The Secret of the Dark (3 page)

I turned and looked at him again. “I'd love to. Come back sometime. It'll take me a couple of days to get things in order here but then—” I stopped short of what I started to say.

“You may get lonely too?”

“I hope not But I'm not used to this isolation.”

“Not many people are. You're from New York City?”

I nodded.

“It must seem strange here. I have an idea. There's a dance — not the type you're used to either, I'll wager. Saturday night Go with me.”

“Granny—”

“We'll take her. She'd love it. You can't say no. She needs to get out even if you don't.” Neal had blue eyes, darker than mine. And with his black hair, and coloring, we looked like we could be brother and sister.

But the way Neal looked at me. I didn't feel at all sisterly. I felt … very attracted to him. If he hadn't asked me out, I'd have found a way to see him again. That wasn't like me at all. I knew boys existed. My friend Pam never let me forget that. I just hadn't been all that interested.

My summer had taken a turn for the better, too.

CHAPTER

3

G
RANNY
became interested in the living room when I started to clean there. I was careful of my taped hand. She helped where she could. When I took the fringed scarf off the piano and said it needed to be washed, she took my arm and led me to an old cedar chest in her room.

Inside were crocheted doilies, lovely embroidered dresser scarves, and three beautiful old quilts. One was especially pretty, a combination of patchwork and appliqué, all in shades of blue. Because of my eyes and hair, I was very partial to blue.

“Granny, if I'm careful with it, can I put this quilt on my bed for a spread?”

“Certain you can, child. Hit's wasting in here.”

I gave up on getting Granny to call me by my name and looked back through the things in the chest. There was another scarf to put on the piano until I had found a safe way to wash the one I'd taken off and then a small round tablecloth with blue violets on the border. Folding the quilt and cloth over my arm, I added two woven, off-white pillowcases and headed for the loft. I had laid the aired-out linens on the bed and the whole room smelled of sunshine.

Before long I had transformed the loft into a cozy nest. The quilt on the bed gave the room a folk-art look that decorating magazines would envy. My clothes were in the partitioned-off space at one end, hidden by a curtain, which was a faded blue. I moved the table and chair over by my bed and put my tape recorder on it.

Putting on a soft Vivaldi tape to decorate by, I spun around as I experimented with knickknacks here and there, making the place mine.
Valerie Wreyford lives here
, I thought. I had also discovered that the slight ledge formed by the wainscoting was just the right height to hook my toe onto so I could stretch my legs out with exercises. There'd be no dance practice in the small area, and this would be the first summer with no dance classes. But along with finishing my junior year, I'd done some serious thinking. I was never going to be a professional dancer. I think I had known it for a couple of years, but it was hard to let go of the idea, the dream. Another dream I'd let go of was about being a pianist. I just wasn't dedicated enough — no, to be honest, I wasn't good enough.

One reason I had jumped at the chance to leave New York for the summer was that I found myself getting depressed about my life. I'd put away some dreams, and now I needed new ones. But it would take time. Sometimes reality is very painful.

It felt terrible to be
almost
good enough to dance professionally.
Almost
good enough to be a pianist. Somehow it left me feeling
almost
, but not quite, Valerie. I knew music would be a part of my life, but I didn't want to teach. What else was left?

Pam — all my friends — seemed to know what they were going to do after our senior year. I guessed I'd go to college, but it would be a waste of time and money if I had no goal — no major.

I stood in the open window, my elbows on the sill. It was wonderful to stand there and think, looking for new dreams. I let the mountain air, the sight of trees and wild flowers climbing up the mountain slopes, calm me, settle the restlessness, the anxiety that crept into me when I thought of plans for my life. I tried to think only of this day, this setting, and my summer plans, to relax and take care of Granny. Hesitantly, I added the chance to know Neal Gallagher better.

A strange-looking cat looked up at me and meowed. She was one of those cats you imagine was yellow before she slid down the chimney, a sort of Santa Claus cat. But her face was pretty, half black, half speckled yellow. I waved to her and went downstairs.

“Granny, there's a cat out back. Is she yours?”

