Sea Glass Summer (24 page)

‘I'm not interested in folk art.' At the sound of Elizabeth Cully's voice Gwen groped her way back to the present.

‘I'm sorry . . .?'

‘Scrimshaws.' No hint of lingering antagonism in those eyes. Had it indeed been there in the first place or just imagined?

‘Oh, yes. Not everyone's cup of tea.'

‘But Gerard and I should take Oliver to see them. This is the last day of school and we'd do anything to take himself out of himself. We've just been treading water where he's concerned, but it's so difficult. We're not used to children, and he's full of resentment at being forced, as he sees it, to live with us. There's this woman, Twyla Washburn, who was his grandfather's nurse that he would run off to in a minute if he could. And maybe we've made a mistake in trying to create a distance between them to make it less hard on him when we take him back with us to New York in the fall.' Elizabeth was again plucking at her skirt. ‘I don't know why I'm bothering you with this.'

Because you know who I am and have a strong suspicion why I'm really here, thought Gwen, and if you have any sense you'll get as much free work out of the garden club as you can.

‘I have been feeling a considerable interest in your nephew,' she began. And from then on the words flowed easily, steered toward her one meeting with Clare Andrews. ‘Which is why I was touched when Twyla mentioned the other day that Oliver had said he would like to take piano lessons. It is my son who is the professional teacher and I believe on his good days could still be helpful, but I have played since I was a very young child and can certainly get Oliver off to a good start, if you would let him come to our house for a couple of hours once, or better yet, twice a week.'

Gwen had the sinking feeling that the answer would be a resounding ‘No!' But at that moment Robin Polly entered the room and immediate further discussion of the matter was prevented. She was one of a very few people who could stand in the vicinity of that towering furniture and not look physically diminished. Her graying brown braid hung over her shoulder like a rope to be climbed. She sent a smile and a greeting Gwen's way.

‘I'm off for home, Ms Cully.'

‘OK.'

‘Done what I could getting that rust out of Miss Emily's bathtub, but still looks like a donkey peed in it every day of its life. And speaking of the old lady, I noticed this morning and forgot to mention the little silver clock that used to be on the table next to her bed.' She jerked a thumb toward the four-poster at the far end of the room.

‘What about it?'

‘Not there. And when I see something's not in its usual place I make a point of saying so; that way there can't be no suggesting I helped it on its way. I'm not saying you'd take that line, Mrs Cully, but I've a right to protect my good name. And I certainly don't want it said my father, Willie, tucked it in his pocket when he was hiding out here in the house last January, because whatever else he is, he ain't no thief, let alone him not being able to get up from the cellar with the door locked.'

‘I have no idea what clock you're talking about.' A fiery flush descended from Elizabeth's face to her neck. ‘Who could pick out one object in all this morass of stuff?'

‘A little silver one with a poem written on it . . . like something from a sailor to his wife or girl, about not counting the hours till he come home from the sea.'

Elizabeth was on her feet. Very much the lady of the house, but for the poking at her hair. ‘It'll either turn up or it won't. No need for you to worry about it, Mrs Polly. I don't care about it one way or the other and neither will my husband. Perhaps,' she shoved back a tangle of hair, ‘Oliver took it up to his room.'

‘That's different, ain't it? He'll be thinking he's every right to it. Can't question that now.' The smile she turned on the room before she left Gwen wondering what it intimated. Elizabeth's expression when she spoke was equally hard to read.

‘I'm not sure about the upheaval of landscaping this year, that I'll have to discuss with Gerard, but I do think it would be a good idea for Oliver to come to you for piano lessons, if he does want them. Please pass on to Twyla Washburn that his happiness is all we really care about. If she's gotten the wrong idea about that we're sorry.'

Mission accomplished. Gwen should have left the Cully Mansion feeling relieved and content, but as she drove home the last of what Elizabeth had to say lingered disturbingly.

‘He's been through a lot in his nine years and we worry about his mental health. Gerard got up in the middle of the night a couple of weeks ago – following a Sunday I'd spent in bed with one of my worst migraines ever – and when he was passing Oliver's open bedroom door he saw him bolt upright in bed. He was talking – having a conversation – with someone who wasn't there.'

