-backed chairs separated by a reading table.
A large, old, leather-bound book covered with odd symbols lay upon the table. Curious, Penny opened it, and began to read.
An Arab storyteller wrote it, and at first she thought it was some variant of One Thousand and One Nights. But in its convoluted prose, she found not tales of princes and thieves but a purported history of strange, unfathomably powerful beings beyond the stars. The narrative drew her in, and she felt the hairs on her arms rise and her heart begin to pound as words describing cosmic grotesqueries few humans could ever come to grips with burned their way through her retina into her brain.
Penny’s young mind floundered, drowning in the dark sea of this horrible ancient knowledge. She stumbled back from the book, her chest constricted, and fainted dead away upon the Oriental carpet.
*
She awoke later in the guest bed. The physician and her aunt loomed over her.
“Ah, she’s awake!” he declared. “No worse for wear, eh child?”
“What...what happened?” she sat up, feeling sick and dizzy. She wondered how she had gotten into her nightgown.
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