Bellevere House (Vintage Jane Austen)

by Sarah Scheele

  Or at least—those had been her feelings up until this morning. Now she felt self-conscious and not sure what to do with herself. As they traipsed through the isolated end of the beach, she caught a glimpse of a young man and woman. The young man had been swimming and his hair was damp like the lifeguard’s. The girl wore a yellow beach dress over her bathing suit and giggled as he whispered something in her ear and then kissed her. Faye was happy for them, but looked away. Love is a wondrous miracle. But . . . I don’t know that I’m able to accept it. I’m too practical, too logical. I don’t think that girl is cursed with my logical mind.

  She adjusted the buckle of her blue beach dress. Ahead of her, Ed and Helene had stopped at a little pier and were getting into a rickety little boat. As Faye came up, Helene slipped.

  “Ah, yikes!” she exclaimed in a semi-scream, semi-laugh. She reached out a hand to Faye. “No, no, no, Ed, get in—get in! The boat’s drifting away and splitting me in two! Oh my word . . . help!”

  It was true! Helene didn’t seem in pain, but the situation was dire. Ed had tried to pull her back onto the pier, leaving the boat to drift. Commandeered by no one, the craft had taken a mind of its own and was drifting away. Helene had one foot in it and one on the shore. As Faye watched, aghast, Helene slowly sank into a sort of split position like a dancer, poised helplessly over the water.

  “Faye, grab her other hand!” Ed ordered.

  Tossing aside her bag with all haste, Faye sprang to do so. How absolutely terrible! Poor Helene. The sun burned over them, and she could feel it tanning her neck as she skidded towards the crystal blue inlet where Ed and Helene stood.

  “Ah, oh my goodness this is awkward!” Helene cried, still laughing valiantly though she must be acutely uncomfortable. “I guess all of us were too lightheaded to make a good plan, you think?”

  Faye started, blood tingling through her core, as Ed’s fingers closed over hers. His eyes hadn’t seemed so deep ever before—so deep and filled with emotions, strong feelings she’d like to explore. They’d always seemed charming eyes, but shallow, as shallow as the proverbial kiddie pool. How had . . . how had he acquired new eyes? Eyes in a rugged face that begged to be softened by sitting together and speaking of little things in tender voices . . .

  “Faye,” his voice barked harshly. “Faye?”

  She blinked. He had wanted her to help him tug at Helene so together they could pull her back onto land. That was why he had taken her hand. Of course. How silly of me! “Right, right, sure,” she stammered.

  She seized Helene’s damp, slender white hand while Helene yelped. The combined leverage of her and Ed would have succeeded in pulling Helene in to safety on the pier, had not Faye unluckily encountered a small crab. The crab sidled up unnoticed towards Faye’s foot, and bit her with its pincers. She immediately screamed and let go of Helene. With a cry Helene fell, splashing, into the water as a small aquamarine tidal wave sloshed over Ed. He instantly dove into the water after her while Faye ran around batting at that crab with her hat and trying to shake it off her foot. When she finally got it thrown into the bushes, she turned to find Ed crawling out of the water, hauling Helene after him. Both were gasping with what seemed to be mild amusement as they sloshed onto the land. Water streamed from their noses, and Helene’s limp headband was plastered to her head.

  Faye ran up to them. “Oh, I’m so sorry! There was this crab . . .”

  Her voice trailed away as she saw Ed and Helene still locked for a brief moment in each other’s arms. Faye struggled not to notice Helene’s body now completely outlined through the soaking wet, transparent remains of her beach dress. She wondered if Ed was conscious of it too. How could he not be? She rubbed her arms together and felt suddenly very lonely. Her mind went back to the young man and woman on the beach. Maybe it was partly her own fault she never got in this kind of situation herself. Curse my logical mind. Curse it.

  A split second later they were out of the water and laughing as if nothing had happened. Faye wondered at them. They came up, wrapped in towels that Helene had dug out of her bag. “Oh, it was fun, I guess. It’s the unpredictable things that really make a vacation,” Helene said. “Faye, I think you said there were some oranges?”

