The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons

by Barbara Mariconda

  I sank back into my chair, certain I would be sick. Walter came and knelt beside me, Annie, Georgie, and even Mr. Pugsley following his cue.

  I swallowed and shook my head.

  “It’s a lie,” I said, “all of it. He wrote that letter himself!”

  Addie nodded, her lips in a tight, angry line. “Course he did,” she said. “He wrote the letter, signed ’er name, and placed it in the envelope from the letter he stole from ye that day out at the mailbox, that’s what he did!”

  “Well,” said Walter, jumping to his feet, his eyes indignant and black as coals, “I say we go back there and tell the judge what he did!” Annie and Georgie nodded in agreement, although I doubted they understood much more than their brother’s loyalty and sense of justice, which echoed in his tone of voice. Marni looked at Addie. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked.

  “Ye bet there is!” said Addie. “Goin’ t’ the judge—’twas the first thing I thought of. I went t’ town and I went t’ ’is office, I did. He wouldn’t see me, but I refused to take my leave! I must admit, I made somethin’ of a scene. Finally he ordered one of his associates t’ usher me out, and in quite an ungentlemanly way, I might add. But I got a glimpse of ’im—the judge, that is—when his office door opened.”

  She paused, shaking her head at the memory.

  “The judge,” she said finally, leveling her stare at me. “Judge Forester. He’s the very same dandy of a man that came callin’ the last time ye were home.”

  I gasped. “The man with the fancy mustache?”

  “The very same,” said Addie. “And that isn’t all.”

  “What else?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  Addie took a deep breath. “It seems the court has already considered the matter. They’ve appointed yer uncle as yer sole guardian, with what they call the power of attorney over the estate. What it means is that Victor can do what he likes in yer regard and in regard t’ the house.”

  “But, how can …,” I stammered.

  “I’m afraid ye still haven’t heard the worst of it,” Addie said, reaching for my hand. She took a deep breath. “Given that yer uncle’s taken charge o’ things, he claims he’s goin’ t’sell the house!”

  I felt as though I’d been punched and had the wind knocked clear out of me. Georgie gasped, his small eyes wide, remembering, I’m sure, the grand house he’d been so impressed with. Walter paced the floor, and Annie, looking from one of us to the other, seemed about to cry, her thumb planted securely in her mouth. The air suddenly became even more oppressive, so thick with tension and humidity that it pressed on my chest until I thought I might be crushed by it. A clap of thunder, closer than before, shattered the moment.

  Walter spoke up, his words angry and clipped. “Anyone can see that this is ridiculous! At least it seems as though the court should stop the sale of the house until there’s a hearing or something. And what about Lucy? Even if the house is sold, shouldn’t that money be hers?”

  Addie nodded. “I asked Victor that, I did. Told me he’d already had a hearing, that of course Miss Lucy’d receive the proceeds, but that he’d be the manager of the funds until she reached her eighteenth birthday. Said he and Margaret would be movin’ back to Ohio and that Lucy’d be put up at the school here permanently. And then he threatened t’ dismiss me on the spot fer puttin’ my nose where it didn’t belong.”

  Marni rubbed at her chin. “How can I help?” she asked, her eyes filled with a distant look, as if seeing something none of the rest of us could see.

  “Well, as I was sayin’,” Addie went on, “he said ’twas all done, there was nothin’ else t’ discuss. But I simply cannot abide by it. What in heaven’s name will stop ’im from goin’ off t’ Ohio, or t’ God knows where, with Miss Lucy’s money and then disappearin’ altogether, slippery as he is, and never showin’ her money or his weaselly face again? What’s t’ stop ’im, I ask ye? He has no concern fer the child, I can vouch fer that! And, if all of it weren’t bad enough, he claims t’ have a buyer fer the house!”

  It was almost too much for me to bear. I sank even deeper into the chair, into the embrace of its wide, soft arms.

  “It’s surprising that he was able to arrange it all so very quickly,” said Marni.

