Sweet Mercy (5 page)

Jones sat at the dining room table in one of its accompanying ladder-back chairs. Every inch of the tabletop was consumed by clutter: coils of wire, vacuum tubes, batteries, dials, and any number of unidentifiable parts belonging to an odd collection of radios in various stages of assembly and disassembly. On the upper left corner of the table was a small pile of books. Wearing a pair of dark-framed glasses, Jones leaned over a pad of paper. In his right hand was a pencil poised for note taking, but instead of writing he appeared to be listening. A woman's singsong voice drifted from the large cathedral radio directly in front of him; I strained to hear and caught something about sugarplums and teddy bears and the noontime train to Wonderland. As she spoke, Jones intermittently scribbled a few words before pausing to listen again.

I wasn't sure what to do, but after a moment Jones snapped
off the radio and continued scribbling. When I knocked on the doorframe, he sat up so abruptly his chair jumped several inches. He turned to look at me with his crimson eyes greatly magnified by the glasses.

“What do you want?” he asked.

My jaw clenched again. I stepped into the room. “A little old for bedtime stories, aren't you?” I said.

He looked at the radio and back at me. “I was just testing the clarity. I've been teaching myself about electronics, mostly radio, as you can probably see. I'm not going to work at the lodge the rest of my life, you know.” A few seconds passed in which neither of us spoke. He took off his glasses and laid them on the table. “So did you want something?”

I had almost forgotten my reason for coming. “Uncle Cy said to give you these.”

“Invoices?”

“Yes.”

He nodded toward a rolltop desk on the other side of the room. “You can add them to the pile there.”

I moved to the desk and laid the invoices down among several stacks of bills, receipts, and ledgers. “Do you keep the books for the lodge?”

“Yes,” he said. “Among other things.”

“Like carrying canoes?”

He almost smiled. “Whatever needs doing.”

“A jack-of-all-trades, then?”

“I suppose. Though mostly I'm here taking care of paper work.”

We locked eyes then, and for several long seconds we seemed to be sizing each other up. Finally he said, “Anything else?”

I started to shake my head and turn away, but I stopped. “Yes,” I said. “I wanted to tell you I'm sorry your mother's sick and I hope she gets better soon.”

Where that sentiment came from, I didn't know. Jones looked suspicious as well. But after a moment his face seemed to relax and he said, “Thank you. I'm sure she'll be better before long.”

“You must miss her.”

He nodded but didn't reply.

“So you're learning how to put radios together?” I stepped closer to the table, and when I did, Jones closed up the notepad and pushed it aside.

“Yes,” he said. “I have a knack for things like that.”

“I see.” My eyes swept the table as I tried to think of something else to say. I wanted to learn more about this mysterious person, but my mind was a blank slate, and I couldn't find any words. “Well,” I said at length, “I'd better go. Good night, Jones.”

He looked at me another moment. Then he nodded, one small lift of his chin. “Yup,” he said. He turned back to the table, put on his glasses, picked up a tool of some sort, and went to work. Our conversation was finished, and I had been dismissed.

S
everal days passed and Mother, Daddy, and I quickly became accustomed to our new life. The local public schools let out and summer settled into full swing, meaning Marryat Island was hopping. People came from all over Ohio and Kentucky and even farther away to spend a weekend or several days or maybe a week at the lodge. Poverty was on the rise in a way the country had seldom seen, but plenty of people still had money.

With the official arrival of summer, our jitney bus added several runs to its usual back-and-forth route between the lodge and the train station. Sometimes I'd ride along to greet the guests and make them feel welcome, one of my favorite jobs. I enjoyed chatting with our jitney driver, a kindly Negro man by the name of Morris Tweed. He was the husband of one of our cooks, Annie Tweed, whose infectious laughter permeated the kitchen, sweet as the cinnamon rolls she baked up fresh every morning.

I didn't have any one job at the lodge; each day I simply did what needed doing. I helped Mother and Daddy in the
Eatery. I washed dishes with Annie; I waited tables, cleaned rooms, put freshly washed linens away in the linen closet. I swept the front porch, made change for boat rentals, showed guests to their rooms. When those who had driven to the lodge asked about a car wash, I directed them to the service station across the street, owned and operated by an old friend of Uncle Cy's by the name of Calvin Fludd. In my spare time, I was allowed to enjoy the island or walk into town or join a game of croquet or volleyball on the lawn.

Never had I been so happy and at peace. Occasionally I thought about my old life and the friends I'd left behind, especially my best friend Ariel, who wrote me weepy letters about how much she missed me. I missed her too, and yet, that life seemed far away and like the torn edges of an early morning dream. The lodge and the island were my real life. This was the place I was meant to be, and I had little desire to look back at what I'd left behind.

On our first Saturday in Mercy, I was enjoying an early afternoon swim when I saw Marlene. She waved at me from the shore and then splashed her way to my side.

