The Island of Dangerous Dreams (5 page)

The others made trivial chatter about the boat trip and the house, but I hung back, absorbing the silent beauty of the island. The water, which patted the shore with little shushing sounds, was so clear that it was hard to judge its depth. Under its shimmering surface was a display of purple and red sea urchins and strange, small plants with wiggling fingerlike leaves. A few tiny golden fish, who looked like frantic escapees from an aquarium, darted together through the leaves, whirled, and
shot out to deeper water. I could hardly wait to get into my bathing suit.

Suddenly self-conscious, I said, “I’m coming,” to no one at all, and looked up toward Madelyn, whom I knew must be the one I felt staring at me.

But Madelyn was in animated conversation with Norton, and the others were just as intent on their stroll to the steps to the veranda. I studied the house. Someone was watching me. I could feel it. A guest? Another servant?

There were no faces at any of the windows, but the feeling of being watched was so strong that I turned in a semicircle, my eyes trying to pierce the tangle of trees and shrubs that crept almost down to the sea.

I saw no one. No one at all. So I picked up my bag and scrambled to catch up with the others.

Just as I joined them the boat motor started up again. We whirled to watch the boat backing away from the dock.

Norton took a few steps forward, as though he could stop the crew, and demanded, “Where are they taking the boat?”

“To Freeport,” the judge said. He looked at Norton quizzically. “Does it matter?”

“Do you have other boats? Other transportation from this island?” He nervously cleared his throat a couple of times. “I—I don’t like feeling—uh—closed in.”

Benita’s laughter rippled over us. “Closed in?” She raised her arms high. “With all this open beauty, how could you feel closed in?”

“Maybe I used the wrong word,” he mumbled.
“If I said
trapped
, would you understand what I mean?”

“Claustrophobia takes a number of forms,” Aldo said. “This concern that Norton feels could be called ‘island fever.’ ”

Norton’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “That’s it exactly.” He peered up through his eyeshade at the judge. “When will the boat be back?”

“On Sunday afternoon,” the judge said calmly. “When our business is concluded.”

“Then let’s get on with it.”

Judge Arlington-Hughes held up both hands, palms out. “Slow down,” he drawled, as though he were deliberately trying to be infuriating. “We have plenty of time. You’ve all given me your entire weekend.”

“You know we’re eager to see the topaz, Justin,” Madelyn said. “Why don’t you tell us when you’ll show it to us?”

The judge smiled. He was obviously enjoying the mystery he’d created. “Directly to the point as always, Madelyn.”

No one spoke. We all waited. With the boat gone a hush lay over the island. I could hear the whisper of the breeze through the trees and the occasional cry of a gull, even the slap of waves against the dock.

“Very well,” he said. “If you’d like a schedule, you may have one. Ellison will direct you to your rooms. If there is anything you wish, you have only to ask. During the remainder of the afternoon you may entertain yourselves in any way you like.
There is swimming, and we can provide snorkeling equipment for those who are attuned to nature. There are trails through the woods, although I’d suggest that no one stray too far because, even though the island encompasses an area of only two square miles, it is possible to become lost. There are books to read in the library, and a few rocking chairs and reclining lawn chairs on the veranda for those who wish only to relax. Please be dressed for dinner by seven
P.M.
We’ll have cocktails in the dining room at that time.”

“Justin! Don’t be so infuriating! What about the artifact?” Benita’s lower lip curled out as she apparently tried for a cute pout. She missed.

“You’ll see it tonight,” the judge said. “A jewel as beautiful as the one I am going to display for you needs the proper setting.”

“Oh, bother!” Benita snapped. “You’re playing games with us.”

Madelyn quickly said, “We asked for an itinerary, and Justin gave us one. Since the opportunity presents itself, I am going to take a leisurely nap.”

“A nap?” Benita stared at Madelyn unbelievingly.

“A good idea,” Aldo said. “I may follow it. The sea air has made me sleepy.”

“I’ll be in my room too,” Norton grumbled. “As long as I have free time, I’ll use it to go over some papers I brought along.”

Benita looked from one face to another, then said, “Oh. Well, I may just read—in my room of course. If anyone wants me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I wondered who they thought they were fooling.
The judge better have a hideaway or he’d find them all descending upon him at once.

The judge turned to me. “Do you have plans, Andrea?”

It was the first time he had admitted that I existed. I was so surprised that I stammered, “I—I’m going swimming.”

“Be very careful,” he said. “There are no undercurrents to worry about, but there are plantlike sea animals that can sting and burn your feet painfully if you step on them.”

“I know,” I said. “I learned about them at our science museum.”

“Maybe someone should go with you.” Madelyn sounded a bit concerned.

No one spoke up. I hadn’t expected anyone to. I said, “I’m a very good swimmer, and I plan to stay close to shore because I’m going to snorkel. You don’t have to worry about me, Aunt Madelyn.”

Ellison appeared in the open doorway. “Come along now with me,” he said.

Like first-graders off on a field trip, we followed him across the entry hall and up the stairs in a neat and tidy line.

I was surprised that my room faced the ocean. Considering how the judge felt about me as an unwanted guest, I had halfway expected to be stuck in a closet. But after Ellison opened the shuttered doors that led to the veranda, spilling a shock of brightness over what had been dim outlines and shapes, I put down my bag and took a careful look at my surroundings. The walls had been painted a flat, glaring white, but there were
smudges of mildew where they met the ceiling. And even though a breeze had begun to sift through the warm summer air, it couldn’t completely dispel the musty, stale smell of a room that had been closed tightly for too long.

A white woven cotton spread and two plump pillows covered the bed, which had an ornate headboard of white-painted wrought iron. An old-fashioned chest of drawers stood at one side of the bed, a comfortable wicker chair with a blue cushion at the other. There were three doors in the room. One led to a small closet, one to the outside hall, and one to a narrow bathroom with a cramped shower stall just large enough to be called adequate if you didn’t care how clean you got your elbows.

