Darkling Read online

  4

  The storm broke as we all sat at the table for dinner. The lights flickered, but the power remained on, much to the disappointment of the children. I’d taken care to use the fine china and linen napkins. I was curious about Annie’s table manners. She couldn’t remember a moment of her past, but she seemed at ease in the midst of a new family. She displayed none of the awkwardness of a normal teenager.

  We joined hands around the table. Bob and Berta were not religious, but they gave thanks as a family for the blessings of good food and good health. Bob had installed central air and heat in the house, one of the first homes in Coden to have the luxury, but often, like tonight, Berta opened the windows to allow a crossdraft to swirl around us. Belle Fleur was blessed with excellent airflow, and even on the hottest days we opened the windows.

  Because it was a celebratory dinner, the official welcome to Annie, I lit candles. Berta prepared a fresh salad, crisp and delicious, from her garden, along with slices of smoked turkey. The weather was too hot for heavy meals.

  I watched with interest as Annie shook out her napkin and spread it on her lap. She helped herself to the salad and passed it on, acting without thought, a true indication of manners. Wherever she’d come from, she’d been taught table graces. Bob poured wine for Berta and me, a merlot that Berta loved. He said I had a “natural palate” for wine, and he enjoyed introducing me to new vineyards. He held up his glass and we joined him. “We welcome Annie. I hope your stay here is filled with love and joy. And I hope you remember something about your people, Annie. I know they’re missing you.”

  Margo put her iced tea on the table. “Has anyone checked to see if the cops are looking for her? Teenagers don’t just drop out of the sky.”

  Bob slowly pushed back his chair. “Please excuse Margo and me for a moment.” He went into the kitchen. When Margo followed, stomping every step of the way, he closed the door. Margo’s voice rose in anger, but she stopped in mid-sentence. Bob’s low voice, unclear but forceful, could be heard.

  “Annie told me a story today. It was the best scary story.” Donald spoke too loud. He was a kind-hearted child and was attempting to smooth over Margo’s rudeness.

  “What kind of story?” Berta picked up the thread of conversation. In the kitchen, Bob continued to lay down the law to Margo. She’d just gotten her driver’s license, and I had no doubt he would take her keys away.

  “About the old hotel and a ghost. A lot of things happened at The Paradise Inn. Annie knows all about the old hotel. Lots of movie stars hung out there. Some of them even died there.”

  “Do you know about the Paradise?” I asked Annie. How was it possible she knew my history but not her own?

  Her smile was apologetic. “I could see it from the water, the big old columns and all of the vines. It must have been beautiful once.” She signaled me with a wink to let me know she was fibbing. “I told Donald a tale about the ghosts of people who once visited there.”

  “A ghost story!” Erin was thrilled. “Tell us! Tell us!”

  Donald paled slightly, but he joined in with the demand.

  Berta was amused. “I’d like to hear the story, too.”

  Annie shrugged. She motioned us all to lean in closer, and I noted that though she was shy, she could manage the limelight. “There was once a beautiful movie star named Madeline who came to the Paradise Inn. She was the most beautiful star in all of Hollywood, but very young. She’d filmed two movies, and she’d come to Coden to meet with a director, a man from Germany who was highly respected.”

  Annie might not know her past or her family, but she had a good handle on telling a story. I sipped my wine and leaned back, prepared to enjoy a gothic tale.

  “Madeline was a strong swimmer, and each morning she got up and would swim down the bayou and out into the sound to a small buoy with a bell. She would ring the bell and swim back to shore. It became a routine for the first week she was there because the director was delayed in Berlin, something about the war. Finally, on Saturday night, Madeline was told he’d arrive on Sunday.”

  I wanted to ask Annie where she’d gone to school. She had a sense of the world unusual for a teenage girl found wandering the streets. I didn’t interrupt. Donald and Erin were enraptured. Even Berta was caught up in the story.

  “The morning the director was supposed to arrive, Madeline went for her swim. It was a foggy July morning, and the people in the hotel heard the bell on the buoy ring. At noon, when the director arrived, he went hunting for Madeline. No one could find her.”

