The woman holding my hand wasn’t my mother at all, but a complete stranger! She was making soft clicking noises with her tongue.
“There, there, now,” she said. “There, there.”
I stared at her for a moment. She was a short, plump woman, with full cheeks and small, close-set blue eyes. She had thin lips and several chins beneath the first one, which sat like a miniature apple beneath her mouth.
I looked past her toward the door.
“Where’s Mother?” I asked, my voice not much more than a raspy cackle.
The plump woman squeezed my hand and opened and closed her mouth several times. She glanced at Addie.
“Oh goodness,” she said, finally. “She doesn’t remember. Perhaps it’s a blessing.”
“Mother!” I yelled, this time much louder. The word seemed to stick in my mouth, and my throat began to tighten. “Mother! Where’s Mother?” I croaked. “Addie, I heard you call for her.” I yanked my hand away from the woman. The small dog began to whimper and turn his head this way and that.
“Oh, dear,” said the woman, shaking her head. “You’d better tell her, Miss Addie. I can’t do it. I just don’t have it in me.”
Addie came around and sat on the side of my bed. She took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Lucy,” she said quietly, “’twas an accident out on the water, there was. A terrible accident.”
“No,” I said, covering my ears and shaking my head. “No! I’m not listening to you!” I was angry at her then, and angrier still at the plump woman, who was dabbing at her eyes with a hankie.
Though I wouldn’t look at her, Addie continued. I stuffed my fingers in my ears and shut my eyes tight, but, try as I might, I couldn’t shut her out.
“I know how difficult ’tis for ye, Lucy, an’ how awful it must be to remember. But your mother and the captain were drowned out there on the water. A hero, your father was, in the saving of another. The odd fellow was seen floatin’ ashore grasping the edge of yer little sloop, he was.” She paused as tears slipped beneath my crunched lids.
“’Twas a miracle you survived a’tall,” she said softly, “but thanks t’ the life preserver, the wee pup Mr. Pugsley here, and the help of a stranger who witnessed the scene, ye were dragged, ’bout nearly lifeless, out of the water to shore, yer father’s spyglass hangin’ round yer neck. And even then, what with the water in your lungs and the pneumonia, we thought for a bit we might lose ye as well. Thank goodness you’ve come out of it, finally. Your auntie here and your uncle have been waitin’. They’ll be here to care for ye, they will. ’Twill be better, in time, you’ll see.”
Addie’s voice cracked a little, and she put her arms around me. As much as I wanted someone to hold me, hers were not the arms I needed. I pushed her away, collapsed into my pillows, and turned my face from them. I felt the dog leap onto the bed, felt his snuffling nose against my face. I yanked the bedclothes over my head and remained that way until I heard them all—all except for the dog, that is—retreat into the hallway, talking in whispers.
And that was how I came to meet my father’s sister-in-law, my aunt Margaret, and the boat-wreck dog, Mr. Pugsley, and how I came to understand that bad dreams, terrible dreams, can sometimes be all too real.
3
It was my uncle Victor, ultimately, who saw to it that I recovered in short time—that I was up and about and able to at least make a show of being well. Now, you’re probably thinking that I was quite fortunate to have had someone coaxing me back to health—someone relentlessly pushing me on along the road to recovery.
But I was neither fortunate nor lucky. In fact, my uncle Victor was scarcely concerned for anything but the reading of Mother and Father’s will—an event that our old friend and attorney Barrister Hardy insisted take place in my presence and, as he put it, with me healthy again in both body and spirit.
Judging from what little I knew of my father’s younger brother (Father had alluded to Uncle Victor’s financial woes and hinted at a certain chronic lack of determination on his brother’s part), it may well have been that pressing, for my recuperation had been his greatest accomplishment to date.
My heart ached as we gathered in the library for the reading of the will—Aunt Margaret, Uncle Victor, Barrister Hardy, and me. And of course, my new companion, Mr. Pugsley, sitting watch at my feet. The barrister was seated at Father’s desk; the rest of us sat facing him on the oak folding chairs from the game room—the very same ones we used to use for an evening of keno or chess. Ghostly memories of Mother and Father in happier days surrounded me here, making the task at hand nearly unbearable.
