Sabrina thought quickly. Bradford was at her door yesterday evening returning her coat and assuring her that anything she may have overheard at the Tittletott House was untrue. Had Rolo been spying on her?
“He’s no good,” Rolo said, and all of a sudden there was nothing childlike about him. His face hardened, and the bushy black hair seemed to bristle around his face.
“Really?”
“You seem like a nice lady. I’ve seen you walking every morning and my ma likes you. I think you should know about Brad. He’s like all the Tittletott clan, weak and bad.”
“I thought you were friends with him.”
“Yes, I was.” Rolo’s eyes gleamed with emotion. “We used to be really good friends. I loved him like a brother. Told him everything.” His face softened a bit. “Brad wasn’t that bad, then. He was just weak. He let people talk him into things. I thought he was my best friend, but believe me, I know better now. I don’t know what games he’s trying to play with you, but you’d be better off just staying away from him.”
“I’ll be careful,” Sabrina said.
Rolo nodded. “It’ll all be over tomorrow anyway. Then everyone will know about the Tittletotts and what they’re really like. I just wanted to warn you. I didn’t want you to get hurt in something that has nothing to do with you.”
Sabrina studied him intently. She had caught a note of something—was it indecision?—in the man’s voice. He sounded hard, but his eyes were filled with sadness.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Sabrina said quietly. She was speaking on instinct, moved by the anguish and indecision she sensed in the man.
Rolo stared at Sabrina in surprise. “I have every right to—he deserves—” He broke off. “It’s just not right.” There was no anger in his tone, just resignation.
Sabrina didn’t know what to make of him. She didn’t know what he planned to do tomorrow but she sensed that he was ambivalent about it.
Rolo hefted the shears and turned to one of the rose bushes, clipping another branch, and adding it to the pile.
“When I die,” he said in a faraway voice, “and my body’s lying under that cold, wet dirt, I hope someone plants roses on my grave. That way, part of me can grow into that rose and bask in the sunlight.”
“What a nice thought,” Sabrina said, disturbed by his tone.
“There we go, all done. I’ll start on the Peace roses on the other side of the house tomorrow.” He picked up the bunch of satiny roses lying on the ground and offered them to Sabrina. Surprised, she took them, barely feeling the prick of the tiny thorns.
“Did you know that they’ve figured out how to breed a blue rose? It’s been the holy grail for rose breeders since 1840 and they finally figured it out.”
“I’m sure the rose breeders must be thrilled that the mystery has been solved.”
“I don’t know. The quest is over, you see. Don’t you find that sometimes anticipation is sweeter than the reality? The reality may not be what you really wanted.”
Before she could speak, he turned and walked toward the tool shed, saying over his shoulder. “It was nice to finally meet you, Miss Sabrina. You won’t tell anybody you saw me, will you?”
“No, of course not,” she said automatically. And then, unable to resist, she blurted, “Rolo?”
“Yes?” He turned.
“Why do you wear a sword?”
Rolo looked down at the sword as if he had forgotten it was there.
“It seemed fitting,” he said at last, “considering what I’ve come to do. It’s his sword, Walk-the-Plank Wrightly’s, passed down through the generations. My father gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”
Sabrina nodded, and watched as he went into the tool shed and came back out without the shears. He raised a hand toward her and walked down to the beach and out of her sight.
“My goodness,” Sabrina said to herself, shifting the roses to the other arm. Calvin was watching her from the window, having given up trying to get her attention.
Sabrina let herself into the house and carried the roses into the kitchen.
“Rrrriiing.” Calvin followed her into the kitchen. “Rrrriiing.”
“Someone called? It’s a pity you can’t answer the phone for me. Oh well, I expect they’ll call back. Calvin, you won’t believe the bizarre conversation I’ve just had. I met a ghost, and I didn’t ask him any of the questions that I meant to. I was supposed to ask him why he came back, and I forgot.”
Calvin cocked his head.
