Music in the Night

by V. C. Andrews

It's because we're a famous resort region in America,

  and it's time everyone accepted that. The only people

  who don't are those who've inherited so much money,

  they don't care about anyone else."

  "You ought to go work for the chamber of

  commerce or the tourist bureau," he quipped. "Maybe I will."

  "You would not." He thought a moment.

  "Would you?"

  "I don't intend to, but I wouldn't turn it down

  out of hand," I said. "It's all beside the point, Cary.

  You have to judge people for who they are and not for what their parents do or what their grandparents did.

  Don't be such a Cod-snob," I warned.

  He couldn't help but smile because that was a

  term he and I had invented when we were much

  younger. He looked away.

  "I just don't want anyone taking advantage of

  you, Laura. You're very trusting and innocent." "Oh, and you're a man of the world, Cary

  Logan? Since when?"

  "I know what boys are looking for these days,"

  he said sharply.

  "Robert's not like that."

  "How do you know?"

  "I think I would know better than you would,

  Cary, unless you were eavesdropping on every one of

  our conversations and spying on every one of our

  dates," I said. "Are you?"

  "No," he said.

  "So? Then tell me why you won't at least give

  Robert a chance. You'll be surprised at how much you

  two have in common, Cary. You both work for your

  parents. You may not respect what his parents do as

  much as you respect what Daddy does, but Robert is

  devoted to his father's business, just as you're devoted

  to Daddy's. Nothing's been handed to him on a silver platter, just as nothing's been handed to you. You both work hard for everything you have. You're both stronger and better people than the other boys in our

  school," I said.

  I saw from the twinkle in his eyes that he liked

  that very much.

  "Robert wants to be an architect someday. He's

  very interested in the work you do with boats, too.

  Few of your other so-called friends even care. None

  of them ever come to see your workshop."

  "I don't ask them to," he said.

  "But why don't you? Because you don't think

  they're sincere in their interest, that's why. Well,

  Robert is," I said. He smirked.

  "You've bought this guy, hook, line, and sinker,

  it seems."

  "Cary, can't you have enough faith in me to

  trust my judgment this one time? You used to respect

  the things I said and believed," I wailed.

  Tears flooded my eyes. When he looked at my

  face his face softened.

  "I'm not saying I don't believe in you, Laura." He looked at the ocean pensively and then

  turned back to me.

  "Okay, I'll give him a chance," he said. "If that's

  what you want."

  "I do."

  "Fine. Now I've got to get down to the dock. I

  promised I'd help Dad," he said.

  "You've got to start studying for exams, Cary,"

  I called as he started away.

  He just waved back at me without turning and

  continued to walk past the pink wild beach grass,

  strands of his hair lifting in the wind. I stood there

  watching him for a few moments and then made my

  way back to the house, feeling I had won some sort of

  victory, but not sure what it was.

  However, the following Monday at school,

  things were different. Cary was friendly to Robert, so

  friendly, in fact, that even I was taken by surprise. "Laura tells me about all the work you and your

  folks are doing on the Sea Marina. I'd like to check it

  out one of these days," Cary offered, glancing at me

  quickly after he had said it.

  "Great," Robert said. "I could sure use some

  advice about the dock. It has to be reinforced, only I'm

  not sure how to go about it."

  "Maybe Wednesday," Cary said, "after school."

  He turned to me. "We'll pick up May and take her

  along."

  "She'd love that," I said, bursting with so much

  happiness, I thought I might explode.

  "We'll have to tell Ma," Cary said. "Let's not

  mention it to Dad," he added in a lower voice. I

  nodded.

  Despite my father's need to have a market for

  his lobsters and his cranberries, he parroted Grandma

  Olivia's complaints about the tourist industry and the

  damage it had done and would continue to do to the

  Cape. I was grateful Cary hadn't brought it up in front

  of Robert, but I was always on pins and needles when

  talk turned to tourists and the effects they had on our

  town. It was a subject Cary and Robert would have to

  agree not to agree about.

  That afternoon, Cary joined Robert and me in

  the cafeteria for lunch. Robert asked him some

  questions about boats and Cary talked right through

  the warning bell. Every once in a while, Robert

  glanced at me, his eyes wide with surprise. I simply

  sat there, holding my breath, afraid that if I uttered a

  word or moved a muscle; I might break the magic

  spell.

  But it didn't break. On the way home from

  school that day, Cary offered that he might have been

  wrong about Robert.

  "Maybe it's because he's not from around here,"

  he said. "At least he doesn't follow Adam Jackson and

  that crowd. He asked me to give him some sailing

  lessons. Maybe this coming weekend," he thought

  aloud.

  I bit down on my lip and nodded. I felt like

  someone tiptoeing over a floor of fragile glass, afraid

  that if I stepped down a little too hard, it would all

  crack, shatter and break around me.

  "You can come along, too, if you want," he

  said. "That sounds like fun, Cary."

  "We'll wait and see how the weather is. As for

  it being fun, that will depend on how good a student

  he is."

  "Robert said he definitely could get away from

  his work at the hotel?" I asked.

