Galveston Page 32

“Why did he leave?”

  “Oh … for the same reason any enterprising businessman leaves one town for another. He felt he had a better future elsewhere. He rather gave up on Galveston, I think, after Charles withdrew.”

  “The church seems to have suffered worst of all.”

  “That’s true. One of life’s injustices, I guess.”

  “But this could all have been avoided if Charles hadn’t given up. Why did he get into it so deeply, then give up?”

  “It’s a long story, dear, one which I can’t tell you in full. Someday, perhaps you will know all of it, but not now. It’s enough to say he was sickened by politics by the time election day neared. He was a gentle man, Charles, not the sort to become entangled with roughshod bullies throwing their weight around.”

  “Did the Wharf Company threaten him in some way?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment, but instead took another sip of whisky. Then: “They—let us say, his opposition—used its influence against him as best it could.”

  What Dad told me that day as we sat at the kitchen table didn’t bother me. What nagged at me were the parts he insisted on leaving out. I kept wondering about Charles’s reasons for backing out, all through the rest of the evening as Nick and I played two hands of casino, and later, still, as I sat with Mother a few minutes before she went to sleep.

  How I wished that night she could talk to me. I had a feeling so much was locked up inside her that would never come out. As I rubbed her arms and elbows with cream, trying to soften the skin that rarely touched anything except rough cotton bedclothes, bits and pieces of a conversation overheard long ago, before her accident, began to come back to me.

  She and Dad had come from the Beckers’ one night, and talked in their bedroom for a long time. I was supposed to be asleep, but had lain awake, wondering as I did nightly when the new baby—due at any time—would come.

  Dad seemed to be put out with Mother because she’d behaved so strangely in front of Claire … in fact, it was probably his unusual tone of voice that first made me listen. “I know how uncomfortable you feel, but you must make a better effort not to show it,” he said.

  “But when she gets to talking about that summer, I just want to go through the floor. I feel so deceitful.”

  “Hush, darling,” Dad told her. “What happened wasn’t our fault, although heaven knows we’ve profited all these years. What we did was a favor to Charles, and can’t be looked at any other way.”

  Then Mother said, “Why not, Rubin, because then we couldn’t live with ourselves?”

  I must have been staring hard at Mother, rubbing her arms in a frenzy, as the memory took hold, for she began to look at me fearfully and press back against the pillows. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I told her. “I was thinking of something and got carried away, I guess.” I kissed her cheek and began brushing her hair, trying not to think of the conversation any more until I could be alone and sort it out.

  Later, in my bedroom, I pulled out her poems. I remembered them as soon as I thought of Mother saying she felt “deceitful.” The clue must be in the poems somewhere.

  The more I read of them, though, the more puzzled I became. They were such vague things. Perhaps all poetry is vague; perhaps only the poetry of a mad person …

  Had Dad’s words about profiting handsomely meant they’d stolen money from Claire? Certainly not, it would seem, for she had no money except what Charles gave her. Besides, why steal money in the first place? It simply didn’t ring true, and the thought of Charles Becker doing anything not strictly aboveboard was impossible to entertain. He was one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known and from all appearances, was totally devoted to Claire.

  Besides, Dad would never take money that wasn’t rightfully his. Yet he had said, “profited.”

  None of it made sense, and there was no one left now to explain it except Dad. I was sure he would continue to evade my pointed inquiries as he had earlier, at the kitchen table. Dad is quite apt at getting around things when he wants to be.

  … Unless Helga Reinschmidt knew something and that was why Charles would never let her come here while he was alive. Over the years Claire has often mentioned Charles disliked Helga, but never, as I recall, has she said why. Yet even Helga’s involvement wouldn’t fit because her only contact with the Beckers was through Claire, and Claire was the unknowing victim, not one of the conspirators. Still, everyone knows of Helga’s almost unnatural attachment to Claire. Perhaps Charles was afraid she might guess what had happened, and tell. Yes. She would almost certainly tell Claire anything she knew …

  My mind spun through the labyrinth of unanswered questions, of open-ended clues leading nowhere, until I finally gave up pursuing it and fell asleep. No matter how many times I’ve told myself since then that the whole situation probably amounts to nothing—maybe even just a dream on my part, rather than something actually overheard—I’ve never stopped wondering.