Barrister Hardy, a very proper Englishman who was always shy and bookish, seemed particularly uncomfortable, adjusting his small round spectacles and shuffling and reshuffling the stack of papers before him. He sent for Addie, requesting her presence as a witness to the proceedings. She came, rather grim-faced, wiping her hands on her apron as though preparing for some loathsome household task. She draped an arm around me, but it provided little comfort.
The barrister cleared his throat. “As you all know, we are here today for the reading of the last will and testament of Edward R. and Johanna E. Simmons.” He glanced up at us briefly and looked back at his papers. I watched my uncle, his eyes gleaming, leaning forward in his chair. He patted my hand in what I supposed was meant to be a gesture of sympathy. It was all I could do not to pull my hand away, for the hungry look in his eye told another story. Aunt Margaret twisted a hankie round and round her chubby fingers, glancing nervously back and forth between her husband and the barrister.
Barrister Hardy sat up a bit straighter and began to read.
“‘I, Edward R. Simmons, being of sound mind and memory, do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my last will and testament, expressly revoking all wills heretofore made by me and declare this will to remain in effect …’”
The words droned on—Father’s words, I suppose—words I hardly understood, phrases that sounded stiff and cold and wooden to my ear.
Uncle Victor edged forward in his chair, licking his thin lips, hungrily devouring and digesting each word.
“‘I give, devise, and bequeath my estate of whatever nature and wherever situated to my sister, Miss Prudence Faith Simmons, in trust for my daughter, Lucille Prudence Simmons....’”
Aunt Margaret’s hand went to her mouth, her small eyes open wide. Uncle Victor opened and shut his mouth several times. That, combined with his slicked-back hair, gave him the look of a slippery seal begging for a fish. He jumped to his feet, sending Mr. Pugsley into a new round of yipping.
“Now, wait just a minute,” Victor began.
Barrister Hardy raised a hand, silencing him. He had the same effect on Mr. Pugsley, who plopped back down at my feet with an impatient sort of hmpff. I looked between them, feeling rather lost. Aunt Prudence, my father’s sister, hadn’t been heard from in quite some time. She was an eccentric woman—casting aside afternoons of high tea and croquet on the lawn for free-spirited world traveling.
Uncle Victor sat down, and Barrister Hardy went on. “‘Miss Simmons will oversee the estate until my daughter Lucille attains the age of eighteen. Furthermore, I hereby nominate and appoint Prudence Faith Simmons as guardian of my daughter Lucille, as she may be a minor. In the event that said shall die, resign, or be unwilling or unable to act as guardian, then I hereby declare that Barrister Franklin P. Hardy nominate and appoint an appropriate substitute. Additionally, our trusted friend Miss Addelaide Clancy will remain in our employ as live-in nanny and housekeeper, overseeing Lucille’s day-to-day needs. A generous trust has been established for this purpose. I also request that Miss Clancy remain in residence until Lucille’s eighteenth birthday, and thereafter as long as Lucille deems necessary.’”
The barrister paused.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means hogwash!” Uncle Victor shouted. “Absolute hogwash. It is obvious that Edward was n
ot of sound mind when he appointed Prudence to be in charge! She is unstable and reckless. She doesn’t know her place. She is hardly a decent role model for the girl! I am the man’s brother, and my wife and I can—”
“Just a minute,” said Barrister Hardy. “Wait just one minute.”
He turned to me. “Lucy, what this means is that your mother and father requested that, in the event of their deaths, your aunt Prudence would come here to take care of you. She would take care of their estate—in other words, their money—until you are old enough to take care of it yourself. Miss Addie will remain on the payroll to look after you and the house as she has always done.”
“This is outrageous!” bellowed Victor. Aunt Margaret reached toward him.
“But Victor, why don’t you—”
“You stay out of this, Margaret,” he shouted. “You’d do best to keep your nose out of affairs you cannot possibly understand.”
