The Cypress House (28 page)

    "Paul,"
Arlen said, "go on back to the dock and get to work."

    He
didn't argue this time. Just walked off toward the water, moving with a quick
stride that seemed uneasy.

    "They
say anything about the woman?" Arlen said when he was gone.

    "No."

    "Then
why the hell did they come out here?"

    "Solomon
wanted to bring the boat back." Rebecca had come down off the porch and
was standing close to him.

    "Why?"

    "To
frighten me."

    "You're
frightened of a boat?"

    She
gave him cool, expressionless eyes, and after a few seconds he got it.

    "That's
the one? Your father went out in that boat?"

    She
nodded.

    He
took another drink and stared up the road where they'd gone.

    "What's
he use it for?"

    "Smuggling.
Mostly Tate runs it." She lowered her voice and said, "What were you
talking about just then? Why'd you have Paul shake his hand?"

    He
turned to face her again. "Wade's going to kill him."

    
"What?"

    "I
can see it when he touches him."

    She
stared. "You're not joking."

    "No."

    "How
do you . . . what do you see?"

    "The
boy's eyes turn to smoke every time Wade touches him."

    She
was looking at him with her mouth parted, eyes wide with wonder.

    "I've
got to get him out of here," Arlen said. "But it won't be easy."

    "He
believes you, though. He told me that. So he'll know that it's true."

    "He
still won't be willing to go."

    "Why
not?"

    "Because
he's in love with you," Arlen said.

    It
wasn't as simple as staying out of Solomon Wade's way.

    Arlen
was sure of that. And even if it was . . . Paul wouldn't be able to stay out of
his way. No, he'd remain with Rebecca, remain at her side, and Rebecca Cady was
planted firmly in Solomon Wade's path.

    Arlen
had trouble working that afternoon. Made the sorts of mistakes he never made,
had to tear loose boards he'd just laid and remeasure and cut them correctly
and lay them again. If Paul noticed, he didn't comment. He was quiet himself,
somber, but he didn't miss a nail or a measurement. He never seemed to.

    The
uneasiness followed them back to the inn that evening. There, though, Paul
endeavored to change the tone. His idea was a boat ride. As soon as he found
out it belonged to Rebecca, he wanted to take it out.

    "I've
never been on a boat," he said. "Not a real one. And that's a
dandy."

    "We
aren't down here to play on a boat," Arlen said, seeing the pain in her
eyes. "Quiet down about it."

    "There's
no reason we couldn't take it out," he said, undeterred.

    "We
don't know how to run it."

    "Oh,
there's not that much to it. I'm not saying we'll sail to China, Arlen, I'm
just saying I want to go out a little ways and —"

    "Damn
it, Paul," Arlen began, riled now, but Rebecca cut him off.

    "It's
fine," she said. "Take it out."

    He
cast her a surprised look. She met his eyes and nodded.

    "It's
fine," she repeated.

    "See?"
Paul said. "We'll all go."

    Rebecca
shook her head. "No. I won't."

    "Oh,
come on. I want all of us to —"

    
"Paul!"
Arlen barked, and the anger in his voice made the kid pull back and stare at
him in confusion.

    "She
doesn't want to go," Arlen said, fighting to control his tone. "Stop
pestering. Far as I'm concerned, none of us should go on the damn thing."

    "I'd
like you to," Rebecca said. "Really, I would. I just can't."

    "You
get seasick?" Paul said.

    She
looked away.

    "I'd
be very, very sick out on that boat."

    There
was less than an hour of sunlight left when they got aboard, and it took ten
minutes to satisfy themselves with an understanding of the engine and get the
anchor up. It would have taken Arlen an hour to do the same, but Paul took one
look at the boat's cockpit and began addressing the various elements as if they
were old friends.

    "Look,"
Paul said as they headed out, "rifles."

    There
were two of them in a rack in the cockpit. Springfields.

    Same
rifles Arlen had used to take more than a few German lives. The sight of them
made him uneasy.

    "Ignorant
place to store rifles," he said. "Unless you rub them down with oil
constant, that salt water will work on them fast."

    Paul
walked up as if to inspect them, and Arlen called him off. "Leave them be,
damn it. I thought you wanted to play with the boat, not the weapons."

    They
kept it at a crawl all the way out of the inlet and into open water, and then
Paul wanted to let it run.

    "We
don't know what's out there," Arlen said. "Could be a reef or —"

    "Rebecca
said it was clear straight out from the Cypress House."

    "Fine,"
Arlen said. "You want to drown us both, go ahead."

    He
turned the wheel over, and Paul opened the throttle up and got the big engine
chugging away, and soon they were well out in front of the inn, chasing a
setting sun across the Gulf.

    It
was, Arlen had to admit, a hell of a nice thing.

