At the Water's Edge

  The door opened, and a female figure was suddenly in the doorway with light pouring in around her.

  "Mrs. Pennypacker? Is everything all right?" she asked.

  I blinked at her, wondering why she'd just addressed me by my mother's name.

  "My Lord!" She rushed over to help me up. "What's happened? Are you all right?"

  "Yes, thank you," I said. "I seem to have tripped over a shoe, of all things."

  Now that the light was no longer behind her, I could see that she was about my age, with a sturdy frame, pleasant expression, and thick auburn hair swept into a snood. She had a smattering of freckles, and her face was browned by the sun.

  "Shall I get your husband?" she asked, looking at me with concern.

  "No, thank you," I said. "I just need a minute to get oriented. When I woke up I wasn't quite sure where I was, and then..." I waved a hand at the carpet, which was strewn with the things I'd taken out while searching for my nightgown and toothbrush. "Well, I was in a bit of a rush to get to bed last night, and this morning I couldn't see where I was going."

  "It's the Blackout curtains," she said, nodding decisively and walking past to the window. "They're that dark you can't see a thing, although I suppose that's the point."

  She braced her fingertips on the inside edges of the window casing and coaxed out a solid square frame covered with black material. Light flooded the room.

  "That's better, isn't it?" she said, setting the frame on the floor.

  Strips of tape crisscrossed the panes of glass. After a second's confusion, I realized they were in case of a bomb blast.

  "Yes, thank you," I said, trying to suppress my alarm. "Is that a wooden frame? I've always thought Blackout curtains were actual curtains."

  "Aye. We use traditional curtains too, but then you have to pin the cloth all the way around so no light can get past. This contraption is much easier on the fingers. Angus made them after the last time we got fined--twelve shillings it was, all because Old Donnie had the temerity to push the curtain aside for a wee moment to see if it was still raining. And the warden is a Wee Free, and he's not from the glen, so there was no getting around that, I can tell you. Twelve shillings! That's more than a day's wages for a shopkeeper!" she said indignantly, catching my eye to make sure I understood.

  I nodded emphatically.

  "Now these," she continued, "you could put the sun itself right behind them and not one ray would get through. Angus stretched the material tight, and then painted the whole thing with black epoxy rubber." She leaned over to tap its surface. "That's like a drum, that is."

  "Is Angus the one with the beard?"

  "Aye."

  "And he's the handyman?"

  She laughed. "I should think not. He runs the place!"

  A. W. Ross.

  It made perfect sense but hadn't even occurred to me, an assumption based entirely on appearance. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and felt ridiculous for judging. I looked like I'd been dragged backward through a hedge.

  The ceiling began spinning again, and I dropped onto the edge of the bed.

  "You've gone pale as a potato crust," said the girl, coming closer to inspect me. "Shall I bring up some tea?"

  "No, I'll be fine. I'm still a bit dizzy from the ship, strangely enough," I said.

  "Aye," she said, nodding gravely. "I've heard of that. People getting stuck like that."

  A jolt of fear ran through me, even as I arranged my face into a smile.

  "Don't worry," I said. "My husband and I sail all the time. I probably just have a bit of a cold--you know, an ear thing. It will pass. Speaking of my husband, is he up yet?"

  "He's been downstairs this half hour."

  "Will you please let him know I'll be down in a few minutes? I need a moment to pull myself together."

  She glanced at my luggage. "Well, with this lot that shouldn't be hard. I should think you could start your own shop, if you wanted to. If you change your mind about having your tea upstairs, just give me a shout."

  "I'm sorry, what's your name again?" I asked, knowing perfectly well she hadn't yet told me.

  "Anna. Anna McKenzie."

  --

  After Anna left, I remained on the bed, looking into the mirror from a distance of five or six feet. The face that stared back at me was haggard, almost unrecognizable. It was also jerking back and forth. I looked at the doorknob, a seam in the wallpaper, a shoe on the floor. Everything I tried to focus on did the same.

  I was well aware of my tendency to become consumed by thoughts and knew I had to put what she'd said out of my mind. I'd been back on solid ground less than a day, which was nowhere near long enough to begin to panic. The seas had been so rough, and I'd been so ill, it made perfect sense that my vertigo would take time to resolve. At home, though, I'd probably have slipped off to see a specialist just to put my mind at ease.

  If I told Ellis what was going on, he would have suggested I take a pill, and while they were probably designed for moments exactly like this, I had staunchly refused to let a single one cross my lips from the moment they'd been prescribed.

  Because of my mother, people were always looking for cracks in my facade, waiting--even hoping--for me to return to type. My mother-in-law's shocking proclamation on New Year's Day was the first time anyone had been quite so explicit, at least to my face, but I knew what everyone thought of me, and I refused to prove them right. The ridiculous thing was that only I knew I didn't take the pills, so I wasn't really proving anything to anyone except myself. Ellis found them calming, so my prescription was filled often enough to satisfy Edith Stone Hyde, who rifled shamelessly through my things when I wasn't there.

