Allison O'Brian on Her Own Page 10

  I want to stay here with him. I know I’m only an inconvenience to you. So I am not asking you, Marsha. Let me stay with Grandpa for the rest of his days. If you don’t, I will run away. I mean it!

  Allison

  Tears streamed down her face as she folded the letter and sealed the envelope. She knew Marsha wouldn’t like her tactics, but she didn’t care. Once and for all, Allison surrendered all hope that Marsha would ever love her. She dried her eyes on the handkerchief left in the dresser. Had Grandmother Mercury known she’d need it?

  The next day the letter was gone from her desk. She figured Muriel had mailed it but couldn’t bring herself to ask. Perhaps it had gotten lost somewhere.

  The week seemed to speed by, and Grandpa, ever so slowly, felt better each day. They took brief walks around the yard at first, and as his strength improved they ventured farther. One day they went down a winding little road that led to a floating dock on the inlet. From that side of the bluff, they could see the lighthouse. There it stood, proud and white on the small, rocky island.

  “Oh, Grandpa, it’s wonderful! I wish we could visit it.” Grandpa skipped a stone across the water without saying anything. She wondered if the stories about the lighthouse keeper were bothering him.

  “What is it they say that the mad lighthouse keeper does?”

  “They’re just rumors.”

  “Do you know him?” Allison asked.

  Grandpa turned away, his face gray.

  Allison grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? Should we go back to the house?”

  “I’m all right. Just a bit tired.” He sat down on a stumpy post of the pier and rubbed his forehead as if he was trying to remember something.

  Allison picked up a stone and tried to skip it across the water, but it was swallowed by a small wave. She sat down next to him and studied the old but well-cared-for rowboat that was tied securely to the dock. It bobbed up and down with the waves, bumping against the pier in gentle, regular thumps. “Whose dock is this, Grandpa?”

  “Mine.” He got up and checked the rope on the boat.

  “Really? Is this your boat?”

  “Aye, my bonnie little boat.”

  “What do you use it for?”

  “I don’t use it anymore. The doctor forbids it.” He grunted. “Used to take it out to fish and crab, though.”

  “I wish I could take it out—”

  “Allison, I don’t want you to ever, ever take it out! Understand?” His voice was so firm it took her by surprise. She nodded mutely.

  “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that this is a dangerous inlet. You must know the tides and how to handle a boat.”

  Allison understood. She knew about inlets and tides from sailing in Massachusetts but decided not to bring it up. No need to worry or upset him. She looked again at the lighthouse. It seemed so small. How could someone actually live inside? Maybe that’s why he was mad.

  She turned to Grandpa. “Don’t you think we should throw Jenson Light a birthday party? Twenty years old is quite a milestone, you know, even for a lighthouse. Happy birthday, lighthouse!” she yelled across the inlet.

  Grandpa laughed. “Speaking of birthdays, didn’t you mention Heather invited you for a picnic on Saturday?”

  “I almost forgot! I never even called her back.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not too late. Why don’t we head back and you can call.”

  As they made their way back to the house, Allison decided to try some new tactics to get her grandfather to open up. If he wouldn’t discuss her father, maybe she could find something out about Grace and her connection to this mystery. “Grandpa, how do you know Grace? She seems like such a lovely person.”

  “Grace is a truly wonderful person, Allison. She’s a local girl—went to nursing college and then joined the Red Cross during the war. She was stationed in England where she met her husband—a dashing Air Force lieutenant, as I understand. The way I heard the story, when her Red Cross quarters were destroyed in London, she journeyed with evacuees to the countryside, including the Amberwell children. You probably know the rest of that story. Anyway, she and her husband were married for less than a year when his plane went down. It was tragic, but what she’s done for those children is remarkable.”

  Not one word about her dad. It figured.

  They passed through the garden. Allison stopped to sniff the rose blooms. “These smell delicious. Try them.”

  Obligingly, he bent to smell. “Yes, they were Mercury’s favorites. Can’t remember the name, though. Pick as many as you like, Allison. This garden needs to be enjoyed more. Poor old George slaves away and no one seems to notice. There are some shears in the shed there.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa.”

