Beloved (7 page)

The rain drove sideways into her face, soaking her gown, blowing her bonnet from her head. Held in place by the ties under her chin, the bonnet flopped madly back and forth across her shoulders like a kite on a short tether. She didn
'
t care. Her mind was racing ahead, through a life lived without him. But it raced through blackness, like a meteor through space, because without him there was nothing.

She clung there, wet and wild with fear, waiting. But she waited in blackness.

****

When Jane woke up, she was drenched in sweat. At first she thought she was soaked from the rain; and then she remembered the dream. The strange and terrifying dream; it came back to her in bits and pieces as she staggered out of bed and into her morning routine. She remembered the terror of it with an intensity that even now made her shiver. And yet she knew in her soul that the terror had had nothing to do with the high and windswept place where she dreamed she
'
d stood, watching and waiting. No, the terror had come from the thought that she
'
d never again see this
...
this
someone
she loved so immeasurably.

Who?

She wasn
'
t in love with anyone, had never
been
in love with anyone, not to that degree. Why would she dream that she was? Or maybe she hadn
'
t been dreaming of herself. Maybe it was one of those dreams where you were in the character and yet somehow out of the character, watching from the front row. She had a vivid image of that bonnet, flapping back and forth across someone
'
s shoulders.

Whose?

The dream bothered her more than she wante
d to admit; it was just so ...
intense.
And yet, as all dreams do, this one faded, and by the time the coffee was brewed, Jane was convinced that it was the result of late-night snacking and an overactive imagination.

She
'
d been tired the night before, that
'
s all, and she
'
d let Cissy spook her. New house, long hours, no phone, no TV —
that kind of isolation was bound to make a person think funny. But now it was a bright new day, and Cissy was coming over to help paint, and she was even bringing along a radio.

"
Tomorrow
'
s Sunday and I have nothing to do,
"
she
'
d insisted to Jane the night before.
"
Please let me paint. Please please please.
"

So Jane had let herself be talked into accepting Cissy
'
s help later, and now she was lingering over her Cheerios and reading the preface to
the
book on the tarot
that she'd pulled down from the shelves
. She was glad to read that tarot had nothing to do with either witchcraft or fortune-telling
—
meaning she and her mother were
both
wrong
—
and that it was to be regarded, instead, as a body of wisdom.

That made sense. Aunt Sylvia had been nothing if not a seeker of wisdom. She
'
d read Scripture, she
'
d read Shakespeare, she
'
d read the
Vedas
. She
'
d read anything she could get her hands on. Naturally she would
'
ve read the tarot.

Jane put the book aside, then sipped the last of her coffee while she studied the kitchen with an eye to improving it. In a way, it would be nice to leave it just the way it was, right down to the collection of old spoons that hung in a little wood rack next to the door. But the layout was hopelessly inefficient; it would surely kill a sale. The pantry would have to go and new cabinets be installed.

She heard a sound, turned, and saw Cissy
'
s nose pressed up against the window in the back door; the girl waved energetically and let herself in.
"
Where do we start?
"
she asked, hiking up a pair of oversized painter
'
s pants and adjusting the red kerchief on her head. She looked charming but inept
—
kind of like a Barbie doll with a paint bucket.

Jane poured her a cup of coffee and said,
"
So where did you end up finding Buster last night?
"

"
I didn
'
t, exactly,
"
Cissy said with a guilty smile. She scooped two teaspoons of sugar into the mug.
"
But don
'
t worry; I promised I
'
d help you paint, and that
'
s what I
'
m going to do.
"

"
Cissy! What about Buster? I thought
—
"

A heavy rap at the kitchen door sent Jane jumping. Through its window she saw the man from J & J Nursery, with what could only be called an evil look on his face. When she opened the door, it became clear why: He was holding a rope attached to Cissy
'
s dog. There he was, big, dumb Buster, panting expectantly, all set for the next adventure.

The dog saw his mistress and tried to make a dash for her, but his holder said
"
Stay
"
in a voice that suggested there were few other options.