“I see you've finally braved the water,” she said with a laugh.

“Yes. It's wonderful!”

“I'm afraid I can't remember your name.”

“I don't think I ever told you. It's Eve. Eve Marryat. And you're Marlene, right?”

“Yes, Marlene Quimby. For a little while, anyway.”

She took a deep breath and sank beneath the surface then came up shaking water off her curls. She threw up her arms and said, “You know what's really wonderful, Eve?”

I had to smile at her enthusiasm. “No, what?” I asked.

“I'm free!” She pushed up on her toes and floated on her back, her face lifted to the sun.

“What do you mean, you're free?”

“I have officially graduated. The ceremony was yesterday. I am finished with school forever!” She kicked her feet and paddled around in circles.

“Good for you,” I said. “So what will you do now?”

“Get married, I hope.”

“Get married?” I echoed. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I'm crazy!” she cried, emphasizing each word with a splash of her arms. “Crazy for my boy Jimmy.”

“But you're too young to get married.”

She stopped paddling, looked at me, and laughed again. “I'm eighteen! I'm old enough. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“So you haven't graduated?”

“No, I have one more year.”

She poked out her lower lip playfully. “Poor you.”

I shrugged. “After high school, I intend to go to college.”

“Whatever for?”

“To earn a degree.”

“A degree in what?”

“I don't know yet. Something that helps people.”

“Phooey!” she said. “You'll end up getting married like everyone else.”

I frowned and shook my head. “I don't think so. I don't want to get married. I intend to have a career.”

She sank under the water and popped up again. “Well, Eve Marryat,” she said, “I've just learned something about you.”

“What?”

“You're a liar!” She laughed loudly and down she went again.

I wasn't sure whether to be offended or to laugh along with her. I decided to let it go. When she broke through the surface of the water, I asked, “So when are you getting married?”

She sighed an exaggerated sigh. “I don't know for sure.”

“Well, are you engaged?”

“Not officially, no.”

“So whoever this Jimmy is, he hasn't asked you to marry him?”

“Not yet. But he will. And soon, I think.”

“Well, if that's what you want, then I hope you get it.” I was telling the truth. She seemed incredibly happy and her joy was infectious. We shared a smile. “By the way, Marlene, I met the red-eyed devil.”

She stopped splashing and gave me a disbelieving look. “You did? What happened?”

“Nothing. We talked.”

“You talked? What did he say?”

I thought about her question, my mind flipping through the catalogue of what Jones had said:
“You can just pick yourself up off the floor. . . . Don't dance in the ballroom. . . . I'm learning to fix radios. . . . I bet you've never seen anyone like me. . . .”

Nothing seemed right. So I simply said, “We're cousins.”

Her wide eyes grew even wider. “You're what?”

“Well, step-cousins.”

“You mean . . .” She looked around at the others splashing in the water near us and lowered her voice. “You're related to that freak?”

I drew back. “He's no freak. He's very nice. Well, mostly, anyway.”

“But how can he be your cousin?”

“My Uncle Cy is married to his mother.”

“You mean that Cora lady?”

“Yes, Cora. She's my aunt.”

Another glance around, another whisper. “She has the consumption, you know.”

“I know. But Uncle Cy has sent her to the finest sanitarium in the East. She'll be all right.”

Marlene eyed me warily. “Well,” she said, “this
is
a surprise. Who knew the devil was Mr. Marryat's stepson? He's only seen around here once in a blue moon, you know, and even then he's all covered up from head to toe. Only a few people have seen his eyes. I never have and I hope I never do.” She paused long enough to shiver dramatically. “Most people assume he's some sort of hired help. You know, like Mr. Marryat feels sorry for him, so he allows him to work here and sleep in the attic or something.”

“He doesn't sleep in the attic,” I said, rolling my eyes at her.

“How was I to know? No one really knows anything about him.”

“Maybe you would, if you talked to him.”

“He's the one who won't talk to anybody. He looks at the ground when he walks, like he wants to pass people by without being seen.”

“Listen, Marlene, he has a name, you know. It's Jones, and I bet he'd talk to you if you said something to him. Anything. Just hello. You could give it a try.”

She smiled, shrugged. “Well, maybe. If I ever run into him.”

“You're not afraid, are you?”

“Of course not.” She laughed, but it didn't sound convincing.

Before I could say anything else, Mother appeared on the shore and called my name. “We could use your help for a minute in the Eatery,” she hollered. “We have a question about the supply list.”

“All right,” I hollered back, “I'll be right there.”

Before I could take a step toward shore, Marlene leaped toward me and grabbed my hands. “Listen, Eve, we're going to be great friends. I just know we are. And I want you to meet Jimmy. Tonight!”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. There's going to be a band playing in the pavilion, isn't there?”

I nodded. Uncle Cy was bringing in the first band of the summer season, a well-known group from Cincinnati.