“Nobody owns a cat, child.” Granny rocked back and forth gently. Was that how she spent her days? “She comes here some. She'd be hungry.”

I opened the front screen and called, “Kitty, kitty, kitty.” She trotted in as if she owned the cabin, even if Granny didn't claim ownership of her. Taking a bottle of milk from the refrigerator and reminding myself to ask how we'd get more supplies, I poured the cat a saucer. She looked up as if to say thank you before she began to lap daintily.

Listening to Granny hum as I watched Kitty eat gave me an idea. “Granny, can we have the piano tuned?” I had run my fingers over it earlier as I dusted and found it badly out of tune. Rue had been generous with housekeeping money for June and said she'd send more. Dad had given me spending money. It would be nice to play when I felt the urge. Maybe Granny would join me on her guitar for duets.

“Certain. Hit would pleasure me to hear it played.” Granny kept rocking as she talked. “Fleecy's coming.”

Someone was coming again? Or was Granny off on a dreaming trip? I'd have to learn to recognize the difference or she'd keep me confused.

If someone really was coming it was the excuse I needed. Before Dr. Gallagher left, he'd asked me to help Granny attend to her personal cleanliness better. I was pleased with the way the house looked. I'd even gotten in a load of wood and had a fire laid in the fireplace ready for any excuse to light it. I had beat the rag rugs and sunned them. They were faded but that added to the muted pastels of the living room. So the house was clean; Granny was next.

“Granny, I have time to help you take a bath this afternoon. I'm not going to clean in the kitchen until tomorrow.”

“I kin take my own bath.” She stroked the cat who had gone straight to her lap after the milk lunch.

“Great I'll run the water and be sure there are clean towels.” I don't know what I'd have done if Granny hadn't cooperated, but she did. While she soaked in the warm water I looked through her clothes. Some seemed clean, and I sorted out the dirty ones for a future wash. I changed the bed linens and spread out the colorful quilt she used for her spread.

She protested a little over my washing her hair until I reminded her of the dance Neal was taking us to the next night. Then she went into a story of how popular she had been at dances. I had her dressed and her hair towel dried before she reached the end of another memory.

Just as I settled her in the sun, which now streamed in the windows on the west, the phone rang, startling me. I'd almost forgotten phones existed, much less the fact that Granny had one.

“Hello. Granny deShan's, but this is Valerie.” I would never answer the phone that way in New York, but I was realizing that this little town was different. Granny left her door open and called visitors in. Whoever was calling would expect Granny, and I didn't want someone to think this was a wrong number.

No one answered.

“Hello? Who's calling?”

Still no answer, but I could sense that someone was there. I could imagine someone breathing. Quickly I hung up. Someone
was
on the other end of the line. Oh, I hated that. If it was a wrong number the person could say so.

“Was it Fleecy?” Granny asked.

“Wrong number, Granny.”

The phone rang again. “I don't like that machine. Rue said I had to have it.”

I hesitated. A second ring. I wasn't sure I liked that machine either. But maybe there had been a bad connection. Whoever had called the first time had called back.

“Hit's Fleecy, child.” Granny didn't understand why I didn't answer it.

“Hello,” I said hesitantly.

“You must be Valerie,” a cheerful voice said. “Hit's Fleecy here. Did Annie remember I was bringing dinner?”

“I guess so, but I wasn't sure you were real.”

Fleecy laughed. “Granny does conjure up lots of people who aren't — at least not nowadays. I guess they were onest. I'll be there at five. My nephew's dropping me off.”

Good. Someone I could ask questions of, I hoped. How could I get to town? How could I get the laundry done? I wasn't pioneer enough for a tub and a washboard, although sheets would smell good dried outside on the line. If there was a laundromat in town, I still could dry them here.

Fleecy was a plump, hardy woman with kinky white hair. “I'm seventy-two, Valerie,” she told me later. “Me and Annie go a ways back together. I'm so glad you came. Not many young people would live here, but I'd hate to see Annie have to go to a nursing home. Hit'd be a misery to her. How are you feeling, Annie?” Fleecy had quickly set the three dishes on the table and went to bring Granny to the kitchen.