“I didn’t ask him where he’s staying, or what he did fifteen years ago to make him go away. About the only thing I asked him was why he was wearing a sword.”
Calvin chattered a rebuke.
“I know, I know.” Sabrina put the roses in the sink and began rummaging in the cabinets for a vase. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly. And then I went and told him I wouldn’t tell anybody I saw him. Now I can’t tell all those people who think they’ve seen a ghost that they actually just caught a glimpse of Rolo Wrightly. Boy, would they be surprised! But I told him I wouldn’t tell anybody, and in a strange way, I kind of liked him, Calvin. He was rough looking, with that big black beard and unkempt hair, but I think he’s a nice person under the tough exterior. And I think he was genuinely worried about me, can you believe that? It’s kind of sweet. Though I still don’t have any idea why he would warn me off about Bradford. Is he afraid the man is going to seduce me?” Sabrina laughed and Calvin imitated the sound, bobbing his head up and down.
Calvin pulled on her pants leg and she lifted him onto her shoulder. No vase anywhere. She pulled out several large glasses and filled them with water, but she still couldn’t fit all the roses. Sighing, she plugged the kitchen sink, ran some water, and placed the remaining roses in the sink.
“And what did he mean that it would all be over tomorrow?”
Calvin chattered at her.
“I wish I could remember what Lima said Rolo did fifteen years ago. It wasn’t pleasant, whatever it was, I remember that.”
Sabrina continued to talk to Calvin as she cooked a late lunch. She made homemade clam chowder and garlic bread and, after she had cleaned up (she made a mental note to buy the Wrightlys another sauce pan to replace the one she’d had to throw away), she went into the living room and settled down on the old pink recliner to read her book.
After a moment she realized she’d turned several pages without reading a word.
“Brad’s rally is tomorrow,” she said, staring down at Calvin who was perched on the armrest beside her. “You don’t think Rolo would try to crash the rally, do you?”
Chapter Twelve
Precisely at three-thirty, seven miserable children were standing on Sabrina Dunsweeney’s front porch. Sid and Terry stood in front, trying to ignore the pinches and nudges being rained on them from behind.
“This is all your fault!” hissed Maple Tubbs, a large girl who bore an amazing resemblance in both form and temperament to her Great-aunt Mary Garrison Tubbs.
“Is not!” Sid whispered back.
Terry resignedly knocked on the door. Once Miss Sabrina told his grandmother about the play rehearsal, it was all over. Grandma Nettie talked to Miss Piggy Perkins, their teacher, who “suggested” that the entire fifth grade class attend the rehearsal. Here they were, and Terry wished fervently that he had never set eyes on Miss Sabrina Dunsweeney.
“Why, hello, children!” The woman threw open the door and beamed at them. “Are we ready to start rehearsing?”
“Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”
They were in the back yard, sitting at a picnic table under an oak tree, taking turns reading the script as Sabrina had been unable to find a copier to make copies. She had provided lemonade and cookies and waited while the boys rolled around on the sandy la
wn before finally calling them to order. As the only girl, Maple was pressed into reading Juliet’s parts, and it didn’t take too long before she rebelled.
“I am not going to play any sniveling, stupid girl who doesn’t know any better than to fall in love with a jerk like Romeo. She knew her parents hated him, didn’t she?” Maple Tubbs crossed her arms and stared at Sabrina with malevolence.
“You don’t think there’s a chance that Romeo and Juliet’s love will bring their families together?”
“Everybody knows the two of them drop dead as doornails at the end, so what’s the point?”
“Well, of course, if you don’t want the title role, one of the most important characters in the play, then I can understand,” Sabrina said. “The nurse might be a good role for you—”
Maple was flipping through the play while the boys looked on. She had them cowed, Sabrina noticed. As the only girl in her fifth grade class, Maple could have felt left out and isolated. Instead, she was the queen bee and the boys waited on her hand and foot.
“I’ll be the friar,” Maple announced. “He manages to live through the play at least. I’ll dress up in my grandma’s burying dress and cut my hair short and wear one of those funny hats.” She crossed her arms and stared at Sabrina.
