Children of the Storm (27 page)

    A woman and two small children had come out of the trees and now stood at the edge of the lawn, leaning into the wind, filthy and soaked and obviously beaten. Though they were too far away for positive visual identification, he had no doubt that they were Sonya Carter and Alex and Tina Dougherty, even though it seemed impossible and unreasonable that they had come the length of
Distingue,
by foot, in the middle of the storm.

    They started toward Hawk House, trudging like refugees, huddled and dark and forlorn.

    Then, behind them, another figure emerged from the palms, this one a man who stopped just where the woman had stopped and looked after them.

    Saine?

    Not big enough.

    Henry or Mills?

    Too big for them.

    And Dougherty wasn't home, so it must be Peterson.

    As Blenwell watched, aware that danger was coming and that his place was out there with the woman and the two kids, not here by the window like a man of stone, Peterson ran forward and slammed into Sonya with his shoulder.

    Both she and the child crashed forward to the ground, rolled, and then became separated.

    Then Peterson leaped past them, making for the boy who, having seen this first attack, was now running full tilt for Hawk House, weaving on weak legs and losing ground all the time.

    Blenwell whirled away from the window, grabbed up the rifle that stood against the chair, and ran into the hall.

    When he reached the kitchen, his feet pounding on the tile floor, he heard Lydia calling to him, though he had no idea what she was saying.

    “Stay there!” he shouted.

    He fumbled with the door latches.

    She was still calling his name.

    “It's okay!” he shouted. “Don't leave the cellar!”

    He pushed open the door.

    Wind hit him
.

    Rain soaked him in the instant and pummeled past him to clatter on the hard kitchen floor.

    Against the wishes of the wind, he pulled the door shut and, holding the rifle to his side, hoping the rain would not damage it and make it useless, he went onto the lawn and hurried toward the battling figures down near the palms.

    Despite the fact that the storm made running all but impossible when you were headed into the wind, as he was, he reached the scene before Peterson had managed to kill anyone. Alex was lying on the ground, either exhausted or stunned by a blow from Peterson who was now running clumsily toward the little girl. Sonya stood, helpless, watching all of this, her shoulders slumped, her hands spread out in front of her as if she were pleading with someone, though there was no one near to her.

    Blenwell went down on one knee and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He had done a lot of target practice with the gun, and-when he was depressed and forgot that they were not responsible for his problems-he considered using it on Dougherty's parrots. But this would be the first time in his life that he had ever used a gun against a man.

    He sighted in, estimated the movement of the wind and allowed for it, then slowly squeezed the trigger.

    The gun jerked against him, but he heard its report only as another sudden growl from the storm.

    Peterson kept running.

    He fired again.

    The madman was spun around, like a tackled football player, his speed cut in the instant, and he went down, hard.

    He stayed down.

    It was over.

    

    Though it had been filtered through the perfume of the bougainvillea vines that grew over the one end of the front porch of Seawatch, the breeze still brought them a tang of sea and sand. Of course, few of the bougainvillea's flowers had survived Greta's wrath, and not many new blossoms had opened yet, but still the refreshing sea smell was a delightful surprise to Sonya and Kenneth as they sat side-by-side in two antique rattan rockers. It reminded them of the sea when it was tame, of the pleasures one could get from the sea-and those were aspects of its majesty which they had not had occasion to think about for some days.

    Looking out on the peaceful green lawn, the stately palms, the glimpse of white beach and the placid sea, Sonya could hardly understand how such a peaceful place could have turned, for two long days, into a nightmare of rage and destruction, both human and natural.

    The storm had gone three days ago now, and the Doughertys had been home almost as long. Bill Peterson, whom Ken had shot cleanly through the neck, had been taken back to Guadeloupe for burial by his family which was stunned by what had happened. The police had come and gone, as had the doctors, and now there was no more excitement.

    Thankfully.

    She had spent a full day or longer, during the storm, in Hawk House, bundled into a guest bed. The Blenwells had treated her and the children as best they could; and Sonya and her two charges had slept most of that time, recharging batteries, blissfully unaware of the concern paid them by everyone in that mansion, including Hattie.