  --

  The clock was ticking and Hank and Ellis were waiting downstairs, so I concentrated on the job at hand.

  Ellis put great stock in my looks, teasing me that my only job in life was to be the prettiest girl in the room. I had always thought I was perfectly adept at doing my own hair and makeup, but apparently Ellis thought otherwise, and immediately after our marriage placed me in the hands of professionals.

  I dug through my suitcases and trunks, collecting my "lotions and potions," as Ellis called them, and lined them up on the dresser. At home, he liked to open the jars and sniff the contents, asking the price and purpose of each (the more expensive, the better).

  One time, I'd come into my room and found him at my dressing table with his face half made up. He let me finish the job, and then, for a lark, he donned my Oriental robe, wrapped his head in a peacock blue scarf, and tossed a feather boa around his shoulders.

  Emily was entirely nonplussed when she brought up the petit fours and I introduced her to Aunt Esmee. She gawped as I explained that Esmee was a long-lost relation and a teensy bit eccentric. After she left, we howled, wishing there was a way we could get Hank involved. We drank whiskey from teacups, and Aunt Esmee read my fortune, which involved a long journey and great wealth. I asked if there was anyone tall, dark, and handsome in my future, and she informed me that my destiny involved a man who was tall, blond, and handsome--as well as already beneath my nose.

  I leaned toward the mirror to have a closer look, tilting my face back and forth. The trip had taken a toll on my complexion, and my left cheek had thin red lines running across it from when I'd smashed into the outside wall. I looked as though a cat had taken a swipe at me.

  I patched and spackled as best I could. In the end, it was clear I'd used a heavy hand, but my face turned out better than I expected. My hair, however, was a different story.

  I usually wore it parted to the side, with a wave that swept across my forehead, then up and over my ears before landing in a cascade of curls at the nape of my neck. This was courtesy of Lana, the hair savant at Salon Antoine, who set my hair twice a week. She would cover my head in rollers and put me under the dryer to "cook," while someone else touched up my manicure. When the rollers were out, Lana would coax and pat my hair into submission, spray it until it was as hard and s
hiny as glass, and send me on my way.

  Between appointments, all I had to do was make sure I replaced any bobby pins that came out and wear a hairnet to bed. If it was necessary to smooth the surface, I was instructed to use a soft-bristled hairbrush with caution, but if anything went wrong that I couldn't fix--especially with the curls--I was to go back at once.

  Consequently, I hadn't done my own hair in four years and had no idea what to do with the stringy mess that sat atop my head.

  In honor of Aunt Esmee, I wrapped a turban around it, pinned a garnet brooch to the front, and went to join my husband.

  --

  I kept a hand on the wall to steady myself as I went downstairs, and paused at the bottom to get my balance.

  The fire was burning brightly, and the Blackout curtains--or frames--had been pulled out and stacked in a corner. The downstairs windows were also taped, and posters on either side of the radio warned that "Loose Lips Sink Ships" and "Careless Talk Costs Lives."

  Another flicker of fear ran through me.

  Ellis and Hank were at one of the tables, poring over an Ordnance map with several logbooks lying open. A duffel bag, tripod, and various other pieces of equipment were on the floor, and they had their coats and hats thrown over an empty chair.

  Hank watched as I wobbled over, and I hoped he wouldn't have time to come up with a joke about sea legs.

  "Look who's up!" he said brightly.

  Ellis stood and pulled out a chair.

  "Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, kissing my cheek. "Or should I say afternoon?"

  I smiled weakly and sat.

  "You obviously got your beauty sleep," he said, pushing my chair in and sitting back down. "You look positively radiant."

  "It's just a bit of paint," I said. "You two look busy. What are you up to?"

  "A little strategizing," he said. "Thought we'd scope out the area on foot, maybe rent a boat. If there's time, we might walk over to the castle."

  "Don't forget the newspaper," said Hank.

  "Yes, we're going to place an advertisement to find people who've had encounters. Help us establish a pattern. When and where the thing arises, weather conditions, et cetera."

  "I thought we were changing hotels," I said, glancing at the equipment on the floor. "Or are we going to send for our things later?"

  "Yes. Well, neither, actually," said Ellis. "There don't seem to be any other hotels. Hank took an early morning walk, and the village is the size of a flea. The girl in the kitchen says the next closest hotel is two and a half miles away, but it's full of billeted soldiers, and anyway, it doesn't sound any better than this. Apparently there's no electricity in the entire glen."

  I looked around to make sure we were alone. "But what if the landlord doesn't let us stay?"

