by Peg Herring
As the attendees headed to their cars for the trip to the cemetery, Seamus looked for an opportunity to jump to Bud. To his frustration, Scarlet and Brodie remained apart from everyone else, apparently due to a promise Scarlet had made earlier. They rode to the graveyard together in Scarlet’s sporty little Chevy.
“Do you think he’ll let you keep the car?” Brodie asked when they were shut inside, waiting for the procession to line up. She was different when she and Scarlet were alone, almost like a normal young person. Not that Seamus knew many young people.
“I think Mr. Dunbar left it to me.” Scarlet started the engine and the AC went to work, providing a blast of cool air.
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to lose your wheels.” Brodie watched the funeral home attendants putting little flags on the cars. “Scarlet, do you like Bud?”
Seamus sensed confusion in Scarlet’s mind: embarrassment mixed with something else. He didn’t quite grasp it, but it made him uncomfortable. It was like a door had opened as he walked by a hotel room, revealing a passionate tableau he was not intended to see.
“I don’t know him very well.”
“Me neither. He’s always pretty much ignored me.”
“Bud was always good to your grandfather.” Scarlet checked the rear view mirror for pedestrians and then pulled away from the curb to join the stately parade.
As they followed the lead car Brodie asked, “So you don’t think Bud killed Gramps?”
“Brodie! How can you say that?”
“I heard the cops talking about it. One of them thinks Bud pushed Gramps so he could do what he wants to with the company.”
“You know Bud would never hurt your grandfather.” Scarlet downshifted as the procession began its slow passage through town. “He couldn’t hurt anyone.”
Brodie thought about that. “I saw him get mad once. He was pretty scary then.”
“Really? What made him so angry?”
Brodie lifted her headband slightly to ease the pressure. “When he was in high school, Bud was all about girls. He had this girlfriend, Candy.”
“Candy?”
Brodie rolled her eyes. “I know. Couldn’t you gag? Anyway, him and Candy—”
“Candy and he.”
“Right. Candy and he were gonna go somewhere one night. I heard him say it was a castle.”
Scarlet smiled. “A magic word.”
“Yeah. I was a kid then, maybe eight. Anyway, I wanted to go and see the castle too, so I got into the back seat of his car and scrunched down. I covered myself with an old blanket he kept back there, and he didn’t see me. He picked this Candy up, and we drove for a long time. I could hear them talking, but it was really dumb stuff like what band is the best and which teacher should be fired.
“It was hot back there, and I finally fell asleep. When I woke up, we were going through a town. I said something like, ‘Can we stop at that McDonalds before we go to the castle?’” Brodie chewed on her lower lip. “Bud went ballistic.”
“I can imagine.” Scarlet was having a hard time keeping a serious expression as she pictured Bud finding his adopted sibling stowed away on his big date.
“It was some concert they held at this place called The Castle, but they couldn’t go ’cause they couldn’t leave me by myself. They had to turn around and drive all the way home.”
“And Bud was angry.”
“Yeah. Really.”
“But he didn’t push you off a cliff.”
“I think he wanted to.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. But he kinda was mad at me ever since.”
Scarlet braked for the turn into the cemetery. “Can you see why he was angry? It was probably going to be a really special evening for him, and you ruined it.”
Brodie smiled grimly. “That’s what I do. Ruin things.”
Seamus heard fragmented thoughts in Scarlet’s mind: consideration of where she should park, along the road or on the grass. Brodie’s natural tendency to think the worst of herself, which worried her. The question of whether the grass was still damp from the morning’s rain. And an odd little bump of jealousy for Bud’s long-ago girlfriend named Candy.
THROUGH SOME HORRIBLE QUIRK OF FATE, Brodie ended up seated next to Arlis at the graveside ceremony. One minute she was waiting for Scarlet, and the next, an attendant from the mortuary was ushering her to a chair beside the grave. There were only three: one for her, one for Arlis, and one for Bud. Everyone else stood around the gaping hole, trying not to look at the casket positioned over it.