    After that, when the weather had cleared substantially, they had been able to return to Seawatch where they were greeted like three modern Lazaruses all raised from the grave. Bess, Henry, Leroy and Helga had all been certain that they were dead, for Saine was dead and Saine was much tougher than they were.

    Since then, she had rested, could hardly get enough of rest, and of Helga's food, which tasted better than she remembered it.

    Each day, Ken came early in the morning, went on walks with her, sat with her on the porch, played cards with her, and slowly became more and more of the romantic young man which he had always had the potential but never the desire to be.

    Now, as they were commenting on the sudden fresh sea breeze, Joe Dougherty came out of the front door and took a chair next to theirs, so they were sitting around a small, white wrought iron cocktail table. He said, “Two days ago, or better, you said you wanted to resign as tutor and governess for the kids.”

    “Well-” she began.

    He held up a hand to stop her.

    “I'd be the first one to admit that you have excellent reasons for wanting to get away from the Dougherty family forever. And when I told you that I intend to remain on
Distingue
despite all that's happened here, I saw how you paled.” He cleared his throat. “But I've never been one to run from pain or bad memories, and I won't start the practice at this late date. Besides, because of this affair, I'm finding it more and more difficult to seriously consider going back to the crowded suburbs and polluted air of New Jersey. I'll stay- that is, if Ken here is finally willing to accept me as his neighbor.”

    Ken blushed. “I was always so sure that an industrial man like yourself, someone who always has his finger in a lot of pies, would be hell-bent on turning the island into a tourist trap.”

    “You believe I haven't any such designs?”

    “I do now. But I was always so afraid you'd ruin
Distingue.”

    “I've not known it long enough to love it like you do,” Joe said, “But I'm getting there.” He looked back at Sonya. “I'm willing to accept your resignation and break your contract, but I do wish you'd change your mind about leaving.”

    “Well-” she began.

    He stopped her. “Let me finish. I find you to be one of the most valuable employees I've ever had. You're intelligent, cheerful and amazingly courageous. When a professional bodyguard couldn't protect my children and keep himself alive, you took them under your wing. When you were put into an impossible situation, you performed the impossible solution and saved both yourself and my kids. I owe you all I have.”

    “If you'd let me get a word in edgewise,” she said, a smile on her face, “I'd save you all this embarrassing repetition. I've decided not to leave you, the kids or
Distingue,
after all.”

    He looked blank, for a moment, then broke into an enormous Irish smile. “What changed your mind?”

    “Ken,” she said.

    He looked at the two of them, smiled and said, “Oh, it's like that, is it, now?”

    “It may be,” Ken said. “Eventually. Right now, we're just getting to know each other. For the last three days, I've learned a lot from Sonya, more than I thought anyone could teach me now that I'd grown up. She's shown me a brighter side of life, a more pleasant outlook on things than I'd ever known I could have. I've gained-I guess you'd call it perspective.”

    “And you?” Dougherty said, looking at Sonya. “I still haven't heard what he's said to you that's made you rethink your position.”

    She said, “I've always avoided people who seemed sober or serious, always opted for friends who were fun-loving and cheerful-and even giddy. I wanted to run from the bad memories associated with
Distingue,
but I also wanted to get away from Leroy Mills' secretiveness which I once thought sinister and now see is only his way. I wanted to get away from Henry's once-a-week grump. Now I see that it's not much to endure that in order to work with him on the days he's himself. I was the opposite of Ken, too eager to experience only the best parts of life, and I too needed balance. I think, from him, I've gotten a little of that.”

    Dougherty got to his feet and, still beaming, said, “Well, then, may I tell Helen and the kids that you've changed your mind and are going to stay on after all?”

    “Please, yes,” she said.

    When he was gone, they remained seated in the rattan chairs, holding hands, looking out at the palms.

    He said, “Ummm, smell the sea.”

    She sniffed and said, “Isn't it a beautiful day? I still have a sore neck, and I'm stiff in all my joints still, but otherwise it's a perfect day. I've probably had better days, but right now I can't think of them and don't particularly want to.”

    “Rightly put,” he said. “There, look at the seagulls playing tag in the sky!”