"
Sorry to bother you,
"
he said to Jane
—
although it looked like he didn
'
t care one way or the other
—
"
but I was on my way over to return the dog to Mrs. Hanlin, when I saw her come in here.
"

"
Oh
thank
you,
"
Cissy cried, rushing up to them.
"
Where was he?
"

"
In our barn. Nose to nose with a raccoon. I considered bringing him over after I split up the pair, but I didn
'
t think you
'
d like being rousted from bed at three
A.M.
"

"
God, no. Good thinking,
"
Cissy answered, completely missing the irony in his voice. Without any apology she took the rope from him, wrapped it twice around her fist, and said gaily.
"
Be back in a sec.
"

That left Jane trying once again to make eye contact with the square-jawed and evasive stranger. He had known
her aunt; she wanted to know how well. Was that asking so much?

He was already turning to leave, so she said quickly,
"
You
'
re from J & J Nursery. I
'
ve seen your truck.
"

His smile was thin and ironic.
"
You mean you
'
ve heard
it."

"
That too,
"
she admitted with the exact same smile. Hoping to get some clue who he was, she asked,
"
What does J & J stand for?
"

"
Jim and John. Is it important?
"
he asked, cocking his head just enough to show insolence.

His uppityness seemed uncalled for, so she dug her heels in, ignoring it.
"
I see,
"
she said with deliberate brightness.
"
So are you Jim, or are you John?
"

"
I
'
m Mac.
"

"
Ah. Neither.
"
A hired hand, then, with a chip on his shoulder.
"
I
'
m Jane,
"
she said, matching his tone exactly.
"
Pleased to meet you.
"
With that, she let him go.

He went
—
but not before tugging at the brim of his cap in a yes-
m'am
way that left her
somehow
embarrassed and
indignant
.

Really!
she thought, closing the door after him.
What did
I
do? Try to start an innocent conversation?
She slammed her cup
, much too hard,
on the porcelain drainboard of the sink. Her mother
'
s first impression of the man had been right: it was obvious that he lacked any manners at all. She folded her arms across her sweatshirt and glared at the kitchen floor.

But after a moment her anger relented.
After all
, she'd been
the one who
had
n't bother
ed at first
to introduce
her
self.
She
'
d treated him like some hired hand before she
'
d known he
was
a hired hand. And she shouldn
'
t have done it even then
. 
It was
a rotten start
,
she realized, dispirited. She'd
never get him to open up about Aunt Sylvi
a.

Why
did he throw that flower in her grave?

C
issy showed back up, this time with the radio, and after that, Jane was too immersed in giving painting lessons to worry about Mac and his flower. It turned out that Cissy was hopeless
—
hopeless!
—
as a painter
'
s assistant. She dripped, she slopped, she couldn
'
t cut in a straight edge to save her life. Jane, who could paint and wallpaper with one arm tied behind her back, was spending half her time cleaning up after the girl.

Still, it was almost touching to watch Cissy dip the brush into the paint, take aim, and swing it like a bat at the wall, all the time happily chatting nonstop about the men in her life, good and bad.

"
I can
'
t believe that with a role model as perfect as my brother, I went and married a stinker like Dave. I was too young
—
nineteen is way too young
—
but how could I not see that Dave only cared about football, beer, and D-cups, in that order? I mean, unless there was a game on TV, I couldn
'
t ever count on his being at home
—
no, wait, I
'
m a liar; once he cheated on me during a
Superbowl
— and
after a while that gets really tired, y
'
know?
"

She frowned and took aim at the wall again.
"
So I left him. It wasn
'
t easy, but Bing has been
so
supportive. He
'
s basically raised me since our parents died. I came to
Nantucket
because Bing said it would be a good place to sort myself out.
"

She noticed a huge paint blob on the floor, lifted her shoe, checked the sole, wiped it with a rag, and kept on painting, kept on talking.
"
Well, I
'
m sorted out now. I want
to go back to
New York
, but Bing says Dave will make trouble for me if I do. Dave
'
s not taking the divorce so well. So I
'
m supposed to stay here until it
'
s final. But, like, there
'
s nobody here in wintertime, only old people. Well, your age.
"

She stepped back in the blob and then wandered over to tune the radio, leaving little white pawprints on the only section of floor that Jane hadn
'
t covered.
The girl's
knack for mess was almost uncanny. Resigned, Jane had already decided to have the floor sanded and varnished later on. It was in poor condition anyway, and anything was easier than trying to clean up after Cissy.

"
Your brother does sound too good to be true,
"
Jane said thoughtfully. She remembered his chivalric attempt to lure Buster away from her car and smiled to herself.
"
I always wanted a brother,
"
she added.
"
It would
'
ve taken some of the pressure off me from my dad.
"