Distant Blood (6 page)

Gretchen sat, unusually silent, watching the unfolding
white wake the boat made in the rocky bay. Candace held on to my arm and appeared a tad seasick. I asked if she was okay. She nodded. “Never liked boats much, and they don't like me.” I took her damp fingers and laced them through mine.

The trip was short; perhaps twenty minutes. I saw the island—barely a mile long, if that, and some indeterminate width that wasn't much greater. Most of the lip of the shore seemed to be grayish sand, and there was a scattering of oak and palmetto trees. I could see a swath of beach, crowned with modest dunes and tall saltgrass. Sangre looked like a midget barrier island that hadn't quite made it out to sea, unlike the mighty stretch of Matagorda Island. Toward one end of Sangre a large, rambling house stood, uncompromisingly Victorian. I marveled that a hurricane hadn't reduced the old house to memory—Matagorda Bay's residents lived on an edge, each and every summer. More than one killer storm had screamed ashore along this section of the coast.

Rufus veered the boat out a bit from the island and gestured toward the empty bay north of the island, opposite the mansion. “That's where they went down.”

“Who?” Candace asked, yelling above the roaring motor and the whistling wind.

“The
Reliant.
Went down fighting.”

“A Confederate ship?” I asked. “I thought most of the naval action along the coast during the war was up near Sabine Pass.”

Rufus shook his head. “Well, the Confederates built a fort on Matagorda Bay and made the timber look like big guns to bluff the Yankees, but that ain't here no more.
Reliant
wasn't a Confederate ship.
Reliant
was one of the five battleships in the original Texas Navy, back when Texas was fightin' for independence. Went down fightin' a Mexican ship. That's how the island got its name. Sangre means blood in Spanish.”

“Rufus, this is a distasteful story. Surely—” Gretchen attempted.

He paid her no heed. “Survivors from the
Reliant
got to the island. The Mexicans”—he pronounced it
Messkins
—
“captured them and cut their throats, right there on the sand.” He gestured from where the sunken wreck lay to a sliver of beach on the north side of the island, with a dock protruding. He kept his hands so little on the wheel I wondered how he steered. “But Mutt tells the story lots better than I do. You should ask him.”

I stared out at the watery spot Rufus Beaulac had indicated. Somewhere beneath those whitecapped waves the shell of the
Reliant
rested, its broken hull serving as an empty coffin to God only knew how many boys and men that had dared to defy the Mexicans. Then I glanced again at the beach where Rufus indicated the massacre had taken place. Those poor sailors—they had never lived to see the Republic of Texas born, the admission to the Union, the bonds of brotherly ties shattered in the Civil War, then the pain of Reconstruction.

“Anyone ever dive down there?” T called to Rufus. He stared at me with frank horror.

“Hell, no! With all them dead boys? Who'd want to go down there?”

I started to mention that any human remains would be long gone. “It could be fascinating—” I started, but Rufus crossed himself with a practiced hand and looked at me with reproach.

“You a ghoul, boy,” he said. “You got more to worry about than those dead sailors.” He turned the boat away from the watery grave and aimed it toward the island. I felt a sick unease tug at my heart.
You got more to worry about.

A TALL, LANKY MAN AND AN OLDER WOMAN IN A
flowing, robelike dress waited for us as we pulled the boat up to a dock. The man had a thick shock of blondish-gray hair, high cheekbones set in a broad, German face, and watery blue eyes. There was no mistaking the familial resemblance between him and Bob Don. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth and he had his narrow hands set on thin hips, watching us expectantly.

The woman was older, in her sixties at least, and she held a small Chihuahua up to her cheek as though it were a puppet. She, too, had the Teutonic countenance I had come to think of as particularly Goertzish, but a warm, gentle smile softened her face. As the boat grew closer she took one of the Chihuahua's tiny paws and waved it in greeting. The dog looked bored with this social nicety and squirmed uncomfortably against the lady's bosom.

Gretchen wiggled fingers at the welcoming party, but tension crinkled her eyes and Bob Don frowned for a moment before replacing his grimace with a grin.

I glanced at Candace. I hoped I didn't look as petrified as I felt. She gave me a hopeful, warm smile. I did my best to return it.