  Addie shook her head. “Well, ’tis not so surprisin’ once ye hear the rest of it—the worst of it, in fact,” said Addie. “The buyer of the house, ’tis none other than the fine judge himself—crooked as the Piscataqua River, I tell ye! And, if I overheard what I thought I did, he’ll be comin’ by this very evenin’ with the paperwork in hand. So, you see, if we’re t’ stop ’im, we must be goin’—it might already be too late!”

  Marni looked from one of us to the other, from Walter to Georgie, and then to Annie. “Walter,” she said, “will you stay here with Georgie and Annie?” He began to protest and she raised her hand, silencing him. She paused for a moment, that distant look in her eyes again. She stood like that—still and silent, her eyes remote, her gaze far away. We all stood quietly, afraid, I suppose, of intruding on whatever vision held those sea-green eyes of hers.

  “You’re right, Walter,” she said finally. “We will all go together. Quickly now, get whatever things you’ll need—your clothing, your books—Annie, take your doll, and your box of special things.”

  We all did exactly as we were told. I can tell you that my hands shook, and that I felt cold despite the heat, much like a person feels when in the grip of a fever. Even Walter’s face was white as snow. We knew, all of us, that something was about to happen. None of us dared to question what exactly it was. Instead we concentrated on gathering our things, stuffing them into bags and satchels. My spyglass I hung around my neck, my flute tucked in my pocket against my chest. No one mentioned the fact that we knew we would not be returning to the cottage, to this safe haven. No one spoke the words, but we knew—even Mr. Pugsley, who scurried around the rooms nose to floor, sniffing out a farewell memory.

  As I gathered my most precious possessions, I do remember feeling that, in spite of the troubles that seemed insurmountable, I was suddenly very much alive, fully present in the moment.

  We took less than we left behind, and as we followed Marni out the door, I paused, taking one last look at the sea stars on the windowsills, the glass orbs twinkling on the shelf.

  Marni turned. “Lucy,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “It’s time.”

  I shuddered then and, surrounded by everyone in the world that I loved (except, of course, my aunt Pru), I followed Marni out into the night.

  18

  The first thing I noticed as we made our way down to the shore road was the moon, huge and pale and white, hanging over the water just as it had the first night I’d laid eyes on her—on Marni, that is. The last time when it hung over the water, it had shone clear and cool as a pearl, but this time it hovered over the sea shrouded in mist that blurred its edges and encircled it like a pale, fuzzy halo. It lit a dim bluish path ahead of us down to the road.

  We walked swiftly and silently, like a small band of devoted warriors committed to our mission. It wasn’t long before the thunder rumbled closer and we were sprinkled by the first tentative drops of rain. When a bolt of lightning struck, sizzling and sharp, searing the sky and slicing the sea, we all jumped in unison like a trained formation of soldiers. Chins down, the rain at our backs, we quickened our steps, the impending storm lending an even greater urgency to our campaign.

  In minutes we reached Mr. Mathers’s. Marni rapped on the door, the sound lost in the clapping of thunder.

  “Marcus,” she called. “Marcus, come quickly!”

  There was a scuffling sound, a rattling of the lock before a rather rumpled Marcus Mathers opened the door.

  “Good Lord, Marni, what on earth …,” he mumbled as he ushered us in out of the rain.

  “It’s like I told you,” she answered, “although not quite the emergency I had expected. We need to get us all back to Lucy’s place, and a
s quickly as we can. Could we borrow the carriage—”

  “Don’t say another word,” he said, pulling on an old jacket that hung on a hook near the door. “Let’s get Gert harnessed up, and I’ll drive you over.”

  We ran out behind him, all the way to the barn. He lit a gas lamp, and the sleepy mare looked mournfully in our direction, sensing, I think, that her quiet evening tucked in the warm, dry barn was over.

  Walter helped harness her up, her tail flicking nervously with each clap of thunder.

  “All right,” said Mr. Mathers, “climb in.” He hustled us into the carriage—Marni, Annie on Addie’s lap, Georgie, and me—and took his place with Walter up front. He clicked his tongue, and we were off.

