The Ice Cradle (14 page)

“Because around here, people come right out and tell you what they think, and that’s that. Like when they were building the new school?” Lauren glanced at Mark. “Remember?”

Mark shook his head.

“The first design for the building was really out there,” Lauren explained. “Personally, I thought it was kind of neat, but I agreed that it probably wasn’t right for the island. It was a famous architect from Switzerland who designed it. I’ve forgotten his name now. God knows how he got the job.”

“I know how he got it,” Mark put in. “He was at RISD at the same time Rawlings was at Brown. They played softball together, and they’ve been friends ever since.”

“Figures,” said Lauren. “Anyway, nobody pulled any punches that night. Don’t you remember that meeting?”

“What meeting?” Mark asked.

“In the school cafeteria! You remember!”

Mark shook his head. “I don’t think I was there.”

Lauren appeared to consider this for a moment. “You’re
right, you weren’t. I went with Aitana. Well, anyway, the architect’s model for the school was sitting right there on the table, and the building was all these crazy, slanty angles. If you could have seen the looks on some of the old-timers’ faces: Hiram Whitehall and Stu Cavanaugh, and that guy who sells eggs out in front of his house.”

“Makem,” Mark said. “Gibby Makem.”

“Right. But my point is, there was a respectful debate. It was lively, sure, and there was plenty of smoke and steam about preserving the character of the island, but the issue was resolved in a civilized way, in public. Nobody was sneaking around.”

Sneaking around?
I wasn’t sure where this was going, and I didn’t know if I should ask. My mind raced ahead to the question of whether a phalanx of earthbound spirits, fiercely opposed to the planting of windmills in their deep sea graveyard, could possibly have (a) purchased a five-gallon tank of kerosene, (b) transported it to Lauren and Mark’s backyard, (c) doused the barn’s foundation, and (d) lit it.

Fortunately, the answer to all these questions was simple.

No.

“I know you think I’m crazy,” Lauren said to her husband.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, honey. I think you’re—pregnant!” A wide grin broke out on Mark’s face.

“I hate it when you say things like that!” Lauren sprang to her feet and began clearing our dishes. “This has nothing at all to do with whether I’m—”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” Lauren insisted.

Mark stood up and grabbed the plates from her hands. Lauren sat back down. “You could very well be right,” he conceded.

“I know I’m operating on a sleep deficit here,” I put in, “but I’m not following.”

“Lauren thinks that someone was trying to intimidate us, get us to back off,” Mark explained.

“Yeah, somebody too cowardly and immature to walk up the front steps, knock on our door, sit down with us, and discuss the matter like a civilized human being. They can’t have a problem with the inn, whoever they are, or if they do, I can’t for the life of me imagine what it would be. This place was an eyesore. It was bringing down everyone else’s property values. All
we
did was pour close to a million dollars, which we don’t really have, into bringing the old wreck back to life.

“Mark gets along with everybody,” she continued, “and so do I. Heck, the islanders who are most opposed to the wind farm were all here today, trying to help out. Bud Brady, Andy Miller …”

“She’s right,” said Mark.

“I know I’m right,” said Lauren.

I was about to attempt some kind of lame, reassuring response when our conversation was interrupted by an impatient howl.

Lauren wheeled around and flew to her feet.

“Frances!”

Sure enough, there she was, round and regal.

“Oh, my baby,” Lauren said. “Are you okay?” She hurried over to the door, opened it gingerly, and scooped Frances up. “Where have you been? We’ve been so worried!”

Frances didn’t appear to be any the worse for wear. There were so many questions I wanted to ask my hosts, but my thoughts had turned to the scene upstairs, and I suddenly felt a wave of anxiety. Frances’s homecoming offered me a timely opportunity to slip away.

“I’m going to check on Henry,” I said. Lauren nodded distractedly, and Mark hardly seemed to hear me.

“You must be starving!” he cooed. “Poor old thing!”

“Reow!” mewed Frances.

I love to eavesdrop. I know it’s sneaky, but that just makes it more fun.

I tiptoed down the upstairs hall and paused outside our door, which Henry had neglected to close. I’d heard some reassuring hoots on my way up the stairs, so I gathered that once Henry had been released from my glowering interdictions, he and Vivi had settled back into their curious little relationship, in which they alternately ignored and bickered with each other, and occasionally rode a wave of escalating hysterics that culminated in breathlessness.

“And then he lit it!” I heard Vivi shriek.

I caught my breath and tried to remain motionless.

I hadn’t told Henry about the fire. As we’d made our way home from the school, he’d been animated and chatty, full of stories about the progress on Greased Lightnin’, the items he’d eaten for snacks and lunch, and a boy named Brian. As any parent knows, when your child is in a talkative mood, it’s wise to keep your mouth closed; you never know when they’ll be forthcoming again.

“He did not,” Henry said.

“He did, too!” Vivi shot back.

There was now a long period of silence. From the squeaking of bedsprings, I deduced that Henry was bouncing, from a sitting position, on the bed. If he progressed to outright jumping, I would have to step out of hiding.

“Did you see
The Lion King
?” Henry finally asked.

“What?”

“The
Lion King
! The movie!”

“No,” Vivi answered.

“Never?”
Henry sounded incredulous.

If Vivi responded, I didn’t hear her.

“But did you ever hear the songs?” he pressed.

“I don’t know,” Vivi said quietly.

“Like, ‘Hakuna Matata’!” Henry said.

I almost laughed out loud.

“What?” I heard her say.

“Hakuna Matata,” he continued, “is a wonderful day! Hakuna Matata—” And here he broke off.

“Ha-do-do duh-doo-do!” Vivi mimicked.