Oliver came down the dark oak staircase at a little after eight a.m. wearing shorts and a green T-shirt with a black Labrador on the front. Earlier in the week he'd hoped it would remind Elizabeth and Gerard how mean they were about not letting him have a dog. This morning it was a shirt he liked. He was feeling a little more kindly toward his aunt and uncle since they had told him he could go to the house where Twyla was living and have piano lessons with Mrs Garwood. Yesterday he'd gone for his very first one and it had been great. After five minutes he'd been able to find middle C with his eyes closed and was imagining himself on a stage playing for an audience of thousands with all the ladies and some of the men crying. Mrs Garwood made it seem easy and fun. He liked her blue eyes and pretty silver hair. When she left to let him to practice for a little on his own, while she went into the kitchen to make up a pitcher of lemonade, her son had come in and sat in a chair listening. He'd been mostly quiet, but once he said, ‘Nice.' And then: ‘Good job.'

Twyla had previously told Oliver that Mrs Garwood and Sonny Norris were the lady and man they had sat next to in church on that first Sunday in Sea Glass. What had made him feel especially good was seeing how much Twyla enjoyed helping with Sonny and what good friends she and Mrs Garwood had become. And then there was Jumbo. Oliver had never seen, or even heard of, a bull mastiff before. They had taken to each other right away, and Mrs Garwood had said there was another new friend named Sarah –
really Sonny's friend
,
she had stressed – who came most days to take Jumbo out for a walk and perhaps, if it was agreeable with Oliver's aunt and uncle, he could go with them sometimes. When Oliver got to the bottom of the stairs Mrs Polly was in the hall. She didn't usually come on a Saturday unless she'd left something behind from when she worked the last time. In this case it must have been her instant coffee because she had the jar in her hand. Oliver had adjusted his negative opinion of Mrs Polly since his initial meeting with her at Pleasant Meadows. After seeing her there again in her father's presence he had decided that she and Willie enjoyed rattling each other's cages, as she called it, and that she was in her way fond of him.

‘Someone to see you, Mr Pal.' That's what she called him. The
Mr
because she joked that he was her employer and the
Pal
because she said that's what he was, a real pal in a place she'd always told Miss Emily belonged back in the Dark Ages.

‘Thank you, Mrs Poll.' Oliver inclined his head formally, which always made her grin. ‘Is it Twyla?' His mood soared. Maybe Elizabeth was done with her excuses – that some other time would always be better.

‘A kid. Said he's a friend, but can't believe nothin' nobody tells you these days. Could be a very short gangster on the lam. Wouldn't hurt to look around for something to hit him over the head with if he comes at you. I'd give you this jar of coffee to pitch, but I've none at home and self comes first. He's in the living room, but don't ask me to go back in there with you. For all my size I'm Queen of Cowards.'

‘Right!' Oliver now wished he'd stayed upstairs. ‘I bet it's Emjagger or Rolling Stone. And I do need a weapon. They're worse bullies than any at my school . . . old school in Ferry Landing. I hoped I was done with them now I don't need to ride to and from Ferry Landing with them, but their mother and Elizabeth had made up their minds we are going to be best friends. I could puke!'

Mrs Polly shook her head, sending her heavy braid swinging. ‘I know them brats of Satan. Caught them chucking stones at my cat once and went after them at a gallop, yelling that I'd tear their heads off with my bare hands and boil them in a pot for supper. Never heard such a caterwauling. You could've heard 'em a mile off. Almost slipped twice, I did, on the puddles of tears they left behind. Folks can say what they like about my Willie, but he weren't born evil. No, Mr Pal, the kid that's waiting to see you is younger than either of them two, and wears glasses.'

‘Brian!' Oliver exclaimed joyfully. ‘This is the first time he's been here. He's my true best friend.' He threw his arms around Mrs Polly's middle. All the rest was too far up. Now that he was no longer stiff with fear he could relish the image of her charging after Emjagger and Stone like a figure of vengeance blown up out of all human proportion. She stood patting his head, before prodding him toward the living room.

