The Unloved (7 page)

Kevin sat alone for a long time after Ruby left, then finally bit into his sandwich. It tasted dry, and the bread seemed to stick in his throat. Throwing the rest of it into the trash basket beneath the sink, he switched off the lights and went back upstairs.

But even after he was back in bed and had heard the clock in the hall softly strike the hour of two
A.M
., he was still awake.

Ruby’s words had driven the last possibility of sleep from him, and now the tiredness in his body was accentuated by something else.

A cold knot of fear had begun forming deep inside him as he wondered if perhaps Ruby wasn’t right.

Perhaps, indeed, his mother had determined that he should not be allowed to escape from Sea Oaks again.

Perhaps she intended to imprison him, just as she had imprisoned Marguerite.

Perhaps she intended to imprison them all.

By Thursday morning Anne was beginning to grow used to the strange daily rhythm of Devereaux Island. Breakfast, she had learned, was served at exactly seven in the morning, and, like all meals, was constantly interrupted by the harsh buzzing that signaled Helena Devereaux’s insistent demands for her daughter’s attentions. After breakfast Ruby would go about her cleaning, moving heavily about the house. Anne was certain that each year fewer of the rooms were used. Most of them, indeed, were closed off, their furnishings draped with muslin dust covers, their heavy draperies drawn against the brilliant burning of the sun. Ruby would go slowly through the rooms still in use, dust cloth in her hand, but her ministrations had little effect—the house, though occupied by seven people now, was still imbued with the stultifying atmosphere of a museum. Even Julie and Jeff found themselves unconsciously lowering their voices when they were inside.

After breakfast Marguerite disappeared into her mother’s room, where she would sit in a chair whose upholstery had grown shiny from constant use, reading quietly to Helena, who lay in her bed, snoring softly.

Unless Marguerite stopped reading.

Then the querulous tones of the old woman’s voice would sound through the house as she berated her daughter. “I don’t ask much,” were the words she repeated most often. “I’ve taken care of you all your life—the least you can do is read to me a little now and then!” Once, Anne listened outside Helena’s door, but all she heard after the old woman’s furious outburst was the calm melody of Marguerite’s sweetly modulated voice.

Before lunch Marguerite would change clothes, always appearing on the veranda as if she were prepared to greet twenty guests, though there was never anyone but the family in attendance. Somehow, even when Anne herself felt her clothes clinging damply to her skin, Marguerite always managed to look cool and fresh, her dark hair coiled up in a French twist held in place by a large tortoise-shell comb. On anyone else the ornament might have looked ridiculous, but the comb only accentuated Marguerite’s graceful figure, and if she felt self-conscious about her pronounced limp, she never showed it. Yet, even on the veranda, there was no escape from the buzzer’s demands. Indeed, Anne had quickly realized that the buzzer was only silent during the long hot afternoons when an even deeper somnolence fell over the house. Then Helena would drift into a fitful nap while Marguerite disappeared into the sewing room, where she would spend an hour or two at the ancient Singer.

Already, she had produced a sea-green shift for Julie, its waist loosely belted in white, which not only fit Julie perfectly, but set off her skin in a manner that lent her the same exotic beauty as her aunt’s.

Each of the evenings was a repeat of the first one they had spent at Sea Oaks—a simple meal, ruined by Helena’s continued demands for attention.

For Anne, unused to the southern heat, the days were turning into endless damp hells of boredom, which she spent searching for shelter from the oppressive heat. Once, on the third day of their visit, she’d driven across the causeway into the village, but quickly returned. The stark poverty of its dusty streets and failing businesses had only depressed her more, and by the time she returned to Sea Oaks she understood well why Marguerite seldom left the island and sent Ruby to do what little shopping was necessary. And so, on Thursday morning, she wasn’t surprised when Julie, her expression almost guilty, asked her how much longer they would be staying.

