Remember Me (10 page)

Elaine's fiancé, John Nelson, was sitting on the chair next to the couch. He turned to Menley. “What were you doing as a teenager when these people were cavorting at the Cape?”

Menley turned to him with relief. “I was doing the same thing Amy is doing right now, baby-sitting. I went down to the Jersey shore three years straight with a family with five kids.”

“Not much of a vacation.”

“It was okay. They were nice kids. Incidentally, I do want to tell you that Amy is a lovely girl. She's terrific with my baby.”

“Thank you. I don't mind telling you it's a problem that she resents Elaine.”

“Don't you think that going to college and meeting new friends will change that?”

“I hope so. She used to worry that I'd be lonesome
when she went to college. Now she seems to be afraid that after Elaine and I are married, she won't have a home anymore. Ridiculous, but my fault because I made her feel like the lady of the house, and now she doesn't want to be bumped.” He shrugged. “Oh well. She'll get over it. Now I just hope, young lady, that you learn to enjoy the Cape the way I did. We came here from Pennsylvania on a vacation twenty years ago, and my wife liked it so much we pulled up stakes. Fortunately I was able to sell my insurance business and buy into one in Chatham. Whenever you're ready to purchase a house, I'll take good care of you. Lots of people don't really understand insurance. It's a fascinating business.”

Ten minutes later Menley excused herself to get another cup of coffee. Insurance is not
that
fascinating, she thought, then felt guilty for thinking it. John Nelson was a very nice man, even if he was a little dull.

Adam joined her as she refilled her cup. “Having fun, honey? You were in such a deep discussion with John that I couldn't catch your eye. How do you like my friends?”

“They're great.” She tried to sound enthusiastic. The fact was she'd much rather be home alone with Adam. This first week of their vacation was almost over, and he'd spent two days of it in New York. Then this afternoon they had come up from the beach for his appointment with Scott Covey, and tonight they were with all these people who were strangers to her.

Adam was looking past her. “I haven't had a chance to talk to Elaine privately,” he said. “I want to tell her about the meeting with Covey.”

Menley reminded herself that she'd been delighted when Adam told her he'd decided to take Scott's case.

The bell rang and without waiting for a response a woman in her sixties opened the screen door and came in. Elaine jumped up. “Jan, I'm so glad you made it.”

Adam said, “Elaine told me she was inviting Jan Paley, the woman who owns Remember House.”

“Oh, that's interesting. I'd love to get a chance to talk to her.” Menley studied Mrs. Paley as she embraced Elaine. Attractive, she thought. Jan Paley wore no makeup. Her gray-white hair had a natural wave. Her skin was finely wrinkled, with the look of someone who was indifferent about exposure to the sun. Her smile was warm and generous.

Elaine brought her to meet Menley and Adam. “Your new tenants, Jan,” she said.

Menley caught the look of sympathy that came into the other woman's eyes. Clearly Elaine had told her about Bobby. “The house is wonderful, Mrs. Paley,” she said sincerely.

“I'm so glad you like it.” Paley refused Elaine's offer to prepare a plate for her. “No thanks. I left a dinner party at the club. Coffee will be fine.”

It was a good time to let Adam talk to Elaine about Scott Covey. People had begun to drift around the room. “Mrs. Paley, why don't we?” Menley nodded toward the empty loveseat.

“Perfect.”

As they settled, Menley could hear the beginning of another story about a long-ago summer adventure.

“I went with my husband to his fiftieth high school reunion a couple of years ago,” Jan Paley said. “The first evening I thought I'd go out of my mind hearing about the good old days. But after they got it out of their systems, I had a lovely time.”

“I'm sure it's like that.”

“I must apologize,” Paley said. “Most of the furniture in the house is really dreadful. We hadn't completed the renovation and simply used what was there when we bought it until we were ready to decorate.”

“The master bedroom pieces are beautiful.”

“Yes. I'd seen them at an auction and couldn't pass
them up. The cradle, however, I found under a load of junk in the basement. It's authentic early seventeenth century, I believe. It may even have been part of the original furnishings. The house has quite a history you know.”