“We’ll see,” Sabrina said noncommittally. “Let’s continue reading. I’ll read Juliet.”
Sabrina listened as the six boys took turns reading and made mental notes. Sid Tittletott was a ham, waving his arms theatrically, and clutching his heart as he proclaimed undying love. He was so different from cool, impersonal Virginia and awkward, plain Gary, but perhaps he had resorted to flamboyance to get the attention of his undemonstrative parents.
Terry Wrightly was not nearly as theatrical as his best friend, but he had a fine speaking voice, and he was taking the reading seriously. He portrayed more emotion in his voice than Sid did with all his arm waving.
McCrorie McCall, the son of the local police sergeant, was heavy with freckles and laughed a lot. Karel Garrison, son of Missy the waitress from the Tittletott House, was very short, with glasses, and he constantly asked questions. Glenn Large, in his expensive clothes, was from the prestigious Lighthouse Estates and didn’t let anybody forget it. Elbert Lowry was one of the numerous Lowry brood and spoke with a pronounced lisp.
Sabrina was pleasantly surprised at how well the children did with the reading. She knew from the beginning that Shakespeare was a bit heavy for fifth graders, and that they would have to leave out some of the hard bits. She’d expected to spend the entire first session explaining the “funny language.” However, it appeared that their school teacher had already done that, and while they still thought that Shakespeare could have used “darn” just as well as “zounds,” they were not overwhelmed.
They would do fine, Sabrina thought, but they would have to do some revising of the play. First thing would be to make it shorter, then she would tackle the problem of no Juliet. That was okay, though. Romeo and Juliet island style would be original and entertaining.
She hoped.
***
She sent the children home at five-thirty, carrying roses, extracting promises from them to be back the same time the next day to learn who would be playing what part.
“I might be busy tomorrow.” Maple eyed Sabrina with dislike. She had declared war on Sabrina when the older woman insisted that she let some of the other children read Friar Lawrence’s lines.
Sabrina smiled. “Of course, anybody who does not make it tomorrow will not find out what their part is and will miss out on the pizza.”
“Pizza?” Maple glanced around at the boys who were whooping with excitement. “I suppose I might be able to make it.”
“Don’t forget that tomorrow is the spelling bee,” Terry said. “It starts at six.”
“Yeah, and Terry is going to be in it.” McCrorie punched Terry’s arm and chortled with laughter. “He thinks he’s going to win, but everybody knows Kitty Tubbs is the world’s best speller, so you might as well give up now.”
“She’s good,” Terry admitted. “But I’m better.”
“McCrorie, you just say that about Kitty because you got a crush on her!” Sid smirked at McCrorie. “But she won’t even look at you, cause she’s in the sixth grade and doesn’t want a younger man.”
“I do not!” McCrorie’s ears were red.
“Do you want us to bring our scripts tomorrow?” Karel asked, small and serious.
“You have copies of the play?” Sabrina asked. At their nods—why on earth hadn’t they brought them today?—she said yes, it would probably be a good idea to bring the scripts tomorrow.
“How much time will we be spending on this little endeavor?” Glen Large asked, rolling back his argyle shirt to glance at his ostentatious gold watch.
“An hour or so every day after school.” Sabrina thought that with three weeks practice, which was the amount of time remaining to her on the island, they should be able to put together a pretty good short rendition of the play. She’d have to find out whether there was a stage of some kind on the island. Details, details!
Sabrina glanced around at the children’s faces, and saw that for the most part, she had inspired their interest. They would be back
“Bye Miss Sabrina!” the children chorused as they trooped down the driveway.
“Good-bye, children,” Sabrina said and smiled with contentment.
***
After fixing broiled shrimp (the burners on the stove really did heat erratically),
Sabrina hauled several logs in from outside and set about trying to light a fire in the downstairs fireplace. Calvin helped by darting into the fireplace and tearing twigs off the logs, and then parading around the room with his prizes. After an hour, Sabrina managed to light a small, very smoky fire that crackled and sputtered merrily.