Henry upped her one. “Ha-poo-poo puh-poo-poo!”

Next came uproarious giggles and the groan and screech of seriously aggrieved bedsprings.

“Hey, hey, hey!” I said, stepping out from behind the door and into the room. Henry immediately plopped onto his bottom on the bed. Vivi kept jumping, but being as insubstantial as a breeze, she posed no threat to the furniture, the windows, or herself.

“No fair!” Henry complained.

“No fair what?”

“No fair sneaking up on us!”

I hadn’t been fair in imposing a gag order at the table, either, but this seemed to have slipped his mind. I would probably hear about it later, or be treated to some kind of misbehavior that revealed that he was still really, really miffed at me about
something
, he just couldn’t remember what.

I decided to dive straight in.

“I heard you talking about the fire,” I said. “Pretty scary, huh?”

“No,” said Vivi. She wasn’t going to give me the satisfaction of agreeing with anything I said.

“How come you didn’t wake me up?” Henry asked accusingly.

“I did,” I lied. “Don’t you remember?”

“No,” he said petulantly.

I shrugged.

“Was someone
smoking
?” Henry asked.

I had to hand it to the antismoking folks: they sure had managed to drive home the message that smoking was
bad
. I was used to hearing the dripping scorn in my son’s tone of voice when we passed a hapless tobacco addict on the street, but this was impressive: he automatically assumed that any fire had to have been caused by a carelessly tossed butt.

“I don’t know,” I said. “What do you think?” I glanced at Vivi.

She appeared to be torn about whether to talk to me. She was obviously still wary after the events of last night, but I was confusing her now by being nice.

“I bet someone fell asleep while they were
smoking,”
Henry pronounced, predictably.

I plopped down on the other bed and divested myself of my bulky sweater.

“I dreamed I was making popcorn. But when I woke up, I realized that the sounds were really happening, and they were coming from the fire.”

Henry dropped his jaw. This gesture was new to the repertoire and was usually accompanied by rapid blinking.

“Didn’t that ever happen to you?”

Henry shook his head. “Sometimes I think I’m walking down stairs but they disappear.”

“Stairs? And you step off into the air?”

“Yeah,” Henry said.

“And you kind of jump?”

He nodded.

“That’s happened to me, too,” I said casually, stealing a look at Vivi. I had to remember that she was only a child, and that she had been alone for more than a hundred years. I didn’t rush in to fill the silence. After a moment, she surprised me by speaking up.

“One time when I was sleeping,” she volunteered, “I heard a really big boom. And then I dreamed I was swimming underwater.” There was no longer any trace of a smirk on her face. She looked tiny and cheerless.

“Then what happened?” I asked gently.

“I woke up,” she finally whispered.

“Woke up—like you are now?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. It was clear to me that Vivi was not recalling the familiar human transition from sleep to wakefulness, but her own baffling passage from life to death. Though she had never actually told me about being on the doomed steamship, I felt all but certain that she had met her death there. She had probably been asleep and had been awakened by the
boom
of the
Harry Knowlton
hitting the
Larchmont
. No doubt she actually remembered being under water, before “waking up” into her present incarnation.

“Were you afraid?” I asked gently.

She nodded.

“Were you alone?”

She frowned and bit her lip, but before she could say any more, Henry burst in.

“Can she sleep over
tonight
?” he wheedled.
“Please?”

“Okay, but you have to let her have your bed.”

“How come?” he demanded.

“Because that’s the polite thing to do. When somebody sleeps over and there aren’t enough beds, you let the guest have your bed.”

“Can we make me a bed on the floor? With pillows?”

“Sure.”

“You call her mom,” Henry instructed me.

Vivi looked over to gauge my reaction, but as I caught her eye, I just shrugged. She shrugged back.

I was rewarded for my patience after Henry fell asleep. Vivi was lying on top of his bed, barely visible in the moonlight streaming through the window. It had taken all my strength to remain awake, but the moment arrived when I was sure that Henry had finally drifted off.

“Vivi?” I whispered.

She looked over.

“You were talking about the fire.”

She watched me and said nothing.

“Did somebody set it?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kids or grown-ups?”

“Grown-ups,” she responded.

“Do you know how old?” I realized immediately that this was a stupid question. Children can’t tell how old adults are; anyone old enough to babysit would probably be classified as a grown-up.

“Just guess,” I said. “Did they seem older than me or younger?”

“The same,” she said.

“So, about my age?

“She nodded.

“And were they men?” I asked.

“A man and a lady.”

“Thank you for telling me. This will be really helpful.” How, I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t exactly head over to the police station in New Shoreham and pass on the information without having to reveal how I’d learned it.

We were quiet for a few moments. I struggled to keep my eyes open.

“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” I finally asked, with my very last ounce of waking energy.

“No,” she said.

“You remember that I can help you cross over, right? Whenever you’re ready. Any time at all, you just tell me.”

“I don’t
want
to,” she said vehemently.

“Why not?”

“Because of my brother. I can’t leave until I get him.”

I sat up. “What?”

“He let go of my hand. When we were swimming.”

I felt a chill run through me. “When you were under water?”

She nodded.

“How old was he
—is
he?”

“Three,” Vivi answered.

I took a deep breath. “Well, honey, he’s probably already crossed over. I’m sure he’s with your mom and dad.”

“No, he
didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s here. Down by the lighthouse. He’s—like me.”

“A spirit? A ghost?”

Vivi nodded. “A lady has him. She was on the boat. He
wants me
but I can’t get him. She lets me play with him, outside, but when I try to get him back, she picks him up and takes him away, and she doesn’t let me come.”