She pulled her hand away and sniffed a little. “But Vic—”
“Quiet!” he snapped. “Now, I demand that—”
“There will be no demands honored here except those laid out by your brother,” the barrister said stiffly. “This document in my hands is legal and binding. I can assure you that Edward was in sound mind when it was drawn up. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me finish, I think you might hear what you obviously were so hoping to hear.”
My heart sank at those words. I couldn’t imagine that anything Uncle Victor would like to hear would be in my best interest.
“So,” I asked, “what about Aunt Prudence?” I didn’t know my aunt well, but had loved the tales of her adventures, loved the photographs of her with her long, wild, curly hair, so like my own. “When will she come?”
Barrister Hardy sighed. “That is precisely the problem. My office has been trying to locate your aunt since we received the news of your parents’ untimely deaths. She was last reported to be in Australia, in the outback country. She was working with an archaeologist, exploring aboriginal caves, on a quest of some sort. Despite our best efforts, we could not reach her. We can only hope that at some point she will make an effort to contact her brother. At this time she is unaware of the situation here.”
“She could be dead for all we know,” shouted Victor, once again jumping to his feet.
“Oh, good Lord,” muttered Addie, who up to this point had remained silent. “Miss Prudence is most certainly not dead!”
Victor’s face was red, his nostrils flared.
“May I remind you, missy,” said Victor, through clenched teeth, “that you are a servant here. A servant, do you hear me? Your job is to be seen and not heard!
“Another of my brother’s faults,” he said to the barrister, jutting out his chin toward Addie, “allowing the help to behave as though they were on equal footing. That, and entrusting his child to our dreamer of a sister. Is it any wonder someone with so little judgment would endanger the lives of his wife and child in order to save a drunkard on a boat? It’s a wonder anyone is surprised at all by this sad state of affairs!”
I felt as though I’d been slapped. I gasped, and Addie knelt beside me, rubbing my hand. “Don’t pay him any mind,” she whispered. “Don’t listen to him a’tall!” But I did pay him mind—I hated him then, and nearly hated my aunt Prudence as well, for her absence, and Mother and Father for theirs. They’d left me, all of them, left me entirely alone with this horrid uncle and his wife. Thank goodness I’d still have Addie. Dear, sweet, loyal Addie.
Barrister Hardy turned very red, a deep angry flush that began at his collar and crept up his face. “That will be enough!” he said. “Mr. Simmons, you will remain silent until I am finished.”
Uncle Victor sat back down, in quite a huff. Barrister Hardy continued.
“It seems to me that, in the absence of any other family, I have no other choice but to appoint Victor T. and Margaret K. Simmons guardians of Lucille and overseers of the house and estate.”
I watched Uncle Victor mouth the word yes, his eyes narrowed, the word escaping as a quiet hiss. At that very moment, as if in protest, the shutters on the library window inexplicably blew shut with a bang, knocking one of Father’s seascapes off the wall. The sound made all of us jump, particularly because we hadn’t been aware of any wind. The gust also took up Father’s ship’s bell out by the front door. It clanged loudly, eerily, as if sounding a death knell or perhaps announcing the launching of a phantom ship. Looking back, I recollect this clearly, because it was the first real hint about the house, the first indication that there was indeed something very strange about to take place. But at the time I didn’t pay much attention. My mind was still reeling at the prospect of having Uncle Victor and Aunt Margaret as my guardians.
Uncle Victor thrust the painting haphazardly back onto the wall, the scene of Ulysses and his crew tipped like a sinking ship. He went on to the window and attempted to push the shutters back, but it seemed as though they suddenly had a mind of their own, and they continued to defy him. He pushed and grimaced and struggled with the shutters until Addie came over to help. She reached out and took hold of the shutters, which moved easily under her gentle touch, mocking my uncle’s efforts. This infuriated him further.
“I don’t remember asking for your help, missy,” he said. He turned back toward the barrister. “Now, let’s get on with it!”
