The Unloved (27 page)

“How you feeling?” he shouted, his words drifting up on a gentle breeze coming in from the sea.

“I’m fine!” Julie called back. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll be down.” Before her father could protest, she turned away from the window and went to the bathroom. She stripped off her limp nightgown, turned on the cold water, took a deep breath and stepped into the cool spray. The shock instantly cleared her mind of the last traces of sleepiness, and as she felt the clean water wash the perspiration from her skin, her memories of the morning came back to her.

Jenny Mayhew had been there, and some of the other girls, but she couldn’t quite remember what she and Jenny had talked about. And then, a little later, she’d gone up to the third floor.

But it had been strange.

Her friends were gone, and Marguerite had been dancing by herself. But there had been something strange about her aunt, almost as if Marguerite hadn’t known quite who she was.

She frowned, lathering herself with soap, and tried to remember more. But there didn’t seem to be any more. Just a sort of half memory, like a dream.

Her frown cleared and she grinned to herself. That was it—it had been a dream. Aunt Marguerite couldn’t dance, and surely if she’d really gone up there, Marguerite would have known who she was. It must have been the pills, and the music.

She stepped out of the shower and toweled herself dry, then went back to her bedroom and found a clean pair of jeans and one of her father’s old shirts. Dressed she went downstairs to the kitchen, where Ruby was fixing supper. The aroma of Cajun food filled the room, and Julie lifted the lid off a pot on the stove to peer at the gumbo bubbling inside. Ruby glared at her disapprovingly.

“What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Julie shook her head. “I’m not sick. I feel fine, and I’m not taking anymore of Dr. Adams’s pills. All they do is make me woozy and give me nightmares.” She pulled open one of the drawers near the door to the butler’s pantry. “Is it time to start setting the table?”

Ruby shrugged. “It isn’t gonna set itself. But only do it for three. Your aunt won’t be down for supper.”

Julie’s brows knit into a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“Seems like not much is right today.” Ruby’s eyes rolled heavenward. “You in bed after yesterday, then your brother bumpin’ his head, and now Miss Marguerite, gone to bed with her hip.”

Julie’s frown deepened. “Wh-What happened?” she said, the dream she’d had that morning suddenly coming back to her.

Ruby shook her head dolefully and began peeling radishes into the sink as she spoke. “Seems to me you ought to know—you were there. Fool woman was tryin’ to dance. She
knows she can’t do that kind of thing no more. But some time there’s just no talking to her. Just like her mother, sometimes.”

A chill went through Julie. Then it hadn’t been a dream. But why hadn’t her aunt recognized her? “Ruby? Is … well, is there something wrong with Aunt Marguerite? I mean, besides her hip?”

Finally Ruby turned to face Julie, but her eyes were opaque. “Now what makes you ask a question like that?”

“It’s just—” Julie began, then fell silent, uncertain how to explain what had happened. “It’s just that this morning, when I went upstairs, it seemed like something was wrong. Aunt Marguerite looked sort of well, sort of strange, I guess. She was talking to me, but it seemed like she didn’t quite know who I was. You know, like I was someone else or something.”

Ruby said nothing for a moment, then turned back to the sink. “I guess maybe sometimes the pain gets to be too much for her,” she replied at last. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. She’ll be all right.”

“Maybe I should go up and see her.”

Ruby shook her head again. “Just let her be. When her leg starts hurtin’ her, all she wants is to be left alone. I’ll take a tray up to her after a while, and by morning everything will be fine again.”

The back door opened then, and Kevin, mopping the sweat off his torso with a T-shirt, stepped into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw Julie, then cocked his head and looked at her critically. Finally he grinned. “Well, at least you’re back in the land of the living. Have you seen your brother yet?”

Julie shook her head. “Ruby says he bumped his head.”

“ ‘Bumped’ hardly describes it,” Kevin replied ruefully. “He fell in the basement and cut himself. There was blood all over the place. Didn’t you hear him screaming?”

Julie shook her head.

“Well, you were the only one in the county who didn’t, then. Anyway, he’s fine now.” He winked. “Of course, I had to bribe him with a movie tonight.”

Julie brightened. “Can I go too?”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Kevin asked, his eyes narrowing. “Dr. Adams said you should take it easy.”

