Serpents in the Sun

by Cave, Hugh

  "It's a beautiful river," Lee said.

  "But dangerous all the way from Mango Gut to the Peak, so you be careful."

  "What's it called?" Cliff asked.

  "Well, it really the Stony Valley River, but most people 'round here call it the White."

  Cliff's attention was suddenly caught by a movement atop a tall spire of black rock on the far side of the stream. "Hey, look!" he exclaimed. "What's that big bird there?"

  Leslie shrugged. "Nuttin' special, sonny. Just a John Crow."

  "But I've never seen a bird that big!"

  "It's a turkey buzzard," Lee said in her voice of disgust. "And there must be a million of them here in Jamaica. I read about them in the books Mother got for us."

  "But look at it! Look!"

  The huge black bird had waddled awkwardly to the edge of a ledge it was on, then lifted its wings and stepped off into space. Ungainly no longer, it soared majestically out over the steep-sided river gorge. There was no flapping of wings, no movement at all other than a graceful tilting of the creature's whole body as it rode the air currents.

  The three on the track above the stream-crossing had watched it in silence. "Hey!" Cliff exclaimed now, his voice hushed with wonder. "Oh, boy, do I wish I could just put my arms out and fly like that!"

  Lee looked at him. This was her brother talking? Her timid, stick-in-the-mud twin brother? Well, well, she thought. What's happening here?

  Delighted, she reached out to clasp his hand.

  About that time, at the house, the twins' mother walked into the big back room that was to be a schoolroom. Close at her heels trotted Kim Tulloch's gift, the Siamese kitten.

  After much thought, Alison had decided on a name. Since the kitten had Oriental forebears—or, at least, the term "Siamese" indicated it did—she would call it Yum-Yum after her favorite character in Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. Yes. Yum-Yum was a pretty name for this beautiful little creature who had been faithfully following her about the house all morning.

  The cat jumped onto one of the schoolroom chairs now and watched while Alison walked about the room with her chin cupped in one hand, trying to decide what to do here. Or even if she ought to do anything.

  What if she and Lyle didn't own Glencoe, after all? What if that woman Kim Tulloch had told them about really had a valid claim to the property? Would she have such a claim if Freeland had fathered her daughter? Could it actually be determined somehow, by a blood test or some such procedure, that the child was Freeland's?

  If they had to give up Glencoe, she would be sad, she realized. True, she had not wanted to come here. It had seemed a foolish and reckless thing to do. And Cliff had agreed with her. But Lyle and Roddy and Lee obviously disagreed, and, really, it wasn't the end of the world, was it?

  Admittedly, Glencoe was remote—eighteen miles or so from any even fair-sized town and roughly twice that far from the island's capital. But she had been talking to Ima most of the morning and knew much more about the situation now than before. There was a government clinic, for instance, just three miles down the road in Rainy Ridge. And a hospital in Morant Bay. And there were other coffee estates whose owners Lyle and she might get to know, and sugar and bananaand coconut plantations all along the coast at this end of the island.

  The broader picture, too, was encouraging. Although still under British rule, the island was surely on its way to becoming independent, and from the looks of things it would have a truly democratic government. Already two major political parties had come into being, each with an outstanding man at its head: Alexander Bustamantefor the Jamaica Labour Party and Norman W. Manley for the People's National. The two men were actually cousins, too, so they would surely work hand-in-hand for the country's good.

  To be fair about it, Jamaica probably had a brighter, more exciting future than any other country in the Caribbean.

  "And we could be part of it, couldn't we, Yum Yum?" Alison said aloud to the newest member of the Bennett family.

  In a classic Siamese pose, front feet together, head uplifted, tail tightly curled around the part she was sitting on, the kitten opened her mouth in a silent meow.

  Alison smiled at her and nodded. "Good. I'm glad you agree. So let's begin by rearranging these books and school supplies, shall we?"

