Melody Read online

  But, I reminded myself, our family is different.

  From the outside, my grandparents' house did not look cold and-impersonal. It was a large, wooden clapboard house.

  Aunt Sara said that the house was very old and prestigious, the original portion having been built around 1780. Cary shook his head and raised his eyes toward the car ceiling when Aunt Sara went into her lecture about the house, a lecture I guessed Grandma Olivia had given her so many times it was stored forever in her memory.

  The grounds were certainly the prettiest I had seen on the Cape. The beautifully cared for green lawn was uncommon, and the flower garden was the most elaborate with its baskets of gold, purple pansies, roses, and geraniums. There was a small duck pond to the right with about a dozen or so ducks in it. Most impressive were the large, blooming red maple trees. Between two on the far right was a bench swing with a canopy over it.

  We stopped in the driveway and got out. Aunt Sara immediately brushed a loose strand of my hair back and straightened the shoulders of my dress. "Leave her be," Cary muttered.

  She stood next to Uncle Jacob as he rang the bell, the three of us standing behind them. A moment later the door opened.

  I set eyes on my grandfather for the first time in real life. Up until now, all I had seen was that old photograph of my daddy.

  Grandpa Samuel was still a tall, straightstanding man with a proud, strong demeanor. I saw my daddy's resemblance in his face immediately. Daddy, as did Cary, shared his green eyes. Grandpa Samuel's hair was mostly gray, but he still had a full head of it. It was trimmed neatly at the ears and sides, with the top brushed back. There was a trace of a wave running through it.

  Daddy had had the same straight, firm nose, but Grandpa Samuel's lips were thinner and his chin more carved. He had Daddy's large hands and long arms, and for a man his age, I thought he had very firm, full shoulders.

  "Hello, Jacob, Sara," he said. He gazed past them quickly to focus on me. I thought I saw a small smile at the corners of his mouth, the same light and gentle twist that Daddy often had. He looked quickly at Cary and May. "Children."

  "Hello, Papa," Cary said.

  "Hello . . . Pa pa," May said.

  "This is Melody," Aunt Sara said stepping to the side to bring me forward.

  "Pretty girl. Lot of Haille in her, eh Jacob?"

  "Aye," Uncle Jacob replied glancing at me.

  "Hello, Melody," my grandfather said.

  I didn't know whether I was to shake his hand or curtsey or just nod.

  "Hello," I replied. "I'm pleased to meet you." I almost added, "finally." He nodded, holding that small smile on his lips.

  "Well, come on in," he told us and stepped back. "Olivia's seeing to the brunch, of course."

  We entered a short, marble-floored entryway with paintings on both sides: pictures of the Cape and boats, pictures of sailors. The house was full of the perfume of flowers.

  Grandpa Samuel showed us to the room on the right, the sitting room. It looked like a showcase in a furniture store window. The oak floor was so polished I was sure I would be able to see my face in it if I looked down. On every table, on every shelf, there were expensive-looking glass pieces, vases, and occasionally, photos in silver and gold frames. I just glanced at them, but they looked like pictures of my grandfather and grandmother when they were younger, and some pictures of Uncle Jacob, Aunt Sara, Laura, Cary, and May. There were no pictures of Daddy.

  "Sit with Cary and May over there," Aunt Sara instructed. We took the settee on the right. Grandpa Samuel sat in the chair and Aunt Sara and Uncle Jacob sat on the settee across from us. Although he kept his eyes on me, Grandpa Samuel spoke to Uncle Jacob.

  "So how was your week, Jacob?"

  "Fair to middling," he replied. "We had a good day yesterday, eh Cary?"

  "Yes sir," Cary said. He shot a glance at me. Grandpa Samuel nodded. Then he turned toward me. "So you're Melody. How old are you?"

  "Fifteen, almost sixteen."

  "Aye, that would be right." He thought a moment and then smiled. "I hear you can play the fiddle. My grandfather played the accordion. I ever tell you that, Sara?"

  "No," she said, her eyes wide.

  "I've told you the same before," Uncle Jacob snapped at her.

  "Did you? I don't remember your speaking about your grandfather playing the accordion, Jacob."