Julie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I’m all right,” she insisted. “It’s not like I’m sick. And I hate those pills.” She turned on her most appealing smile, and knew immediately the argument was over. “Please?”

Kevin shrugged. “Fine with me. It’s time the three of us did something together.” He started out of the room, then turned back, his grin in place again. “And when Jeff comes down, be sure to fuss over the size of his bandage. But don’t believe him when he tells you I was beating up on him.”

“Beating up on him?” Julie repeated. “Why would he say that? You never beat up on us.”

“Well, I’m afraid I did give him a whack,” Kevin said, his voice more serious. “Not much of one, but it startled him and he tripped. But to hear him tell it, we’re talking major child abuse.”

Julie giggled. “I’ll tell him about the time you spanked me with the ruler after I broke your new fishing rod. He’ll think one whack is nothing.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Kevin said darkly, then disappeared through the door.

Two hours later, with Jeff wearing a new baseball cap to cover up the large plaster bandage over the stitches on the back of his head, the three of them set out for the movies.

“You’re sure it’s all right?” Kevin asked Ruby as they were heading out the back door. “If Marguerite’s not feeling well—”

“She’ll be fine,” Ruby assured them. “I’ve been taking care of her since she was a baby, and I don’t figure I can’t take care of her now. You all get along and have a good time.” She waited by the back door until they were gone, then went to the counter and began preparing a tray for Marguerite. At last, uncertain about what she would find upstairs, she picked up the tray and pushed her way out of the kitchen.

*      *      *

Marguerite sat stiffly on the bench in front of the vanity table, examining her image carefully in the mirror. Her hair, swept up in back, was arranged on top of her head in a clean, spiraling twist, held in place by a large, ornately carved tortoiseshell comb. Her eyes were heavily shadowed, the lids edged in black, the lashes themselves coated with a thick layer of mascara. Her lips were crimson, the brilliant red made even brighter by the pale powder with which she had coated her face. Just below the right corner of her mouth she had placed a single dark spot.

Now, satisfied at last with her face, she reached for her mother’s jewelry box and began to go through the pieces one by one. She remembered them all, remembered them from her childhood, when she had stood silently by the door to this room, watching Helena get ready for one of her parties.

Sometimes, if she’d been very, very good, her mother would let her try on some of the jewelry. Marguerite could still remember the string of jet she had loved so much, winding it three times around her neck, then staring in rapture at the glistening black beads, which seemed to catch the light and throw it back in her eyes, almost making her blink with their brilliance.

But her mother had always made her take off the necklace.

Now there was no one who could make her take it off.

She found it at the bottom of the box and gently separated it from the other pieces in which it had become entangled, then held it to her throat. Finally, her fingers trembling, she wrapped it around her neck, fastening the clasp with the ease of habit, even though it had been more than forty years since the necklace had last been against her skin.

Suddenly the door opened, and she felt a flash of anger. She glanced up in the mirror and saw Ruby standing at the door, her eyes wide as she stared back at Marguerite.

“What are you doing here?” Marguerite demanded without turning around.

Ruby flinched, but then stepped forward. “I brought you a tray of supper, Miss Marguerite,” she said. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Marguerite was silent for a moment, her eyes still fixed on
Ruby’s reflection. When at last she spoke, her voice held an edge of petulance that sent a chill through the old housekeeper. “Where is Julie? Why didn’t Julie bring my tray?”

Now it was Ruby who was silent. She set the tray down on the table by the window, then turned to look at Marguerite once more. “Julie’s gone to the movies,” she said, keeping her voice level. “She went with her father and her brother.”

Marguerite’s jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. “She didn’t ask me if she could go—” she began, but Ruby cut her off.

“She’s not your daughter,” she said, her voice low but firm. She took a step forward. “And what do you think you’re doing? Why are you wearing all that makeup? You tryin’ to make yourself look like your mother?”

Marguerite said nothing, but her face grew even tighter.