Collin Marks stood across from her, and he smoothed his trim mustache with a familiar gesture. Collin had been around most of her life, but Brodie knew little about the man. He was the perfect lawyer, Gramps said, lacking strong opinions and wanting only to serve his clients’ interests.
Next to Collin stood Arnold, trying to appear sad but looking more bored than anything else. Arnold had weaseled a spot in Gramps’ car, probably at Arlis’ invitation. Bud had looked at Brodie as if to ask if she wanted to ride with them, but she’d stuck with Scarlet. Arnold saw her looking at him now and gave her what was supposed to be a brave smile. In deference to the occasion, Brodie did not put out her tongue at him, but she did not acknowledge their solidarity, either.
When all was ready, the mortician signaled a worker who pressed a switch that activated an almost silent device that lowered the casket. Arlis grabbed Brodie’s hand, digging her nails into the skin until it hurt. Arlis’ other hand went to her mouth, and she pressed it against her lips dramatically. Like a soap opera actress, Brodie thought.
Then her own distress rose inside her like a bubble in her chest. That was Gramps in the box. He was dead. He wasn’t coming back, ever. The pain of Arlis’ deep-red nails biting into her hand was almost welcome, almost enough to keep her from feeling the finality of the scene before her.
Now she felt like crying, but now was the one time she would not. People would see. They would know what she was feeling. And Brodie never wanted others to know what she felt.
SCARLET STOOD BACK, feeling that her place was not with the family. Still, Seamus concluded that Scarlet had liked old Mr. Dunbar. Her eyes lingered on the younger Dunbar, but with a force of will she lowered them, concentrating on the minister’s voice. So Millie had one thing right, Seamus thought. The little tutor has designs on the new boss.
But maybe not. Scarlet worked hard not to think about Bud Dunbar, and the thoughts Seamus discerned were firm denials of any feelings for him. The more he put bits and pieces together, the clearer it became. Scarlet did not have plans for Bud’s future. The two had a past, which she was determined to bury, in a symbolic grave as deep as the real one before them waiting to be covered over.
Why? he wondered, but Scarlet concentrated on the scriptures being read. Seamus caught only a snippet of judgment on Bud Dunbar’s character: Snake.
AS SOON AS SHE COULD, Brodie escaped the guests who came for the funeral dinner. She forced herself to circulate once, putting up with fatuous condolences and even a few pats, although most people were leery of her and kept their hands to themselves. She tried to act in a way Gramps would appreciate and even managed to smile at Mr. Zimmerman, whom she disliked intensely. “Z” was an old business acquaintance of Gramps’ who sometimes visited for a weekend. Once, when Gramps was not around and Brodie was too little to stop him, he’d grabbed her and given her a “whisker rub,” scratching his stubbly face across her soft one in what he thought was a huge joke. She had repaid him by topping off the gas tank of his car with water from the garden hose.
Having paid respect to Gramps by tolerating his friends as long as she could, Brodie slipped upstairs, changed into shorts, a T-shirt, and her beloved flip-flops. As she came downstairs, Arnold was passing. “You were really good today, Brodie. Your grandfather would have been proud of you.”
What Gramps would really have been proud of was the fact that she bit back the acidic reply that came to mind. Instead she sa
id, “Thanks, Arnold.” Then she left by the back door, avoiding Shelley’s eagle eye, and headed for the spot where she would really say goodbye.
Everything was a little damp from the rain, but Brodie liked that. She liked the smell of the earth and the extra-green color of the washed leaves. As she made her way to the viewing point, some of what the minister had said played back in her mind. Death was part of life. Those who died were gone, but those left behind still had what the dead had given them: love, joy, understanding. Gramps did not want those he loved to grieve forever. It was okay to enjoy the sunshine, okay to laugh.