  A peal of thunder exploded, and everyone around the table jumped. I looked up to see Bob standing in the door. There was no sign of Margo, and I assumed she’d gone up to her room.

  Once the giggles subsided, Annie resumed her story. “By the afternoon, people had begun to search for the young star. When night began to fall, search parties with lights went out to check the shoreline.”

  “Did they find her?” Erin was on the edge of her seat.

  “She was never found,” Annie said. “But to this day, fisherman see a young girl with dark hair floating in the deep pools of the bayou. They say Madeline’s spirit remains near the old hotel, waiting for her chance at a movie.”

  “I saw her.” Donald’s eyes were nearly black, only ringed by a thin edge of blue. “She was in the marsh grass.” His chest rose and fell rapidly, and I pushed back from the table and went to him. He was almost rigid with fear.

  I turned to Annie. “You’ve frightened him half to death. You shouldn’t do that to a child.”

  Annie blushed. “We saw something. In the water. Just a shadow or dark cloud. It wasn’t anything. Donald’s imagination jumped to conclusions.”

  Donald leaned forward. “That’s not what I saw. She wasn’t in the water, Annie. She was down the shore, hiding in the marsh grass. She was watching us. A girl with dark hair. Didn’t you see her?”

  Annie seemed afraid to breathe. Seconds ticked by in the silence that weighted the room. “It was just a story, Donald,” she said at last.

  Berta hesitated. “I don’t like for the children to be frightened.” It wasn’t exactly a warning, but it was a clear direction.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Annie looked as if she’d been kicked. “It won’t happen again.”

  Oblivious to the mood around the table, Bob refilled his wine glass and Berta’s. I shook my head when he tipped the bottle in my direction. I’d learned something interesting. Annie was facile with a tall tale, and she was a quick study with local landmarks. It troubled me. I’d heard plenty of tales about the Paradise, but none about a drowned actress. “I should take Donald up to his room. The multiplication tables are calling his name,” I said. “Annie, I left your books on the desk in your room.”

  “Annie’s story has piqued my imagination.” Berta twined her fingers through Bob’s. “I think the Paradise Inn might make an interesting topic for research, especially since my husband is determined to bring it back to life. If the ghost of Madeline is there, we should know.”

  “I’ve lived here my entire life and never heard of Madeline.”

  “Maybe we can research the story of Madeline.” Erin was suddenly eager.

  Berta stood and put a hand on Erin’s head. “Enough ghost stories. Let’s clear the table. How about a game of Crazy Eights? Erin? Mimi beat the socks off all of us the last time we played. I think we deserve a rematch.”

  “I want to watch Sanford and Son,” Erin said. “Margo loves that show.”

  “No television for Margo,” Bob said. “She needs to reflect on her behavior, and some time alone in her room will do her good.”

  Dinner was over. As we carried the dishes into the kitchen, I noticed Annie staring out the windows at the front of the house. She stood, a small, solitary figure, enthralled by something in the night.

  5

  My suite of rooms occupied a portion of the second floor. Night had fallen, and for a moment I went to the door that gave onto a set of exterior stairs t
hat also went to the third-floor room Annie now used. The staircase allowed me to come and go as I pleased. Bob and Berta wanted me to have my independence—not to seek permission for social activities. So far, though, I’d had no late dates or occasions to come home and slip inside unseen. I loved my rooms and had everything I desired at Belle Fleur.

  Bob’s renovations included a lovely old clawfoot tub, marble inlays in the bathroom, a spacious bed, and antique mahogany furniture. Cora had turned Berta on to a stash of antiques Bob bought for a pittance because “they might have really been in Belle Fleur.”

  He’d also added a huge walk-in closet. Since I had no living expenses, I could indulge my fashion wants—hip-hugger jeans, knit tops, sandals, shorts, and lots of prints with hippie influence. But I wasn’t a girl who advocated drugs, sex, and rock and roll. My longing for family and acceptance undercut any rebellious need to express my independence in negative ways. I yearned for Bob and Berta’s approval, therefore my wardrobe was simple, and I was careful not to go beyond a certain boundary because I feared I would influence Margo toward too-revealing clothing. She already had a penchant for short shorts and halter tops.