“The version I heard is that a ship captain built it for his bride and then left her when he learned she was involved with someone else.”

“There's more to it than that. Supposedly the wife, Mehitabel, swore she was innocent and on her deathbed vowed to stay in the house until her baby was returned to her. But of course half the old houses on the Cape have developed legends. Some perfectly sensible people swear they live in haunted houses.”

“Haunted!”

“Yes. In fact one of my good friends bought an old place that had really been ruined by do-it-yourselfers. After the house was completely restored and authentically decorated, early one morning, when she and her husband were asleep, she awakened when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Then her bedroom door opened and she swears she could see the impression of footsteps on the carpet.”

“I think I'd have died of fright.”

“No, Sarah said she experienced the most benevolent feeling, the kind you have as a child when you wake up and your mother is tucking the blankets around you. Then she felt a pat on her shoulder, and in her head she could hear a voice saying, ‘I'm so pleased with the care you have taken of my house.' She was sure it was the lady for whom it had been built letting her know how happy she was to have it restored.”

“Did she ever see a ghost?”

“No. Sarah is a widow now and quite elderly. She says she sometimes senses a benevolent presence and
feels they're two old girls enjoying their home together.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don't disbelieve it,” Jan Paley said slowly.

Menley sipped coffee and then found the courage to ask a question. “Did you experience any sense of something odd about the baby's room in Remember House, the small front room next to the master bedroom?”

“No, but we never used it. Frankly for a while after my husband died last year I really thought I'd keep Remember House. But then I sometimes felt such overwhelming sadness that I knew it would be better to let it go. I should never have let Tom do so much of the heavy restoration himself, even though he thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.”

Do we all feel guilty when we lose someone we love? Menley wondered. She glanced across the room. Adam was standing in a group with three other men. She smiled ruefully as she watched Margaret, the thin brunette from Eastham, join them and smile brilliantly up at Adam. A little leftover crush? she thought. I can't say I blame you.

Jan Paley said, “I bought your four David books for my grandson. They're simply wonderful. Are you working on one now?”

“I've decided to set the next one on the Cape in the late sixteen hundreds. I'm just starting to do some research.”

“The pity is that the one to have talked to a few years ago would have been Phoebe Sprague. She was a great historian and was preparing notes for a book on Remember House. Perhaps Henry would let you see some of her material.”

*   *   *

The party broke up at ten-thirty. On the way home Menley told Adam about Jan Paley's suggestion. “Do
you think it would be too pushy to ask Mr. Sprague about his wife's notes or at least ask where she found the best source material?”

“I've known the Spragues all my life,” Adam said. “I intended to call them anyway. Who knows? Henry might enjoy sharing Phoebe's research with you.”

Amy was watching television in the parlor when they arrived. “Hannah never woke up,” she said. “I checked her every half hour.”

As Menley walked the girl to the door, Amy said shyly, “I feel so dumb about what I said earlier, that there was something funny about Hannah's room. I guess it's because of that story Carrie Bell was telling people, about the cradle rocking by itself and the spread mussed the way it would be if someone was sitting on the bed.”

Menley felt her throat go dry. “I didn't know about that, but it's ridiculous,” she said.

“I guess so. Good night, Mrs. Nichols.”

Menley went directly to the baby's room. Adam was already there. Hannah was blissfully asleep in her favorite position, her arms over her head. “We can't call her ‘her crabbiness' anymore,” Adam murmured.

“How many names do we have for this poor kid?” Menley asked as she slipped into bed a few minutes later.

“I can't count that high. Good night, honey.” Adam held her tightly. “I hope you had a good time.”

“I did.” Later she murmured, “I'm not sleepy. Will it bother you if I read for a while?”

“You know I can sleep through a festival of lights.” He scrunched his pillow. “Listen, when Hannah wakes up, shake me alive. I'll take care of her. You've been getting up with her all week.”

“Great.” Menley reached for her reading glasses and began to read one of the books about early Cape history that she had found in the library. It was heavy,
and the watersoaked cover was curling. Inside, the pages were flaking and dusty. Even so it made fascinating reading.

