by Mary Monroe
“You and Palmer were away at friends’ houses that night—a small blessing I’m grateful for. I was able to hide the bruises with some story about a fall.”
“I remember now. Oh, Mama, how could I have been so naive.”
“You were a child. How could you have guessed? Stratton never hit me before or since that night, but that beating was enough for me to see his violent nature. I knew it was there and I lived with the fear it might come out again. Especially with you. I knew how strong willed you were. It was only a matter of time till you reached the boiling point.”
“You should have reported him to the police.”
“My darling girl, no. You don’t understand. I felt that I’d deserved my beating.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I may not have broken his heart but I did break my marriage vows and the trust. It was the knowledge that I’d wronged him, Cara, that compelled me to bear it for so many years. It was the guilt that shamed me to silence.”
“But why did you stay with him?” she cried.
“He told me that he would never grant me a divorce. That he’d take you and Palmer away if I tried to divorce him. That he’d expose me as an unfit mother and the whore that I was. It was blackmail, made all the more powerful by the fact that I absolutely believed him. Stratton was a prominent citizen with connections and women had little recourse at that time, especially ones who had sullied their reputations. Even my own mother advised me to maintain my dignity and my silence. When I took into consideration how my action would affect all the people I loved, I made the only decision I could. And Cara,” she said with finality. “Knowing what I did about him, I could never leave the marriage and let him have custody of my children.”
Cara stared back at her mother, clutching her hand as the wind howled outside the windows. So many questions had been answered.
“So when six months passed,” Lovie continued, “I did not return to the beach house. It was a blustery March day, dreary and cold, befitting the mood. Oh, I remember it so well. I had to lock myself in my bedroom that day. I didn’t trust myself not to listen to my instincts and flee straight into Russell’s arms.
“Afterward, I just went through the motions. You and Palmer were the only joys in my life and I tried to make you happy. I tried to shield you from the truth, but children have an instinct for these things. No amount of crepe paper and ribbon can create happiness. I could see the truth in your eyes especially, Cara. But you didn’t know why and I couldn’t tell you.”
Cara’s eyes filled and she brought her hands to her face. “I wish I’d known. All these years I thought you were so weak. And that Daddy was so cruel. Why didn’t you tell me? It’s all such a complicated mess.”
“Most lives are if you live long enough, my darling.”
“I’ve been angry at you for so long. I stayed away, not because I didn’t love you, but because I loved you too much.”
“Don’t be angry any longer! Cancer is eating away my body, but anger will eat away your soul. Don’t let it destroy your chance for happiness. It took years, but I clawed my way back to where I could find peace again. Only here, at the beach house, could I feel free from despair and sadness.”
Her eyes scanned the small room, shabby in the dim light and crammed full of supplies. “This little place was my oasis. Stratton knew what it meant to me, and why. He tried to take it from me like he’d taken everything else, but it was in my name, and no matter how furious he was, I would never give it up. Stratton would never come here, and I couldn’t stay away. So we more or less worked out a silent agreement that, for the summers at least, I would come here with you children while he had his time alone in the city. It was, after all, a socially acceptable arrangement.”
“But didn’t Daddy think you’d see Russell here again? I’m surprised he let you go.”
“He knew he’d won. He saw something die in my eyes.”
“I don’t understand. You never saw Russell again?”
Lovie shook her head.
“So neither of you kept the date?”
“The following May I read about Russell’s death in the newspaper. He was flying in his plane along the shoreline, as he often did at the beginning of the turtle season, and his plane went down. It was a headline article with photographs of him with his wife and two children. I wanted to die myself. I was inconsolable for months. That was the summer your grandmother Linnea came to stay with us at the beach house. Do you recall? I believe she thought I was going quite mad. I wandered the beach at all hours. I learned later that he’d kept our date and waited for me at the beach house all that night.” Tears flooded her eyes. “I’m haunted to this very day by the pain he must have suffered thinking I didn’t love him enough.”
She was seized by a coughing spell. Cara held her shoulders and stroked her back, thinking to herself how little she really knew this woman. How wrong she’d been about her, how unfair she’d been to judge her. They were mother and daughter, yet in so many ways, they were strangers to each other.
When the coughing subsided Cara asked, “Do you want to rest awhile?”
Lovie placed her hand on her breast, took a short breath and shook her head no. “I need to finish,” she said in a raspy voice. “Come, put your feet up next to mine.” They settled back against the pillows, stretched out upon the bed.
“That fall,” Lovie continued, “a strange man came to see me here, just as I was closing the beach house. His name was Phillip Wentworth and he was an administrative officer of Morgan Grenfell Trust Limited in the Channel Islands. I didn’t know what he could possibly want with me, but I invited him in and offered him tea. He was British, a very proper sort of gentleman, very precise. Yet even in his clipped English, I had difficulty understanding exactly what he had come to tell me.
