The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons (17 page)

I found myself gasping for breath, my muscles weak and trembly.

“Where's the boy?” asked Mr. Mathers, his dark eyes darting frantically around the inside of the carriage.

“Here,” I whispered, relaxing my legs and moving them to the side. Georgie's head emerged, and he glanced up, my skirts encircling his face like a ruffled bonnet.

Mr. Mathers's shoulders slumped in relief. “We've left him far, far behind,” he said. “It's all over. You're safe, now.” Georgie didn't move.

“There's not a chance of him catching up with us. Probably got the wind knocked clear out of him. Gert and I'll get you two back in no time at'all, and I surely am not about to tell him where I've left you. Come on then, Georgie, it's safe to come out.”

For now, I thought uneasily. He's safe
for now
. But it was obvious that the Brute was getting closer to finding his children.

Georgie crept out from under my skirts and wedged himself between me and the wall of the carriage. He seemed quite frail suddenly—his dark hair messed and standing out in all directions, his skinny little arms wrapped protectively around himself. He seemed to me to be as young and vulnerable as a baby bird.

Satisfied that we were settled, Mr. Mathers secured the carriage door and set off, still driving the old mare a bit more strenuously than I'm sure she was used to.

When we rolled to a stop, I expected that we'd
be on the road in front of Marni's cottage; however, this was not the case. Mr. Mathers jumped off the buggy seat and led the horse along a narrow path that wound away from the shore, and eventually out behind Marni's cottage.

The three of them—Marni, Walter, and Annie—met us there, a look of concern flashing between them when they saw us coming in the back way.

Mr. Mathers opened the door, and Georgie and I climbed out, the sunlight causing us to squint after the dark of the carriage. My legs felt weak, the muscles quivery, and I thought for a moment that they might give way. Mr. Mathers took Marni aside, and the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, their backs to us.

“Out on the shore road,” I could hear Mr. Mathers saying quietly. “It seems he spied you out at my place. That's why I came in the back way,” he went on, still whispering. “Thought it'd be impossible for him to catch up to us. Just the same …”

“I do appreciate it, Marcus,” Marni said softly. “The next time I come by, it will be under the cover of evening, I promise.”

The weeks that followed had an unspoken tension surrounding them that colored every hour of the
day and night. We spent most days out on the boat, honing our sailing skills—this, I'm sure, in part so that if the Brute ventured near the cottage, there would be no sign of us.

Evenings were spent inside, the windows covered with shades of dark-blue oilcloth, blocking out the ocean breezes that usually kept us cool and comfortable—this because there seemed to be eyes everywhere, watching from the shadows. In every dim nook and dark place, the Brute took shape in our imaginations, invading the safe haven that Marni had made for us. We listened anxiously, tensing at every snapping branch, every rustling in the night. Annie took to sucking her thumb, Georgie to nibbling his nails, and Walter to pacing the floor. Even Mr. Pugsley felt it, as evidenced by his restlessness when awake, and during sleep by disturbing dreams in which his short legs would mercilessly twitch and jerk, and he would yelp and cringe quite piteously.

We made a show of spending our twilight hours reading quietly, although I, for one, had to read and reread the same page many times before moving on. As the evening stretched out before us, we often set aside our books and spoke of the dreams that we held most dear to our hearts. Walter dreamed of sailing a grand ship of his own,
traveling the world over. Annie and Georgie spoke of all of us staying together forever as a family, with plenty of distance between us and their father, the Brute. And you know my dream, the one I shared with Addie—that we would someday find Aunt Pru, and oust Uncle Victor and Aunt Margaret from the house so that it would be wholly ours again. Marni listened quietly, never voicing a dream of her own, fingering her silver locket, each moment seemingly fulfilling enough in and of itself.

It was on one such evening that Annie and Georgie had gone off to bed, reluctantly as usual. Both of them had become light, restless sleepers, the Brute robbing them of their dreams even in his absence. The night was drenched in humidity, the air still and flat in an uneasy, overbearing way. It would only be a matter of time before the thunder rolled across the bay, before the sky was ripped open by lightning.

We sat together in silence—Marni and Walter and I—the tick of the ancient mantel clock marking the passing of seconds.

“Maybe I should take them somewhere else,” said Walter, his voice rough, his eyes distant. My heart lurched, and I suddenly realized how much I didn't want that to happen.

Marni rocked in her chair and gazed at him. “I
believe, Walter,” she said, “that sometimes it isn't in the frantic doing or the fixing, but rather in the patience, the quiet, in which our answers are revealed to us.”

“So I should just wait here until he finds us and drags us off?” Walter asked, straining to control his voice so as not to awaken the little ones. “Is
that
what you think I should do?”

“Marni won't let him hurt you!” I blurted. “Will you, Marni?” I turned to Walter. “And when things get especially bad, there's sometimes …” I hesitated. “Magic,” I said quietly.

Walter rolled his eyes. I had, of course, never spoken of the magic, of the sparkling mist, partly because since my departure from home it had seemed less real to me. If the truth be known, I could almost believe that it had never really happened. But now, I found that I needed to believe it.

Marni turned to Walter.

“Some things are meant to happen and some things not. I've learned to listen and to yield to whatever wisdom or revelation comes. I wait until I am sure of the voice inside me—and then I trust it completely. I feel that you are right to stay on here. But you must listen to the voice of your own heart.”

Walter looked disappointed, as was I. I wanted her to insist that he stay, to assure him that
everything would be all right, that she would protect all of us forever. The clock ticked on.

Marni continued rocking in her chair, the gentle squeak at counterpoint with the ticking of the clock.

“Walter,” she said quietly.

He looked up.