  She peered into the shed. A little window let in just enough light to see the orderly shelves, and there on a hook hung a large pair of shears. As she reached for them she noticed a piece of paper with what appeared to be a list of provisions, including items like beans, flour, and lamp oil. She wondered who would be needing lamp oil. It was signed with what looked like the letter J. Who would that be, and why was it in the shed?

  She strolled the garden, pondering this mystery. Who was J? Or was it a J? Maybe it was really a misshapen G for George, or maybe he spelled his name with a J. She finally decided to cut some of Grandmother Mercury’s favorite roses to make a pretty pale pink bouquet. She carried them inside and Muriel found a cut crystal vase. Allison took her time arranging the roses until they were just right, then placed her masterpiece on the dining room table.

  “This is such a lovely room, Muriel. Not a bit stuffy like some dining rooms I know. . . .” On the walls hung pale yellow-and-cream-striped wallpaper. The mahogany chairs were padded and covered with a pale yellow tapestry, and the giant atrium doors opened out onto a slate terrace surrounded by a garden.

  “Yes, Mrs. O’Brian had a way with colors and decorating. And she loved fresh flowers—the garden was one of her favorite places.” Muriel opened the doors and let the afternoon sunshine beam in. “She planted those hedges ages ago to protect it from the winds.” She motioned to the thick wall of arborvitae. “Still, it took years before she could coax those roses to bloom. But at last the hedges are all filled in and now it’s just lovely.”

  “Say, Muriel, does George spell his name with a J?”

  “No, with a G, dear. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing . . .

  “Dinner’s at six tonight, Allison. You shall be dining formally, so you may wish to dress up.” Muriel said this in a funny tone, then winked at her.

  Allison went to her room to clean up. What was Muriel up to? She switched on her little radio, and the smooth voice of Nat King Cole filled her room. George had given her the radio yesterday. She thought about how he’d seemed embarrassed, saying it was just an old junker he’d salvaged and fixed up. But she could tell by the shiny wooden cabinet that it had been carefully cleaned and polished. Even more important, it worked swell.

  She glanced at herself in the oak-trimmed mirror above her dresser. It was fun being fourteen again. She wore a grass-stained white jersey that Marsha would no longer recognize, and her watermelon red shorts were wrinkled and dirty. Muriel had said tonight would be a formal dinner. She searched her closet for an appropriate outfit.

  She’d packed a mint green dress in case of a formal occasion. She held it up. It didn’t really seem to be Marsha’s style, and it looked as if it had never been worn. It was very pretty, but maybe too dressy. She held up the peach rayon suit and wondered which one Grandpa would like better. She chose the dress. For some reason she wanted to impress Grandpa tonight. She wanted to make him proud. Her secret hope was that he’d ask her to live with him. She’d hinted at it once, but he hadn’t responded. Maybe he didn’t want to be saddled down with a teenager at this point in his life, not to mention his poor health. She wanted to make him understand that she was independent and able to look after herself. She wouldn�
��t be any trouble at all.

  She studied herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair. Even Grace had said she looked like her father. Maybe Grandpa didn’t want to have her around if she reminded him of his son. But then again, he had also said she looked like Grandmother Mercury. And besides, Grandpa truly seemed to love her. She just knew it.

  She pinned the mother-of-pearl brooch on the bodice of the satin dress. Now she remembered why she’d bought it for Marsha. Of course she’d thought it was pretty, but when Nanny Jane had said it was made with mother-of-pearl, Allison had misheard her and thought she’d said “mother-of-girl.” She’d then imagined it was a magical pin, and once pinned to Marsha, she’d be instantly transformed into a real mother. Allison laughed. She’d been young and naïve then. But somehow, now that Grandpa was in her life, her feelings about Marsha didn’t seem so bitter anymore.

  Just before six o’clock she ventured down to the den, but Grandpa wasn’t there. She heard female voices in the parlor and peeked in to see.

  “Allison, come in,” Grandpa hailed. “Meet some dear friends of mine. Beatrice Jenson, this is my Allison. And, Allison, meet Bea’s granddaughter, Shirley, who’s visiting from California.”