    Behind
them the rural coast extended with its stretches of beach and thickets of palms
and sea grasses, and ahead the water shimmered bloodred and endless. The wind
was coming up out of the southwest, warm and mild, putting just enough chop in
the water that the hull of the boat spanked against the waves and sent spray
over the stern and let them feel like real sailors.

    When
they were far enough out that the Cypress House looked like a thimble, Arlen
told him to bring it around.

    "Let's
shut the engine off for a minute," Paul said.

    "You
shut that engine off, we'll likely not get it started again. Drift halfway to
Cuba before somebody comes for us."

    "It'll
start again, Arlen. I started and stopped it three times back there before you
let us take it out."

    Arlen
grunted and muttered but didn't lay down a firm objection, and Paul cut the
engine.

    "There
we go," the boy said when the clattering had ceased, breathing the words
out like a prayer. It was silent now, save for the wind and water, no other
boat in sight. "Isn't this something?"

    It
was something, all right. They were alone on the ocean, rising and falling with
gentle waves, nothing but warm red light and water all around them. Arlen stood
up, holding on to the cockpit roof with one hand for balance, and stared out to
the west, squinting against the fading sun. So much water. It just went on and
on and on, a sight that squeezed the soul. He felt so damn small out here. And
that felt good. Maybe that was strange, but it felt good. He was insignificant.
The world was too big to care about his decisions. There was no weight here, no
burden.

    "I've
never been on the ocean before," Paul said. "All the time we've been
working there, I kept wishing she had a boat. I'd look at the water and wish I
could see what it's like out here."

    "You're
seeing it."

    "It's
wonderful."

    Arlen
sat back down in one of the fishing chairs mounted in the stern and stretched
backward and looked at the darkening sky. A pale orb of moon was rising,
climbing even as the sun retreated. The boat was tinted with an ethereal red
glow.

    "What
do you want to do, Paul?" Arlen asked.

    "Sit
here a little longer, if that's —"

    "No.
I mean with your life. What do you want to do ?"

    "I
don't know."

    "What
in the hell happened? Back at Flagg, you were full of plans. Had everything all
mapped out. I know we didn't make the Keys — which is a damn good thing—but
what happened to the rest of your ideas? "

    The
boy was quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was low.

    "I've
got my whole life ahead of me, Arlen. Right now, I'm just worried about
finishing that dock."

    "Well,
that's an ignorant way to think," Arlen said, enough heat in the words to
raise Paul's head. "You got a damned gift, and you know it. Aren't you
going to try and make something of it?"

    "Of
course I will."

    "Get
a plan in your head, then. The CCC was good for you, but it's —"

    "I
don't want to go back to it. Not anymore."

    "That's
fine. Where you ought to be is some sort of engineering or mechanical school. I
don't know much about them, but I know they've got them, and that's what you
should be looking for. Something that'll let you go on to designing projects
instead of hauling supplies for them. You ever heard of that Carnegie school in
Pittsburgh?"

    He
knew the boy had; it was Paul who had told him about it.

    "Sure,"
Paul said. There was a wariness to him now.

    "Well,
you ought to try to get in something like that."

    Paul
seemed to think on his next words carefully before he said them.

    "Right
now, I don't want to think about leaving this place. Not without her. I know
what you're saying, but I've got different priorities right now."

    "Is
that so ?" Arlen said, voice soft.

    "It
is."

    Arlen
nodded and went silent. There wasn't much of the sun left now, and behind them
the Cypress House had disappeared into darkness. The wind had stilled a bit as
the light faded, the boat's rise and fall gentler now than before.

    "If
I were to tell you," Arlen said, "as clearly as I could, and as
sincerely, that you need to get out of this place, what would you do?"

    "I'd
stay. I'd be careful, but I'd stay."

    "All
right," Arlen said. They were quiet for a time then, as the remnants of
sun melted away and the moon sharpened against the night sky and the wind died
down altogether until they seemed to be adrift on the world's largest pond.

    "Let's
go in," Arlen said.

    Paul
fired up the engine and brought them back. They'd stayed out too long; by the
time they neared the shore it was so dark they wouldn't have been able to find
the inlet. Rebecca was ready for them, though, had walked down to the dock with
a lantern, and Arlen took the wheel and followed the glow through the darkness.

    They'd
anchored the rowboat in the center of the inlet, and he managed to position the
big boat close enough so that they could climb down into it. Rebecca was
waiting in silence on the dock. Just as Arlen bent to the oars, Paul said,
"Thanks for that, Arlen. I wanted to be on the water. It was special, you
know?"

    "Yeah,"
he said. "Sure was."

    He
waited no more than ten minutes after Paul had gone to bed before he went to
Rebecca's room. He paused in the hallway and looked at the two doors, set so
close together. He could hear Paul still shifting in his bed when he knocked
softly on Rebecca's door and stepped inside, and she looked up with surprise.
She was standing by the window.

    He
walked over and took her face in his hands and kissed her.