“The only thing I ask is that you wait until that inner voice is clear and true—to wait until the discord in your mind narrows to a single voice. Until that happens, any decision you make may be the wrong one. Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly. “I'll wait until I can think it through. I promise I will.”

Suddenly, Mr. Pugsley growled, the fur on his back raised in a sharp ridge.

We sat for a second, still as stones, the grasp of terror holding us in our seats. Then Marni rose slowly, calmly, and began walking toward the door.

T
he seconds slowed to a crawl as Marni slipped back the latch, laid her hand on the knob, and turned it slowly. Walter and I sat, too frozen in fear to question or to protest. I not only felt, but
heard
my heart throbbing, the blood pulsing in my ears. I was hot and cold all at once, my insides racing out of control.

We heard the barrel of the doorknob click and disengage the lock. In less than a heartbeat the door flew open with such force that it swung back and crashed against the house, shaking the little cottage to its very foundation.

I covered my face with my hands. Though I could block out the sight before me, I could do nothing to block out the sound. I shall never forget the words I heard in that moment—they were not the words I expected at all.

“Thank God I found ye, lass!”

I dropped my hands and jumped to my feet. It was Addie, dear Addie! She looked frightful—her hair wild with the humidity, her chest heaving, the bodice of her dress drenched in sweat, the hem of her skirt and her shoes covered in dust.

“Addie!” I yelled, throwing myself at her. So relieved was I that it was she and not the Brute, I scarcely stopped to realize something must be terribly wrong.

“Listen, now will ye! We haven't much time!” she said.

Marni walked over and laid a hand on Addie's shoulder.

“Welcome, Miss Addie,” she said quietly. “Come and sit for a moment and tell us, whatever it is.”

By now Annie and Georgie were standing in their bedroom doorways, concern widening their eyes and furrowing their brows.

“Come, sit down,” Marni said again, taking Addie by the arm.

Addie didn't move.

“There'll be no time fer that, I tell ye! Miss Lucy has got to get home, and if I can beg your indulgence, miss, I'd like ye to come along as well. There's trouble back at the house, there is. I slipped away as soon as I was able, stole the neighbor's horse to get here, and as 'tis, I fear it might be too late! And, to top it off, the feisty mare ran off, leaving us no way back!”

“What is it?” I asked, a nauseous feeling snaking around my gut. “Tell us, please.”

“It's yer uncle,” Addie said. “I figured out what he's been up to, I did. I told ye how he's been workin' night and day in the lib'ry, and I showed ye how he'd been dippin' the pen in ink and practicin' yer auntie's hand—well, now I know why.”

She paused, out of breath, and pushed a few damp curls off of her face. The first rumblings of thunder sounded in the distance like a drumroll before a proclamation, and we all inadvertently paused until it stilled.

“Go on,” I said, my mouth filling with saliva, a hot acid feeling rising from my stomach.

Addie looked at me, her eyes blazing. She took a deep breath and continued.

“He's claimed to have gotten a letter from yer aunt Prudence, he has. Even showed it t' the judge, so he says—the judge who took over fer the good barrister.
The letter—and I've managed t' get a glimpse of it, I have—it says she got word of the tragic passing of her dear brother and sister-in-law. That she sends her condolences and her love t' ye, but that her plans will not be allowin' a return t' the States, that her study and her work make it impossible fer her t' come and care for ye, or fer the house. That she relinquishes her claim t' any part of it and asks the court t' put yer aunt and uncle in charge.”

I sank back into my chair, certain I would be sick. Walter came and knelt beside me, Annie, Georgie, and even Mr. Pugsley following his cue.

I swallowed and shook my head.

“It's a lie,” I said, “all of it. He wrote that letter himself!”

Addie nodded, her lips in a tight, angry line. “Course he did,” she said. “He wrote the letter, signed 'er name, and placed it in the envelope from the letter he stole from ye that day out at the mailbox, that's what he did!”

“Well,” said Walter, jumping to his feet, his eyes indignant and black as coals, “I say we go back there and tell the judge what he did!” Annie and Georgie nodded in agreement, although I doubted they understood much more than their brother's loyalty and sense of justice, which echoed in his tone of voice. Marni looked at Addie. “There's
more, isn't there?” she asked.

“Ye bet there is!” said Addie. “Goin' t' the judge—'twas the first thing I thought of. I went t' town and I went t' 'is office, I did. He wouldn't see me, but I refused to take my leave! I must admit, I made somethin' of a scene. Finally he ordered one of his associates t' usher me out, and in quite an ungentlemanly way, I might add. But I got a glimpse of 'im—the judge, that is—when his office door opened.”

She paused, shaking her head at the memory.

“The judge,” she said finally, leveling her stare at me. “Judge Forester. He's the very same dandy of a man that came callin' the last time ye were home.”

I gasped. “The man with the fancy mustache?”

“The very same,” said Addie. “And that isn't all.”

“What else?” I asked, dreading the answer.

Addie took a deep breath. “It seems the court has already considered the matter. They've appointed yer uncle as yer sole guardian, with what they call the power of attorney over the estate. What it means is that Victor can do what he likes in yer regard and in regard t' the house.”

“But, how can …,” I stammered.

“I'm afraid ye still haven't heard the worst of it,” Addie said, reaching for my hand. She took a deep breath. “Given that yer uncle's taken charge o'
things, he claims he's goin' t'sell the house!”

I felt as though I'd been punched and had the wind knocked clear out of me. Georgie gasped, his small eyes wide, remembering, I'm sure, the grand house he'd been so impressed with. Walter paced the floor, and Annie, looking from one of us to the other, seemed about to cry, her thumb planted securely in her mouth. The air suddenly became even more oppressive, so thick with tension and humidity that it pressed on my chest until I thought I might be crushed by it. A clap of thunder, closer than before, shattered the moment.