She was intrigued to learn that boys went to sea when they were only ten years old and that some of them became captains of their own ships when they were still in their early twenties. She decided that in the new David book it would be interesting to have a seventeenth-century boy who had made seafaring his career.

She came to a chapter that gave brief biographies of some of the most prominent seafarers. One name caught her eye. Captain Andrew Freeman, born in 1663 in Brewster, went to sea as a child and became master of his own ship, the
Godspeed,
at twenty-three. Pilot and skipper, he had the reputation of being absolutely fearless, and even pirates learned to give a wide berth to the
Godspeed.
He drowned in 1707, when against all reason he set sail knowing a nor'easter was coming. The masts broke, and the ship foundered and sank with its entire crew. The wreckage was strewn for miles along the Monomoy sandbar.

I've got to find out more about him, Menley thought. When she finally laid the book on the night table and turned out the light at two o'clock she felt the exhilaration that always came when a story line was firmly rooted in her mind.

*   *   *

Hannah started fussing at quarter of seven. As she had promised, Menley shook Adam awake and settled back with her eyes closed. In a few minutes he returned, the baby leaning against his shoulder, still half asleep. “Menley, why did you switch Hannah to the cradle last night?”

Menley sat up with a start and stared at him.

Confused and slightly alarmed, she thought, I don't remember going in to her. But if I say that, Adam will
think I'm crazy. Instead she yawned and murmured, “When Hannah woke up, she wouldn't settle down, so I rocked her for a while.”

“That's what I thought,” Adam agreed.

Hannah lifted her head from his shoulder and turned. The shades were down, and the light that peeked around their edges was muted. Hannah yawned elaborately and fluttered her eyelids, then smiled and stretched.

In the shadowy room, the contours of her face were so like Bobby's, Menley thought. That was the way Bobby had awakened, too, yawning and smiling and stretching.

Menley looked up at Adam. She did not want him to see that she was on the verge of panicking. She rubbed her eyes. “I read so late. I'm still sleepy.”

“Sleep as long as you want. Here, give the morning star a kiss and I'll take her downstairs. I'll take good care of her.”

He handed her the baby. “I know you will,” Menley said. She held Hannah so that the little face was only inches from her own. “Hi, angel,” she whispered as she thought, Your daddy can take good care of you and I promise you this: if the day ever comes when I think I can't, I'll be history.

H
enry and Phoebe Sprague sat at a table outside the Wayside Inn. For the first time this season Henry had brought Phoebe out for Sunday brunch, and a pleased smile was playing on her lips. She had always been a people watcher, and the main street of Chatham was lively today. Tourists and residents were window-shopping, drifting in and out of the specialty shops or heading for one of the many restaurants.

Henry glanced down at the menu the hostess had given him. We'll order eggs Benedict, he thought. Phoebe always enjoys them here.

“Good morning. Are you ready to order, sir?”

Henry looked up and then stared at the boldly pretty waitress. It was Tina, the young woman whom he'd seen in the pub across the street from the hairdresser in early July, the one whom Scott Covey had explained was an actress appearing at the Cape Playhouse.

There was no hint of recognition on her face, but then she'd barely glanced at him before she rushed out of the pub that day. “Yes, we can order,” he said.

Throughout breakfast, Henry Sprague kept up a running commentary on the passersby. “Look,
Phoebe, there are Jim Snow's grandchildren. Remember how we used to go to the theater with the Snows?”

“Stop asking me if I remember,” Phoebe snapped. “Of course I do.” She went back to sipping coffee. A moment later she hunched forward and looked around, her eyes darting from table to table. “So many people,” she murmured. “I don't want to be here.”

Henry sighed. He'd hoped that the outburst had been a good sign. For some people, tacrine was a remarkably helpful drug, temporarily stopping, even reversing, deterioration in Alzheimer's patients. Since it had been prescribed for Phoebe, he thought he had seen occasional flashes of clarity. Or was he grasping at straws?