Chapter 6
A brief rainstorm in the night washed away some of the heavy fog and made the house look more welcoming in the morning light. Memories of the intruder, the terrifying sounds of night in the old house, and the destruction in the far bedroom remained with Mona, not easily shaken.
Hansen returned to take them back to shore. He didn't explain his absence of the previous afternoon. Apparently he thought it unnecessary. Richardson started to reprimand him for leaving them without notice, but with a glance at the lovely female who had slept in his arms the night before, he checked himself.
On shore Carl asked, "Well, shall I tell the man who offered to buy your island you're ready to sell?"
Mona looked at him thoughtfully before replying.
"I still haven't decided whether or not I should," she told him. "Your client will have to wait."
"Even after last night?"
She nodded. "Thank you for everything. You've been very kind."
He took her proffered hand. "But you're not staying, are you?"
Mona looked back toward the distant island. "My uncle entrusted it to me. Though I don't remember him, I feel I owe it to him to know exactly what he's left me before selling it."
"But you'll be all alone," he protested. "At least, take a room at the inn and only go out in the daytime."
"I'll think about it," she said. "Oh, one question." "Yes?"
"You said my uncle had been dead for five months, when you were discussing him with Mr. Perkins. Why did it take you so long to find me if my uncle knew about me?"
"As you said, thorough legwork," Carl said. "New York's a big place and your uncle hadn't been sure you were even there. He hadn't seen your father for over twenty years, and that was back in San Francisco."
"Oh," she responded. "Well, then, I'll be in to discuss the matter with you in a few days. Until then, thank you so much."
Clasping her hands warmly, he told her, "I'll probably be out before then, Mona. Too worried about you. Take care, okay?"
When the handsome little red Mustang had disappeared down the road, Mona made her way to the general store to buy groceries for her stay. She was surprised to see Hansen there talking with Mr. Perkins, their feet perched on the shelf of a little pot-bellied stove as it crackled forcefully against the cold morning air.
"You really stayin'?" Mr. Perkins demanded as his eyes followed her around the many shelves of the store.
"Why not?" Mona asked. "My uncle left me the place, didn't he?"
"Ay-uh," said the man, nodding affirmatively.
"What he's trying to say," Hansen intervened, "is that it doesn't seem right for a propah young lady to stay out theh alone on that island."
"What does he think I ought to do?" she demanded.
"Sell it. He's willing to make a reasonable offah foh the place."
"But what if I don't want to sell?"
"Just trying to save you a lot of trouble, miss," the younger man explained.
"Maybe she ain't really the Jahn girl," Perkins said in his monotone as he sucked on his pipe.
"What are you talking about?" she retorted. "The lawyers seem convinced I'm the Ramona Jahn they're looking for. Why do you question my identity?"
"You can prove it?" asked Perkins.
"You want my birth certificate? Social Security card? Genealogy?"
"Don't get upset, Miss Jahn," Hansen said in a soothing voice. "Perk doesn't mean anything by it. He just wants to make sure everything's in ordah around heah."
"You've been unfriendly since I arrived. Is it because you think I'm not the heir the lawyers claim I am?"
The two men looked at each other silently, then Perkins rose.
"My sister Moll has been wantin' to have tea with you, Miss Jahn. It'll be bettah if you have a lady friend while you ah heah."
"Doesn't anyone around here feel I'm capable of making my own decisions?" she asked in exasperation.
"Men nevah do," called a voice from the door. "We women have to make sure they ah fed and clean, but they still want to make all the decisions, as if we ah morons."
Mona looked up to find a middle-aged gray-haired woman standing on the threshold. She was a big woman who enjoyed her own cooking, judging by the plumpness of her hips and legs, but Mona couldn't call so much of her largeness fat as solid muscle. The woman looked like she helped chop the kindling wood for the stoves and fireplaces of her inn. Indeed, she looked capable of weathering any of the stern winds and rugged storms of the area.
"How do you do, Miss Jahn?" the woman said, coming forward to extend her hand. "I'm Molly Whipple, Perk's sister. If you intend to stay with us, I'm sure we'll be seeing a great deal of each othah. It's a small town, you know."
"Yes, I'm pleased to meet you," Mona returned, not at all sure she was yet.
Moll Whipple was a couple inches taller than Mona. Her gray eyes were dictatorial and her handshake told the girl she could well take care of herself. In her plaid woolen Pendleton jacket and dark gray wool skirt, she was an imposing figure, one who knew how to handle a man's duties as well as keeping a kitchen stocked with wholesome, delicious home-baked foods.
"I wish you would considah taking tea with me, in spite of these impolite acquaintances of mine," the woman quipped with a glint of humor in her eyes.