Rufus leaped out of the boat and moored it to the dock. The khaki-clad man didn't offer to help; instead, he lit his cigarette with a battered Zippo lighter and peered at me through the feather of smoke that crept past his weathered face.

We disembarked and I helped Rufus pull our luggage out of the boat. Bob Don shook hands with the man.

“Hey, Cousin Tom. How you doing?” Bob Don was using what I called his “sales pitch” tone: friendly, slightly cajoling, hinting that he'd love to do nothing more than listen to you talk the whole day long. It had moved any number of new and used cars off his lots.

Cousin Tom didn't seem swayed by it. He exhaled a plume of sour smoke and said, “Well, don't you got yourself an entourage this time, Bob Don. How do, Gretchen?” His voice was deep and raspy. He nodded toward Gretchen, who clutched Bob Don's arm and put on her party smile.

“I'm fine, Tom. Hello, Aunt Lolly, how nice to see you!” Gretchen chirped.

Bob Don leaned down and kissed the lined cheek of the lady with the dog. She giggled with glee and kissed him back with a resounding smack on the cheek.

“Bob Don, so good to see you. You, too, Gretchen,” she added with a considerable drop in enthusiasm. She wielded the Chihuahua into Bob Don's face. “Give Sweetie a big oP kiss!”

Bob Don opted instead to pat the tiny critter on the head. I couldn't blame him, as Sweetie's tongue draped out of its mouth in the summer heat.

“Oh, you'll hurt Sweetie's feelings! And him being a blood relation!” The woman, whom I now supposed to be Bob Don's aunt Lolly, frowned and cradled Sweetie in her arms. Tom rolled his eyes in exasperated impatience. Gretchen coughed. The dog was a blood relation? Perhaps I wasn't the only surprise on the family tree.

“Are we the first ones here?” Gretchen ventured to break the sudden silence.

“Not hardly. Everybody else is already up at the house. Uncle Mutt's in rare form. Be warned.” Tom's eyes locked on me in the same calculated scan that Rufus had performed back on the coast. “This him?” His voice hadn't gotten any friendlier.

“Yeah, it is,” Bob Don said, smiling genuinely for the first time in a couple of hours. 'Tom, this is my son, Jordan. Jordan, this is my cousin Tom Bedrich.”

I extended a hand and Tom took it in a macho death grip
that went beyond firm. I squeezed back for all I was worth. “Well, you look enough like a Goertz. I guess.” His pale blue eyes went to Candace and a smile touched his lips. It was a grimy grin and I didn't like it one bit. However, I told him I was pleased to meet him.

“And, Jordan, this is my aunt Louisa Goertz Throck-morton. Aunt Lolly, this is my son Jordan.”

Aunt Lolly surprised me with a deep curtsy. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, my dear boy.” She sprang back up, brandishing the dog. “And this is Sweetie, who in a previous life was your great-uncle Charles Throckmorton.”

“Uhhhh—” was the only response that came to mind. My mama didn't raise no social morons, though, so I ignored her announcement about her husband's reincarnation. “It's a real pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Hi, Sweetie,” I improvised, patting the dog's head.

“Oh, my dear, you must call me Aunt Lolly. Everyone does.”

“Okay. Aunt Lolly, Tom, this is my girlfriend, Candace Tully.”

Tom took Candace's hand with considerably more enthusiasm than he had mine. “Pleasure to meet you. Do you go by Candy?”

“Never voluntarily,” Candace said politely.

“Then Candace it is. A lovely name for a very lovely lady.” Tom suddenly seemed aware of his disreputable appearance, dragging a hand across his dirty, worn polo shirt. “Y'all have to forgive my clothes. I've been puttering around the island all afternoon. I didn't mean to be the official welcoming committee, but I saw the boat coming over. I was just heading back to change.” During this monologue his eyes went from Candace back to me. I steeled myself to get stares for the next couple of days. I refused to let myself be rattled and I just gave Tom a noncommittal grin.

I tried to imagine him slicing letters from a magazine to construct pronouncements of hate, or smearing blood across an innocent greeting card. Tom I could see doing it; Aunt Lolly I couldn't. She seemed ditzy but basically harmless.