  James was doing nicely on his own these days, and didn’t go to the beach with me over once or twice a week. He and Tommy Driscoll had made quite a success of selling crabs, and often he didn’t return in the mornings from the catch and the sales trip following in time to go with me.

  He worried about this at first, but I told him there was no need. As long as he obviously had something else he wanted to do during the time I went to the beach, there was no reason for anyone to wonder why he wasn’t with me. Besides, most of the time I still took Porky, who sat obediently at the back steps of the Pavilion stage door until I returned from the tower to walk him home.

  One day James met me at the gate, his eyes full of excitement. “I’m going to do something I’ll bet you’ve never done,” he told me.

  “What?”

  “Going to a séance.”

  “Séance?” I repeated. I’d heard stories of such goings-on, but had never known much about them. “Where is it to be held?”

  “You know the house where the Madisons used to live, down the street?”

  “Yes. They haven’t been here since May—I don’t understand.”

  “We’re going to have it under their house. I’ve just been down to make sure there’s an entrance through the latticework.”

  “Who else is going to be there?”

  “Delta and Joe Baker, and the rest of them. Delta has an aunt that used to be a clairvoyant and taught her just what to do.”

  “But I thought séances were for calling forth dead people—spirits. Whom are you all going to call on?”

  “My parents,” he said, and I knew then I should have realized. It was clear the Baker ring was up to no good, and it wasn’t the first time. They’d been pulling pranks on people since I could remember, and were disliked all over the neighborhood.

  “James, I wouldn’t want to ruin your plans, but don’t you think you’d better give this some thought? You know, most of these things are just tricks, theatrical jokes. You read now and then in the papers about people who paid for them and got cheated.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t give Delta a dime, you can be sure of that, only a picture of my mother and father. That way, she’ll be sure to know what they look like so she can find them among the spirits.”

  “You gave her a picture of them?”

  “Loaned it, till after the thing is over.”

  “When is it going to take place?”

  “A few nights from now. They’re going to let me know as soon as they find out what night they can get away without their parents finding out. I told them I could get out any old time.”

  “Oh you did, huh? Well, just supposing you can, young man. I wonder what you think you’re going to prove by all this?”

  “Prove? Why, that Mother and Dad are really gone, I guess.”

  “But James, James, you already know that.”

  “I told you, they wouldn’t let me see them. I never saw them after they left on their ride that morning. Just talking to them again would make me feel a lot better, see?”

  �
�Oh, all right. But let me warn you not to expect anything. I wouldn’t trust Delta or Joe either, as far as from here to the end of the block, and I just hope nothing happens to that picture.”

  “Do you really think she’d do harm to it?”

  “Probably not, but be sure you get it back as soon as possible. There’s no way of replacing it, you know.”

  “Yes … but then there’s no way of replacing them, either.”

  It was the following day I became involved in my own bizarre scheme, as innocently as James in his, by making a half-serious suggestion to Roman which he then dared me to follow through. It all started with a silly, romantic notion I had one morning as we lay next to each other in the tower room.

  “This is all wrong, you know,” I said.

  “What? Your coming here?”

  “No. I mean, don’t lovers usually meet in the dark, at night? Do you realize I’ve never even seen you at night, except the evening I watched you play, then the one at Claire Becker’s dinner party? Wouldn’t it be fun, just once, to meet at night?”

  “Name the night,” he said. “No one’s around here after eleven. I’ll meet you whenever you like, if you’re sure you can sneak out without being caught.”

  “Oh … I hadn’t thought. Oh well, we might as well forget it.”

