Authors: Maureen McMahon
He nodded stiffly and with unruffled composure, strode off.
We heard the squeak of the gate then silence. I flung myself back into David’s
arms and he held me comfortably, his cheek resting warmly on my head. I felt
the stiffness gradually drain from my limbs and when we finally pulled apart,
we didn’t need to speak. Our eyes met in quiet understanding. His, elated,
victorious, protective. Mine, gentle, accepting and determined. Grant meant
nothing to me. David was all I needed. That was the way it should be. The way I
wanted it.
* * * * *
I fell into bed that night exhausted and slept immediately.
When I awoke, gray dawn was just filtering through the gauzy curtains. So
deeply had I slept, for a moment I was disoriented, thinking I was still back
in that quiet, uncomplicated cabin deep in the woods. I stretched lazily and
the events of the previous night came back in snatches. With the bolster of
solid rest, they seemed less dramatic.
I smiled as I thought of David, aware he’d finally declared
his love for me as surely as if he’d said the words. I couldn’t expect more
from him and I was satisfied knowing it wasn’t in his nature to be
demonstrative. This feeling of belonging seemed to mute the intensity of my
other troubles. It was as though I was finally able to lower a few of my
mounting defenses and let him shoulder some of the burden. I was no longer one
against the world and it was an enormous relief.
Suddenly, I sat up and looked at the clock. Giles! He’d be
waiting for me!
I leapt out of bed and donned a light tracksuit and joggers.
Running a brush through my hair, I tied it back in a ponytail, then hurried
downstairs and into the crisp morning air.
Despite the previous day’s warmth, frost had fallen in the
early hours and it powdered the manicured lawn and wove patterns on the
foliage, sucking out what little life remained. I traversed the short space
between pool and garden, my shoes crunching on the delicate white lace, leaving
green tracks. I rubbed my hands together to warm them and blew white clouds
with each breath. The air tingled with clarity. It was exquisite.
No one else was about. Even the industrious black squirrels
seemed loath to leave their snug hideaways. A huge raven perched atop a distant
pine rasping out adamant opinions. From somewhere deep in the woods there was a
calmer answering cry. A fat gray rabbit squatted near the modest vegetable
garden some distance beyond the hedges. He was eyeing a clump of mottled
pumpkin runners and bean bushes that were sagging under the weight of the
frost. His nose twitched rapidly.
His soft coat was plumped against the cold and his ears
twisted and turned like antennae. I paused to watch him, enthralled. He
crouched and cocked his head as though he sensed disaster. A crack reverberated
through the stillness and he leapt into the air, ran a few short paces and
fell, twitching, to the ground.
I was horrified. Instinct gripped me and I dropped to a
crouch, peering around, wide-eyed. There was a movement near the woods to the
left and I watched, my heart pounding, as a figure unhurriedly stepped around
the grave markers and sauntered toward the fallen animal. I knew from his
halting gait and faded dungarees it was Rudy. He held a rifle loosely over one
arm and didn’t look right or left, plodding on with bovine resolve, skirting
the sweep of lawn that cupped the vegetable patch and bordered the shrub-lined
paths where I crouched. I rose, aghast at what I’d witnessed and followed a
branching track that would take me out onto the open grass.
Rudy didn’t look up from where he squatted over the carcass
until I was standing over him. He seemed unsurprised to see me and merely
tilted his head to eye me. I realized with revulsion that he was gutting the
rabbit where it lay. The red and purple-blue entrails steamed in the frosty
air.
“What in God’s name are you doing, Rudy?” I gasped.
“Gotta gut ’em right away if yer gonna eat ’em.”
His nonchalance galled me and disgust turned to indignation.
“Do you think it’s a good idea to be shooting a gun so close to the house?
Someone could get hurt.”
He squinted from under the limp brim of his weathered hat,
considering, then resumed his work undeterred.
“I s’pose you’d be a might gun-shy after what happened down
by the river,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Didn’t know you was around this
mornin’ or I’d-a held off.” He flipped the carcass over, laid his knife to one
side and reached into the bloody cavity to scoop out the remaining entrails. “This
fella’s been helpin’ himself to the crop. I’ve been tryin’ t’ nail him for
weeks.”