  "Well, I promised I'd help him stain the inn's

  back deck on Thursday. I've got some time," Cary

  said.

  "You would?" I couldn't believe what I was

  hearing. "I mean, you do? I mean--"

  "It's no big deal, Laura. If he holds his own,

  we'll finish in an hour," Cary said, with more than a

  hint of challenge in his voice.

  On Wednesday, as Cary had promised, we picked up May and went to the Sea Marina. I introduced May to Robert's mother and taught her some sign language to use while Cary and Robert went out back with Robert's father to look at the dock. Whatever Cary recommended pleased and impressed Robert's father, who had only high praise for Cary afterward. We all enjoyed some cold lemonade on the front porch, while Cary and Robert's father continued

  their talk about the building repairs.

  May loved Robert's mother, who gave her an

  inexpensive watch, still in working order, she had

  found in a dresser drawer in one of the rooms when

  they had first taken over the property. It had Roman

  numerals and a pearl-like casing with a thin, leather

  strap. May was so exci
ted about it, she walked all the

  way home with her wrist raised so she could admire it

  better.

  "Daddy's going to ask her about that," Cary

  warned. "We can't tell May to lie."

  To both of us, May was so precious and special,

  the very thought of having her do something even

  slightly sinful was upsetting. No one was purer in

  spirit.

  "Let her tell the truth, Cary. We haven't done

  anything wrong. It's just being a good Christian to help other people. If Daddy says anything, we'll remind him of I Corinthians 13, 'And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth

  me nothing.' "

  Cary laughed.

  "Serves him right for having us read the Bible

  every night before dinner," he said.

  Daddy did ask about the watch, but he didn't

  understand May's answer and asked me. I told him the

  truth. He was quiet for a moment.

  "I don't like her taking things from strangers,

  Laura," he said.

  "Mrs. Royce isn't a stranger anymore, Daddy, at

  least to me," I added. He didn't look happy, but he let

  it go and May kept the watch.

  On Thursday, Cary went home with Robert and

  helped him stain the rear deck. I didn't go along, but I

  was so nervous about the two of them together

  without me around that I couldn't do anything but

  stare out the window and wait for Cary to come home.

  True to his word, he wasn't gone much more than an

  hour. I hurried downstairs to greet him at the door. "You finished it already?" I asked as he stepped

  up to our porch.

  "What's the big deal?" he said with a shrug.

  "Painting a hull, now that's a big deal."

  "Did Robert think it was as easy as you did?" I

  asked. I was really asking if they had gotten along. "He held his own," Cary replied. "I guess I'll

  spend a few hours teaching him something about

  sailing on Saturday," he added. "If you want to come

  along--"

  "Oh, Cary," I cried and embraced him. "Thank

  you." I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  He stood there, frozen for a moment. It was

  almost as if my kiss had burned him. We hadn't kissed

  each other for some time, both of us self-conscious

  about it. But I was like springwater gushing. I couldn't

  help it.

  "It's no big deal," Cary said almost angrily. "I'd

  do it for anyone," he said. "I have to wash up." He hurried past me and up the stairs.

  I knew I should be happy; I should feel very

  good about it all, but there was a cold chill in the air.

  It was as if Cary had left his shadow behind and that

  shadow lingered over me, blocking out the sun. The next day at school, Robert announced that

  his parents insisted he take off all of Saturday. "They said I haven't had a whole day off since

  we all arrived, and since we're ahead of schedule . . ." "That's wonderful. Why don't we have a picnic

  on the beach, Cary?" I suggested.

  "All right. Here's the plan. We'll do the sailing

  lessons late in the morning and then stop to picnic on

  the beach around Logan's Cove."

  "Logan's Cove? Where's that?" Robert asked.

  Cary and I exchanged smiles.

  "It's our secret place," I said. "Cary and I named

  it Logan's Cove because practically no one else goes

  there."

  "It's about a half mile north of the bog," Cary

  said. "We don't have to worry about tourists bothering

  us."

  "Oh," Robert said with a twinkle in his eye.

  "Sounds secluded. I can't wait."

  After our Bible reading at dinner that night,

  Daddy paused before cutting the bread and glanced at

  me.

  "I hear you hope to make your landlubber

  seaworthy," he said. I looked at Cary for a hint as to

  what Daddy was really thinking, but Cary's face was a

  closed book, unreadable.

  "We're going to give him a lesson with the

  Sunfish," I said.

  "We?" Cary asked with a smile. "I'm a good sailor, too, Cary Logan. You've said that yourself."

  "Yeah, I have, but you don't do it enough to be a good teacher," he explained. Daddy liked that and laughed. Then he grew serious.

  "If you take May along, I don't want her in the Sunfish while you're teaching him, Cary."

  "Of course not, Dad," Cary said.

  Even though the Sunfish was only big enough to seat two, May was so small, we usually took her with us when Cary and I went sailing. I had already promised her she would be part of our picnic.

  "May and I will sit on shore and watch them, Daddy. Don't worry."

