The Drifter (2 page)

Windows faced her on two sides, with the insistent pounding of the sea beyond, but Carolyn resisted the urge to raise the shades and look out. Instead she opened the doors of an armoire, but found it disappointingly empty. Walking back out into the hallway, she found Nora and her mother still talking in the bathroom, and as she waited for them to finish, she noticed a narrow door at the very rear of the corridor.

Intrigued, Carolyn went over and tried the latch, but it wouldn't turn. Gripping harder, she twisted again, but the thing refused to budge.

“It's locked,” said a voice behind her, and Carolyn nearly jumped out of her skin. Whirling around, she saw Nora's face hovering over her shoulder, the woman's eyes gleaming in the half light.

“Oh, Nora, you scared me!” Carolyn gasped. “I didn't hear you—”

“Always locked,” Nora said stiffly. “She wanted it that way.”

“Hazel?” Carolyn asked. “Then where does it go?” She fell back a step as Nora advanced.

“Above. To the widow's walk.”

A shiver went through Carolyn. She glanced again at the door.

“Can I see it?”

“Too dangerous. Hasn't been used for years and years. And anyway, I don't have the key.”

“Well, where is it?”

“I'm sure I don't know.” Nora turned abruptly and headed for the stairs, though her voice floated back to where Carolyn was standing. “Best leave it as it is. Don't want accidents, do you?”

“We don't have to
leave
it unlocked,” Carolyn said, following slowly behind. She could hear her mother back down below, yanking sheets off furniture, shaking them, coughing. “I just want to see what it looks like, that's all.”

Nora stopped and turned back toward her. Her face was like a pale, pinched mask, dark eyes glittering with a strange light.

“It's an evil place,” Nora said softly. “And now I've warned you.”

2

“S
O WHAT CAN YOU TELL US
?” M
RS
. B
AXTER ASKED
curiously. “About the house, I mean?”

They were sitting at the kitchen table, and Nora was at the stove, her back to them, fussing with a teakettle. For a long moment she didn't answer, then finally her shoulders seemed to square a little, and she turned on the burner with a deft flick of her wrist.

“Captain Glanton built it,” she said. “Many years ago—back in the eighteen hundreds. It was for his bride. They were very young and very much in love, if the story's to be believed.”

Carolyn settled down in her chair and propped her arms on the tabletop, resting her chin in her hands. Beside her, Mrs. Baxter gave a wink and again urged Nora to continue.

“But he was a captain, like I said,” Nora went on solemnly, “and everyone knows that a captain's first love—
only
true love, really—is the sea.
She
couldn't keep him here, that young wife of his. She never could keep him here for long.”

“And so he built the widow's walk for her,” Carolyn interjected. “So she could watch for him to come home from his journeys?”

Mrs. Baxter ruffled her daughter's hair affectionately. “You'll have to forgive Carolyn, Nora. My daughter's a hopeless romantic.”

Nora shot a quick, dark glance over her shoulder. It settled on Carolyn, then flicked away again.

“He did build the walk for her,” Nora spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “And he did swear to return, and she promised she'd wait. But she was a young thing, as I said—young and pretty and foolish. And the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Then one day she grew tired of waiting and decided he must have met with a tragic fate. And so she loved another.”

“Even though her husband might still have been alive?” Carolyn fretted, and Mrs. Baxter shook her head in amusement.

“A drifter, he was, looking for work. And she needed the help of a man around, and so she let him stay on.”

“And they fell in love?” Carolyn guessed.

“Her new happiness was not to be,” Nora said stiffly. “The lover was a cruel man, as she soon found out—jealous and spiteful—and she grew more and more unhappy. And then one night the storm came.”

Nora paused. Carolyn leaned forward in her chair and gripped the edge of the table.

“Go on, Nora—please—”

“The fiercest storm of the decade, with winds and floods and many lives lost. That was the night Captain Glanton's ship came home at last.
She
saw it coming—standing up there on the widow's walk—
she
saw it coming toward land … and she watched as it was dashed to pieces on the rocks below.”

Carolyn felt as if she'd been hit in the stomach. She lowered her hands from her face and stared incredulously.

“You mean … she saw it
happen?
Right in front of her? Her husband killed on the very night he finally came home?”

“Carolyn”—Mom shook her head—“honey, it's only a story.”

“Men and women alike braved the storm that night, looking for survivors up and down the coast. And it's said that her lover did indeed find Captain Glanton—barely alive and reaching out his hand for help.”

“So the lover saved him?” Carolyn asked breathlessly.

Nora's dark eyes flashed. “It was a knife he took … and
chopped
off the captain's hand. And then he stood watching … and smiling … as the captain sank helplessly back into the sea.”

“Oh, my God …” Carolyn whispered.

“They never found the captain's body,” Nora murmured. “Though they searched for many a day.”

“What about the crew?” Carolyn asked anxiously.

“None survived. And they lie there still … at the bottom of the ocean. Every one.”

For an endless moment there was silence. At last Mrs. Baxter leaned forward in her chair and patted Carolyn's arm.