“You see, Russell came from an old, moneyed family in Virginia committed to preservation. Mr. Wentworth informed me that Russell had already bequeathed two beachfront lots on the Isle of Palms to a land conservancy. Russell and I had talked about this several times over the summer and I was so pleased that he’d carried out that dream. Russell saw what was happening on the island. He’d seen developments occur all along the eastern seaboard with little thought to the impact on marine life or the environment. Granted, those few lots were a small dent in the eight hundred or so being developed on the far side of the island, but I believe he’d hoped to set an example.
“I didn’t know that he’d left the third lot, the one across from my beach house, in a trust for me. Mr. Wentworth informed me that Russell had also set aside monies to pay for the taxes on the land so that my reputation would not be compromised by the risk of mail, tax forms or any legal documents being directed to me. Under Channel Island law, the trust cannot reveal who the owner of the land is. Thus, Mr. Wentworth was instructed to pay me a personal visit upon Russell’s death.”
Cara’s breath exhaled in a gasp. “You own that lot?”
“Yes, dear. I have for some time now.”
She let out a short laugh. “Palmer will just die when he finds out.”
“He’s never to find out, Cara,” Lovie said and her eyes were so filled with serious intent that Cara could only stare back speechless. “No one is ever to find out. That’s what I’m leading up to. Oh, Caretta, don’t you understand yet? The monetary value of the land never meant anything to me. Nor did the value of this beach house. Despite Palmer’s constant niggling about it, I’ve never sold either of them because they were my refuge. You mustn’t laugh, but I often go just to sit on the dune and talk to Russell. I feel close to him there. When his plane crashed into the Atlantic they never found his body. I like to think he’s out there, with the turtles, just waiting for me.”
She sniffed and reached for one of her tissues. “I do go on. But you do see why I love that land so much, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, Mama. How horrible it must have been for you to give him up.”
“I know now that I’ve
been blessed to have known that kind of love.”
Lovie saw tears filling her daughter’s eyes. She didn’t want to get maudlin before she got to the heart of the matter. Outside, the rain began coming down in fierce torrents. They could hear it thunder against the roof.
“We should turn the radio back on,” Cara said with worried eyes looking at the ceiling. Water stains were dampening the west corner and the sound of dripping came from the other room.
“Wait one moment,” Lovie said, reaching out to hold back her daughter. “Cara, this is my dilemma. I’ve gone round and round on this. What’s to become of the land when I’m gone? I have to decide and I need your advice. Naturally, I’ve thought about leaving it to my children or to my grandchildren. Sometimes I think I owe it to you all for having failed you in life.
“But if I do, then the questions would begin. Where did the land come from in the first place? I read once of a woman who had stuffed her mattress with the letters she’d received from her lover over the years. I chuckled to myself when I read it. Imagine. Sleeping with her husband atop all those passionate declarations of love. Closing her eyes and thinking of her lover when her husband…well, never mind. The point is, the letters were discovered after her death and her secret was out.
“That mustn’t happen to me. It’s my life, my secret. Far too many people would be hurt. I’ve paid the dearest price already to prevent that. I couldn’t bear to have it all come out after my death. Is that too selfish?”
“No, of course it isn’t. You’ve paid the price for that secret many times over.”
“Yet so have you. So has Palmer.”
“You owe us nothing. Mama, what do you want to do with the land?”
Her face became wistful. “Russell left the land to me to help me gain freedom should I need it. And in its own way, the land did give me that freedom. But I won’t need it anymore.” She gripped Cara’s hand and looked into her eyes beseechingly. “I want to leave it to the conservancy, as it was always intended from the beginning. I’d like to know that my children, my children’s children, and children everywhere can enjoy that small stretch of dunes and beach as I have. And, of course, I should like very much to die knowing that there is a patch of beach left on the Isle of Palms for the turtles to return to and lay their nests undisturbed.”
“Then that’s what you should do.”
“Do you really think so?”
Cara smiled into her mother’s eyes and nodded her head. “Absolutely.”
“I’d hoped you’d agree. I couldn’t do it without one person I could totally trust with my secret. Someone competent who could notify Morgan Grenfell Trust of my decision. Would you act as my trustee when I die, Caretta?”
“I’d be honored to.”
Lovie sighed wearily, the last of her energy seeming to slip away. “Thank you. You’ll find a paper in the box with my photograph albums. It has Phillip’s name and phone number on it, that’s all. But you know now who he is. Phillip Wentworth is no longer at Morgan Grenfell, of course, but whoever is in charge will handle everything discreetly, you can rest assured. They’re quite good at that sort of thing. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have made that decision! It’s been such a burden.”
“Don’t worry anymore, Mama. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Oh, one more thing. There will be a bit of money left after the transference, from the monies he set aside. Not much, but enough to help with the taxes on the beach house for several years.”
“The beach house?”
“But of course. I’m leaving it to you.”
Cara was taken aback. “But I thought…Well, I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think about it at all, actually. I supposed…I imagined it would go to Palmer.”
“Palmer? Cara, you mean all this time…” She sighed and held open her arms. “Come give your mama a hug.” She relished the feel of her daughter’s head against her breast and her arms around her shoulders.
