Emily's Ghost (37 page)

That
was the kind of certainty she wanted.

By the time she shook
hands with the director of the Home for the Aged, Emily was limp
from the heat. She wasn't the only one; in the sitting rooms and on
the veranda the elderly residents of the home were scattered about
like water lilies, neither toiling nor spinning, speaking very
little and then without much energy. When she and the director
paused for a moment at the bay window with the view where Emily had
spoken with Hattie, the only sound she heard was of the ticking
wall clock.

Hattie's room, pleasant
with cabbage rose wallpaper and sheer curtains, was nonetheless
empty of the photos and sweaters and fuzzy slippers by the bed that
mark a place as home. Hattie had come, and Hattie had gone, and now
all that was left for anyone to know her by was a large seaman's
trunk of battered pine with sisal handles that stood in the middle
of the floor, waiting to be hauled away.

Emily lifted the lid and
saw hundreds of letters, newspaper clippings, photos, and odd
papers heaped in a jumbled mess. It wasn't Hattie's style; Emily
remembered the precise little motion Hattie had used to take out
her change purse and the particular way she had laid her yellow
afghan across her withered knees.

"You're quite right," said
the director in a tone of annoyance when Emily made some remark.
"Hattie's niece rummaged through it when she came to clear away her
aunt's things, and this is how she left everything."

"I didn't realize there
was so much," Emily admitted, daunted by the prospect of going
through it all with one eye open for Fergus and the other for the
Martha's Vineyard Historical Society. This would be a
time-consuming detour. "I don't have a car with me."

"Don't worry about that.
I'll have someone help you get it to the ferry, and you'll have
plenty of help at Woods Hole to get the trunk in your car;
islanders are like that."

Ten minutes later the
home's handyman was putting a couple of half hitches around rope
ties on the trunk and lifting it onto his back like a block of ice.
With a stevedore's nonchalance he loaded it into the back of the
director's wagon, drove Emily and his cargo to Vineyard Haven, and
unloaded them both at the ferry landing. Emily could see the ferry
approaching on the other side of the stone breakwater; in minutes
the black and white behemoth was backing down smartly while
deckhands dropped the spliced eyes of its massive dock lines onto
pylons.

The midmorning ferry was
usually the most crowded of the day, and this one was no exception.
Passengers were lined up at the ferry's gate, impatient to get
ashore. The most impatient one of all turned out to be Becky Alden,
Hildie Alden's oldest child, who burst out of the gate like a
greyhound at the track. At the bottom of the ramp Becky fetched up
on the other side of the rope that separated Emily from off-loading
passengers and cried, "I know you! Emily! You're Uncle Lee's
girlfriend!"

"Hi, Becky," Emily
answered, laughing despite the stab of embarrassment she felt.
"Don't tell me you're all by yourself?"

"No, but my cousin Jane
went on the ferry alone when she was only seven! Here comes Rob,
and I don't see Sarah and Mom yet. Aren't you staying with us
again?"

Emily explained that she
was not, and Becky demanded to know the reason why. By the time
Hildie came along with Sarah clutching her hand, Rob and Becky had
pulled Emily out of the line and were holding her more or less
captive for their mother's arrival.

Hildie, who with her blond
hair and white dress looked sunshine bright, beamed when she saw
Emily. "This is great! I'm all alone at the house. Have lunch with
us; there'll be another ferry." No mention of Emily's nighttime
escape; just a friendly, open invitation to share a sandwich and
iced tea.

Emily explained that she
was traveling with a trunk. Hildie, taking that to mean yes, had a
couple of beach boy types load it into the back of a Buick wagon
that Lee's housekeeper, Inez, had left in the parking lot by
arrangement. The kids piled in and immediately began assembling
large kites they'd brought with them from the mainland.

"The to-ing—and-fro-ing is
the worst part, isn't it?" Hildie remarked as she shifted the car
into gear. "Too bad islands come surrounded by water."

