The Unloved (23 page)

The sun beat down on Julie, but instead of making her feel weak, it felt good against her skin. She could almost feel her tan deepening beneath the light coat of coconut oil she’d smeared on an hour ago. Around her she could hear quietly laughing voices, and a
little
earlier she had even caught herself laughing as Kerry plunged for a Frisbee somebody had thrown, missed, and dropped face first into the sand.
Aware of someone kneeling down next to her, she opened her eyes, squinting up at Jennifer Mayhew.

“I
love
this beach,” Jenny shouted happily. “It’s clean, and it’s wide, and there’s nobody here!”

Julie giggled. “Well, we better enjoy it while we can, ‘cause I heard Dad talking to Mr. Waterman the other day. They were talking about a golf course and condominiums and all kinds of things.”

Kerry sat up, his brows furrowing thoughtfully. “Does your dad really think it’ll work?” he asked, with concern. “My dad says he can’t imagine why anybody would want to come out here. I mean, all it is is a bunch of flats.”

Julie shrugged. “What’s Hilton Head like? It was the same thing. And if Dad says it’s going to work, then it’s going to work.” She grinned at Kerry. “Besides, you grew up here—everybody hates where they grew up. Or at least they do if they’ve got any imagination. But look at this beach. Jenny’s right—it’s great! And when we get done with the house, it’s going to look just like it used to, only better.” She giggled. “Maybe we could even restore the old slave quarters and turn them into rooms.”

Kerry looked shocked for a second, then realized she was only kidding. “Well, I hope it works,” he said. “And so does everybody else,” he added, scrambling to his feet and brushing the sand off his chest and legs. “At least your dad’s trying to do something with this place. Everybody thought your grandmother just didn’t care.”

Julie’s smile faded away. “I don’t think she did,” she said. “I think she wanted everything to stay the way it was, and never realized that everything had changed anyway. She even treated Ruby like she was still a slave,” she added, her eyes rolling scornfully. “I don’t even see why Ruby stayed around.”

Kerry grinned mischievously. “Same reason,” he teased. “She just doesn’t know she’s
not
still a slave.”

“That’s terrible,” Julie shouted, slinging a handful of sand at Kerry, then jumping up to chase him down the beach. “If I thought you meant it, I’d never speak to you again.”

“And if I had meant it, you shouldn’t ever speak to me
again,” Kerry replied, letting Julie catch up with him. “Come on. Let’s take a swim. And this time, watch out for the waves. I don’t want to have your aunt mad at me again.”

They splashed through the water, diving into the gentle breakers that were washing up onto the beach, then began swimming out past the surf line. Soon they were in gently swelling water, and if Julie put her feet down, she could just touch the bottom, feeling the now-familiar grass brushing against her legs. She floated on her back for a while, closing her eyes against the sun, then shrieked as Kerry sneaked up on her, ducking her beneath the surface. She came up spluttering, and spotted him swimming away from her. Kicking hard, she chased after him and had almost caught up with him when she felt something bump against her leg.

She let out a shout, more from surprise than anything else, and Kerry instantly stopped swimming and turned back.

“What is it?” he called.

“I don’t know!” Julie shouted back. “Something just bumped into me. Like a fish or something!”

“I bet it was a turtle,” Kerry told her. “They come in to feed on the grass, and they lay their eggs on the beach. If it bumps into you again, try to grab it.”

“Grab it?” Julie exclaimed. “Are you nuts? What if it bit me?”

Now Kerry was laughing. “They don’t bite. They just try to swim away, and if you lift them out of the water, they keep on flapping their legs. They’re funny!”

Julie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “If you’re lying to me—” she began, but before she could finish, she felt the light bump again. Without thinking it through, she reached down into the water and felt for whatever had hit her.

Her hands closed on an object, firm, but not quite hard. She frowned while trying to bring it to the surface, but for a moment it stuck. Then it gave way and came up, breaking the surface.

It was not a sea turtle, but Julie knew immediately what it was.