I stepped out on the second-story veranda and, from the corners of my eyes, saw someone pop quickly back into one of the rooms. Okay. I wasn’t looking for company either. I closed the shutters and put on my bathing suit, quickly hanging up the few clothes I had brought with me.

With the shutters closed the room smelled even more musty, so I opened the outside doors wide. I wasn’t worried about burglars or snoopers. I was probably the only one on this island with nothing worth stealing and nothing to hide.

Maybe all those nappers and resters had meant what they said. The house was suspiciously quiet as I went down the stairs two at a time to search out Ellison.

The rooms I looked into were dim, with ugly, out-of-date, overstuffed furniture. They would
never have made it into
Architectural Digest
. Then it dawned on me that, since the judge owned them, they were probably valuable antiques. On one side of the entry hall was a smallish room with lots of bookshelves stuffed with books across one side. The air was so warm and damp that I could actually smell the mustiness that infected the books. Beyond this library was a large office with windows on two sides, but the shutters over the windows were closed. Obviously I wasn’t going to find Ellison around here.

I strolled back the way I had come, poking my head into what seemed to be a living room on the opposite side of the entry hall. It wasn’t an inviting place. There were groupings of sofas, mismatched tables of all sizes, and clustered chairs. There was a wide louvered door at the far end, but the louvers had been pushed to each side, showing a large dining room.

A soft voice behind me made me jump at least three inches into the air. “Is there something you were looking for, miss?”

“Ellison!” I said, staggering into a quick turn and leaning against the doorframe. “I was looking for you. The judge said something about some snorkel stuff. Do you know where I can find it?”

He nodded solemnly. “We’ll get you a mask, a tube, and flippers. Come with me now.”

“Sure,” I said, and trotted to keep up with him. “Have you worked here long?”

“Yes, miss,” he said.

“How many people work here?”

“I work here. That’s enough.”

“Oh,” I said. “I thought maybe the judge had a cook.”

“I do the cooking.”

“Oh.” It was very hard to think of anything else to say, so I gave up.

Ellison opened a cupboard, rummaged through it, and brought out some really neat equipment. I tried on some fins that turned out to be too big, but Ellison was able to tuck them back on the shelf and come up with a pair just the right size.

“There’re many, many poisonous plant animals in the sea,” he said. His eyes, behind those thick lenses, shimmered as though they were underwater.

“Yes. I know about them. I’ll watch out,” I said.

“Use the ladder at the end of the dock when you go in the water.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Don’t swim too far,” he told me.

“I won’t.” I put the mask on the back of my head, scooped up the fins and tube, and hurried out of the house and down to the beach, eager to get away from Ellison—from all of them.

The sand slipped between my toes like warm silk. I stooped to pick up a small, curved shell, then threw it away. Lots of time left for shell hunting. Maybe I’d even be able to dive for the big pink-pearl-lined conch. The wooden deck burned the soles of my feet, so I ran to the end and climbed on the ladder, slipping on the fins and dropping into the surprisingly warm water. I swished the mask through the water and put it on, making sure it was snug. Then out I swam over a scene of flashing,
weaving color so intricate and lovely, I could hardly bear not to share it with someone else.

I wished I could share it with Rick.

It hurt to know that I couldn’t. My throat was so tight, it was hard to swallow. I ached so hard for Rick that I wondered if he could somehow sense it. I wanted to pretend that he was beside me, that soon he’d reach out, touching my arm, pointing at a bright-blue fish he wanted me to see.

“Grow up, Andy,” he had said.

Maybe Rick was right. Maybe I was too dramatic and stubborn about causes. I could change. I could try to be the way he wanted me to be.

Tears suddenly blinded me. I shook my head, almost choking on a mouthful of salt water. Tearing off my mask, gasping and choking, I finally managed to breathe normally again. That’s what I got for not paying attention to what I was doing.

I treaded water, glancing around me. The house and beach were nowhere in sight. I had somehow entered a small cove where palms, broad-leafed shrubs, and some kind of red-flowering trees crowded right down to the edge of the water. Below me, through the crystal water, was an equally brilliant garden, dotted with the large, curved shells of the conch. A promontory of bare limestone rock jutted out into the sea ahead of me. Water had worn large holes in the rock, and I could see through one of them to another cove beyond.

Curious, I swam ahead, my fins giving me an extra speed, and discovered that the rock arched just under the waterline. Below the arch was an
entrance to the other cove, and to the left of the cove was an opening—only partly covered with water—to a cave.

I had to see the cave. There was no way I could pass up a cave. Pulling my mask into place and taking an extra-deep breath, I dived under the arch, made a right turn, and swam into a cavern so dark and still, I knew I had made a mistake. I had no right to be there.

5

The ceiling to the cave was high, rough, and deeply curved, the walls about fifteen feet apart. It was like the inside of a bubble, with only its entrance to break the roundness and let in light. It was dark toward the back of the cave, so I couldn’t tell how deep it might be. My first thought was to wonder if something might be hiding in the dark water. An octopus? Large, scuttling crabs? But I wasn’t afraid. Anything that lived in this cave would be as withdrawn and secret as the cave itself. A ledge lay to my left, so I hoisted myself up, careful not to scratch myself on the rough stone and the clusters of barnacles that were plastered to it. I rested there for a moment between two small tidal pools and gently poked the end of my snorkel tube into the center of a flowering sea anemone, which quickly closed its spidery arms around the tube.

Discoloration on the walls of the cave, damp though they were, showed me how high the sea
would rise. It came up only a few feet; there were bleached and dried ledges and nooks and hollows in the porous limestone walls far above the waterline.