Oh, right,
Emily found herself thinking.
This is really rough.
But she
contented herself with saying, "You seem to have a system pretty
well worked out."

"I know what you're
thinking," Hildie said with a sideways glance at Emily. "But
I'm
not
a poor
little rich girl. I worked on the Vineyard during my college
summers. After my last year, but before I began teaching, I took a
job as nanny for Grace's kids -- she used to stay here all summer
long -- and then I met Charles, fell in love, and the rest, as they
say, is history."

"Hildie, you don't have to
apologize for it -- least of all to me," Emily said, embarrassed.
She added, "Do I sound that much like a Communist?"

Hildie laughed. "I'm not
usually like this. But I'll be the first to admit there's a
difference between them and me -- my dad was an insurance salesman
-- that's impossible to ignore." She added shrewdly, "I thought I
noticed a little of that in you on Grammy's birthday."

"Uh-oh," Emily said
jokingly. "You mean you saw me make a fist every time someone
talked about cutting the capital gains tax?"

"Something like that,"
Hildie said, chuckling.

"I suppose you can admit
that the difference exists, as long as you don't feel defeated by
it," Emily allowed.

They pulled into the
driveway, where they could see Inez behind the house taking down
dry linens from a clothesline. From out of the blue Emily had an
intense, vivid image of her mother gathering billowing white sheets
and burying her nose in them, swearing that there wasn't a softener
in the world that could take the place of sunshine. The memory
rolled in on a wave of pure love; for the first time since her
mother's death there was no pain.

Lunch was very pleasant.
Inez sat with them and gave them a capsule biography of Lee Alden's
youth, and afterward they all went outside and tried to fly really
big kites in two knots of wind. Little Sarah was the first to
become bored and sleepy, then Rob, then Becky. Hildie spread out a
blanket under the oak tree, and the children stretched out for
their naps there.

"Just like cod fillets at
the fish counter," said Inez. She went inside, and Hildie and Emily
chatted in hushed tones in lawn chairs nearby. After a while Emily
was forced to admit that it was time to face up to the ferry ride
home.

But Hildie was having none
of it. "Stay, at least overnight," she begged. "We have everything
you need here. You're my size; I have clothes that would fit. This
way you'll have time to sort through Hattie's trunk real quick and
leave the irrelevant stuff behind. Why drag it all back and
forth?"

It was tempting. But. "I'd
feel very awkward staying," Emily blurted. "You do realize that Lee
and I aren't seeing each other anymore?"

"You mean, because you
were at the séance with him? But that's just politics. After Lee's
reelected, you can take each other up again," Hildie said serenely.
"Anyway, Lee's not due here until next week."

So. They knew about the
séance, but they did not know about Fergus. Obviously Lee had
offered the only explanation that a politically minded family would
understand. All in all, Lee had opted for the chivalrous way
out.

"So, will you
stay?"

Emily bit on her lip,
considering the offer. "I'd be an awful guest. That trunk is
crammed full. I'm very directed when I research anything. The kids
would feel slighted."

"Not at all. They're going
to a birthday party later this afternoon, and I have a dinner
engagement tonight. We'll stay completely out of your
way."

Sitting there sipping
mineral water, watching cottony sails dotting the blue horizon,
cooled by the faintest of ocean breezes, Emily realized she was
being made an offer she couldn't rationally refuse.

The two women manhandled
the trunk into what everyone insisted on calling Emily's old
bedroom, even though she'd spent exactly two hours there, neither
of them in bed. Hildie went out and came back with some clothes for
Emily, who immediately changed from her skirt and blouse to shorts
and a tank top. In the meantime, Hildie had thrown open the single,
multipaned door and was standing outside on a tiny brick terrace
enfolded in heady midseason roses, all pinks and creams and
yellows.

Emily went out to join
her. "This place is too enchanted to be true," she said, gazing at
the ocean. A desultory sea breeze had begun to fill in, bathing her
cheek in cool, slightly damp air.