  By the time we were back on the shore road, the storm had grown dramatically worse. The rain beat down in sheets on the roof of the carriage, and the wind pummeled its sides. When lightning struck, it lit the inside of the carriage, making our faces ghostly and white, flash freezing our expressions for a moment. Annie whimpered and snuggled closer to me. Georgie perched on the edge of his seat, his white-knuckled fingers gripping the ledge, peering out the window. Addie and Marni sat silently, Marni deep in thought and Addie, it seemed to me, just plain exhausted.

  A sudden jolt tossed us against one another and sent Georgie sprawling onto the floor. Annie howled. We jerked to a stop, the impact toppling her beside her brother. Addie helped her up, as Georgie scrambled to the window. Mr. Pugsley began to growl. Marni absently patted his back to settle him down. Her eyes, though, were not on Annie, nor were they on the dog.

  “Stay here,” she said as she swung the door open and climbed out.

  The sounds of the storm poured in, bringing with it a rush of wind and rain, as well as the sound of angry voices.

  “Get out of the way! We’ll run you over if we have to!”

  It was Walter’s voice. I knew then, and so did Georgie. I could see it on his small, pinched face.

  “It’s him again,” Georgie said, his voice twisted. “It’s him.”

  Addie looked questioningly at him. “Who, darlin’? Who are ye so afraid of?”

  Annie continued to cry. “We shouldn’t have come out here. Now he’s gone and found us. Is he going to take us away?”

  “Who, child?” Addie asked, a hint of impatience mixing with her concern.

  “The Brute,” I whispered, more to myself than to anyone else. The sound of angry voices rose and fell with the howling of the wind and the rain. Thunder boomed. It was impossible to make out their words. My mind was reeling—had he grabbed Walter? Would he burst into the carriage at any moment and steal away Annie and Georgie as well? I looked desperately about for some way to defend my friends. But it was hopeless.

  “Lucy,” said Addie, “who is causing this delay? Why is everyone so terribly frightened?”

  “It’s their father,” I answered, panic creeping into my voice. “The Brute. The man Father saved.”

  Understanding flashed across Addie’s face, then fury.

  “Hasn’t he caused us all enough trouble?” Addie asked, her voice tight. “I’ll not have any more of it!”

  She pointed at Georgie and Annie. “The two of ye stay where ye are!” she ordered as she pushed her way out of the carriage. Mr. Pugsley and I scrambled out behind her.

  Lightning flashed every other second, illuminating the scene in a series of horrifying images: The Brute knocking old Mr. Mathers to the ground. Addie cradling Marcus’s head in her lap. Walter shoving his father off balance. The Brute lunging for him. Marni between Walter and the Brute. The Brute swinging wildly. Pugsley snapping at the Brute’s legs. The Brute kicking him hard.

  In the midst of this, Georgie and Annie screamed from the window for everyone to stop.

  It was Annie’s voice that captured the Brute’s attention, that briefly distracted him from pummeling everyone in reach.

  He stopped for a moment, his eyes wild.

  “Lucy, get back in the carriage,” Marni directed. I inched back, but just couldn’t bear to get inside. Not with Walter, Addie, and Marni facing him there. With Addie’s help, Mr. Mathers struggled to his feet.

  The Brute took a step closer to Marni. “You witch,” he snarled. “Give me back my young’uns! Walter! George! Annie! Come with me!”

  Marni held him there with her eyes, her chin lifted defiantly. “You’ll not have the children,” she said. “You cannot do them any good. They’re better off with me, and you know it.”

  His face twisted into a gruesome, contorted mask. A growl erupted from his lips.

  “They’re my offspring, and I have every right to have ’em!” He stepped back suddenly and swung around to face Walter. “Tell her!” he shouted. “Tell her you belong with me!” The begging sound that crept into his voice showed me he was not only afraid of Marni, but of his own children’s revulsion—afraid of the reflection of himself he saw in their eyes. Walter must have heard it as well and, gaining courage, stood his ground.

  Marni spoke up. “You’ll not have them,” she repeated. “Now, step aside and let us pass. Addie, help Marcus into the carriage.”

  She helped the old man, and Walter stepped around his father to the carriage, measuring the distance between them with his eyes. The Brute turned his attention to Annie, who was watching, whimpering, from the open window. “Stop that blubberin’,” he said, and raised the back of his hand toward her. She stopped immediately, her eyes wide with terror, her mouth trembling.