  "Aye, he was good at it," Grandpa Samuel said, directing himself to me. "I can still remember hearing his jolly tunes."

  "There are better things to remember than a lazy fisherman," I heard a sharp, small voice say. We turned to the doorway to see Grandma Olivia. She stood a little over five feet tall, and wore a pale yellow dress. Her snow-white hair was pulled back in a bun as severely as Aunt Sara's, which only made her eyes look bigger and her forehead look wider. There were tiny age spots clustered at the foot of her hairline and on her cheeks. Without lipstick, her lips were a dull pink. Below her jaw, her skin hung loosely like a hen's.

  There was no bend in her back, and because she had such a regal posture, she looked taller, sturdier than I was sure she was.

  "You're early," she accused, gazing at us, her eyes fixing tightly on me.

  "We were ready, so we came," Uncle Jacob remarked.

  "Early's better than late," Grandpa Samuel said. She shot a look at him and his smile faded quickly.

  "Well, then," she said, nodding at Sara, "make the proper introductions."

  "Yes, Olivia." Aunt Sara turned to me. "This is Melody, Hailles Melody."

  HaiIle's, I thought. Why not Haille and Chester's? Was even my father's name forbidden in this house?

  Aunt Sara nodded at me to tell me to stand. I rose and Grandma Olivia came closer. She drank me in, gazing at me from head to foot quickly, and nodded to herself to confirm some previous notion.

  "Looks healthy. Tall, too, with good posture."

  Tall? I wasn't so tall, I thought, but then I realized almost anyone would be tall to her.

  "Well then, what do you say?" she asked.

  I glanced at Aunt Sara who nodded and smiled. "Hello, Grandma Olivia," I replied. The words appeared to sting her. She tightened her body and lifted her shoulders.

  "We'll eat even though we're a bit early," she said, "and you'll tell me all about yourself. Samuel," she ordered and he rose. Cary and May stood and Aunt Sara got up quickly with Uncle Jacob.

  For a moment I felt as if we were all in some army and Grandma Olivia was the general. She started out and we followed. We crossed the hallway to the dining room.

  It was a beautiful room, with dark, oak-paneled walls and a glossy, long cherry-wood table. All the chairs were upholstered with high backs. The china looked very expensive and the candle holders looked as if they were made of real gold. The silverware was heavy. Everyone had a linen placemat and linen napkins.

  Cary, May, and I were put on one side, Aunt Sara and Uncle Jacob on the other. Grandma Olivia sat at the far end of the table and Grandpa Samuel on the other end. A maid brought out the brunch.

  It began with a tossed salad, glittering with plum tomatoes and the greenest peppers and lettuce I had ever seen. Long loaves of bread were sliced and placed on silver serving plates. Everyone was given tall glasses of ice water. Following that, a large dish of perfectly arranged jumbo shrimp on a bed of lettuce was presented. There were small, cold potatoes, asparagus spears, and then two beautifully roasted ducks, all sliced.

  Grandma Olivia took tiny portions of everything, but Grandpa Samuel ate as much as Uncle Jacob and Cary. I felt Grandma Olivia's eyes on my every move and recited Aunt Sara's instructions for etiquette at the dinner table to myself as I chewed, sipped, and reached for things.

  "So then," Grandma Olivia said suddenly, as if we were all still in the midst of a conversation that had previously begun. "Haille called?"

  "Yes," Aunt Sara said. "The other night she spoke with Melody."

  Grandma Olivia turned her cold, steely eyes on me. "Where is your mother?"

 
; "She called from someplace between Boston and New York," I replied.

  "And how long does she intend to carry on like this?" she asked.

  I shook my head. "Carry on?"

  "Pretending she's doing something with her wretched life," she explained.

  I felt the heat rise into my neck and face. "She has auditions, meetings, appointments," I said. "She's trying to become--"

  "A what? A model, an actress?" she interrupted with a small, thin laugh. Then she looked at Grandpa Samuel. "An actress she's always been," she said. He looked away and she turned back to me.

  "Your father left you and your mother no money after all these years of so-called honest labor?"

  "We had something, but expenses were high for us and Mommy needed things and--"

  "Wasteful. Never changed a bit," she muttered. "What did she look like?" she asked Aunt Sara.

