“You know all about it, don’t you?”
“No, not all about it. That’s the disturbing thing. But I know this. If Rowan sent you those samples, it was because Rowan was afraid this thing could breed. Let’s go inside, shall we? I’d like to call the family about this incident in Destin. I’d also like to call the Talamasca about Stolov. I have rooms here too, you see. You might call it my New Orleans headquarters. I rather like the place.”
“Sure, let’s go.”
Before they reached the desk, Lark had regretted the small valise and the one change of clothes. He wasn’t going to be leaving here so soon. He knew it. The dim feeling of something unwholesome and menacing warred in him with a new surge of excitement. He liked this little lobby, the amiable southern voices surrounding him, the tall, elegant black man in the elevator.
Yes, he would have to do some shopping. But that was fine. Lightner had the key in hand. The suite was ready for Lark. And Lark was ready for breakfast.
Yeah, she was afraid of that all right, Lark thought, as they went up in the elevator. She had even said something like, If this thing can breed…
Of course he hadn’t known then what the hell she was talking about. But she’d known. Anyone else, you might think this was a hoax or something. But not Rowan Mayfair.
Well, he was too hungry just now to think about it anymore.
Eight
IT WAS NOT her custom to speak into the phone when she answered it. She would pick up the receiver, hold it to her ear; then if someone spoke, someone she knew, perhaps she would answer.
Ryan knew this. And he said immediately into the silence: “Ancient Evelyn, something dreadful has happened.”
“What is it, son?” she asked, identifying herself with an uncommon warmth. Her voice sounded frail and small to her, not the voice of herself which she had always known.
“They’ve found Gifford on the beach at Destin. They said-” Ryan’s voice broke and he could not continue. Then Ryan’s son, Pierce, came on the line and he said that he and his father were driving up together. Ryan came back on the phone. Ryan told her she must stay with Alicia, that Alicia would go mad when she “heard.”
“I understand,” said Ancient Evelyn. And she did. Gifford wasn’t merely hurt. Gifford was dead. “I will find Mona,” she said softly. She did not know if they even heard.
Ryan said something vague and confused and rushed, that they would call her later, that Lauren was calling “the family.” And then the conversation was finished, and Ancient Evelyn put down the phone and went to the closet for her walking stick.
Ancient Evelyn did not much like Lauren Mayfair. Lauren Mayfair was a brittle, arrogant lawyer in Ancient Evelyn’s book, a sterile, frosty businesswoman of the worst sort who had always preferred legal documents to people. But she would be fine for calling everyone. Except for Mona. And Mona was not here, and Mona had to be told.
Mona was up at the First Street house. Ancient Evelyn knew it. Perhaps Mona was searching for that Victrola and the beautiful pearls.
Ancient Evelyn had known all night that Mona was out. But she never really had to worry about Mona. Mona would do all the things in life that everyone wanted to do. She would do them for her grandmother Laura Lee and for her mother, CeeCee, and for Ancient Evelyn herself. She would do them for Gifford…
Gifford dead. No, that did not seem possible, or likely. Why did I not feel it when it happened? Why didn’t I hear her voice?
Back to the practical things. Ancient Evelyn stood in the hallway, thinking whether she ought to go on her own in search of Mona, to go out on the bumpy streets, the sidewalks of brick and flag on which she might fall, but never had, and then she thought with her new eyes she could do it. Yes, and who knew? It might be her last time to really see.
A year ago, she could not have seen to walk downtown. But young Dr. Rhodes had taken the cataracts from her eyes. And now she saw so well it astonished people. That is, when she told them what she saw, which she didn’t often do.
Ancient Evelyn knew perfectly well that talking made little difference. Ancient Evelyn didn’t talk for years on end. People took it in stride. People did what they wanted. No one would let Ancient Evelyn tell Mona her stories anyway, and Ancient Evelyn had deepened into her memories of the early times, and she did not always need anymore to examine or explain them.
What good had it done besides to tell Alicia and Gifford her tales? What had their lives been? And Gifford’s life was over!
It seemed astonishing again that Gifford could be dead. Completely dead. Yes, Alicia will go mad, she thought, but then so will Mona. And so will I when I really know.
Ancient Evelyn went into Alicia’s room. Alicia slept, curled up like a child. In the night, she’d gotten up and drunk half a flask of whiskey down as if it were medicine. That sort of drinking could kill you. Alicia should have died, thought Ancient Evelyn. That is what was meant to be. The horse passed the wrong gate.
She laid the knitted cover over Alicia’s shoulders and went out.
Slowly, she went down the stairway, very very slowly, carefully examining each tread with the rubber tip of her cane, pushing and poking at the carpet to make sure there was nothing lurking there that would trip her and make her fall. On her eightieth birthday she had fallen. It had been the worst time of her old age, lying in bed as the hip mended. But it had done her heart good, Dr. Rhodes had told her. “You will live to be one hundred.”
Dr. Rhodes had fought the others when they said she was too old for the cataract operation. “She is going blind, don’t you understand? I can make her see again. And her mentation is perfect.”
Mentation-she had liked that word, she had told him so.
“Why don’t you talk to them more?” he’d asked her in the hospital. “You know they think you’re a feebleminded old woman.”
She had laughed and laughed. “But I am,” she had said, “and the ones I loved to talk to are all gone. Now there’s only Mona. And most of the time, Mona talks to me.”
How he had laughed at that.
Ancient Evelyn had grown up speaking as little as possible. The truth was Ancient Evelyn might never have spoken much to a soul if it hadn’t been for Julien.
And the one thing she did want to do was tell Mona someday all about Julien. Maybe today should be that day. It struck her with a shimmering power! Tell Mona. The Victrola and the pearls are in that house. Mona can have them now.
She stopped before the mirrored hat rack in the alcove. She was satisfied; yes, ready to go out. She had slept all night in her warm gabardine dress and it would be fine in this mild spring weather. She was not rumpled at all. It was so easy to sleep sitting up perfectly straight, with her hands crossed on her knee. She put a handkerchief against the tapestried back of the chair, by her cheek as she turned her head, in case anything came out of her mouth as she slept. But there was rarely a stain upon the cloth. She could use the same handkerchief over and over.
She did not have a hat. But it had been years since she had gone out-except for Rowan Mayfair’s wedding-and she did not know what Alicia had done with her hats. Surely there had been one for the wedding, and if she tried she might recollect what it looked like, probably gray with an old-fashioned little veil. Probably had pink flowers. But maybe she was dreaming. The wedding itself hadn’t seemed very real.
Surely she could not climb the stairs again to look for a hat now, and there were none in her little back room down here. Besides, her hair was done. It was the same soft bouffant she had made of it for years, and she could feel that the coil on the back of her head was firm, pins in place. It made a grand white frame for her face, her hair. She had never regretted its turning white. No, she did not require a hat. As for gloves, there were none now and no one would buy them for her.