  That evening, while alone on the veranda smoking an after-dinner cigarette, Lyle heard a car turn down the Glencoe driveway and stepped to the rail to see who was arriving. An aging blue Chevrolet sedan descended to the Great House yard rather more sedately than Kim Tulloch's little red sports car had done. At its wheel was Desmond Reid; beside him, his wife Mildred. As Lyle waited for them at the top of the veranda steps, Alison came from the house to stand beside him.

  The wife of the coffee works manager seemed a bit reserved as she clasped Alison's hand, Lyle thought. "I do hope we're not interrupting anything," she said quickly. "One day perhaps we'll have telephones out here and can be more civilized. If you're busy, we can come another time."

  Alison, too, noticed the reserve. "Now what in the world would we be busy about, Milly? Please come in!"

  She led their guests to the cluster of easy chairs by the fireplace, though there was no fire burning. The twins, who had been playing Scrabble at the big table at the other end of the room, came to see what was happening.

  Roddy had met both Reids, Alison remembered, but the twins had not. During their one earlier visit to the island, Mildred had been off visiting a sister, somewhere. Now as she introduced them, she watched Cliff and Lee to see how they would react to the color of Mildred's skin.

  They seemed not even to notice. Surprising her a little, they behaved like properly brought-up children and happily seated themselves instead of rushing back to their interrupted game.

  For that minor blessing, Desmond Reid might be responsible, Alison decided. No doubt about it, the man could pass for an aging but virile movie cowboy, say a forty-year-old William S. Hart or Tom Mix. With twelve-year-olds, Scrabble probably hadn't a chance against such competition.

  Having heard the talk in the drawing room, seventeen-year-old Roddy came from his room to join the gathering.

  "Well!" Mildred said. "How have you been adjusting to Jamaica?” Her smile included them all. "Have you got most of the kinks ironed out?" There was that hint of holding back in her voice again, the smile just a trifle forced.

  The same thing had happened before, Alison remembered. She and Lyle had talked about it later, back in Rhode Island, because both of them had liked her. "Maybe if we'd stayed longer, she would have—well—would have let her guard down," Lyle had remarked.

  Her guard. Was it because her skin was just a shade darker than theirs and she was not certain she would be accepted as a friend? If it had mattered when they were here for only a few days each time, it might be even more in her thoughts now that the Reids and Bennetts were to be neighbors. In the States Mildred would have come under the all-inclusive word "black."

  Here shewould be considered what? Light brown? Very light brown? Whatever, she was a most attractive woman, apparently a few years younger than her husband, with beautifully smooth skin and soft, questioning brown eyes. And at the time of the two funerals she had demonstrated that she was also generous, caring, and eager to help.

  "We've got some of the problems ironed out, I think," Alison replied. "Not all, I guess, but most of the important ones." Suddenly perceiving how she might put the woman more at ease, she leaned toward her in a way that momentarily excluded Lyle and Desmond from the conversation. "Mildred, before these men of ours get started on growing coffee, may I ask your advice about something?"

  Mildred's smile seemed to become more relaxed. "My advice? Of course! But good heavens, about what?"

  "The kitchen here. I want it upstairs, to save all the up-and-downing. Come with me!" Alison thrust out her hand. "Let me show you what I have in mind!"

  The two men watched them hurry from the room. Then with a glance at Roddy and the twins, Desmond Reid s
aid, "While they're redesigning the house, Lyle, why don't you and I step out for a smoke? You kids will excuse us for a minute, won't you?"

  The youngsters said they would.

  On the veranda, Desmond walked all the way to the far end before stopping, obviously not wanting those in the drawing room to overhear him. He waited while Lyle joined him and lit a cigarette, but, though a smoker, shook his head when Lyle held the pack out to him. "On her way home from here yesterday," he said then, "Kim Tulloch stopped at our place to talk to Milly about what she told you and Alison. I was at the factory, but Milly told me when I got home. Do your kids know about the Campbell woman, Lyle?"

  "Not yet."

  "I thought it might be that way. That's why I didn't want to speak of it in front of them."

  Leaning against the rail, Lyle gazed at him and waited.

  "Do you really think Free Elliot fathered that woman's child, Lyle?" Desmond's voice matched the frown-lines above his eyes. "I don't know what to think."