  He turned over on his elbow and looked down at me sternly. “You mean you haven’t the nerve, fair maid, after what we’ve pulled off in broad daylight the past month or so? You slay me!” He heaved an exaggerated sigh, and lay back on the pillow.

  “Well … I probably could. If we did it late enough, that is. Just think, we could go walking on the beach in the moonlight. I’ve always dreamed of doing that with the man I love …”

  “We could do other things too, my dear,” he said, and began to kiss my neck.

  “Oh, Roman, your mind always—”

  “Um?”

  “Nothing, nothing …”

  We set it for midnight on the next Thursday, a night of no performance. After I gave it more thought, I decided it was an even better idea than I had at first imagined. Luckily, the only window in the tower room—the one Roman called a “faker” because it didn’t really open—faced the beach, and he could set a lighted candle there, its glow unseen except by people on a boat far out in the Gulf, or someone taking a midnight swim, both improbabilities.

  The only problem lay in getting away, then back home safely. Roman offered to meet me somewhere near home, but I told him that surely would be more dangerous than if he waited at the Pavilion. No matter where Dad went, he was normally at home and in bed by ten-thirty or eleven, so unless Mother were to become ill in the night, it would be easy enough for me to leave my room, pass unseen down the hall, down the stairs, and outside. Once I was outside it would be even easier to get down to the beach, unless someone were out there. That was highly doubtful too, for there were no young people of my age group around Avenue L, who might be spooning on a front verandah or taking evening walks together that late. All the kids on our block were too young to be out after dark.

  Still, as the night approached I became nervous and fidgety, and could I have notified Roman, I would have called it off. It was curious, but I could never seem to remember to tell him that, should I fail to show up for any of our meetings, it was because Mother was sick or something unforeseen had occurred, and I would be with him as soon as I could. I was always intending to mention that, then as soon as I reached his arms I would forget anything else existed. He had that effect on me from the beginning; he still does.

  Therefore, with no advance explanation working for me, I had to go. If I didn’t he might take it wrong and be put out with me, something I could not allow because I could never be sure how tenuous a hold I had on him.

  At ten-thirty on Thursday night, I lay across the bed to wait. Dad was in bed and Mother was sleeping. It looked deceivingly simple to sneak away, yet I kept reminding myself how foolhardy it was to tempt fate. Hadn’t we been lucky all summer long? Was my sudden thirst for adventure, gone wild, now to ruin it all?

  I rose from the bed at eleven forty-five, and that was when it happened.

  I felt a trickle of menstrual blood escape. I gasped in horror, then keened my ears to be sure I hadn’t awakened anyone. I was already overdue a few days for the monthly showing, yet before then hadn’t given it a thought.

  By the time I’d made a detour into the bathroom, then slipped back into the bedroom, it was eleven fifty-two. I was to meet Roman in eight minutes. What could I do? What did one do when something like this occurred? It struck me then as a horrible irony: had I waited till morning, perhaps I could have figured some way to get out of going to meet Roman—sent James or something, to tell him I was ill and would have to stay in bed for a few days. But what could I do at midnight, except go? Perhaps I could persuade him all that time would allow was a walk on the beach. I prayed so.

  Except for the hollow, rhythmic tick of the clock on the landing, the dark hall was silent. I walked slowly down the stairs, holding my skirt high and watching every step. When I reached the front door I remembered it sometimes will stick when there’s dampness in the air. I turned the knob and pulled as gently as possible, and it came without hesitation. I felt better then. Perhaps this bit of luck would steel me for what lay ahead.

  There was no one to be seen on Avenue L, and only the glow from an upstairs window here and there along my way indicated anyone might be awake. I had purposely worn dark navy, in order to remain unobtrusive, and I was thankful I’d thought of doing this, because the moon shone unusually bright. It would be so perfect for a walk along the beach.