Gramps had given her a life much different from the one she would have had. If not for him, she might not have ever known life had a good side. Though she tried to forget, scenes of horror played in her dreams, even in waking hours if she dropped her guard. The woman who seemed to hate her brought home a succession of men who either ignored Brodie or swatted her out of their way. She recalled hunger, a tattered blanket she wrapped up in at night, and a lumpy couch that smelled bad and made her sneeze. It all seemed unreal now, as if it had happened to someone else, but at times the mists parted and Jeannie’s voice would come to her, telling her she had ruined everything.
Stupid! Ugly! Weird!
Scarlet said that the brain cannot recreate feelings of the past, which was usually a good thing. “Who could carry on if the emotions of each hurt remained as clear afterward as when they happened?” she asked, and Brodie had to agree that it would be impossible.
Gramps had rescued Brodie. It was hard to forget Jeannie and her constant abuse, but affection, security, and time had helped. Brodie wondered if this new tragedy would break her, erase all the progress she had made in the last ten years. She hoped that Scarlet was right, that her brain would learn to forget, and she would not have to live with this crushing grief forever.
A memory arose of the first time she had ever seen Gramps. He had knocked at the door of their apartment. She never knew how he had found them, how he knew of her existence and the life she endured. But when he saw Brodie, wrapped in her filthy quilt, he had acted swiftly. Before Jeannie could react, William swept the child up in his arms, announcing that he intended to take her home with him.
Brodie didn’t remember exactly what was said. Jeannie—she had never been taught to call her Mother—screamed obscenities, which was nothing new. What was new were the strong arms that enfolded her, the soothing voice that told her it was going to be all right. She reacted in the only way she knew to this strange man’s attention—she bit him.
Instead of swearing, Gramps soothed her, petting her matted hair and speaking softly. She didn’t remember the words, only a feeling she had never experienced before, the feeling that someone actually cared what happened to her.
It scared her to death. And it had continued to be scary for years, though she had gotten used to most of it. She believed Gramps loved her, despite her oddness. She had even come to understand that there were people in the world who were all right, who could be trusted. But it had not been easy.
From determined spying efforts, Brodie learned later that for the first few months Gramps fought a multi-faceted war. Jeannie, sensing that he would do anything to keep the child she never wanted, threw all her resources—not much intelligence but lots of craft—into getting every cent she could from the wealthy William C. Dunbar. Shelley and Briggs often discussed Jeannie, their voices disapproving years later as they rehashed what the mother had done—and not done—to her own child. Gramps dealt with Brodie’s mom brusquely but fairly, and in the end, Jeannie relinquished custody of her daughter for a sum of money she had, in Shelley’s opinion, never imagined he would agree to.
There had been problems at home too. Arlis wanted proof Brodie was related to the Dunbars. She objected strongly to Will’s taking in a “damaged child” without DNA testing. It was true that Brodie did not look like the Dunbars, who were attractive people with light hair and normal-shaped eyes. Brodie had dark, round eyes and wiry black hair. It must have been hard for Gramps to argue that she belonged. He refused to discuss Arlis’ objections, however, insisting that he felt a bond and did not need DNA to prove it. Shelley approved of his stance, and Briggs approved of whatever Shelley approved.
Now that Gramps was gone and she had to face life without him, Brodie admitted she was the biggest problem William Dunbar ever faced. Like a wild thing, she had at first refused any sort of affection, instruction, or civilization. Until she was almost ten, it took two people to make her presentable: one to hold her, one to de-snarl the mass of curls. If Gramps was at home, he would be the holder and Brodie would allow the current caregiver to perform the torturous process. A succession of women came and went, and some made it through a year before her tantrums, language, and stubbornness drove them off.
She had eventually succumbed to most of society’s demands. She slept in a bed. She learned to use a knife, fork, and spoon, although she still preferred hand-held foods. This brought on some bargaining. Brodie found cooking interesting and would sit happily on a stool in the kitchen and watch Shelley prepare meals. Shelley gave her small tasks to do, like cleaning carrots or stirring cookie dough. When Scarlet came, she suggested that Brodie be allowed to participate fully in meal planning and preparation if she ate the resulting meal with the family. As a result, Brodie became a semi-regular presence at dinner. Gramps always declared her contributions outstanding. The others seemed to enjoy her cooking too, even Arnold, who had cause to doubt her good intentions.