Mona suspected that the woman was good-natured though very dry-humored. Though not particularly taken with Moll, she decided it was best to make a bid for friends while she was here.
"Thank you. It's kind of you to think of me."
"Nonsense! You're doing me a favor. If you only know what bores my usual tea companions can be!"
With a haughty look at the two men by the stove she led the girl to the back of the store and a curtained-off room that was furnished as a combination kitchen-sitting room. A fire burned in the Franklin stove in one corner. Mrs. Whipple ignored the big round table in the center of the room and waved Mona to a deep-cushioned easy chair by a window looking out over the woods behind the store. Through the white nylon curtains the girl could see the crusted mud ruts of the back yard and the green spires of the woods towering above the naked maples of spring.
Mrs. Whipple brought hot tea and a plate of freshly baked apple turnovers. Mona hadn't had any since her grandmother had died. Her mother had never enjoyed baking. It brought memories she tried to shut off with conversation.
"Did you know my uncle, Mrs. Whipple?"
"My, you really were well brought up. Even that young squirt I taught out there, Owen, hasn't called me anything but Moll since he graduated from school. Now, did I know your uncle? As well as most, I guess. Quiet man, paid his bills and kept his mouth shut. That means a lot to the folks around heah. Being a woman and a teachah, I talk more than most, but on the whole people economize on their words heahabouts."
"Didn't he have any friends, Mrs. Whipple? Anyone to talk to?"
"Well, now, nevah saw any visitahs out theah. None that came from shore, that is. Whole town would have known if somebody went out theah. Could be he had company that came in boats that we nevah knew about, though. Now and then he'd come in foh his mail. Came from all ovah-Boston, New York, California. Business, imagine. Sometimes he'd come up to the inn foh a home-cooked meal." "He was happy, then?"
"As fah as I know. Why?" asked Moll, regarding her suspiciously.
"Just . . . well, I'm glad he was, though it doesn't explain his murder or . . ."
"Or what?"
"The house. It . . . well, Mister Hansen says it's haunted."
"And you believe him?" the woman cried incredulously.
"I don't believe in ghosts and all that, honestly," Mona said, shifting her position in the chair while Mrs. Whipple went to the stove for more tea. "It's just that . . . well, something happened last night."
"Like what?" the older woman demanded, coming to pour the tea.
"There was an ... an intruder, a . . . well, I don't know. Just something that messed up one bedroom and attacked me last night."
"Attacked you?"
"It ... he had a knife and threatened to kill me if I didn't leave."
"Have you told Perk?" the woman asked impatiently.
"No. I think Mr. Richardson was going to. He thought it would be easier for me that way."
"Perk!" called Mrs. Whipple. "Perk, come in here!"
The man appeared at the doorway, his long sweater and too-large overalls hanging off his thin, bony frame, emphasizing his smallness. Since his sister was several inches taller than he, Mona wondered how they could have had the same parents. Moll had certainly turned out to be the more formidable figure, and her brother offered no picture of security in spite of his obvious official capacities in the community.
"You knew about the trouble out at the island last night?"
"Ay-uh," he drawled slowly, still puffing at his unlit pipe. "Fellah from Pohtsmouth told me just afoh I came ovah to open the stoah."
"You can't let her go back out there if there's trouble on the island!"
"Who's makin' her go back out?" he asked, blinking his little eyes behind his rimless spectacles like a lazy cat. "Offahed to buy the place from her."
"Perk, you ah just plain stupid sometimes," reprimanded his sister. "Of course she doesn't want to sell her uncle's propehty. But she certainly doesn't have to put up with people trespassing, either."
"Maybe it was a spook," the little man drawled. "You know perfectly well there's no such thing, Perk!"
"Maybe ah do, maybe ah don't," he answered. "Don't see how ah'm in any position to know right now."
"Seth Perkins, use your hoss sense!"
"I am, Moll. And I don't see why anyone'd want to hurt a stranger," he said as he came over to take a turnover from the dish on the table. "Scare her away, sure. But hurt, it ain't likely. Just some fella can't pay rent shackin' out there. Don't want no trouble from furrinahs."
"But I've more legal right to the land than he," insisted Mona. "Why should he threaten me?"
" 'Cause he's one of us. Knows he belongs. You ah an out-o-statah." Perk licked the spicy apple sweetness off of his fingers and took another pastry before continuing, "Nothin' to worry about. You don't bothah him none, he won't bothah you."
"That's hardly very comforting, Mister Perkins," the young woman said disdainfully.