“Well, welcome to the family, Jordan. Let's get y'all
settled.” Tom grabbed Gretchen's bag and headed toward the house.

“Would you like to carry Sweetie, darling?” Lolly asked Candace. My own sweetie smiled and took the dog, holding it close. One stray paw touched Candace's left breast, and Lolly smirked.

“Oh, Sweetie! He was just that awful when he was Charles. Bad, bad boy!” She waggled a finger in her pooch's face, who eyed it with utter disdain.

Candace smiled politely in agreement, deferring to Aunt Lolly's more cosmic knowledge, and shot me a look of desperation. I was too busy shooting one at Bob Don, who just smiled and shrugged.

We followed Tom, like sheep listing after a herder. I don't think Sweetie got a chance to grope Candace again.

We walked up and past the stretch of dunes, heading toward the main house. It stood on the barrier flat of the island, grassy and weedy with plants. Wildflowers—rosy salt-marsh morning glory with arrowhead leaves, a bed of bluebells, a wooden post twining violet with butterfly pea— made bright explosions of color. Grasses of different varieties sprouted along the path leading up to the house, much of it knee-high. Not far from the house was a large greenhouse, where I could see even more plants profusing. A well-maintained porch wrapped around the entire big, white house, with wicker furniture so guests could sit and enjoy a cooling breeze off the bay.

Bob Don gestured toward the greenhouse and spoke to Rufus. “Jake and Mutt pottering away?”

Rufus shook his head. “Not much lately. Mutt's too busy for hobbies and Jake's feeling a little peaked.”

“Mutt needs a new hobby,” I heard Lolly mutter.

As we went up the steps, I thought: Here we go. Your life's never going to be quite the same again. You'll never think of family quite the same again. I half expected that if I glanced over my shoulder, I'd see Mama and Daddy, standing by the dock, waving goodbye to me. I was a Poteet—I would always be a Poteet—but none of that would matter to these folks. I would be a part of whatever
strange collective history the Goertzes had formed, the intangible web of love and hurt that binds families together.

An attractive young woman, dark-eyed and dark-haired, greeted us in the front entrance. She gave a hearty kiss on the cheek to Bob Don and a tight, affectionate hug to Gretchen. “Aunt Gretchen, you look wonderful!” I could see the happy light in Gretchen's face; had she heard that often from the Goertzes when she was lost in her alcoholic fog? Even before Bob Don could introduce me, the young woman was already kissing my cheek.

“Jordan! It's so great to meet you! I'm your cousin Deborah Goertz.” She held me at arm's length for a moment, eyeing me critically. “And isn't it a shame we're kin? You're just too cute.”

Embarrassed, I managed to laugh and introduced Can-dace, who was then treated to another warm Deborah reception—a kiss on the cheek and a cheery hug. “And Bob Don didn't tell us you had such a pretty girlfriend. I'm so glad you're here. There's not many folks around our age. Except Aubrey, who I swear acts like he's sixty anyway. Old fuddy.” Her voice, warm and sweet like caramel, could reduce men to abject slavery. I liked her immediately and could tell Candace did, too.

“If you are quite done being the Welcome Wagon, Deb,” Aunt Lolly intoned, reproof in her voice, “perhaps you'd show Jordan and Candace to their rooms. Bob Don and Gretchen, y'all are in your regular room at the end of the hall. Why don't y'all get settled and then join us down here for cocktails? Then we'll all get acquainted and eat.” She patted me on the arm, smiled wanly at Candace, and glided from the room like a spirit. Only the vague smell of her cit-rusy perfume declared she'd been in the room.

Deborah made a wrinkled face at her aunt's departing form. “Speaking of old fuddies—she needs a little more sugar in her diet.” She grabbed Candace's bag. “Follow me, troops.”

The stairway she led us up was dark, in stark contrast to the glaring summer light outside. The banister was heavy and worn by several decades' worth of sliding palms. The
stairs bent at the second floor, then bent again to rise to the third. The house must be older than I originally thought, built perhaps in the last century. The floor, the walls, the stairs all held an enclosing permanence that felt choking. It was not an airy house and an invisible denseness pressed against my skin. Deborah kept up a line of patter all the way up the stairs. “So you've already met Tom and Lolly— anyone else yet?”