It was Mary-Beth Fletcher.

Her face was bloated, and much of the flesh had long since been torn away by feeding sea creatures.

What was left of her hair was a tangled mass which seemed to wrap itself around Julie’s hands, as if seeking to grasp onto her.

Both her eyes were gone, and the empty sockets stared vacantly at Julie. Even as she watched, a worm wriggled out of the depths of Mary-Beth’s skull, then fell into the water.

Screaming, Julie tried to hurl the corpse away, but the hair was twisted around her fingers and she couldn’t shake her hands loose. Then, as her stomach began to churn and her screams grew into an hysterical wailing, Kerry was beside her, tearing at the tangled hair that trapped her hands, pushing wildly—almost futilely—at Mary-Beth’s hideous remains as they bobbed grotesquely in the calmness of the summer sea.

Julie never knew exactly how she got to shore.

The small sitting room adjoining Helena’s bedroom gleamed softly in the diffused light that poured through the sheers over the windows, and Marguerite smiled softly as she surveyed her work. Every piece of furniture had been polished to perfection, the last of the accumulation of dust wiped away. She’d done her best to cover the most worn areas of the Victorian sofa with an assortment of the shawls her mother had loved so much, but had been unable to do anything about the peeling wallpaper. Perhaps, if she looked hard enough, she could find the same pattern somewhere in one of the decorating shops in Charleston. But still, for the first time in years the room looked exactly as she remembered it from the days of her childhood.

It had always been her mother’s favorite room in the house, and now that it had been cleaned and polished, Marguerite could understand why. Part of it was the light. The room faced away from the afternoon sun, and the indirect light seemed to make the rosewood and mahogany of the furniture glow as if lit from within. Nor was this room ever as hot in the afternoon as the rest of the house. But it went beyond the light and the temperature—there was an old-fashioned atmosphere, as if somehow the passing years had been shut out. In this room—like her mother before her—Marguerite could almost imagine that nothing had changed at Sea Oaks, that outside the cotton fields were in full bloom, covering the island in white, and that the fields went on, sweeping across the mainland as far as the eye could see. She could almost feel the house around her humming with life as servants went about their business, preparing for a ball.

Perhaps there would be music tonight.

She pictured the ballroom, its chandeliers sparkling brilliantly as all the friends of the Devereauxes danced the long summer night away. And then, at dawn, a breakfast would be laid out, the dining room table laden with omelets, melons, and great bowls of strawberries.

She could almost hear the music now, the thin strains of soaring violins—

Marguerite was suddenly jerked out of her reverie. It wasn’t music, it was something else. She listened sharply and heard it again. The same sound.

It wasn’t violins.

It was a siren—a siren coming closer. She went to the window, pulled the curtain aside and leaned out. Far in the distance, just leaving the village, she could see an ambulance, closely followed by the black and white shape of the town’s only patrol car. As she watched and listened, the ambulance turned onto the causeway and the sirens grew louder.

Marguerite’s heart skipped a beat as she thought of Julie, who was spending the afternoon on the beach with her friends.

Her friends, and that boy—

She remembered what happened the last time Julie had gone to the beach with Kerry Sanders.

Her heart pounding now, she hurried out into the corridor and began a painful progress toward the stairs. “Kevin!” she called. “Kevin, where are you? Something’s happened!”

By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Kevin was looking anxiously up at her from the entry hall. Next to him was Joe Briggs, the contractor he’d hired to carry out the renovations. Ignoring Joe, Marguerite’s eyes fixed on her brother. “There’s an ambulance coming,” she cried, her voice shaking. “Something’s happened to Julie! I know it!”

She started down the stairs, clinging to the rail to keep her balance, but by the time she got to the bottom, Kevin was already gone, dashing outside through the French doors in the dining room, Joe Briggs right behind him. As Marguerite came into the dining room herself. Ruby emerged from the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Ruby demanded. “Where are they going?”