  “How do you do?” Allison said. The elderly woman heartily shook her hand, and the girl nodded slightly from across the room without getting up.

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Allison. And on such a happy occasion. I hear this was your idea.” Mrs. Jenson winked. But Allison had no idea what she meant.

  “You see, I took your advice, Allison,” Grandpa stated. “We are having an official birthday party for the Jenson Light. And I figured we better invite Bea since it bears her name.”

  “That’s wonderful, Grandpa!” Allison exclaimed.

  “Yes, I was so surprised when Riley called me up today. Shirley just came up from California, and we were as pleased as punch to come over.”

  Bea and Grandpa began reminiscing over the good old days, and Allison felt responsible to draw out the quiet girl on the couch. She sat down across from Shirley and nervously smoothed the satin folds of her skirt.

  “Where in California are you from?” she asked. The girl looked to be around sixteen, but it could’ve been the clothes and makeup. Allison remembered her own charades.

  “San Diego. Do you know where that is?” Something about the way Shirley spoke felt like a put-down.

  “Well, I’ve never actually been there, but I can find it on the map,” Allison answered brightly. “I’m fourteen. How old are you?”

  Shirley rolled her dark eyes, fluttered mascara-enhanced lashes, and sighed deeply. “Fifteen and a half.”

  Allison studied her. She didn’t like to make snap judgments on people, especially friends of Grandpa, but this Shirley definitely got under her skin. What was it about her? She reminded Allison of—Marsha!

  “Dinner is served,” George announced.

  Allison stifled a giggle. She’d never seen George dressed so formally. His jacket barely buttoned around his middle, and he resembled Tweedledee . . . or was it Tweedledum? Grandpa took her arm and escorted her into the dining room. The soft glow of candlelight reflected on shining crystal and polished silver. In the center stood her arrangement of roses.

  “Everything looks lovely,” Allison whispered to Grandpa.

  “Not half as lovely as you, lassie,” he smiled. “You make me very proud, Allison Mercury.” He seated her at the place where the mistress of the table would sit. Never had she felt so important or so loved.

  “How long are you staying in Tamaqua Point, Shirley?” Allison asked congenially. She’d just gotten her second wind of graciousness. She imagined her grandmother patiently entertaining a cantankerous visitor.

  “The entire summer,” Shirley complained. “What do you people do here for entertainment, anyway?”

  “Actually, I’ve only been here a week, but I’ve enjoyed every minute.” Shirley rolled her eyes again. Allison gave up and joined in the adults’ conversation.

  “Remember that time you and Hank caught the squid and brought it home and put it in my bathtub?” Bea laughed. She had one of those full, hearty laughs that invited everyone to join in. “I went in that evening all ready for a nice soak and there he was! I could have murdered you two!” She laughed so hard tears streamed down her rosy cheeks.

  “Dinner is scrumptious, Muriel,” Allison commented, wishing Muriel could join them. But Muriel was obviously delighted just to serve up her appetizing dishes.

  “Yes, Muriel. You must share your recipe for this seafood salad. Mine isn’t half as tasty,” Bea complimented.

  “And she threw this little party together with only a few hours’ notice,” Grandpa said with pride.

  “I was just wondering how you did this.” Allison eyed him suspiciously.

  “Well, Bea and I were talking business this morning, and I invited her and Shirley up. When you mentioned a lighthouse birthday, I just figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

  “How complimentary, Riley,” Bea joked.

  Just then Muriel came in with a white-frosted cake. It faintly resembled the lighthouse and had a ring of candles burning brightly around the top.

  “Muriel, it’s wonderful!” Allison exclaimed. “We must sing ‘Happy Birthday’!” Shirley groaned, but Allison ignored her.

  “First, a toast,” Bea said, holding up her glass. “To a fine partnership that was only too brief.” Tears glistened in the old woman’s eyes and her voice grew husky. “To the good times and good memories . . .

  Grandpa continued for her. “And to Hank Jenson, a fine friend, and to the lighthouse that bears his name. Happy birthday, Jenson Light.”

  George and Muriel joined in and they all sang, except for Shirley, who acted like they were all senile. Bea and Grandpa blew out the candles together.