  "How well did you know your brother-in-law?"

  "Not very, I suppose. He was eight years older than I, four years older than my sister. They met, married, and came here to Jamaica all within a couple of years, before I saw very much of him. But I—"

  "He was a damned fine man," Desmond interrupted. "I began helping him here because we wanted his coffee. I mean we wanted him to sell it to us and not to someone else. But as I got to know him better, I came to like and admire him. So did Milly. Unless there was something going on in this house that we don't know about—something wrong between Free and Pam, I mean—I have to say I think the Campbell woman is probably lying."

  "The child is seven years old, Campbell said. Was Pam drinking a lot then?"

  Desmond's hesitation was long enough to be noticeable. "Well . . . she was always pretty fond of our Jamaican rum, I guess. Even in Kingston she drank more than she should have, Free told me. He blamed it on the heat."

  "Which was why he moved out here in the first place. The Kingston heat, I mean, and what it was doing to her."

  Desmond nodded.

  "But I still can't believe Free would have—" The coffee works man shook his head. "Oh, I know the Campbell woman is mighty attractive. And so's the little girl she talks about. I seethem in Rainy Ridge quite often, though they live somewhere up in Wilson Gap with Campbell's mother or granny, I'm not sure which. The girl does seem a shade or two lighter than the mother, too, but that doesn't have to mean Free was the man who fathered her."

  "Was there another white man in the district at the time?"

  "There wouldn't have to be. Campbell farms for a living and those farm women go to Kingston a lot on the trucks that carry their stuff to market. She sells to higglers in the Bay, as well. Look." Deep lines appeared again above Desmond's eyes. "If she actually does sue you—I mean if she doesn't just come here and demand money to keep her mouth shut—Milly and I think you ought to get legal advice or perhaps talk to Doc Kirk in the Bay. He was Free's doctor, and there's a blood test to prove parenthood, isn't there? I'm not up on such things, but if Campbell is bluffing and knew she had to submit the child to some such test, she might drop this like a piece of hot charcoal."

  "We'd just about decided it might be best to wait for her next move," Lyle said.

  "Well, yes. But if that Duke Street law firm actually takes the case and presses a claim . . ."

  "We've also thought of talking to Kim's son. What do you think of him?"

  "Eric? You couldn't do better. He's our man, too."

  "You mean you and Milly have a—"

  "Not us. The Osburns. He—"

  From the Great House doorway Alison's voice interrupted. "Are you two going to stay out here all night? Milly and I want to talk to you!" Something in her tone, a happy lilt that had not been there before, told Lyle that she and Desmond Reid's wife had found a common ground. He looked aslant at Desmond and asthe look was returned in kind, a smile on the man's lips plainly said, "Well, well."

  When on an impulse Lyle silently thrust out his hand, the manager of the coffee works quickly clasped it.

  "We've solved the problem," Alison said when the four adults were back at the fireplace. Roddy and the twins had disappeared, apparently tired of waiting.

  "The kitchen, you mean?"

  "All you'll need," Milly Reid said, "is a second stove, a sink, and a fridge in that room off the dining room. You should have a new stove and fridge anyway, from the looks of the ones you have."

  "I wish we could run an electric stove and fridge off your factory current, Desmond," Alison said. "I'm stupid with an oil stove. Isn't there some way—"

  He shook his head. "Afraid not, with the turbine we've got. But kerosene stoves and fridges have improved a whole lot since the ones you have downstairs. Believe me."

  "What about bottled gas? Can we—?"

  "Soon, I think, but not yet. Not out in the sticks here. But you won't have to buy a new fridge when gasbecomes available. You'll be able to convert the kerosene one."

  "Well, whatever," Milly Reid said brightly. "The room looks right out on the backyard slope, where your main water line comes down from the coffee-works gutter. So with a few lengths of pipe and some tees and elbows, you'd be in business." Eagerly she rushed on. "For the kind of fridge and stove you'll want you ought to go to Kingston, I expect. The rest I'm sure you can get in the Bay. And Des has a handyman at the factory who'd be glad of the work if you don't want to tackle it yourself. In fact, I could do it for you with a bit of help. I've been the plumber at our house for years."