  Some of the local teenagers had discovered marijuana and rock and roll back when I was in high school. A couple of boys I knew ran a business selling homegrown weed. The woods around Coden offered good soil, seclusion, and not much interference from the law. Drugs never interested me. I’d gone to college. I’d had other ambitions, and sometimes I’d been mocked for that. Mimi the Mouse was one nickname, because I was quiet.

  The last laugh was mine; I now had probably the best job in town—room, board, a very generous salary, and the pleasure of being with the Hendersons. I also had the advantage of knowing which kids to guide Margo away from, though I wasn’t always successful. She was sixteen and determined to prove she was grown.

  The house settled into a soft quiet. I thought to stop by Margo’s room and speak with her. I knew she was sore about the dressing-down Bob must have given her. While I didn’t approve of her conduct, I did understand that sharing is something that doesn’t come easily when love is at stake. To Margo, Annie was an unnecessary interloper who sucked up the air and the love and the attention. In a way, I agreed with that thought. But no matter, Annie was here and Berta meant for us to be kind to her.

  I crept down the hallway, listening to the sighs and whispers of the house as the timber contracted in the cooling night. At times, I would have sworn the house had a consciousness. It sheltered the Hendersons, holding them close.

  Margo and Erin shared a room large enough to include two desks and chairs, beds, their own private bath, and a game table as well as dressers and vanities. There wasn’t a sound from the sisters. I cracked the door and peeked in. Both girls had agreed upon the blue-checked bedspreads and décor, but Margo had outgrown the childish frills. Each daughter was bundled under her checked spread, sound asleep. I eased the door closed.

  Part of Margo’s anger at Annie’s arrival involved the third floor. It had been promised to Margo once Bob finished the renovation. Now Annie was installed there and Margo was stuck with her kid sister.

  Farther down near the stairs and across the hall from me was Donald’s bedroom, a true boy’s paradise of model planes, erector set creations, toy soldiers, and a train that ran around the entire room. Often, in the middle of the night, if I heard him stirring, I went to his room and told him stories until he fell asleep. It wasn’t part of my job, but I enjoyed those times when it was just the two of us. Donald was an intuitive child. I thought he was Berta’s favorite, and he was certainly mine.

  Moving downstairs, I paused outside Bob and Berta’s master suite. Berta had wisely chosen the bedroom that controlled the stairs and the front door. Even the best children are prone to mischief. It also gave the adults a bit of privacy, since the master suite was accessed only from a hallway that ended in the bedroom.

  Sometimes, late at night, if I went to the kitchen for a glass of milk or an apple, I would pause outside their door and listen to them giggling like children. I wasn’t really spying, but I couldn’t help my fascination with their marriage. I’d seen Bob work his magic on Berta when she was in a bad mood. A whisper, a kiss, a tickle—he had a way with her. If I ever married, I wanted a man just like Bob. Tonight, though, they’d fallen asleep, judging from the lack of sound. It seemed I was the only person up and about.

  Feeling like a sneak, I cut a big chunk of pound cake and headed back to my room. I was almost at my door when I heard footsteps behind me. I glanced back, but there was no one there. Still, the steps had sounded distinctive. I walked to the stairs and looked down and then up to the third floor. Nothing. I took a bite of the cake and listened. The house was quiet.

  Back in my room, the cake consumed, I picked up my guitar and went out on the balcony. Perhaps I’d heard Annie on the exterior stairs, but it didn’t matter. I might teach her, but I hadn’t been charged with babysitting her.

  The earlier storm had dropped the temperature, if not the humidity, and while my windows faced the old gardens and the place where Bob had built Erin a stables and riding facilities, I still caught some of the salt tang from the Sound.

  My guitar skills were minimal, but I enjoyed picking and strumming the tunes of Bob Dylan, Jesse Winchester, John Prine, Simon and Garfunkel, and Arlo Guthrie, the poets of my generation. Coden was a place with few opportunities for young men, so a number of older boys I’d known in school had died in the humid jungles of Vietnam. While I kept my political opinions out of my job, I had strong feelings. Paul Dubois, a boy I met in college, left medical school to go into the Marines, one of the last to join the fight. He felt a civic duty to serve his country. And he had died in that faraway place. I could still see him so clearly, his dark hair and eyes. Funny that his image was etched in such detail when other things had slipped away.