“You don’t want to do that,” Ruby went on, her voice taking on a soft, soothing tone. “You want to be yourself, Miss Marguerite. You want to be the nice woman you are. You don’t want to be Miss Helena, do you?” She was behind Marguerite now, her hands on Marguerite’s shoulders, rubbing gently. “Why don’t you just come over and sit by the window for a while and have a little supper. I made gumbo for you. You know how much you love gumbo. Just come on over and have a little somethin’ to eat, and you’ll be fine. Just fine …”

For a second Ruby thought she felt Marguerite relax beneath her touch, but then Marguerite whirled on the stool, knocking Ruby’s hands away. Then her own hand snaked up, slapping Ruby hard across the face.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” she hissed, her voice taking on all the venom her mother’s had once been able to command. “You mind your manners, Ruby!”

Ruby gasped and stepped back, her right hand going to her cheek, rubbing at the stinging bruise she felt already beginning to swell. “Don’t you hit me,” she said, her voice dropping. “I’ve taken care of you for a long time, and I’m gonna go on taking care of you. But I ain’t gonna let you hit me, and I ain’t gonna let you talk to me that way. You’re not your mother, and don’t you forget it. And don’t you start
thinking Julie’s your daughter either. You think I’m going to let you start in with her the way your mother started in with you? ’Cause if that’s what you think, you better think again!”

Marguerite was on her feet now, her eyes blazing, her hip throbbing madly. But she ignored the pain as her hand closed on a heavy perfume bottle. In a single, quick motion, she lifted it off the table, hurling it at Ruby.

Ruby dodged the bottle, and heard it crash against the wall. She stepped forward now, her own hand coming up to strike Marguerite across the face. “I told you not to do that,” she said, her voice dangerous. “What you want? You want to be locked up again? Is that what you want? Because I’ll do it.”

“Stop it,” Marguerite hissed. “Just stop it, and leave me alone. I’m fine. I’m just fine!”

“Fine?” Ruby echoed. “Is that why you moved in here to Miss Helena’s room? ’Cause you’re fine? That’s why you got all that makeup all over your face, just like Miss Helena used to wear when you were a little girl? And look at your hair! Just like hers! You ain’t fine, Miss Marguerite!”

“Don’t talk that way,” Marguerite cried, her hands covering her face. “Mama loved me. Just get out of this room and leave me alone!”

Ruby shook her head. “I can’t do that, Miss Marguerite. I can’t never do that. Who’s going to look after you? You’re going into one of your bad times, Miss Marguerite.”

“I’m not,” Marguerite wailed, her words choking in her throat. Sobbing, she lurched across the room and fell onto the bed, burying her face in the pillows. Ruby was suddenly beside her, her hands gently stroking Marguerite.

“That’s right,” she said. “You let it out. You know you can’t keep everything bottled up—you know what happens to you.”

Marguerite rolled over, away from Ruby’s touch, then glared furiously at the old woman. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” she spat. “Nothing wrong with me except you. Staring at me all the time, looking at me like you think I’m crazy! But I’m not!”

“Now you calm down,” Ruby replied. “You just get hold of yourself before I have to tell your brother what’s happening
to you. He don’t know nothing about your bad times. But you think he’ll stay here with those kids if I tell him about you?”

Marguerite cowered on the bed. “He—He won’t believe you—” she began, but Ruby shook her head.

“He’ll believe me,” she said, her voice like ice. “Maybe nobody would have believed me twenty years ago, but times have changed, Miss Marguerite. I couldn’t stop your mother from doin’ what she did, but I can stop you from bein’ just like her. And I’ll tell Mr. Kevin if things get bad with you. I’ll tell him, and he’ll believe me if I show him the room downstairs where Miss Helena locked you up. You see if he doesn’t believe me! You see how long he stays here!”

“No,” Marguerite sobbed, her voice breaking now. “I’ll be good, Ruby, I promise. Don’t tell him—please don’t. I—I couldn’t stand it if you told him and he went away.” Her eyes suddenly darted around the room, as if she were searching for something. “Why do they always go away?” she sobbed. “Mother went away, and Mary-Beth. Even Anne wanted to go away.” She fell back against the pillows, her body heaving.

Suddenly, with numbing clarity, Ruby understood. “You killed them, didn’t you?” she breathed. “You killed Anne, and you killed Mary-Beth Fletcher too.”

“They were going to leave me,” Marguerite sobbed. “They were going to leave me. I couldn’t let them, Ruby. Don’t you understand? I just couldn’t let them leave.…”