  “Riley, I’m afraid I’m so full from dinner, I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” Bea said.

  “Why don’t we have the cake later,” Allison suggested, enjoying her role as hostess. “We could take a walk through the garden. It’s so beautiful this time of evening.”

  They stepped out the atrium doors, and the garden was illuminated by the soft pink glow of the sky. The roses took on colors so vibrant that Allison wished she knew how to paint so she could capture their beauty forever.

  “Simply lovely,” Bea exclaimed. Shirley slumped along looking only at her feet.

  “Hello?” a friendly voice called. “George said you were out here.” Heather’s brother Andrew strolled up. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I’ve come as a messenger to the fair Lady Allison,” he proclaimed with dramatic flourish. “Actually, our telephone’s on the blink, and Heather sent me over to see if Allison can come on the picnic tomorrow.” He looked at Allison, then did a double take and whistled. “You are the same Allison, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, silly.” Allison laughed. She was thankful for the dusky light and hoped no one noticed her blushing cheeks. “I’d love to come. In fact, I tried to phone Heather this afternoon but couldn’t get through.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Grandpa said. “Now, Andrew, come on in and join us for a piece of birthday cake.”

  “Another birthday?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes, we’re celebrating the twentieth birthday of Jenson Light.”

  “Oh, you mean the Tamaqua Lighthouse,” Andrew said.

  “I beg your pardon, young man,” Bea corrected. “Its official name is the Jenson Light.”

  “I stand corrected,” Andrew said in mock humility but with a genuine smile.

  Grandpa slapped him on the back. “Smart man . . . never pays to argue with a woman.” He led the small procession back to the house.

  They settled in the parlor for cake and tea, and Allison felt Andrew’s eyes on her as she took a bite of cake.

  “Heather said to tell you to come prepared for anything, sunshine or fog, swimming or hiking. Just don’t pack the kitchen sink,” Andrew
said with a chuckle.

  “Swimming?” Shirley exclaimed, stepping up to Andrew and smiling for the first time the entire evening. “I adore swimming. Where does one go to swim around here?”

  Allison could only see the back of Shirley’s head, but she could just imagine those dark eyelashes fluttering wildly.

  “Uh . . . well, we have a special spot. Maybe I could draw you a map,” Andrew offered.

  “Poor Shirley,” Bea exclaimed. “She’s been so deprived of youthful companionship up here. I’ve been afraid she might just whither away.” Allison wondered how poor Andrew would handle that very obvious hint.

  “Maybe . . . uh, you’d like to join us tomorrow. It’s my sister’s fourteenth birthday—”

  “I’d simply love to. Oh, she’s fourteen—just a year younger than I. I’m sure I’ll just love her.”

  When Shirley turned on the charm, it really oozed. Allison almost wanted to back out now, but for Heather’s sake, she knew she couldn’t. Suddenly, it appeared her afternoon with Heather was going to be more of a chore than a party.

  Allison jerked her flannel nightgown over her head, her pleasant expectations of tomorrow’s picnic now squelched. Why must Shirley invade their fun? She stood before her dresser and admired the smooth tortoiseshell comb set left to her by Grandmother Mercury. Muriel had mentioned the set had come from Ireland. As she brushed her hair, she imagined her grandmother braving the Atlantic crossing alone. She looked into the mirror and considered her own cross-country trip. Maybe she was a lot like her grandmother. Well, then, she could be brave enough to face the likes of Shirley Jenson.

  Thoughts of Shirley once again reminded Allison of Marsha. The two seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Just her luck after traveling thousands of miles to get away from Marsha’s grasp to be yoked with her equal. Maybe she was overreacting. She thought about Andrew—remembering the way he’d looked at her tonight. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time. Had it only been her imagination? She recalled the other boys who’d been in her life only recently. There was John on the train leaving New York, but he’d viewed her like a younger sister. Then there was Mr. O’Conner’s son, Mark. He was nice but a little bit boring. And now there was Andrew. His crazy antics, serious green eyes, and handsome face intrigued her. She was certain that behind his mask of wit was a deep and sensitive person. A person she would like to know better.