I frowned. Rudy was so used to having free rein he wouldn’t
be swayed easily. I watched with distaste as he shoveled up the leavings with a
small trowel slung from a loop in his overalls. He carried them to the edge of
the garden, where he dug a hole and buried them. He half-smiled at my grimace.
“‘S mighty good fer th’ garden, Miss Suzanna. The good Lord
don’t look kindly on wastin’ any part of His critters.”
I wondered at the sick logic that made it all right to
slaughter an innocent creature as long as it was put to good use. It gave me a
slightly uncomfortable feeling that perhaps Rudy Coleman was more complex than
I suspected.
“How long have you had that gun?” I asked.
He straightened, slipping the trowel back into its place and
the knife into its sheath. His gaze was openly insolent. “Can’t say,” he said. “But
I’ve had it long ’fore you was born.”
“Well, I don’t want it to be used on my property anymore,” I
said in my most officious tone. “Not only is it dangerous but I’d guess it’s
illegal as well.”
He knotted a bit of rope around the rabbit’s hind feet and
slung it over his shoulder, then picked up the offending weapon and cradled it
protectively. When he looked at me again, he was sullen and his watery blue
eyes were stubborn.
“Hate t’ have t’ use poison, miss,” he said. “Takes ’em
hours t’ die— lotta pain and sufferin’… But you’re th’ boss,” he added, pleased
by my look of horror.
He turned and limped briskly away, leaving me fuming. He may
have won this time but it was imperative he recognize I was the boss now Leo
was gone. Still, I must tread carefully. Rudy had been with us for many years
and despite his simple, unassuming demeanor, his pride was fragile and must be
handled with care. My father had allowed him total freedom. It would take a
good dose of diplomacy on my part to change that.
I was suddenly aware the sun’s warm rays were already
shooting over the treetops and most of the frost was gone. I glanced at my
watch and cursed. Giles would think I wasn’t coming!
Half-walking, half-running, I made my way over the remaining
grounds to the rear fence and followed it along to the gate. It was partially
open and I wondered if we latched it properly the previous night, or if Rudy
was down this way and left it ajar. I didn’t give it another thought as I flew
nimbly down the steps.
The wind was even cooler on the beach, whistling across the
water in long, mournful sighs, kicking up sand that stung my eyes and pricked
my skin. There was no sign of Giles and I struck off toward Spindrift, certain
he’d have gone there to wait for me. I passed the boathouse and noted the
speedboat was tied to the outer pier. I must scold Colin for not putting it
inside. He was hopeless when it came to returning things to their rightful
spots.
Some twenty minutes later, I was clambering up the well-worn
path to Spindrift. The sun, after its initial attempt to break through, bowed
to defeat as a thick, threatening blanket of cloud rolled in.
David met me at the door, pleased to see me but unhelpful as
to his father’s whereabouts.
“He usually goes for a swim early on but it was pretty cold
for that this morning. Have you checked the beach? Of course, you have. Well,
sorry but I don’t think I can help. Maybe he went for a walk on the dunes. You
wouldn’t have seen him there.”
He gave me a curious look. “Was it something important? Why
don’t you sit down and have a cup of coffee? He’s bound to be back soon.”
I shook my head. “You may be right but all the same, I’d
like to go back and wait for him on the beach. He seemed pretty anxious to talk
to me.”
David seemed disappointed. He appeared to have recently
showered and wore only a navy velour robe emblazoned with red initials on the
lapel. Despite myself, I hesitated. Even with his blond hair wet and uncombed
and his face unshaven, he was good-looking. It was one of the few times he
appeared less than perfectly groomed and I liked it. I offered to meet him for
lunch at the marina and left before he could coax me to stay.
No more than ten minutes had passed by the time I retraced
my steps to the water’s edge but already the sky was blacker and streaks of
rain were rapidly approaching from the northwest. I decided to jog, enjoying
the brisk exercise and the wind on my face. I hadn’t gone far before I slowed
to a walk. Up ahead, a large chunk of driftwood rocked back and forth with the
lapping waves and I eyed it curiously.