  It was a long way to the Pavilion, longer than ever it had seemed during the day, and by the time I neared the beach I was no longer walking, but running as fast as my legs would carry me, fearing all the time that Roman wouldn’t be there when I arrived. This possibility always occurred to me as I walked to the beach by day; by night it seemed all the more threatening.

  When I reached the stage door I looked above. The candle glowed warmly from the window, and I felt safe, like a sailor who spots a glowing lighthouse beacon in a foggy harbor. Yet as I opened the door and mounted the stairs, the feeling of safety ebbed away. The difficult part was yet to come.

  He was standing in the open door at the top of the stairs, holding his arms out. “That’s my girl. I knew you had nerves of iron, by God. Come here!”

  I went to him, let him hold me for a moment, drawn by the warmth of him, then said, “You know, the moon is at its most beautiful just now. Why don’t we go down for a walk?”

  “Now? No, later, darling. I’ve been longing for you all evening … Look, I even swept the floor in honor of the occasion.” He’d already pulled me through the door and closed it, and now fiddled with the buttons of my navy dress. I was nearing panic.

  “No, please, Roman!” I said, and grabbed his hands.

  He let me go. “What is it?”

  “Nothing, only time is short and I did so want to walk, I—”

  “Come on, don’t try to fool me. What’s the matter?”

  “Please don’t ask.”

  “Serena, your face is glowing brighter than that candle over there. Now, tell me.”

  “You would make me, wouldn’t you?” I said, and turned away. “You would have to pressure me into telling you—”

  “As a matter of fact I would. Curiosity is one of my greatest shortcomings,” he said calmly, turning me back by the shoulders to face him. The mischievous look stole into his eyes.

  “All right then. It’s a—a—period. A period, if you must know!”

  At this he slapped his knee and let go a shout of laughter. “You are so funny, Serena Garret. I knew as soon as you pulled away from me. Now, was it so bad after all? For heaven’s sake, why make such a big to-do over nothing? Do you think I’m totally ignorant? As a matter of fact, I’d been wondering just when …”

  “It’s several days late, but that’s not unusual for
me,” I said, trying to match his offhanded tone. Yet I was looking away again as I spoke. In a moment he put his hand under my chin and made me look at him.

  “I’ve tried to tell you not ever to be embarrassed about anything in front of me,” he said gently. “Serena, Serena, when will you drop these silly little-girl worries and become totally grown up? Come now, let’s have a walk so that you can get back before anyone notices you’re gone.”

  We walked arm in arm down the stairs and out into the moonlight. I felt as though I’d just been through a hot tub bath, and my skin tingled with relief as we padded barefoot through the softness of the sand. When it was time to go, and we were at the edge of the beach and L, he said good-by and kissed me gently.

  “On the other hand,” he said, “don’t ever grow up fully. I like you just the way you are.”

  My steps back home were more assured, and I had a pleasant feeling it had been a good thing, meeting in the moonlight. As Roman had said, a person has only one life to live, and he must make the most of every moment. That was the way I felt as I walked down L, as though I’d taken my moment, had dipped into the milk pail and skimmed the cream right off the top.

  I wasn’t watching where I was going, basking in the afterglow of what had just passed. Suddenly I felt myself hit from the side with a thud. It surprised me so I just did stifle a scream, then realized it was James, in the same instant that he, out of breath from running, discovered he’d bumped into me.

  His face, now visible in the moonlight, was wet with tears. “It was the stupid séance,” he said. “They never came. They never came, the dirty, double-crossing, two-timing rats—”

  “Oh, that … James, maybe they were found out by their parents. Did you think of that?”

  “No, no … I was just sitting so long under the Madison house my back got stiff as a boot tree and I got cramps in my legs, and it finally dawned on me I’d been made the butt of a huge joke. It’s happened to me lots of times, you know. I never thought they might have been found out.”

  “Well, you’d best give them the benefit of the doubt,” I said, though I was convinced he was right in his first assumption. “You can find out tomorrow. Don’t worry about it.”