  “Mimi?” Donald stood at the threshold of my room.

  I put aside the guitar and went to him. He wore pajamas covered in Casper the Ghost. “What is it?”

  “I can’t sleep. I heard someone in the house.”

  “I’m not surprised you’re having bad dreams.” I tousled his hair. “Stories about dead starlets aren’t good for sleeping.” I couldn’t stop myself. “Donald, what did you really see? Annie said there was a shadow in the water, but you said you saw someone in the marsh grass.”

  He took my hand and we walked back to his room. “I saw a girl. Dark and pretty, like Annie. She stared at me like she wanted something. Are ghosts real?”

  It was a question without an easy answer. I wasn’t certain what I believed. There had been times when I was positive I’d seen my parents in the shade of an old tree or standing in a dark corner of Cora’s house. But were they ghosts, or were they manifestations of my desperation? I couldn’t say for certain, because to be honest, I couldn’t remember what they looked like. They’d died a long time ago. Cora said it was better for me not to remember, that the fire had been a terrible tragedy and only the quick actions of a neighbor had saved me.

  “Are they real?” he pressed, dragging me from my memories.

  “I think Annie is a marvelous storyteller, Donald, but she made that story up. She doesn’t know anything about the Paradise Inn or Coden or anywhere else. She’d never even heard of those places until she got here today. She’s a lonely girl with a big imagination.”

  He climbed beneath the sheets I held up for him. As I tucked them around him I could see he was still disturbed.

  “I didn’t imagine the girl I saw. She was there, watching me.”

  “Even if ghosts are real, they can’t hurt you.” I kissed his forehead.

  He looked toward the window. He was so pale, so agitated that I put a hand on his cheek. He was cool to the touch.

  “Annie told me about Madeline while we were fishing. Only she told me different things.” He hesitated. “Madeline was a slut.”

  I couldn’t have been more shocked had he slapped me. “
Do you know what that word means?”

  His blue eyes were wide. He knew he’d upset me. “It’s a bad girl. A girl who does bad things.”

  “Yes, it is. Who told you that?”

  He closed his eyes, long dark lashes fanning out on his cheeks. “I don’t remember.”

  “Did Annie tell you Madeline was a slut?” I had no idea where Annie had been or what hard things she’d endured in her brief life, but it was inappropriate to use such language with a child. I would have a talk with her first thing tomorrow.

  “No. I don’t remember. Don’t be angry.”

  I hadn’t the heart to be too hard. “I’m not angry, but words can hurt. And that’s a word you shouldn’t know and certainly shouldn’t use.”

  “Okay.” He turned to look toward the window. His room gave onto the Sound side of the house. With the windows open, the rush and kiss of the water could easily be heard.

  “This girl you saw, what did she look like? Maybe it was Margo messing around.”

  He shook his head, his china gaze riveted into mine. “No. It wasn’t Margo. She wore a white dress. She was really sad, and I think she was lost. I think she belongs here, at Belle Fleur.”

  Fear prickled along my arms and neck. “Annie’s story has upset us both. Our imaginations are excited. Tomorrow, we’ll look for evidence of this mysterious girl. I suspect it’s a trick of the light or a very active imagination. We’ll get Annie to help us look.” I also intended to tell her that she was to share no more ghost stories. Donald was too impressionable.

  “She already knows someone was there,” Donald said. “She saw her too but she won’t admit it.”

  6

  Despite the upsets of the night, Donald woke with a voracious appetite and a sunny smile. He was at the breakfast table with Berta when I went downstairs, lesson plans in hand. One joy of private tutoring was the freedom to take our classroom outside. I didn’t doubt Annie’s verbal or language skills, but I wanted to test her knowledge of biology. The woods and swamp around Belle Fleur were the perfect place to do so—and I could also warn her of the natural dangers. Alligators and poisonous snakes of the deadly moccasin family were abundant during the summer. Huge timber rattlers slithered among the pines further inland. There were also wonderful king, black, garter, and many other “helpful” reptiles. Knowing the difference could mean life or death.