With a sigh of contentment, she sat back in the comfortable armchair by the front window and opened her book.
“This is the life,” she told Calvin, who sat on her knee, pecking at the edges of the book. “Cough! Cough! The peaceful, island life.” Tears streamed from her eyes, and she pounded on her chest. “Sitting by the nice, warm fire, reading my book—cough! cough!—this is the way things ought to be.”
She thought about what she would be doing if she was back in Cincinnati. Probably planning her next day’s lesson plan, writing out progress reports, or sitting in Sally’s kitchen enjoying a good gossip. She did miss Sally, and she missed her kids, but she thought if she never saw another schoolbook in her life she’d probably be happy. Teaching was just something she’d fallen into, because it was easier to go along with her mother than to go against her.
“What in the world is wrong with me, Calvin? Cough!”
“Cough!” Calvin imitated her.
“Everything’s changed, I’m just not happy in my own life anymore. It’s as if it doesn’t quite fit, as if I went up to my closet and everything was too loose or too small. I don’t want to be just Sabrina Victoria Dunsweeney, but I’m not sure I want to be anybody else either! Cough! Choke!”
She tried to concentrate on her book, which was rather good.
Finally, “Dammit, Calvin, why in the world won’t the smoke go up the chimney like it’s supposed to!” With that, she picked up the bird and fled the room, hacking and coughing as she slammed the door behind her and went up to her bedroom.
***
The next morning, the doubts and uncertainties of the night before seemed almost laughable.
“Listen to me, Calvin,” she told him as she brushed her teeth and he swayed back and forth, his eyes slightly crossed as he tried to follow the movement of the toothbrush. “I sound like an old woman crying because I never did anything with my life! I’ve had a fine life, and by goodness, it’s not over yet! I can do whatever I want to do.”
“Cheep,” Calvin said distractedly. He was waiting for her to gargle. He loved it when she gargled.
“I mean really, I don’t kn
ow what’s wrong with me. I’m healthy, and that counts for a lot. I’m happy…” She paused and thought about that one for a bit. “Yes, I’m happy!” This was said in a drawn-out gurgle as she talked and gargled at the same time.
“Gurgle,” Calvin repeated with delight.
She automatically started to pull her hair back into its accustomed bun, and then deliberately poofed the curls around her face. Then she went into the bedroom and picked out the most wildly extravagant outfit from her new wardrobe. She continued her self-motivational “I am wonderful, just hear me roar!” speech as she headed down to the kitchen. She briefly considered using her new pig teapot, and then she shuddered and threw a dishtowel over the pig’s smirking face.
“I’m going to breakfast,” she told Calvin, who had climbed up in his windowsill and was nodding off in the sunlight trickling through the leaves of the rose bushes and the thick trees.
Carrying a bundle of roses, she strode out the front door. It had rained the night before, and now everything sparkled and shimmered in the clean, morning sunlight.
She told herself she was hungry and needed sustenance, but she knew in her heart that she wanted to find out more information about Rolo Wrightly. Someone must know more about the fifteen-year-old scandal which had sent him away from the island. Of course, she would have to be careful not to give his presence away. Though, now that she thought about it, several people in all likelihood knew he was in town. Nettie, for one. What had he said? My ma likes you. And she had the strong feeling that Gary and Elizabeth Tittletott knew as well.
“What is he doing back in town?” Gary had said. Was he talking about Rolo? And Elizabeth said that someone was threatening Bradford. Sabrina could imagine that Rolo might be angry at Brad for turning him into the police fifteen years ago, but why didn’t Tittletotts just call the police? Surely there was a warrant out for Rolo’s arrest.
Sabrina was uncomfortably aware that she herself should probably call the police. But she really didn’t know the details of Rolo’s transgressions, did she?
She chuckled to herself, thinking that Rolo’s reappearance must be the best well-known secret on the island.
Island Intrigue Page 10