  "And a good one," her husband proudly added.

  Alison turned quickly to her husband. "Lyle, what do you think? Of course, we'd still use the big kitchen downstairs for some things. But with that upstairs room converted . . ."

  "Done." If I say no, Lyle thought, she might think it's because I fear losing Glencoe to the Campbell woman.

  "Why don't the two of you come to town with me on Tuesday?" Desmond suggested. "I'm taking the factory truck in for some fertilizer. We can bring the fridge and stove back out."

  Alison looked the question at Lyle, who lifted a hand in approval. At which point Roddy suddenly appeared in the hall doorway with both hands upraised in a command for silence.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention!I wish to announce that a Glencoe hockey game is now in progress. Admission is free. For the best seats, follow me, please!"

  "Ah," saidDesmond with a knowing nod. "The rats and the milk tins."

  "Kim Tulloch told me about them," Alison said. "Lyle and Roddy have heard them, but the rest of us haven't."

  They went with Roddy along the hall to his room, at the doorway of which, with a low bow and a sweep of one arm, he silently invited them to enter. At once Alison became aware of sounds above the ceiling. There were two sets of them, it seemed: scratchy noises made apparently by a multitude of scampering small feet, and a crazy kind of clatter created by a lot of knocked-about empty tin cans.

  "It must be an important game tonight." Roddy grinned. "A playoff, maybe. They're really going at it."

  "I don't think we've heard it above this room before," Mildred said. "Have we, Des?"

  "I don't think so."

  Roddy grinned. "At one time or another Dad and I have heard it just about everywhere. Sometimes they bang those cans around for hours."

  "And it doesn't bother you?"

  "Well, yes, it gets to you after a while. What I want to know is how did Aunt Pam and Uncle Freeland stand it."

  "Free didn't put those tins up there until just before he died," Desmond pointed out. "And, of course, it was a mistake to use poison in tins. The warfarin blocks we use in the coffee fields would have done the job."

  "Poison in the coffee fields?" It was Alison's turn to look shocked.

  "Oh, bush rats love coffee cherries. And they always go for the ripest, plumpest ones, the rascals. What they eat is the red pulp, which is sort of sweet; the seeds they spit out, and by the time pickin
g season's over, you're likely to have from half a pound to a pound of coffee beans under any tree they've taken a fancy to." Desmond chuckled at the expression on Alison's face. "In our fields we let the women who do the picking have the rat-cut as a kind of bonus," he added. "They wash them, of course. Then what they don't use at home they sell to higglers for resale in the markets. But getting back to Free, he should have used warfarin blocks, as I said. The little buggers wouldn't have been able to play games with those."

  The sounds continued. After a moment Roddy said, "Dad, you know something? I think I can get those cans down from there."

  Lyle shook his head. "If you have any idea of crawling around over these old ceilings, forget it."

  "Not that." His son turned to the coffee-works manager. "Mr. Reid, is there a store here that sells toys for kids?"

  "What kind of toys?"

  "Well, like a little car or truck that you'd wind up and it would run across the floor."

  "Your folks are going to Kingston with me on Tuesday," Desmond said. "We could look in Woolworth's or the Times Store."

  "Great!" With a triumphant glance at the ceiling, above which the hockey game continued in full force, Roddy vigorously shook a clenched hand above his head. "You bring me back some kind of wind-up toy car, Dad, and I'll cancel the rest of the hockey season."

  "How?

  "Never mind how. Trust me."

  7

  The restoration of Glencoe had begun on a Friday. Saturday was not normally a work day, but a few men did show up, eager to finish their assigned jobs and be given others. On Sunday no one worked. For most, that was a day to don their Sunday best and attend church.

  The weekend was a full one for the Bennetts, however.

  About eight o'clock Saturday morning Manny Traill came up the path from Mango Gut leading a mule. It was a good riding mule, he explained. "She name Mary, squire, and she not only pretty, as you can see, she also gentle and sure of foot. Walwin Stewart own she and him trying to raise money to go to England."