On Folly Beach (18 page)

Quietly, and without raising her eyes, Lulu said, “I want it.” She paused for a moment as if the next words might hurt her. “Thank you for bringing it back to me. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.”

Their eyes met, and for the first time, Emmy didn’t feel any animosity from the older woman. With a tentative smile, Emmy said, “I have enough experience working with libraries to know the pain of a missing book.”

Emmy thought she saw the glimmer of a smile in Lulu’s eyes, but wasn’t sure. She turned around, ready to leave this woman and her odd garden and, she’d already decided, the entire store and island, when Lulu’s voice drew her back.

“Where’s your husband?”

Emmy turned to see Lulu looking at the gold wedding band Emmy still wore on her left hand. Emmy wasn’t going to answer at first, but she’d begun to feel the creeping pulse on her scalp—the warning sign she always got when she was about to learn something important. Lifting her chin, she said, “He was killed. In Afghanistan.”

“Soldier?”

Emmy nodded slowly, surprised at Lulu’s interest.

The softening appeared in Lulu’s face again, rounding the edges of her frown into a look of compassion. “War is never easy, especially for the women left behind.” She paused, measuring her words like flour for a cake. “They don’t give medals for that kind of bravery.” Her eyes seemed distant, as if seeing another place in time, and for a moment, Emmy thought Lulu had forgotten she was there. Then Lulu jerked her head back to Emmy, and pursed her lips together. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Emmy stood there, blinking her eyes rapidly and trying not to cry as she began to understand that somehow this woman, with whom she shared no connection and didn’t even like, comprehended her loss, and really was sorry that Ben was gone and Emmy was alone.

“Thank you.” Emmy wiped at her eyes, embarrassed to find them wet.

Lulu bent down and picked up another cluster of fruit and began working in silence. Emmy was about to walk away when Lulu spoke. “You can stay and work here at Folly’s Finds if you want, and I won’t mind. I won’t like it, but I won’t mind.”

Emmy wanted to laugh out loud at the incongruity of the old woman’s words—as if she had a choice in the matter. But something about Lulu O’Shea intrigued Emmy—something about their shared love of books and maybe even how they both knew what it was like to be left behind. And Lulu had called her brave, which was the first time somebody had ever called her that.

There was a story there, just like between the covers of every book. And if Emmy left now, she’d never know it, would never know how it began or how it ended. Or what evil spirits Lulu was trying to chase away with all of her bottle trees.

Without a trace of sarcasm, Emmy spoke to the back of Lulu’s head as the older woman continued to deadhead the fruit clusters. “Thank you.”

When Emmy entered the store again, Abigail was back, looking at her expectantly. “I called the lawyers to postpone our meeting. They want you to call them back to tell them if ten o’clock tomorrow morning works for you.”

Emmy shook her head, trying not to think too hard about what she was going to say. “Call them back and tell them that we’re coming over now. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll buy Folly’s Finds, and Lulu can sell her trees from the back garden for as long as she wants.”

“Are you sure?”

Emmy nodded. “Let’s do it.”

As Emmy watched Abigail pick up her cell phone and start entering the phone number, her scalp began to tingle again. She felt out of breath suddenly, the need for fresh air propelling her to the back door again and the odd little garden. Exiting the building, she leaned against the closed back door and took several deep breaths. Slowly, she opened her eyes, surprised to find herself alone in the garden, and Lulu nowhere in sight.

She walked down the steps again, toward the first bottle tree in the row in front of her. Leaning forward, she studied the twisted metal and the graceful limbs, noticing how most of the bottles had a metal ring around their necks that soldered them to the branch. But one bottle the color of spring grass was loose, inverted on a short limb with only gravity holding it in place. Just the perfect spot for a person wanting to hide a note. After Emmy glanced at the other nearby bottles, it appeared that all of them had a loose bottle, and she smiled to herself, wondering if this was Lulu’s trademark.

She was about to go back inside and return to Abigail when she spotted the Nancy Drew book on the top step, placed neatly in the corner as if it had been put there deliberately so that that Emmy would see it.

Emmy stooped and retrieved the book, absently flipping pages as her gaze searched for Lulu between the bottle trees. Her fingers stopped at the back cover and Emmy glanced down, surprised. The first page, the one with the inscription to Lulu from Peter, was missing, cleanly torn off as if it had never been there.

Emmy looked around again for Lulu in case she had missed her, before clutching the book and returning inside, the door snapping shut behind her.

CHAPTER 9

FOLLY BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA

March 1942

Cat sat at the kitchen table, her legs crossed and a shoe dangling from her toes. Maggie watched as she flipped through the Sears catalog, pen in hand, circling any item that caught her interest. Maggie said good-bye to Martha, who for the third time had threatened to stop cleaning Cat’s bedroom if she couldn’t find the floor; then Maggie moved to stand behind Cat just as she was making a large black-ink lasso around something in the catalog.

Leaning closer, Maggie saw the silver foxtail jacket that had caught Cat’s interest. “That’s seventy-four dollars and fifty cents, Cat! Where are you expecting to get the money?”

Thumping the pen against the page, Cat said, “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve got my widow’s pension from Jim. As well as a few other . . . sources.”

Maggie felt a little sick, thinking of what the other “sources” might be, and knowing they were nothing a good widow would involve herself with. “I hope you’ll be respectful of Jim and not do anything to cheapen yourself just for something pretty to wear.”

Cat let out an inelegant snort. “All the pretty girls are doing it, Mags. Those navy and coast guard men are just crawling all over the place, looking for a little company. Why shouldn’t I get rewarded for it? ”

“What about Robert? I thought you two were an item now.”

Cat shrugged and flipped to another page. “I like him just fine, but he can be a real stick in the mud sometimes. His father owns a paper mill in Savannah, and he’s going to help him run it after the war’s over. He doesn’t like asking for handouts from his dad, though, and insists on living on his military pay—and we both know how little that is.”