“As I said,” Barrister Hardy continued, in a chilly tone of voice, “until Miss Prudence can be found, Mr. Simmons, you and your wife will serve as guardians. However, when Miss Prudence is located, guardianship will revert back to her, and your responsibilities here will be complete.”
“And if she isn’t found?” asked Uncle Victor.
“Then you remain guardians for the next six years, until Lucy turns eighteen. And Miss Clancy, do you agree to stay on as stipulated in Captain Simmons’s last will and testament?”
Addie grabbed my hand. “Yes, of course, Barrister. I wouldn’t think a leavin’.”
Uncle Victor silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“Another question—I must ask, however awkward,” he began. His tone of voice was suddenly very different—syrupy, artificially sweet. He glanced my way and back at the barrister.
“And what if, let’s say, something should happen to Miss Lucy before her eighteenth birthday? I mean, after all, tragedies do occur, as we have recently witnessed.” He looked around for encouragement. Aunt Margaret stared at her feet, blinking nervously.
“It is only responsible to ask,” he continued, glancing from one to the other of us.
The question hung there like a bad omen. Aunt Margaret stared at her shoes. Addie took a deep breath, bit her bottom lip, and seemed unable to move. My heart pounded, and for an instant I wished that the sea had taken me along with Mother and Father.
Barrister Hardy paused, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.
“In the case of Miss Lucy’s untimely death, the house and estate would revert to the legal guardian.”
Uncle Victor smiled, a thin-lipped smile that had little warmth in it.
“Thank you, Barrister,” he said. “One has to consider all of the possibilities, however unlikely.”
I spoke up. “But, Barrister, why couldn’t there be a different guardian—Miss Addie, even?”
Barrister Hardy tipped his head toward me and spoke gently. “I imagine Miss Addie would make a fine guardian. But this house that your father built is a continuation of the Simmonses’ seafaring legacy. As I recall, he referred to it as his ‘ship on shore.’” He glanced at Father’s leather-bound ship’s logs on the desk, the nautical treasures that lined the shelves and walls. “I know his intent was to keep the house, and everything in it—especially you, my dear—in the family’s loving care.”
I started to protest, but the barrister silenced me with a firm, but sad, smile.
“The law upholds this last will and testament. No one could have anticipated the tragic circumstances we find ourselves in this day.”
And then and there, I knew that I was no longer going to be safe—and not only in the sense of being well loved and cared for. I shuddered to think beyond that, refused to consider what my uncle might have in store for me.
At that very moment, as if to lock away any further thoughts in that regard, the shutters made one more defiant slam against the window.
And, in answer, Father’s ship’s bell out front clanged its warning again—a sound as hollow and lonely as the feelings that had taken over my spirit in the days since the accident.
But the bell’s warning was not lost on me. Despite my sadness, it awoke in me a level of resolve I had never before experienced—a determination that left a steely taste in my mouth, an energy and electricity in my soul that had been absent for some time.
It’s not that I had any real inkling at all as to what I should do. In fact, I hadn’t a single notion.
Nevertheless, I set my jaw and raised my chin in a silent vow that I made not only to myself, but to Mother and Father as well—that I, Lucy P. Simmons, would do something. Something to save my home—our home—Father’s ship on shore. Something to keep it safe from my uncle’s greedy hands.
I only had to figure out what in heaven’s name it was I ought to do.
4
The plan came to me that evening—after midnight, it had to have been. I had slept fitfully, tossing and turning through the early evening hours, wrestling with my bedclothes as well as with the problems at hand.
The answer was, of course, to find Aunt Prudence. The question was, how to go about it. I forced myself to lie still, to calm my mind, which was reeling about, relentlessly replaying the events of the day.
What did I know of my aunt, of Father’s younger sister, Prudence? She’d visited here at the house, some years ago now, it seemed. She was high-spirited, I recalled, and I remembered being enraptured by her bold ideas and her tales of travel. She and Mother were very close, and in between visits I would watch Mother standing by the library desk, the sterling silver letter opener in her hand, eagerly slicing open her sister-in-law’s letters from wherever in the world she’d been.
The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons Page 2