Anne smiled sympathetically at her teenage daughter, knowing full well how she herself would have reacted to being stuck in such a place when she was fifteen. “It seems like
weeks already, doesn’t it?” she asked. When Julie nodded, but said nothing, Anne sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, darling. Your father keeps saying it’ll just be another day or two, but knowing how your grandmother is …” Her voice trailed off, and she could read the disappointment in Julie’s eyes.

“It’s just that there’s nothing to do,” Julie said softly. “Dad keeps finding things around here to fix—”

“Which could certainly take a year or so,” Anne observed archly, but Julie didn’t seem to notice her mother’s attempt at a joke.

“—and Jeff has Toby to play with, but I haven’t met anybody yet.”

Her aunt’s voice interrupted her. “I intend to fix that this very morning,” Marguerite said, stepping out onto the veranda. Julie flushed in embarrassment, but Marguerite tossed her niece’s discomfort away with an airy gesture. “My girls are coming this morning, and I thought you might like to join the class.”

Julie looked at her aunt uncertainly. “I—I don’t know. I’ve been taking ballet for three years, but—”

Understanding immediately, Marguerite squeezed Julie’s hand. “If you’re worried that you might not be good enough, you can stop,” she said. “Every now and then I get a really good student, but most of them are …” She hesitated, searching for just the right words. “Well, let’s just say they aren’t all quite as motivated as they might be, shall we?” She turned to Anne, winking. “Still, whatever I can teach them, I’m happy to do. And even if you don’t want to join the class,” she finished, turning back to Julie, “at least you can meet the girls.”

“I’d love it,” Julie replied. “And I’m sorry about what I said before. I didn’t really mean for you to hear it. It isn’t that I don’t like it here—”

“Enough!” Marguerite commanded, holding up her hand to stem Julie’s words. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t have anything to do around here, you know. That’s one of the reasons I keep teaching—it gives all the girls something to do. Besides—” But once again her words were interrupted by
the sharp sound of Helena’s buzzer, and almost automatically she turned and disappeared back into the stifling darkness of the house.

“I feel so sorry for her,” Julie said, her eyes filling with tears. “Aunt Marguerite’s so nice, and Grandmother’s so mean to her. Why doesn’t she just—” And then, before she spoke the word, Julie bit it back.

“Why doesn’t she just die?” Anne finished quietly, and Julie turned to face her mother, nodding unhappily.

“I wish I didn’t think that, but—”

“But you do,” Anne finished for her. “And so do I, if it’s any help. Of course, it would be nice if your grandmother was a sweet old lady we could all love, but the fact of the matter is that she’s not. So you mustn’t worry about what you might think of her.”

“I don’t even see why we came,” Julie said, releasing the anger that had slowly built inside her over the last few days. “Grandmother won’t talk to Jeff or me, and she hardly speaks to you. I don’t even think she cares that Dad’s here!”

“I know,” Anne sighed. “But we’re not just here for her. We have to think of your father too. If this visit will make him feel better about staying away so long, then it will be worth it. All right?”

Julie nodded, and Anne gave her a reassuring hug. “Now let’s go up and find you something to wear to Marguerite’s class. I think I have a running suit that’ll fit you, if you don’t mind dying of heat.”

“Shoes!” Julie exclaimed. “I didn’t bring any toe shoes!”

Anne smiled triumphantly. “Which is exactly what mothers are for. At the last minute I stuck in a pair. I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t be dancing at all.” Together, they went into the house and started up the stairs, just missing being bowled over by Jeff, who was pounding down from the second floor, two steps at a time.

“Hey!” Anne cried out, swinging him off his feet. “Where are you going in such a hurry? Didn’t I tell you not to run in the house?”

“But it’s Toby,” Jeff protested, squirming in his mother’s grasp. “He’s coming across the causeway, and he’s got a fishing pole!”

“A fishing pole!” Anne repeated. “Well, I guess we can’t get in the way of fishing!” She set Jeff back on his feet, then she and Julie went on upstairs.

As they passed the closed door to Helena’s room, they could hear the old woman’s voice, railing once more at Marguerite.