"I keep forgetting how
perfectly placed this room is," Hildie admitted. "I never use it
because all my things are set up in the bedroom near the kids. And
it's too small for Lee; his room has a massive desk that came down
from his grandfather's law firm. His mother doesn't care for it
because it doesn't have its own bath. So there you are. The best
room in the house, and nobody wants it. Well, cheerio. You know
where the kitchen is."

She left, and Emily had to
force herself just to come in from the view.
How will I ever get anything done?
she wondered, pleasantly dismayed. Still, without either Lee
or Fergus it was altogether possible that she'd be able to
concentrate. After clearing away a chair or two and rolling up a
small but exquisite serape from the foot of the rope-twist spindle
bed, Emily got down to business.

She began pulling out
papers, photos, and clippings one armful at a time and heaping them
on a ladder-back chair. Then she sorted them according to time and
place. A good deal of the material related to the Vineyard, but it
was nothing that couldn't also be found in various island archives:
clippings from the
Vineyard
Gazette;
old church bulletins;
commemorative menus and programs from social gatherings. These she
tossed. There were also dozens and dozens of greeting cards. Hattie
seemed to have saved every birthday, get-well, and anniversary card
she'd ever got; it was interesting and a little sad to see that
there were no Mother's Day cards. With some regret Emily had to
toss the cards as well.

There were photographs,
two shoeboxes' worth, that had tumbled out from their cardboard
containers and were becoming bent and ruined in the jumble. Emily
began to stack them carefully, out of respect, even though the
people captured in them neither knew nor cared that the photos
existed. She could no more throw them out than she could toss a
litter of newborn kittens. They'd have to go back to the
director.

And there were letters,
hundreds of letters, some of them dating back to the twenties and
before. Most of them weren't addressed to Hattie, but whether they
belonged to other residents at the home or to Hattie's relations,
it was impossible to tell. She'd have to take them all and read
them all, not because she thought they'd help her but because she'd
promised the director.

By seven or so Emily had
succeeded in completely carpeting the wide-board floor of her room
with neat, compulsive stacks of history. She stood up and
stretched. A streak of pain went rippling through her spine; she'd
been bent over for hours. The household had been true to Hildie's
word and left her unmolested, and as a result, Emily had no idea
what the feeding arrangements were. She made her way timidly to the
kitchen, where Inez was emptying the dishwasher.

"Ah, there you are," the
housekeeper said. "I wanted to bring you a supper tray, but Hildie
said to leave you alone under pain of death. That wouldn't be your
stomach grumbling, would it?" Inez asked cheerfully.

Emily nodded sheepishly,
and Inez sat her down on a high chair at the butcher-block island
dominating the center of the room. "I'll make you an omelet, dear,"
she said. "While we talk."

"Are the kids all asleep
already?" Emily asked, surprised.

"Lord, yes. It was an
exhausting day. Pony rides, sack races, they did it all." The
housekeeper chopped some onions into a pat of butter sizzling in an
omelet pan. "Especially that Becky; she runs everyone ragged. But
I'll tell you a secret: She's my favorite. Smart as a whip. She
does have a tendency to sass, but then again she usually feels
awful about it later and brings me treats."

Inez cracked two eggs into
a bowl, whisked them around briefly, and dumped them in the pan. "I
think Lee is partial to Becky as well. He likes the way she speaks
her mind. I suppose that's what happens when you're surrounded by
yes-men all day long." She looked up pointedly at Emily. "Isn't
that your impression, dear?"

"Oh, definitely," Emily
said, to be polite. In general it was true. In the matter of Fergus
it was not true.

Inez laid out a plate of
French bread and a beautifully browned omelet smothered in a cheese
sauce and then excused herself, leaving Emily to enjoy a view of
the herb garden at twilight. When she was finished she rinsed out
her dishes and left them in the rack, boiled herself a cup of tea,
and went back to what was no longer a fun or even an interesting
task. It was too irrelevant, too distracting from the business at
hand. And it was too hot to work.