  He grunted, which was as close to an approval as we would get.

  "The weather looks promising," Cary said. Daddy agreed and that was all that was said about it. I was too excited to keep it all bottled up. May sat in my room as I planned the picnic. My hands moved with my thoughts as I paraded back and forth, listing the things we would bring and the food I needed to prepare.

  "Maybe I should make shrimp salad. Cary loves my shrimp salad. We could barbecue though, couldn't we? Should we do hamburgers or grill some lobster? We'll need salads and oh, I should make my lemon cake, don't you think? Robert is going to be so surprised when he learns what a good cook I am. What?" I asked May when she started to sign. "Oh, games. Yes, we'll bring something for you and I to do while they're out in the Sunfish. No, I'd be too embarrassed to let him see my drawings, May. We'll bring Chinese checkers, okay? And Cary's Frisbee. I'm worried about what I should make talk to Mommy about it tomorrow. No, let's go talk to her now," I said and reached down for May's little hand. She flew up to her feet and followed behind me as I went downstairs to talk with Mommy.

  On Saturday morning as Mommy and I packed the picnic basket, Cary grumbled at us from the breakfast table.

  "I don't know why we're not just having sandwiches and cranberry juice like we usually do," he said. "This isn't exactly the Blessing of the Fleet," he added with a laugh. He was referring to an annual event on the Cape when boats were decorated with pennants and priests lead a procession from the church. Everyone dressed up and there was very elaborate food and drink,

  "Just like a man," Mommy said, "complaining and mocking until he sinks his teeth in and then he quiets down like a church mouse at sermon."

  I laughed and Cary turned crimson.

  A little over an hour later, Robert arrived. He was dressed in a pair of new sneakers, khaki pants, and a crisp white shirt. His preppy sailor outfit was topped off by a jaunty sailor cap. Cary, who wore a pair of torn shorts, and was barefoot and shirtless, laughed.

  "What do you think we're sailing, a yacht?" he joked. "No, but I thought I'd get into the swing of things," Robert replied, undaunted by Cary's ridicule.

  "And you look very nice, Robert," I said. I was wearing a pink sundress over my bathing suit and thought that Robert and I looked like the perfect couple.

  "Sailing's work," Cary followed sternly. "You're going to mess up that pretty-boy outfit."

  "That's all right," Robert said. "It's not like I have many chances to wear these clothes. Hey, what's all that?" he asked, nodding at the big picnic basket.

  "She made-a feast," Cary said.

  "Gee, Laura, you didn't have to go all out like that, but thanks!" Robert said.

  "Let's get started. We're missing some good wind," Cary said gruffly, obviously eager to change the subject. May carried our towels and Robert offered to carry the blanket.

  The
weather was with us: A gentle breeze barely nudged the foamy white clouds along the azure sky. South of us, the sea was already peppered with sailboats.

  "Looks like a perfect day for sailing," Robert commented as we trekked over the sand toward our dock.

  "Oh, and you know what a perfect day for sailing is?" Cary shot back over his shoulder.

  "Me? I know as much about sailing as I do about . . . nuclear physics," Robert replied. "I don't even understand how you get the boat to move."

  "The wind gets the boat to move," Cary said. I could tell his mood was already softening and I smiled to myself. Cary was in his glory, talking about the things he loved the most: sailing and boats. "You set the sail at a ninety-degree angle to the longitudinal axis of the boat, keeping the power of the wind on the sail's back surface. That's called running before the wind. In sailing off the wind, the sails are set at a forty-five-degree angle from the axis of the craft. This way, the wind exerts a pulling rather than pushing action, understand?"

  "I will when I see it, I guess," Robert said, smiling at me. Cary glanced back.

  "This won't work if you don't pay attention and concentrate," he said stiffly.

  "I will," Robert promised. "Sorry."

  "The wind flows at a great rate of speed along the forward surface of the sail, creating an area of lower pressure ahead of the sail. Understand?"

  "Yes. I mean, aye, aye."

  Cary shook his head.

  "I must be crazy."

  "He's paying attention, Cary," I insisted.

  "We'll see."

  "I just don't understand why the wind doesn't turn the boat over if the sail is at a forty-five-degree angle," Robert said. Cary stopped walking and turned.

  "It would if the hull were perfectly flat. Every sailboat has a fixed keel that acts as a flat longitudinal plane to prevent the boat from moving sideways," Cary explained, illustrating with his hands.

  "Oh. But if we're moving with a forty-fivedegree angle, how do you get the boat to go in the direction you want it to go?" Robert asked Cary's eyes filled with that glint of pleasure he always had when talking boats. I was glad Robert was asking questions.

  "By sailing on the wind, a sailboat makes a course about forty-five degrees away from the wind direction. First you go to the left and then you go to the right, zigzagging. It's called tacking. You should know the terms so you'll know what I mean when I show you and tell you to do something. Corning about means shifting from one tack to the other. We'll do it with the rudder, pointing the bow up into the wind and then away from the wind on the opposite tack, or steering away from the direction of the wind until the sails fill from the other side."