“Then he certainly can’t afford to buy you a fur coat.”

“Nope. He certainly can’t.” As she spoke, Cat circled another fur jacket in a different style for $52.50. Turning the page, she tapped her finger on the lower-right-hand corner. “I’m going to order this leg makeup. Look right here.” She pointed. “It’s by Max Factor. It says ‘Used by the stars in Hollywood for greater leg appeal. Lends a smooth, silky appearance to your legs. Easy, quick to apply. Leg makeup for that silk-stocking glamour.’ I swear I’m sick to death of not having stockings. And they’re saying that they’re going to start rationing sugar and gasoline soon, too.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Cat jostled the shoe on her foot again. “At the post office today. There were all sorts of people there, and I heard a lot of news—one tidbit about somebody we both know.”

Maggie refrained from acting too excited to hear, knowing her interest was inversely proportional to Cat’s speed in telling her. Nonchalantly, she settled herself on a chair opposite her cousin and folded her hands on the table. “What’d you hear?”

Cat continued to thumb through the catalog with her pen, licking her finger every once in a while to turn the pages. When she was ready, she said, “Freddy Jameson’s sister was there and she was bawling her eyes out and telling everybody that Freddy was killed last week. He was on a navy destroyer right off the coast up north somewhere—New Jersey, I think—and they’re saying it was torpedoed by a German submarine.”

Maggie looked down at her hands, remembering the shy young man who had always come into the store looking for adventure books and who had given her her first and only cigarette when she was thirteen and visiting for the summer. It had burned her throat and made her cough so badly that he’d run home to her father to get help, landing them both in trouble. Freddy had joined the navy right out of high school, and every once in a while, she’d gotten a postcard from him, and he’d always sign them with his name and a drawing of a cigarette, which made her smile.

“I can’t believe it. He was here at Christmas. I saw him at church, and he told me he’d met a girl in Norfolk and was thinking about asking her to marry him.”

Cat paused in her perusal of the catalog for a moment. “Pretty soon there won’t be any eligible men left. Better get busy, Mags, or you’re going to be an old maid, for sure.”

Cat’s eyes held a challenge in them, as if waiting for Maggie to say something about Peter. She wanted to; wanted to tell Cat how she’d let Peter kiss her and how he’d held her so tight, like he never wanted to let her go. But even so, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear Cat’s response.

Instead, she focused attention on straightening the fruit in the centerpiece bowl. “Were they positive it was the Germans?”

“The survivors are saying that’s what they saw, but the newspapers are reporting that it could have been mines. Mrs. Ellsworth at the post office has a bunch of newspaper clippings friends have been mailing her. There’s one from Norfolk, Virginia, that says that sightings of German submarines are just rumors and that people spreading rumors should be put in jail for the rest of the war.”

Maggie frowned. “I wish Robert were here—he’d know, wouldn’t he?”

“I suppose. But he’s down in Florida again and he’s not sure now when he can come back. They’re also talking about making us use blackout shades at sundown and painting the top half of our headlights so the beams can’t be seen by German subs.” A sly smile formed on her lips. “They’re looking for members for the Ground Observer Corps to be airplane spotters. I think I might volunteer for that. It would mean not being able to help you as much at the store, but I think I should do something for the war effort.”

Surprised at Cat’s enthusiasm, Maggie nodded. “Maybe we both can. We could always alternate our schedules.”

A look of annoyance flitted across Cat’s face before she returned to the opened catalog. “I suppose you could, although you’ll have to find somebody to watch Lulu.” She flipped a page. “Oh, I picked up the mail while I was at the post office. It’s on the counter by the coffeepot.”

With excitement, Maggie turned to look for it, positive something must have arrived from Peter by now. He’d remembered to say good-bye this time, and at night when she closed her eyes, she could still taste his kiss. Jim’s kisses had been sweet, so sweet that she’d always kissed him with her eyes wide-open. But Peter’s kisses made her close her eyes so she could better see the things he made her want to do.

She spotted the stack of mail, mostly bills and a few letters, sitting on top of a small brown-paper-wrapped package. When she picked it up, a new book that still smelled of paper glue slid out of the opened end, and she caught it, holding it up to read the cover. She ran her hand across the title, The Great Gatsby, remembering Peter telling her how it was his favorite book, and how he’d borrowed her own dog-eared copy.

Focusing on the package, she frowned, realizing that someone had neatly cut the string and sliced open one end, allowing the book to slide out. “Do you know how this got opened?” Maggie turned around and held out the package to Cat, the cut string dangling from the bottom.

Without looking up, Cat said, “I opened it.”

Maggie took a step closer but didn’t say anything, waiting for Cat to look up. When she didn’t, Maggie asked, “Why? It’s addressed to me.”

Cat finally looked up, her green eyes bright from the slanting light coming in from the kitchen window. “Because Peter might have been sending something to me, too, and stuck it in the package. I just wanted to check.”

An icy chill swept down the back of Maggie’s neck. Her mother had once told her that when you felt like that, somebody was walking over your grave, and for the first time, Maggie finally understood what she’d meant. “Why would he be sending something to you?” She hadn’t wanted to ask that question, but it was too late to pull it back.

“Because he’s my friend, too, Mags. You can’t monopolize him just because you found him first, you know. He’s actually the one who thought I’d make a good spotter.”

“When did you talk to him?”

Cat shrugged, but it didn’t mask her look of self-satisfaction. “I suppose you were working in the store. He was actually on the way there when I spotted him and asked for his help in carrying Jim’s things to the car. I finally decided to get rid of Jim’s clothes, what with storage space being what it is, but I needed a strong arm to help me. So I asked Peter.”