‘Don't stand wasting time with the Ogress.'

He couldn't walk away from that. ‘You're not . . .'

Mrs Polly chuckled deeply. ‘I've been called far worse. Have to face facts in life. And when that's said, Mr Pal, it does to know it's never about the nice ones. But you won't go catching me whimpering or dripping tears. There's not too many is fool enough to step twice on someone my size, even though I don't have all my teeth.' She gave another pleased roar. ‘Used to ask my husband for a new set for Christmas, but nothing doing. That man was so cheap if I'd said I wanted a brooch he'd have stuck a tick on my blouse and tell me I looked like a film star.'

‘I'd buy you some new teeth, any kind you like, if I had the money.'

‘One of these days I'm just might hold you to that.' Mrs Polly shot him a look that puzzled him. It was like she was trying to tell him something with what Grandpa would call a wink and a nod. ‘A pity some grown folks don't realize having a bundle and wanting more ain't the way to happiness. Now off you go. Your gangster friend has his head stuck out the doorway and looks ready to shoot me if I don't disappear fast. It won't be long before you have your aunt and uncle on your hands. Had a round with her in the ring the other day and don't take smarts to guess who come off the winner? That look in her eyes when I said my piece put a smile on my ugly face that'll last through summer.'

‘You're not ugly! Now we're friends, Mrs Poll, I get happier just looking at you.'

‘Go!' The finger in the back was firmer this time.

‘Just one more thing: when I was up in the attic the other day I found boxes and boxes of paperback books . . .'

‘Romances! And you couldn't picture Miss Emily reading them, right? Well, she did, lapped them up like a cat at a saucer of milk and wouldn't have them given away or thrown out in case she wanted to reread them. So every so often I'd do a round up and take them up there.'

‘Thanks. That makes her seem a more comfortable sort of person. I brought a few down with me to look through.' Oliver departed on a prod between his shoulder blades.

‘So what was all that about gangsters and guns?' Brian asked when Oliver joined him in the living room. ‘Was that woman trying to get you to join her gang?'

‘She isn't
that
woman. And she was just joking about the gangsters and stuff. She's Mrs Polly. I told you about her. When I met her for the first time in Grandpa's room at Pleasant Meadows, I wasn't sure I'd like her. But I do; she's the only real nice thing about having to live here.'

Brian looked doubtful. ‘You didn't say she looks like she'd cook people for dinner and pour on lots of ketchup.'

‘Only ones like Emjagger and Rolling Stone.'

‘You're not still stuck with them, Ollie?' Brian's eyes narrowed behind his ever-lopsided glasses. ‘I thought it was goodbye to those creeps now school's out.'

‘They live next door.'

‘Guess I blocked that out.'

‘Not me. My skin's still bruised from Rolling Stone pinching my arm in the car.'

‘Why didn't you get back at him by calling him by his full name – put in the Rolling part? If that's what his parents want, and with his Mom driving, what could he do but suck it up?'

‘They'd make me pay big time when there's no one but Emjagger around. Besides he's got asthma, has to keep an inhaler with him, and much as I can't stick him I'd be scared to send him into an attack. Twyla says in bad cases people can die from them. Elizabeth's been talking about them taking me out kayaking.'

‘So she can stand on the shore and watch them drown you?' Brian waggled his fingers around his face to indicate her ghoulish delight.

It was tempting to laugh nastily at this; especially as Oliver was sure Elizabeth and Gerard were still up in their bedroom and no one could come down the uncarpeted stairs unheard. They never got up early, even on weekdays. But his conscience pricked him. He had been allowed the piano lessons, if not a dog or cat, and he supposed it was a start. More than that really, because on those days he would be in the same house as Twyla for at least a couple of hours. Until now his time with her had been restricted to church on Sundays and the visits twice a week to see Grandpa. He turned this over in his mind. ‘I don't get Elizabeth and Gerard. Even when they're trying to be nice it's like there's something behind it. But why would they want me drowned or some other kind of dead, when they could just let me go live with Twyla?' He shrugged.