“The beach,” Marguerite gasped. “Help me, Ruby. Something’s happened at the beach. There’s an ambulance coming, and Will’s car, and—” She broke off, reaching out to Ruby. “It’s Julie! I just know it’s Julie. Help me, Ruby. I have to get down there.”

Immediately Ruby was at her side, taking her arm to steady her. “Now just calm down, Miss Marguerite,” Ruby admonished her as they left the house and started making their way down the rise toward the stand of pines. “Nothin’s happened to Julie. If anything had happened to her, Kerry Sanders would have been here first thing!”

But Marguerite barely heard Ruby’s words. The sound of the wailing siren filled the air now, and she could see the ambulance and police car bumping across the ground on one of the overgrown roads that had served the island years ago, when the fields were under cultivation.

Her hip was throbbing with pain, but in her hysteria she ignored it, half leaning on Ruby and half pulling her as she hurried toward the beach. Abruptly the siren was cut off. Marguerite felt a cold knot of fear tighten in her belly.

It’s too late. It’s too late, and Julie’s already dead
.

“Hurry!” she yelled, breaking into an ungainly run, her right leg held stiff against the pain that threatened to topple her at every step.

Muttering to herself, Ruby did her best to keep up with her frantic employer.

They broke through the pines and were on the beach, Marguerite’s eyes searching the knot of teenagers who crowded around Will Hempstead. Then she saw Julie, crumpled on the sand, Kevin beside her, holding her. On her other side was Kerry Sanders, crouched on the sand, watching helplessly as Julie sobbed into a towel that covered her face. But where were the men from the ambulance?

Frantically Marguerite searched for them, then found them.

Then, it wasn’t Julie.

Marguerite took a deep breath, released it, then let the tension flow out of her body along with the expelled air before moving again.

A minute later she dropped to the sand, pulling Julie into her arms, cradling the sobbing girl’s head against her breast. “My darling,” she breathed. “My poor darling. What is it? Tell me what’s happened?”

Julie said nothing, only shaking her head as her sobs built, and pulling her legs up against her chest. Her whole body quivered as if she’d been seized by a chill, and her arms wrapped around Marguerite, clinging to her with a passion that grew out of terror.

“It’s Mary-Beth Fletcher,” Kevin told her, his voice tight, eyes slightly glazed. “They found her. She was in the water, and she bumped up against Julie. Julie—she—” His voice broke and he shook his head.

“Julie pulled her out, Miss Marguerite,” Kerry Sanders finished, his eyes avoiding hers. “I thought it might be a turtle, and she was trying to catch it.”

Marguerite’s eyes widened in horror. “Dear God,” she breathed, and her arms tightened protectively around her niece. “It’s all right,” she whispered into Julie’s ear. “It’s going to be all right, my darling. I’m here, and I won’t let anything hurt you. Nothing at all …” Still rocking Julie gently, she fixed her eyes darkly on Kerry Sanders. “Go home,” she said, her voice taking on a harsh edge. “Just go home, and leave us alone.”

The words struck Kerry almost like a physical blow. He stayed where he was for a moment, then got to his feet and started walking uncertainly away. Then Kevin was beside him, laying an arm across his shoulders. “It’s all right, Kerry,” he said, leading the boy a few yards down the beach. “She’s just upset, and worried about Julie.”

Kerry looked at Kevin and shook his head. “It’s not that. She did the same thing when I brought Julie home the day the wave hit her. She acted like it was my fault. And maybe she
was
right that day. Maybe I should have been watching more carefully. But—” His voice broke, and he struggled to control
the tightness in his throat. “But what was I supposed to do today? I didn’t know Mary-Beth was—” He fell silent, unable to finish the sentence.

“Of course you didn’t,” Kevin assured him. “And when she thinks about it, Marguerite will understand it wasn’t your fault.”

But Kerry shook his head. “No, she won’t,” he said, his voice carrying a bitterness beyond his years. “She always liked me, before Julie came. But now everything’s different—now she acts like she hates me. But I didn’t do anything, Mr. Devereaux.”