“What a funny girl you are,” Lovie said. “Always have been. So brainy in some things, and so oblivious in others. But never selfish. That has always been a quality of yours. And a strength. Your ability to walk away is something I’ve always admired about you. It shows you have good instincts, Cara, and you heed them. I worried about you when you were in Chicago. You worked so hard and with such deliberation. You didn’t have any relationships to balance out your life. I thought perhaps you no longer heard your inner voice in all the noise of the city. But when you stood up to Palmer and told me not to sell the beach house, when you fixed up this old place just to please me, and when you took care of me and Toy, I knew your inner voice was still very strong.”
“I only did it because I love you.”
“Precisely. Cara, when a parent passes on what little they have, be it a piece of land or a grandfather’s wristwatch, it’s done with love. He or she tries to think which child would most cherish that particular item. Palmer might think of the dollar value but my mind doesn’t work that way. I’m not good with numbers, though I do try to keep things fair. I love you both and I’ve tried to think what would make each of you happiest. When I gave the Charleston house to Palmer, I had in mind to give the cottage to you. I’d planned this for many years, long before the value of this land shot up as it has. I simply knew that Palmer loved the city house and the lifestyle. And I knew that you didn’t and had been happy here.
“Cara, you’re my child, my baby,” she said, gentleness flooding her features. “You might think you’ve been out of my thoughts all those years that you were away but you were always here.” She pointed to her forehead. “And here.” She moved her hand over her heart.
Cara’s eyes moistened. “That’s all I ever wanted. Just to know that I wasn’t forgotten. That I mattered enough to be considered.”
“You silly, precious child,” she said again. “The beach house is yours, Caretta. It’s already been arranged with Bobby Lee. That’s what I told Palmer on the Fourth of July.”
“So that’s what he’s been stewing about.”
“Don’t let him pout too long. He really has a good heart when his mind isn’t clouded with dollars and cents. He needs the beach house more than he knows, but it’s yours because you understand the magic better than I ever did. It’s not so much a place as a state of mind. Listen to me, Cara. The beach, the ocean, solitude—these are only a means to help you travel to the true peace and joy inside you. You must carry the magic in your heart, wherever you go. We had a lovely summer, didn’t we? So many wonderful summers. And I hope you’ll have many more here. But if you find you have to sell it, then do so. It’s your life, Cara. Don’t let anyone or any thing hold you captive from finding your heart’s desire.”
“Oh, Mama…How will I know what that is?”
She cupped her daughter’s face, and in the woman, saw the little girl. “You’ll know, my precious. One day you’ll look up and see it—and just know.”
Loggerheads are air-breathing reptiles. They can sleep under water for several hours, but stress and activity can markedly shorten the time they can hold their breath. This is why sea turtles drown when tangled in shrimp nets and other fishing gear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cara awoke to the spasm of her mother’s coughing fit against her shoulder. It was pitch-black in the house. The lantern had gone out and the house was shuddering. She wiped the perspiration from her brow, unable to see her hand. Everything felt damp. The humidity was like a wet blanket lying on her lungs.
“I’ll get your oxygen,” she said in a croaky whisper. She rose up sleepily and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Her feet landed ankle-deep in water.
“My God!” she choked out, yanking them back up. Her whole body shook as her mind snapped awake and wildly tried to figure out what was going on, what she should do next. She sat with her legs to her chest, shivering, her eyes wide with terror and her heart pumping hard. All around her in the darkness she could hear the s
ound of water rushing, the clunk and clatter of things banging against each other as they floated, the creaking of wood as the house swayed and shuddered against the wind and surge. They were going to die, she thought numbly.
The hell they were.
“Mama! Mama, wake up!”
“What? What is it?”
“Water. There’s water in the house.”
“What!” she cried out.
“Don’t move.” The darkness made her fear palpable. She needed to get some light. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely make them function as she groped clumsily on the bedside table. Outside there was a tremendous roar that sounded like something was being ripped off the front of the house. Her mother whimpered at her side. Cara fumbled in the dark, trembling. At last her fingers rested on the flashlight. She clutched it like a lifeline. Flicking on the light, she felt a bone deep relief at piercing the horrid blackness and being able to see.
She beamed the light across the room. The bed was an island in a black and swirling sea of water, several inches high. She could only stare at it, openmouthed in numb horror. Her shoes, the plastic bins, clothes, chairs—all were bobbing about like little toys in a bathtub.
She felt her mother clutch her arm. “It must be the storm surge,” she said. “Is the tide high or low?”
Cara licked her dry lips, not knowing. The water was still shallow, but even as she watched, it was rising inch by inch. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Where can we go? We can’t evacuate.”
“The attic.”
“We don’t have an attic. It’s only a crawl space.”
“Then we’ll crawl! Come on, Mama, we don’t know how high this is going to get. We’ll pray we don’t have to climb on the roof. Let me think…” She moved her beam of light around the room, looking for her supplies. The suitcase was bobbing, but with luck, some clothes would still be dry. She climbed on all fours and stretched from the bed to grab hold of it and drag it back to the island bed. Then she reached for another flashlight from the bedside stand and handed it to her mother. “See if you can pull out some dry clothes. I’ll try to find my tools and whatever else I can get up there in time. Hurry!”