  "Oh, she's still very pretty, Olivia. Maybe she can be a model."

  "Ridiculous. With her posture? Cary," she snapped, deciding to move on to someone else at the table, "how is your schoolwork now?"

  "Not much better than it was, Grandma, I'm afraid," he said.

  "Well, what do you plan on doing about it, Cary? You don't have all that much more time left, do you?" she asked.

  "I'm thinking of being tutored," he said, shifting his gaze to me. I saw the small smile on his lips and smiled, too. Grandma Olivia caught the look between us and turned to me again.

  "You are a good student, I understand?"

  "Yes, Grandma. I've always been on the honor roll."

  "Hmph," she said and shook her head. "Your mother didn't even graduate from high school, you know." I looked up quickly.

  "Yes, she did," I said.

  Aunt Sara made a tiny gasp and brought her napkin to her lips. She shook her head slightly at me. Was I supposed to just sit by and let Grandma Olivia say untruths?

  "She told you that, did she?"

  "Yes," I said.

  She smiled that cold smile again, twisting her thin lips until they looked as if they would snap. "That girl never could distinguish between reality and illusion. No wonder she's gallivanting around the country trying to be an actress or a model," Grandma Olivia continued.

  How do you know so much about my mother? I wanted to ask. You who disowned my father after he married her. But I lowered my eyes and nibbled on my food instead. Then I gazed at May, who sat eating and staring ahead with a soft smile on her face. I wondered if either Grandma Olivia or Grandpa Samuel knew how to communicate with her. All I had seen so far were smiles and nods from Grandpa Samuel. Grandma Olivia barely acknowledged her, from what I had seen.

  We ate in silence, with everyone but Grandma Olivia keeping his eyes on the food before him. Finally, Grandpa Samuel looked up.

  "The word I been getting," Grandpa Samuel said to Uncle Jacob, "is there'll be a good tourist season this year with the price of travel overseas going up and all."

  Uncle Jacob nodded. "Aye. I heard that the hotels were looking good. There'll be lots of garbage to clean off the beach come this fall," he added. I knew where Cary got his attitude about the outsiders.

  "How are the cranberries coming along?" Grandpa Samuel asked.

  "They look good. We're anticipating a decent crop."

  "Does she expect to leave you here over the summer?" Grandma Olivia suddenly asked me.

  "I don't know," I said. "I hope not."

  She raised her eyebrows.

  "And why is that? Aren't you being treated well at my son's home? They gave you Laura's room, I understand, and you're even wearing her things, aren't you?"

  "Yes, I'm being treated well," I said quickly. "I just meant I would like to be with my mother. I miss her."

  She smirked. "A girl your age should have a home and not be living out of a car mining on someone's pipe dreams," she muttered.

  "We had a home and we'll have another one," I said, my voice full of defiance.

  "What kind of home did you have in West Virginia?" she asked, not intimidated by my tone of voice.

  "We lived in the trailer park. Daddy worked very hard in the coal mine. I never went hungry."

  "And your mother, what did she do?"

  "She worked in a beauty parlor."

  "That figures," Grandma Olivia said. "That woman could wear out a mirror."

  Before I could respond, Grandma turned quickly to call the maid. "The adults will have coffee in the sitting room, Loretta."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Bring out some ice cream and some of the petit fours for the children," she ordered.

  Children? I looked at Cary to see how he liked being referred to that way. He tucked the corner of his mouth in and gazed at the wall.

  "Lucky for you that your Aunt Sara saved all of Laura's clothing," Grandma Olivia told me. "She always had such nice things."

  "Mommy's sent for my things," I replied. I glanced at Aunt Sara and saw the hurt look on her face. "Although I am grateful for what Aunt Sara has given me to use. I'm just sorry about the

  circumstances."

  Grandpa Samuel nodded, his look softening. Grandma Olivia raised her eyebrows. "And what do you know about the circumstances?" she demanded.

  "What? Well, I was told--"

  "Olivia, must we go through this again?" Grandpa Samuel asked softly.

  Grandma Olivia snorted. "Jacob says you can play the fiddle well," she said. I was shocked. Uncle Jacob had said something nice about me? "Maybe one day you'll come over and give us a concert," she added. My jaw nearly dropped. Was she serious?