There was something about it that seemed odd and I
approached with caution, remembering the occasional dead salmon that washed
ashore and their gruesome appearance after having been feasted on by scavenging
crabs and birds. Already, a swarm of seagulls were circling, screeching like
ghouls against the mournful sough of the wind.
I stopped abruptly and my throat constricted. What lay on
the beach wasn’t driftwood or a large fish. I could see from where I stood that
it was a body, a dead body and there was no doubt in my mind who it was.
Chapter Ten
Render an honest and a perfect man
Commands all light, all influence, all fate.
Nothing to him falls early, or too late.
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
John Fletcher,
Upon an “Honest Man’s Fortune
”
It was probably some instinctive sense of self-preservation
that kept me from inspecting the body too closely, though now I regret not
having done so. Despite assurances Giles would most certainly have been beyond
help, I can’t help think he might still be alive today if I’d only thought to
check for a pulse or attempted to resuscitate him. Instead, like a coward, I
turned and ran blindly back to Spindrift for help. David paused only long
enough to call 9-1-1 before returning with me to the scene. He did all the
things I should’ve done earlier—listened for a heartbeat and administered CPR
until the Coast Guard arrived to take over.
I stood well back, my hands clasped so tightly the knuckles
stood out. I watched the men squat around the prone figure, working
methodically, lifting the eyelids and feeling the bloodless wrists. Eventually,
one of them stood up and turned to David, his face grave. I knew before he
spoke that there was no hope.
The other men lifted Giles onto a stretcher and zipped him
into thick plastic. It began to drizzle, lightly at first, then with intensity,
turning the sand to pea soup, the plop of the drops like bursting bubbles in a
boiling pot. I remained frozen to the spot until I saw Grant approaching, then
crept closer to David for support. Sadly he was much too caught up in his own
grief to notice.
Grant spoke in low tones to the rescue team and inspected
the body before they closed the bag completely, giving a grim nod of
verification. He helped put the gruesome bundle into the boat, spoke again to
the man in charge and finally pushed them off. Only then, after the Coast Guard
was gone, did he turn and peer through the blinding rain toward David and me,
still rooted like statues in the gloom.
He spoke to David sympathetically, shouting to be heard over
the thunder of the surf and spatter of rain. “Come on, Dave, you’d better get
in out of this weather.” I noticed for the first time that David was still
dressed only in his robe. His feet were bare.
Dazed, we followed Grant back to Spindrift. No one spoke as
we went but I glanced up at David and saw he was sobbing. I took his hand. It
was cold and unresponsive. My own tears followed the path of the raindrops down
my face.
Grant organized everything with the help of Darla, whom he
called the minute we reached Spindrift. After being coaxed into dry clothes,
David retired to his room, preferring to deal with his grief in private. When
Darla arrived, she took immediate charge, phoning Lottie and organizing some
chicken soup to be sent over and agreeing to stay at Spindrift to look after
David. I was still too bewildered to care. I was wrapped in something dry and
driven back to Beacon, where Grant ushered me up to my room, ran a hot bath and
commanded me to soak for at least a half-hour because my lips were blue.
The horror of what had happened took some time to sink in. I
bombarded myself with recriminations. If only I hadn’t paused to speak to Rudy!
If only I was on time! If only… Even my logical voice couldn’t lessen the guilt
and I cried until there were no tears left and my face was blotched and
swollen.
When at last I regained enough control to join the others
downstairs, I was acutely conscious of all eyes on me. I was certain everyone
must blame me as I blamed myself.
Martha appeared briefly, her face drawn and white and I
remembered how close she was to Giles. She made an apology for not feeling up
to staying and disappeared to her room. Colin and Grant sat at the long dining
table with Alicia, still wan and fragile, while Lottie served up steaming bowls
of soup. Grant rose and pulled out a chair for me.
“You’d better have some of this,” he said. “It’ll make you
feel better.”
I looked up at him but he avoided my eyes and wandered to
the far end of the room, a cigarette clamped between his lips, fists thrust
deep into his pockets. I picked up my spoon, gazed at the broth, then put it
down again. Alicia began to sob and Colin turned to her, placing an arm around
her shoulders.