Self-consciously they quickened their steps, neither of them wishing to witness Marguerite’s humiliation.

When Marguerite came up, Ruby had been waiting at the top of the stairs, her eyes stormy and her jaw set stubbornly. “She’s refusing to eat her breakfast again, Miz Marguerite. I swear, I don’t know what to do with her anymore. It’s like she wants to starve herself to death or somethin’.”

“It’s all right, Ruby,” Marguerite had told her. “Go on back to whatever you were doing, and I’ll talk to her.”

Ruby regarded Marguerite doubtfully. “Seems like every time you talk to her lately, she just starts callin’ you names and treatin’ you like dirt!”

Marguerite sighed tiredly. “I’m all right. And it can’t go on forever, can it?” She opened the door and stepped into her mother’s room.

“Where have you been?” Helena demanded instantly. “When I call you, I expect you to come, not dawdle around like a useless child!”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Marguerite said evenly. “I had to speak to Ruby for a moment—”

“Ruby!” Helena spat the word distastefully. “I don’t see why we keep her around here! She’s as useless as you are!”

Marguerite’s eyes shifted away from her mother to the untouched breakfast that still sat on the tray bridging Helena’s thin legs. “Was there something wrong with your breakfast?”

Helena’s eyes raked Marguerite scornfully. “Was there something wrong with your breakfast?” she mimicked acidly. “How am I supposed to eat, with the house filled with strangers? That miserable little boy runs up and down the stairs as if this were a reform school—which is exactly where
he belongs—and that wife of Kevin’s keeps prowling around as if she owns the house! I won’t have it! Do you hear me?”

“I’m sure everyone in the house heard you.” Though she had intended only to think the words, Marguerite was shocked to hear them tumble from her lips.

Helena fairly quivered with rage. “How dare you speak to me like that?” she demanded. “I’ve taken care of you your entire life! And what do I get in return? Ingratitude and impertinence! You apologize to me, Marguerite! This instant!”

Marguerite choked back the sob that rose in her throat, and stared miserably at the floor. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said softly. “I meant no disrespect!”

“Didn’t you,” Helena sneered. “You chatter those words like a parrot, child. Do you think I believe them? I’m not a fool, you know, even though you’ve always thought I was!”

“I told you I’m sorry, Mother,” Marguerite whispered miserably. “I don’t know what else I can do. But they’re Kevin’s family, and I’m sure they don’t mean to disturb you—”

“They’re not Kevin’s family,” Helena hissed.
“You
are Kevin’s family. You and I! I don’t know why he brought them here! And I won’t have that woman poking around my house!”

“I’m sure Anne wasn’t—”

But the old woman cut her off once more. “You don’t know! I want you to go and make sure the nursery is locked. She was trying to get in there this morning. I heard her!”

Marguerite hesitated a second too long.

“Do it!” Helena demanded.

Swallowing hard, her heart pounding with frustration and barely contained anger, Marguerite hurried out of the bedroom and down the hall to a door near her own. She was just trying the handle when the door to the room Kevin and Anne shared opened and Anne looked out.

“That room’s locked,” Anne said, and was surprised to see Marguerite’s back stiffen and her hand drop away from the doorknob as if it had burned her. Frowning, she stepped into the hallway itself. “What is it, Marguerite? Is something wrong?”

Marguerite, her back still toward Anne, shook her head, then finally turned around. Her face was pale and her hands were trembling. “Marguerite, what is it?” Anne asked. “Something
is
wrong.”

“?-How did you know this room was locked?” Marguerite asked.

Anne stepped back in surprise. “I—why, I tried the door earlier. That room is right next to Julie’s, and I thought Jeff might like to be in it. He’s so far down the hall, all by himself—I just thought he might like to be closer to the rest of the family, that’s all.” Her puzzled frown deepened. “Why? What’s in that room?”

Marguerite’s eyes suddenly took on a haunted look. “It-It’s nothing, really. It’s just that mother has some things in here she likes to keep locked up. She just wanted me to check it, that’s all.”