"I quite agree," Mrs. Whipple joined in. "Maybe Perk's right, but let's not take any chances. I'm going back with you."
"What?" Ramona and Seth chorused in surprise.
"She can hardly go back to that dreadful place alone while someone's trying to scare her away. I'll make my presence known for a few days and end it all," she said forcefully, and rose to call an end to the discussion.
Mrs. Whipple returned to the island with Mona. The latter had little to say about it, for the formidable woman seemed unshakeable in her decision. Rather than risk further ill feeling, the young woman accepted her presence in its more than maternal capacity. The older woman was quite perfunctory in her orders and expectations, and Mona found herself more supervised than chaperoned as the woman directed the spring cleaning of the old house until its rooms were at least inhabitable.
Hansen made several trips to the mainland to fetch cleaning equipment and necessary kitchen items for the women. He even turned on the electricity from a small generator at the back of the house. When his duties were done, Moll shooed him away with the distaste of a society woman for an alley cat.
At the dock Mona thanked Owen for his assistance in making the place more livable. For the first time, his dark wind-burned face beamed a smile at her. He wasn't handsome, she thought, but he had a pleasant face.
"I'll come back tomorrow to see how you are," he promised, his dark brown eyes warm and friendly.
"It's not recommended," she warned with a laugh. "Mrs. Whipple doesn't seem too fond of you, for some reason. When she said good-bye, it sounded final."
"My usefulness is ovah as fah as she's concerned," he told her. "But she's still Perk's sistah. She no more believes in ghosts or ill-intentioned intrudahs than he does. This is her generous nature you ah being blessed with."
"Oh? Do you believe in ghosts or in whatever was here last night?"
"I'm part Indian. Hadn't you guessed by my coloring, Miss Jahn? I don't trust anyone. That's a New England trait toward outsidahs, but an Indian learns not to hold too much faith in even his fellow townspeople. Moll taught me that. She herself trusts no one but herself. Her husband didn't live long enough to make her sure she could rely on him."
"She's a widow?"
"Husband died in the wah," he said. "Look, you mind if I see that you ah all right tomorrow?"
"Not Mrs. Whipple too?" she queried with a grin.
"God help anything that tangles with her! See that squirrel shotgun she brought with her? She knows how to use it bettah than any man in town."
"But I may need that protection," Mona said with a frown.
A wind rustled through his thick black hair and a shadow crossed his craggy face. "I hope not, but since you'd be out heah all alone otherwise, it's best to have one friend. I'd like to offah my friendship too."
She surveyed his high cheekbones, the straight black brows above his shadowed eyes, his long flared nostrils and the thin lips pursed in seriousness. He wore a short-sleeved shirt today, though the sky was still overcast. Under it his muscles stretched the cloth till it seemed it would rip. Yes, he was a man who could be dangerous as well as a good protector, she though. Perhaps because he'd been more sincere and honest than the others, had treated her as an equal rather than a child, she felt a certain respect for him. Not fully trusting the domineering woman at the house, and knowing Moll wasn't especially fond of Owen, she decided to accept his gesture of friendship with wariness.
Extending her hand, she thanked him. "I would be grateful," she smiled.
"You ah wise if you still don't fully trust me," he complimented her.
With a wave he was gone, his little skiff heading out over the waves to the mainland.
Mona stood watching him. Would it be as demanding as her friendship with Carl? Protection for a price? She shivered. Somewhere there had to be someone she could really trust, someone to be a true friend. Things were never so bad if one had a friend to turn to.
Deanna? If she hadn't been so easy-going with Deanna, she might have known about this house earlier; then the decision-making would be all over by now. Damn Deanna and Yves for trying to take advantage of her when she wasn't looking!
And Mrs. Whipple and her brother? No. They probably trusted the man with the knife more than her, trusted the attacker more than the victim. Now that was something to ponder!
She looked up at the house, the windows flung wide to let in the fresh air. It was late afternoon, and in the fading light under a cloudy sky the building was taking on its phantom countenance once more. Dark and malevolent, it stared back at her, its front door propped open by heavy books. It seemed to be smiling slyly at her, inviting her in as the spider invites the fly into its web of danger and death.
High-piled thunderclouds scudded across the sky above the turret, whipped on by a reckless wind. Through the trees chased the ocean breezes, shaking the leaves and wailing around the branches. Suddenly the wooded shadows took movement and seemed to grow before her. A cat-bird called out from the depths of the shadows and seagulls screeched overhead. Was it the catbird calling her, or Mrs. Whipple?
From the distance came a sad and lonely cry, "Mo . . . ooo . . . naa! Mo . . . na!"
Her feet tripped on the tangled vines as she ran to the house.