  Faye had forgotten! Yes, she had taken a few extra oranges from a bucket Mr. Rivers had graciously said was ‘available.’ She dug them out of her bag, and the trio immediately began munching. Then they got back into the boat—properly this time—and spent an hour or so drifting through the marshy back of the property, spotting birds and joking about alligators.

  Chapter 8

  When the sun started to send long, golden yellow streaks across the beach, the trio headed back inside. The house seemed temporarily deserted. Only a few people remained here and there by the pool, among them Aunt Cora standing on a short ladder. She was almost hidden in a mass of palm tree, positioning something while Mrs. Rivers, below her, gave instructions and tapped her cane. Where did everyone go?

  “Don’t worry, they’ll be back,” said Ed, as if in answer to her thoughts. “Most of them went into town to recruit more people for the party.”

  Aunt Cora waved a hand indignantly. “Faye! Get over here and help me with this thing before I break my back!”

  Faye immediately scuttled to take her aunt’s place on the ladder. Aunt Cora had been hanging festoons. As Faye struggled with the unwieldy strings of ribbons and beads, Mrs. Rivers told the party plans to Ed and Helene, who listened with every appearance of interest. There would be hot-dog and soda vendors, refreshments as a sort of picnic on the grounds extending down to the beach, and even fireworks! Faye was sure it sounded wonderful. She spat artificial flowers and dust out of her mouth while Aunt Cora impatiently rattled the ladder and shouted instructions, almost capsizing Faye every second.

  “Why . . . Grover, isn’t it?” Faye thought she heard Helene exclaim. “Goodness. Weren’t you in New York?”

  At that, Faye lost her virtually nonexistent balance and tipped off the stepladder, letting the festoons rip off the trees under their own weight. She landed hard on the patio, just barely avoiding an undignified dive into the nearby pool. A wreath of flowers landed on her head, and petals shot up around her as if a lawnmower had just passed through.

  “Oh, honey, are you all right? Look what you’ve done, now just look at it,” Mrs. Rivers clucked, trying to pick her up.

  Faye rubbed her head, groaning. Yes, that’s Grover all right. How in heaven’s name does he travel around so fast?

  “Grover, you’re here,” she announced, with a lame, cheery smile.

  Grover seemed a little self-conscious. “Yes, I happen to be here. What’s wrong with that? I was in Tallahassee yesterday with a friend, and I thought I’d drop in on you.” He put his chin in the air. “I’m beginning to feel I’m not welcome.”

  Helene slapped his shoulder. “Oh, don’t be silly. We’re overpowered with delight, of course. It’s just a little amazing that you always appear to be in New York when you aren’t. I’m starting to suspect you’ve never been there at all, Mr. Haverton!”

  Grover was immediately at ease. He was sure Helene had complimented him. Everyone was sure of this. Grover had brought a friend with him, it seemed, a young man he’d met in New York at a boxing match on which both had bet a lot of money. Grover was always betting on something or other. Uncle Warren had had frequent fights with him about the gambling, but with no result. Grover had quite the male ego, and he’d rather get pummeled than admit he was a bad gambler.

  This friend, Artie Cannes, was now introduced to Ed, Helene, and Mrs. Rivers. Faye climbed back on the ladder and hung the festoons and lanterns back up under her aunt’s direction. While working, she caught glimpses of the newcomer, who was chatting with the others below. All Grover’s friends were like him, completely fun and unpretentious people who liked a good time and had friendly things to say to everybody. Artie was too. Not the most handsome perhaps—he was a bit below average height, with hair parted in the
middle and slicked back with grease. He looked like an egghead—well, technically not an egghead, Faye reminded herself, since actual egg had gone obsolete for the head and the word now meant someone bald. However, Artie did give a residual impression of Humpty Dumpty throughout his demeanor. His jacket was a chic pink and green plaid, and he wore green suspenders and quite long slacks. This interesting young man was very personable, but seemed on edge and looked at both Ed and Helene as if he was not listening to what they said.