“Well, I was a mite dauncy till a couple of days ago, Fleecy, but this child has cheered me up some.”

“Yes, I kin see some improvements here, Annie. The place looks better 'n I've seen it for a spell.” Fleecy turned to me. “That no good CoraLou Perkins was supposed to be working here, helping Annie out, but she never lifted a finger to do any real work. I'm glad to see you ain't lazy.”

I smiled, pleased I'd passed Fleecy's inspection, and left the two friends to visit while I set the table and made iced tea. Fleecy had brought fried chicken, potato salad, and baked beans. Everything smelled wonderful and I realized I was starved.

Granny ate better than usual and I knew I had to start cooking. “How can I get supplies, Fleecy? I want to plan meals and cook at least one hot meal a day for Granny. And laundry. I've got a pile of dirty clothes.”

“I'll take the laundry and get it done for you. Maybe my nephew, Cedrick, can take you to the store. He'd complain 'cause he's as good for nothing as that CoraLou. He don't hold no steady job long.”

I didn't want Fleecy making someone help me and I said so, but there were so many things we needed. I wondered if I dared ask Neal for a ride? I could always take the taxi back. Or I supposed I could take a taxi both ways, but that would get expensive.

After dinner all of us felt comfortably full and willing to copy Granny's style of sitting in a rocker or an easy chair. It had clouded up just about the time Fleecy arrived and the air was damp and cooler.

I lit the fire and it felt good and cheered up the cabin, as I had hoped. It had become the cozy place I had imagined on my first night here. Fleecy insisted I play the piano but changed her mind after a couple of numbers.

“Hit does certain need a tuning, doesn't it? I'll ask around for someone that knows how.”

“He's still here,” Granny said, out of the blue, her mind taking off again.

“Who is, Annie? A piano tuner?” Fleecy teased, knowing Granny wasn't talking about a piano tuner.

“He's looking for her.”

“This is one of Granny's favorite stories,” Fleecy whispered. “Tell us that story, Annie. I've about forgot it.”

The story was about a ghost that walked the mountains around Catalpa Ridge. I shivered with the delicious anticipation of my camping days. Ghost stories around an open fire. It was a Romeo and Juliet type of tale, but both lovers didn't die at the same time.

The girl's father wouldn't let her marry her Romeo so she jumped from the nearby bluffs into the river. The shock twisted the young man's mind a bit, and he spent the rest of his life wandering the mountains looking for her. The girl had hair of gold, of course, as most girls in love stories do, and the boy was also fair.

We all sat, looking into the fire at the end of the story, lamenting the way true love hardly ever works out. Thunder rumbled, getting close.

“He won't rest till he finds her,” Granny repeated.

I laughed, trying to break the spell of Granny's story now. Suddenly it seemed so real, so sad. “I guess I don't believe in ghosts.”

“Don't be so sure,” Fleecy warned. “The world is full of strange things, haints and witches, too.”

Mrs. Butterworth, as Fleecy had called the cat, came walking through the living room meowing loudly. She seemed restless.

“Hit's a bad 'un,” Granny said.

Again I looked at Fleecy who seemed able to translate Granny's wandering mind. “The storm,” Fleecy said. “I'd best be getting on before it breaks. At least it ain't tornado time yet.” She gathered her dishes, which we'd washed, putting the leftover food away for Saturday. I asked Fleecy how she'd get home, but apparently her nephew, Cedrick, was coming back and would wait for her below.

I bundled up the laundry in a sheet, placing the dishes carefully on top of the load before I tied it up. I offered to help her down the steps, but she let me know she was still agile.

I was in bed but not asleep, when it started to pour rain. The thunder crashed and rattled around the cabin. Rain on a tin roof was a new sound for me, and plenty noisy. But soon the violence moved on, leaving only a steady strum of rain. Now it was cozy and I snuggled under the covers, putting aside thoughts of ghosts and star-crossed lovers.

Thoughts of Neal crept in. I let those stay. Tomorrow I'd see him again. Had it been my imagination that I could like him a lot?