  “Don’t you ever raise a hand to her again!” Walter spat out the words and lunged at his father, though the Brute was twice his weight and a full head taller.

  In that moment I forgot about the house, the forged letter, my uncle’s betrayal. All that mattered was Walter.

  Mr. Pugsley, clearly still in pain and limping slightly, barked furiously at the two of them wrestling on the ground. I started toward them, thinking only of helping my friend. Addie grabbed hold of my arm and we had a struggle of our own, my eyes fixed on Walter and the Brute.

  For a moment Walter had the advantage, as, in his surprise, the Brute was momentarily stunned. Walter pinned him to the ground, but not for long. Another lightning flash! The Brute gathered his strength, threw Walter off, crawled to his knees, dragged Walter toward him. Walter struggled in vain against the Brute’s steely grasp.

  “Do something!” I screamed—to whom, I’m not sure. It seemed all was lost.

  We were so close to my home. So close. The sound of their fighting faded as Father’s ship’s bell clanged, louder and louder. This awakened the flute in my pocket, which began playing a shrill, crazed accompaniment to the scene. I looked up and could make out the turrets in the distance, which sizzled and sparked with each flash of lightning. “Please, please …,” I whispered, not even knowing exactly what I was asking for.

  A constellation of glitter gathered above the roofline of the house. I caught my breath. Held it. The cloud of energy swirled and then coursed across the stormy sky in time to the maniacal tune ripping from Father’s flute. In a flash the vapor wrapped itself around the Brute, feet first, snaking up his torso, and finally around his arms and hands.

  Paralyzed and shocked, his limbs went rigid and his mouth slack. His eyes, wild with fear, were the only part of him that moved, darting after the cloud of glitter as it encircled his body, rendering him as helpless as a fly encased in spider’s silk.

  “She’s doing this!” he screamed. “The witch! Don’t you see?”

  “Walter, come,” said Marni, her eyes never leaving the Brute. “Get back into the carriage.”

  Addie sprang into action, lifting Mr. Pugsley, who yelped at her touch. She pulled me, but I didn’t move, not until I saw Walter get to his feet. Then Addie and I clambered into the carriage. I swept Annie into my lap, settled Georgie and Mr. Pugsley at my feet, and Addie tended to Mr. Mathers, all of us soaked to the skin and shivering.

  The Brute lay there gaping at Marni climbing up to the buggy seat. Walter, incredulous,
stared down at his father once more.

  “Walter, come,” Marni yelled. “Don’t look back!”

  He climbed up onto the seat and took the reins. “Ya!” he yelled. There was a snap of leather against the mare’s hindquarter. With a jerk we were off, barreling down the road, the storm raging around us. The flute still vibrated in my pocket, like panting after great exertion.

  I leaned over and peered through the window. The mist had dissipated, and the Brute was struggling to his feet again, stumbling along behind the carriage, a fist raised in the air.

  He would never give up. Never. I only hoped that the rain might wash away the wheel tracks or that he’d drop from exhaustion before he reached the house. But something told me that wouldn’t happen. Two or three turns in the road were all that separated us from the house.

  We pressed on through the storm, hoping against hope that we’d get there in time to somehow stop the series of events that seemed to be hurtling from our grasp, out of control.

  19

  An ungodly sound rolled in off the water—a kind of hellish howl unlike anything I’d heard before.

  It was the sound of the wind—at least that’s the only explanation that made any sense whatever. It began as we rounded the final bend toward the house, first as a low rumble, then escalating into a thunderous roar much like the sound of a locomotive. Trees bent back in the face of it, at a most unnatural angle, as if cringing in alarm, or retreating in panic. The wind drove the rain in sharp, slanting sheets and whipped the sea into savage peaks of raging white foam.

  By the time Walter slowed the mare to a nervous halt, the sound had risen to a hollow, high-pitched shriek, as though the clouds had burst and the sky itself was screaming. The wind buffeted the carriage, which shook and shuddered against its fury.