  Faye looked over her shoulder. “Hello there, Mr. Cannes. We’re going to have a party, to which I’m sure you’re invited too. Just getting everything ready now . . .”

  “Yes, get everything done in here first. Looks messy. An embarrassment!” Artie interrupted.

  All right then. Since we already know each other so well. Grover was a bit of a whippersnapper to be around, though mostly he didn’t get too overboard with the wit. But his dates had often ended with screaming dolls with platinum hair and nifty black heels pouring water over his face and marching out of restaurants with their quivering chins held high. Grover always related these events to his siblings with an irritated, semi-pleased shrug, whiffing cigarette smoke. So it was no surprise he collected whippersnapper friends as well. From his confident ways, she could see any number of girls would fall for this Artie Cannes—probably already had. Is that a smell of . . . peanuts?

  It was Artie. He took some out of his pocket and munched them. “Can’t you do it any faster? We’re on a schedule here,” he remarked, waving a hand in her direction.

  He eyed the entire pool area, festoons and all, with a critical eye, although the only thing truly visible to him appeared to be his presence in the room. Faye hummed a tune as she suspended a wobbly, bulbous lantern above some chairs. This place almost feels like home by now. I love it so much. This fertile community of bright citrus and glamorous promise. But a dim certainty began to cloud her thoughts. A surety that something was not right. A deep, swelling clutch of fear like a dark hand on her throat. And as she reached automatically for her handbag, she knew what the terrible thing was. The worst thing possibly envisioned by a female mind.

  “My purse!” she shrieked. “My purse isn’t here! Oh my goodness, I left my purse!”

  But where did I leave it? Think, Faye, think. This is life or death. She snapped her fingers. That distant gazebo. We paused there while we were boating. I remember wondering why a gazebo was built in such a wild area, and Ed said it was probably for Fredric March to hide in when he was pursued by women like me and Helene. I walloped Ed with my purse, and he ran away. I must have thrown it aside when I chased him.

  Ignoring the worried stares of the others, Faye leaped down from positioning the lanterns and flew away through the now-familiar house. Like most women, her wallet, her lipstick, and half a store of her identity were in that little red handbag. It matched a red-and-white party dress. As soon as she’d heard about the party this evening, she’d been glad she packed that dress and planned to change into it later. But what if the handbag was not with it? The thought was unbearable. PURSE. PURSE. PURSE.

  The beach was more crowded than before, but by the time she reached the inlet where Helene had fallen in, the crowd had died away altogether, and she was again alone. Panting, she realized that she might be too late. A bored-looking worker was pulling a chain across the path, blocking off the wild area behind. Of course! To keep people from straying in here after dark. There’s a lot of marsh in there—they could get drowned. In a way this was actually good news. With no one else coming along, it was unlikely her purse would be snatched up before she could get to it. After the man had marched back towards the beach, she leaped out of the bushes, lifted the chain, and slipped into the little boat. In a minute she had rowed into the wetlands beyond.

  Goodness, it’s so quiet. It looks . . . frightening. This was only the beginning fringe of a large area of uncultivated wetland, home to numberless birds and amphibians, as well as meaner creatures like alligators. It had seemed harmless enough to go here with two other people during the day. A fun lark. She hadn’t realized how much she’d owed to Ed’s being there with her. Now at dusk, as the boat rowed deeper into the rippling, still water under her inexperienced guidance, it felt very different. Her heart clutched into her throat as a rolling bob hit the boat. Something dark and heavy was slipping past through the water. Gritting her teeth, Faye tried to row as imperceptibly as possible. A minute later, the dark shape rolled over. She poured out her breath, gasping. It’s nothing but a log.