Overall, the verdict on Brodie was mixed. Gramps loved her in spite of her oddness. Shelley seemed to enjoy her company and her willing hands. Briggs liked to talk, and since Brodie was mostly silent, he let her tag along while he talked about anything that came to mind, from his tour in the ’Nam to the aphids that eat the vegetables if a guy isn’t watchful.
On the other side, there was Arlis. Although she claimed to have grown fond of Brodie, it was a pitying sort of affection the girl had no use for. Early on, she pegged Arlis as a fraud whose every action was for her own benefit. Gramps loved Brodie, so Arlis claimed to.
Brodie the Spy had more than once heard Shelley tell the story of her first few weeks at the house. “When she saw Mr. Dunbar couldn’t be talked out of adopting Brodie, Arlis declared she would transform that child into an acceptable member of the family,” Shelley would say. “But her idea of helping was the wicked stepmother type, all smiles when others was around and all snotty and disgusted when nobody was. That little girl knew Arlis didn’t like her, and boy, did she react.”
Brodie had been so awful that Arlis gave up after only a week. After that, she allowed hired caregivers full sway, warning each new one that it was impossible to deal with that “recalcitrant child.”
Then Scarlet came. “No bigger than a minute,” Gramps said of her. He’d feared she might be too petite to handle Brodie, who, although not large, was capable of vigorous resistance and had proven it with former employees.
“I won’t need to subdue her, sir,” Scarlet had told him. “Brodie will want to do as I say.”
Gramps always chuckled when he got to that part of the story. “That I had to see.”
A rustling startled Brodie from her reverie, and she jumped to her feet. Too late. A man emerged from the woods, holding a small device that might have been an MP3. He looked as surprised at their meeting as she was. As she considered retreat, he stopped some distance away, raising his hands in apology and assurance.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” When Brodie made no reply, he added, “I’m watching birds.”
She nodded, wondering whether she should tell him he was on private property. Gramps wouldn’t have, so she decided not to.
He held up the device. “I record their songs with this. They’re all different, you know.”
Of course she knew. She had an excellent teacher, and they spent a lot of time on natural science, since they both were interested in it.
The man peered
at her as if she were a species of finch he had never encountered before. “Are you, um, are you a local girl?”
Brodie tried her voice, trying to make it neutral but firm. “Yes.”
“Do you know Mr. Dunbar, then?”
“He died.” Too late, she realized he might have meant Bud, being about his age. “William did.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” the man said. He didn’t look to her like a bird watcher, since she imagined such people were nerdy, anti-social, and all scientific. This guy seemed quite friendly, with curly brown hair and a pleasant face. But then, she’d never met a birdwatcher before.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did Mr. Dunbar die?”
Brodie could not help but glance over her shoulder at the water below. “Accident.”
The man’s gaze went to the fence too, and he took a step toward it. “Terrible!”
She said nothing, and he hesitated, apparently unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry.” He was still looking at the fence, and he indicated the signature carved into it. “Is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m sorry for your loss, Brodie.” The man turned to return the way he had come. “Sorry to have disturbed you.” With a wave, he melted into the trees. Brodie watched until he disappeared, glad he was gone. She’d had enough of being polite to strangers for one day.
Chapter Eight
SCARLET STARTED PICKING UP the dishes and trash as Bud said goodbye to the last of the guests at the front door. Closing it with a snap and a sigh of relief, he leaned his back against it and said to no one in particular, “Funerals. Who needs ’em?”
Arlis, who had ordered everyone around all afternoon and now watched placidly as Scarlet and Shelley cleaned up the mess, gave him a look of mild rebuke. “They are necessary for the grieving process, like putting away your white shoes at the end of summer.”