“Carolyn, it's just folklore, honey—”

“What happened to Captain Glanton's wife?” Carolyn asked.

“They say she lost her mind,” Nora went on, opening cupboard doors, pulling cups and saucers down, dusting them with her dish towel. “She never spoke again. And every day after … and each night, too … she kept watch from the walk above, always believing that somehow—still—her husband would come home to her as he'd always promised he would.”

“But …” Carolyn whispered, “he didn't.”

Nora turned around. Her face was cold and impassive, her words brusque.

“They found her not long after. Dead and all alone—her lover gone who knows where. No one ever knew.”

“So …” Carolyn murmured, “he
killed
her? How?”

“Her throat was ripped clean away.”

Carolyn's hand went unconsciously to her own throat. “Where did they find her?”

“Here. In Glanton House.”

“But …
where
in the house?”

Nora shrugged and shook her head. “She's buried in the village churchyard, even now. But hardly at rest, they say. She keeps watch for him … and he searches for her to this very day.”

Mrs. Baxter groaned, and Nora regarded her coldly.

“Laugh if you will, but Hazel believed it. Lots of folks around here do. That's why I never stay at night. It's a house for the dead … not the living.”

Once more the silence fell. Once more Mrs. Baxter broke it.

“Well, it's a tragic story … a touching story … and it'll make
great
publicity for our guesthouse, don't you think so, Carolyn?”

“What was her name?” Carolyn asked, and Nora turned off the stove as the teakettle shrieked.

“Oh, Carolyn, really!” Mrs. Baxter laughed.

“Do you know, Nora?” Carolyn insisted.

For a long moment Nora said nothing. Then her voice sounded again, low and precise. “
His
was Matthew. Captain Matthew Glanton. And hers was … Carolyn.”

Carolyn's gasp was loud in the uneasy quiet. She glanced fearfully around the kitchen as though the captain himself might walk through the door at any moment.

“Well, there you go!” Mrs. Baxter said brightly. “My goodness, Carolyn, I think it's a sign! We really
were
meant to come here!”

But Carolyn didn't answer. She ran her hands slowly along her arms, trying to rub the goose bumps away. She was only half-conscious of Nora putting a steaming cup of tea down in front of her. She stared hard at Nora's clawlike hands and pale, pointed nails.

“Seriously now,” Mrs. Baxter spoke up, “after all these years of that story being handed down, generation to generation, a lot of the original facts have probably been distorted! Suppose the captain didn't miss his wife at all? Suppose while he was off playing on the high seas, he fell in love with someone else? And he really wanted a divorce when he got back?” She frowned, thinking. “Hmmm … perhaps some native girl on some exotic island …”

“Oh, Mom”—Carolyn sounded exasperated—“you can ruin a beautiful story quicker than anyone I know!”

Her mother feigned innocence. “Well, I'm just being sensible! We don't really know, do we? I mean, there're no eyewitnesses, are there?”

“You're impossible,” Carolyn said grudgingly and got up and went into the parlor. She could hear Nora and her mother talking quietly in the background, but she couldn't make out what they were saying—
probably Mom telling her not to fill my head with nonsense
.

Sighing, she walked slowly to the dining room window and peered out into the fog. Even the glass was wet inside, and the room trembled with every gust of wind. She felt clammy all over, as if the sea spray were creeping in through the nooks and crevices of the old house, seeping deep into her soul.…

I don't care if it is only a legend … it's still the most haunting story I've ever heard
.

For just the briefest moment there was a break in the fog, and Carolyn stared out at the shadowy surroundings. No trees … not a single neighbor in sight. But Nora had been right about one thing—the coastline
was
close to the house—
too close
, Carolyn thought uneasily. She could see now that the house sat on a ledge jutting out from the mainland and into the water, and as far as she could see there was ocean. It seemed to stretch forever, as gray and miserable as the fog.

Carolyn clutched the windowsill to keep from swooning.
Is this what being seasick is?
Suddenly she felt so lonely … so vulnerable … so isolated that she fought back tears and closed her eyes.

She stood that way for several minutes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Then once more she opened her eyes.

A chill crept up her spine.

She drew in her breath and leaned in closer to the window, wiping at the pane with her fingertips.

There was
another
shape out there now … something that hadn't been there only a moment ago—vague and blurry—ghostlike through the fog.

A person?

It was impossible to tell for sure, but somehow she had the impression it might be a man—someone tall—someone just standing there, not moving, staring at the house …

Carolyn hurried to the front door and flung it open. She went out onto the porch and strained her eyes through the fog, opening her mouth to call.

But the fog streamed around her, empty.

And the mournful shriek of the wind sounded almost like a human cry for help.

3

C
AROLYN COULDN
'
T SLEEP
.

She'd tried hard to be cheerful through dinner, tried to be cordial when Nora had finally gone home, tried even harder to be enthusiastic over Mom's growing list of plans for their guesthouse. But now she was tired of pretending, and so she lay in her unfamiliar bed in her unfamiliar room and tried to shut out the distant roar of the sea.
Only it's not so distant
, she thought gloomily,
it's practically in our front yard
.