“I'll bring Jimmy and you can meet him, all right?”

“Sure,” I said.

“And he can . . .” Her face grew animated and she laughed.

“He can what?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “You'll see. Just come looking pretty and be ready to dance.”

“With Jimmy?”

She laughed again and swam away. I shook my head and moved toward shore.

A
t dusk, Alonzo Martin and His Band assembled in the pavilion and, with one quick wave of Alonzo's hand, broke the quiet of the night with the first jump-crazy notes of “Keep a Song in Your Soul.” Those horn-blowing, banjo-strumming, piano-pounding musicians pumped out some kind of dynamism, because all at once the dance floor was rushed by a fox-trotting crowd of couples bebopping all over the place.

I stood off to the side, tapping my foot and nodding my head as I waited for Marlene and her boyfriend to show up. Twenty minutes went by before I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew she had finally arrived. She was dressed in a shiny orange chemise with a string of knotted pearls around her neck and a pair of black strapped heels on her feet. She was arm in arm with a young man wearing a casual shirt and slacks, his thick blond hair slicked back with pomade. He had a narrow face with pleasant blue eyes, a slightly too-large nose, and a smile that formed heartthrob dimples in his cheeks.

“Eve,” Marlene said, speaking loudly over the music, “I want you to meet Jimmy. Jimmy, this is Eve, the one I told you about. Her uncle owns the lodge.”

Jimmy nodded and said, “Nice to meet you. So Cyrus is your uncle, huh?”

“That's right,” I answered. “Do you know him?”

The young man laughed. “Sure I do. Everybody knows Cyrus. Him and my dad go way back. My dad owns the gas station across the street.”

“Oh yeah. He's—”

“Calvin Fludd. Yup. Me and Marcus work for him.”

“Marcus?”

Marlene stood on tiptoe and scanned the crowd. “Speaking of which, where'd he go?”

“There he is.” Jimmy pointed with a thumb. “Talking with Spencer Girton over there. Probably up to their usual no-good.”

“Oh, hush, Jimmy. The son of the sheriff is hardly going to be up to no-good. Marcus!” Marlene hollered, waving one long white slender arm. “Marcus!”

The young man heard his name, said a parting word to Spencer Girton, and headed toward us. As he weaved his way through the crowd, I felt my breath come up short and my heart pump itself into a momentary spasm. If he had stepped right out of a Hollywood film, he couldn't have been any more good-looking. He was an easy shoo-in for Rudolph Valentino, tall and lean, with a face so achingly handsome I had to fight the urge to turn and run. I knew what was happening. I was being set up.
He
was being set up. With me. And that could only spell disaster.

“There you are, you rascal,” Marlene said coyly.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled apologetically.

“I want you to meet Eve Marryat.”

When those two dark eyes settled on my face, it all came raining down, all the things Cassandra had said to me over all the years. I had tried to tamp it down into some unused corner of my soul, but under the gaze of this Greek god I knew every word was true. I was the typical ugly duckling, the mean-faced little rat, the luckless wench who would inevitably hurl headlong into a lost and lonely spinsterhood.

“And Eve, this is Marcus Wiant.”

I lifted my eyes to his then and felt a burning crimson creep up my neck and fan out across my face. I became keenly aware of my dress, not a clingy orange flapper slip like Marlene's but a simple blue cotton going-to-church dress with a white eyelet collar and a fringe of matching eyelet around the sleeves and hem of the skirt. When I'd put it on, it was fine, but now it was all wrong. What would Marcus think?

“Very nice to meet you, Eve,” he said politely.

“You . . . you too.”
Bumbling idiot!
I willed myself to stay, though my feet were still yearning to flee.

“Well, what are we doing standing around?” Marlene cried jubilantly. “Come on, Jimmy, let's dance!”

I was left alone with Rudolph Valentino or Marcus Wiant or whoever he was, someone who would undoubtedly give Marlene the business come morning for setting him up on this miserable blind date. Shame, fear, and dread came over me, and I wanted to apologize for what Marlene had done, but before I could form the sentence in my mind and deliver the words to my lips, the young man shrugged, flashed a shy smile, and said, “Shall we?”

He held out a hand and waited to escort me to the floor.
I looked at that hand and wanted to take it with my own, but I was paralyzed by a deep sense of inadequacy. “I don't know any fancy steps,” I said, and even as I said it I heard Cassandra laugh, which made me want to scream loud and long into the clear star-studded sky.

Marcus, still smiling, shrugged again. “Perfect,” he said. “I don't know any fancy steps either.”

The next thing I knew I was in his arms and we were moving around the dance floor like we'd been dancing together all our lives. Before the song was over I fancied myself the happiest girl on Marryat Island. And before the song was over, I saw Jones standing in the shadows, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets, staring at me with his piercing red eyes like fiery arrows hurled across the night.