  She stood up. "Let's go into the sitting room for coffee, Samuel," she commanded.

  "Right, dear," he said rising.

  The maid brought out three dishes of ice cream for Cary, May, and me and served them with a plate of small cakes, the ones Aunt Sara told me Laura had loved.

  "Sorry, we only have vanilla ice cream," Grandma Olivia remarked. "Cary, you can show Melody the grounds when you're finished, and entertain yourselves outside. But don't track in any dirt. Make sure May understands," she concluded.

  "Okay, Grandma," he said and signed

  instructions to May.

  "How is she?" Grandma asked, remaining at the table and looking at her with pity.

  "She's doing very well, Grandma," Cary said, before his parents could reply. Grandma Olivia nodded, shook her head as if to drive the thoughts away, and led the adults out of the dining room.

  I felt a ceiling of oppressive gray clouds and heavy air, too thick to breathe, go out with her.

  "You should call this place the Ice House," I remarked.

  Cary smiled. "She's not as tough as she makes out."

  We ate the dessert and, I had to admit, I did like the small cakes. "This house itself is very nice, nicer even than Alice Morgan's."

  "Who's she?"

  "My best friend back in Sewell." I gazed at the pretty things, the antique hutch filled with expensive crystal, the beautiful chandelier above us, and the rich, large paintings on the walls.

  "How did Grandpa make so much money?" I asked Cary.

  "A great deal was left to Grandma Olivia when her parents passed away. Grandpa had a fleet of fishing vessels, including five lobster boats. But, he lost most of them during bad times. Luckily, my father had his own by then. Come on. I'll show you around."

  He signed to May and she gulped down one more spoonful of ice cream. I took her hand when she came around the table. Cary led us through the house, down the corridor, past the door to the kitchen, past a den-office on the right, finally to a rear door. It opened on a small porch.

  Behind the house was a large gazebo, some benches and a rock garden with a small fountain. The rear of the property was on the beach and there was a dock with a large sailboat and a small motorboat tied to it.

  "This is a beautiful place," I declared.

  "Aye. They actually have a small cove here so it's not as rough as it is up and down the beach."

  We walked down to the dock and l
ooked at the ocean. The waves were gentle. Milk-white streaks of clouds lay against the blue sky. To the right against the shoreline were large rocks.

  "See the mussels clinging to those rocks," Cary said pointing. They were dark purple against the stone. On the sand, seagulls strutted about searching for clams. I saw one circle the rocks and then drop something from its beak. The moment what it had dropped hit the rock, it swooped to retrieve it.

  "What is that bird doing?"

  "Seagulls drop the clams on the rocks to break the shells and then drop to eat them as soon as they hit the stone. Smart, eh?"

  I shook my head in amazement, not only at what I saw, but at how much Cary knew about nature.

  I looked down the beach to our left. A large sailboat bounced over the waves, its sail flapping in the breeze. "I can understand why my daddy wanted to go to the seashore so much. He missed this."

  Cary nodded, glanced at me, and then checked the knot on the rope that held the motorboat to the dock. May signed to us she was going to look for seashells.

  "Not too far," Cary signed. She nodded and directed her attention to the beach.

  "Our grandmother sure hates my mother, doesn't she?" I said.

  Cary kept his watchful eyes on May. "Looks that way," he admitted.

  "Do they often talk about her and my daddy?"

  "Hardly ever," he said. He started for the beach and I followed.

  "I can't understand what my daddy could possibly have done to make them so angry. Why shouldn't a man have a right to chose the woman he loves to marry? Why did they have to disown him? She's very cruel, or are you going to tell me it's simply because she's afraid, too?"

  He spun around, his eyes filled more with pain than anger. "Grandma's bark has always been worse than her bite," he said. "After you're here a while, you'll see that, too. It takes her a little time to warm up to strangers."

  "I'm not a stranger. I'm her granddaughter, whether she likes it or not."

  He looked away. May was close enough to the water for the tide to just touch her feet. "Damn!" He rushed to her and pulled her farther back. I thought he was unnecessarily rough with her and said so. Then I took her hand and we walked away. I told her I would help her find seashells. Cary followed.