  The water went around a bend and widened. The sky was now almost completely dark, and Faye saw before her the last dying purplish hues settling over a much bigger stretch of water that flowed sluggishly around steep curves filled with stands of trees. An occasional island popped up here and there, looming like the head of some behemoth in the deep. The trees grew and trailed in such abundance that they easily concealed what was just around the corner or a few feet away and gave the impression of a silent, lurking jungle rather than a simple stand of wetlands a mere two miles from a populated beach. Faye let the boat glide along as her eyes turned to the canopy of greenery overhead. The air was completely silent, almost oppressively so. She could almost imagine it was some scene out of The Jungle Book, with the great tiger himself lurking somewhere in the trees, preparing to spring on her. I don’t remember all these trees here. Is this the same place? I’d better—not get lost.

  Truthfully, she hadn’t paid much attention to the surroundings when she was here before. She and Helene had been laughing so hard about something, she couldn’t remember what now. But she had a faint idea there had been some trees. Now, alone, was hard to believe civilization was close by. This place looked suddenly . . . secretive. Was that the word she was looking for? She wasn’t sure. Then she passed a small, empty gazebo that was collapsing into disrepair, slowly eaten by the nature around it. Yes, this was the right place. She remembered seeing that.

  The larger gazebo she’d visited with Ed and Helene must be around this coming curve. Somehow she felt a wild inability to pull the oars forward. It felt like a point of no return, a place that would swallow her up into the wetland forever if she proceeded. But she didn’t have a choice. I’ll never lose my purse again. I can promise that.

  Forcing the boat to a stop, she crawled out and walked along the squelchy ground. The edge of the gazebo loomed in sight. She could now recall Ed’s voice, hear him theorizing that these gazebos had been built in the previous century and abandoned when this place was designated for wildlife. That was before he teased her and she hit him with the purse. Aha! Squealing with delight, she saw it tossed aside among the trees. Her fingers fumbled eagerly to open it. It was hard to discern in the dark, but everything seemed intact. Grimacing, she rubbed off the beautiful red leather. The red was so expressive and individual. She hadn’t thought she’d like having a red purse, but now she was glad because it was much easier to find than something more utilitarian like brown or black. But as she turned to go back the way she had come, she froze.

  What was it doing next to the road? I left it in the gazebo, I’m sure. And Ed or Helene would have picked it up, not kicked it aside. Her eyes widened. Someone else must have come here afterwards.

  Voices were coming out of the gazebo up ahead. Mumbling, recognizable voices. Faye knew she shouldn’t listen, but her legs had locked onto the ground. She couldn’t seem to move.

  Myrtle’s voice gurgled out of the concealing stand of marsh trees next to Faye. “Come on! Just one kiss.”

  Tiptoeing ahead, Faye could see a white bit of gazebo through the bending trees. Myrtle sat with Horace, her arms around his neck. Her face was rapt, as if under some intoxication.

  Horace stroked Myrtle’s hair. “I don’t know. A thought crosses my mind now and then when I look at you.”

  Myrtle squeezed her head against his heart so hard Faye was surprised he could still breathe. “Yes, dear? Who do you think of?”

  “Mr. R
ivers,” he said after a minute, grinning down at her and bopping her nose.

  Myrtle gave an outraged cry and pushed herself away. He fell back into the gazebo wall, laughing. “Wretch! How can you? I’ve told you how I feel about him. I have to be honest about it. I hate him! Hate him! He’s just not right for me. You are. You are everything. I’m crazy about you. Just crazy.” She closed her eyes, in the gushing style of recent movie actresses. “I’m nothing without you. Be the Rhett to my Scarlett.”

  Horace laughed. “Well, I will admit that much as I cherish Bill’s intellect, I couldn’t bear to see a woman like you unappreciated.” He slid a finger down her cheek. “I suppose I’ll always feel a little regret that you won’t get what you really need from him.”

  Myrtle seemed to be fainting over the beautiful mellowness of being told, at close range, that her fiancé had the romantic value of an old sock. “Bill’s a good person, I suppose. He really is. But he’s so boring . . . ,” she trailed off, pouting.

  Horace shrugged. “Oh, of course. But this isn’t a romantic setting—or setup, come to think of it. Sneaking around behind Bill’s back isn’t a dream date, surely. Don’t you think you deserve something moonlit and peaceful and . . . you know . . . Paris?”