  "It turns out Blackbeard is much friendlier in the morning," Ellis said. "Well, 'much' may be putting it a bit strongly, but we've officially checked in for a stay of indeterminate length, so don't worry your pretty little head for another second." He reached over and play-pinched my cheek.

  For the first time, I noticed their plates. There was a pale rectangular slab on each, gray and slightly gelatinous. "What is that?"

  "Porridge," Hank said brightly, poking it with his fork. "Apparently they pour leftover porridge into a drawer and cut slices off it when it sets. Waste not, want not."

  "You're both in very good moods," I said.

  "Of course!" said Ellis, spreading his hands. "We're here, aren't we?"

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Pennypacker," said Anna, appearing at my side.

  My mother's name again. I shot Ellis a look, but he was watching as Anna slid a small bowl of steaming porridge in front of me, along with a cup of creamy milk.

  "I'll be right back with your tea," she said.

  "Well, would you look at that," said Hank. "Virgin porridge. Aren't you special."

  I stared at it. "I don't think I can eat. My stomach's still iffy."

  "You have to," said Ellis. "You're thin as a rail."

  "Please. That's how you like me," I said.

  "Yes, but if you get too thin your face will suffer."

  I looked up, horrified, wondering if he was saying it already had. I was still trying to decipher his expression when Anna returned with a cup of tea.

  "I brought a wee bit of sugar, ma'am," she said, setting it in front of me. There were two cubes on the edge of the saucer.

  Hank glanced up from his map. "Her tea's stronger, too. I sense favoritism."

  "And rightly so," said Ellis. "She needs it."

  The back of my throat tightened. So much for my being "positively radiant." I picked up the milk to pour on my porridge.

  Anna sucked her breath through her teeth, and I halted with the bowl in midair.

  "If you don't mind my saying, ma'am, that's not the best way of going about that. Pouring the milk all over it," she tutted. "It's just not right."

  "Don't you have something else?" Ellis said testily. "Ham? Eggs? A steak? My wife is poorly. She needs protein."

  Anna drew her shoulders back. "We do not, Mr. Pennypacker. Those particular items are rationed, and we weren't expecting guests. And for your information, milk and sugar are rationed as well--I only brought them out because I thought Mrs. Pennypacker could use a little perking up, what with her motion sickness and all."

  "Thank you," I said. "That's very kind of you."

  "Fine. Never mind," said Ellis, pulling the logbook toward him. When she didn't leave, he threw her an irritated glance and flicked the backs of his fingers toward her. "I said that's all."

  She folded her arms and glowered at him. "No, you did not. You said 'Never mind.' And I don't suppose you've given your ration books to Angus."

  "No," said Ellis, without looking at her.

  "Oh, aye," she replied on an intake of breath. "Well, I can't do any better for you until you do, and I'll have you know it's a criminal offense to waste food, so get that down you or I'll be forced to call the warden." She lifted her chin and sailed around the bar and through to the back.

  Ellis looked agog at Hank. Then he broke into giggles.

  "I told you she wasn't all there," he said.

  Hank nodded. "She does seem a few sandwiches short."

  "You needn't have been so rude," I said. "She's very nice, and she was about to show me, if you hadn't interrupted."

  Ellis looked stunned. "Show you what? How to eat porridge? It's porridge. You eat it."

  "Oh, never mind," I said.

  Ellis stared at me. "Shall I call her back?"

  "No. I'm fine," I said. "But perhaps you can explain why, exactly, she thinks I'm my mother?"

  Ellis laughed, and Hank nearly spat tea out of his nose.

  "You're not your mother--thank God," said Ellis, after they'd collected themselves. "But I did sign us in using your maiden name."

  "And why is that?"

  "My father wasn't terrifically popular around here after the Daily Mail fiasco. But don't worry. When we find the monster, we'll come clean." He held his hands up and framed an imaginary headline: "Son of Colonel Whitney Hyde Catches Loch Ness Monster; Hailed as Hero."

  "Say, Hero, think we can get back to work?" said Hank, stuffing his napkin under the edge of his plate. He circled an area on the map with his finger. "Since this area is the epicenter of the sightings, I think we should start at Temple Pier, then either walk or row to the..."

  As Hank prattled on, I considered the two bowls in front of me. If you didn't put the milk in the porridge, surely you didn't put the porridge in the milk? I dipped my spoon in the porridge, looked at the bowl of milk, felt stupid, and gave up.

  I put one of the sugar cubes on my teaspoon and lowered it slowly into the cup, watching the brown seep upward, evenly, irrevocably.

  Chapter Nine

  Hank and Ellis seemed almost relieved when I told them I wasn't going to join them. I would have been offended if I didn't know I couldn't walk straight.

  They gathered their things
and left in a whirlwind of activity. I hadn't seen Ellis this energized since the summer I'd met him. At the last second, Hank leaned over the table, grabbed his porridge, and gamely chomped it down. Then he ate Ellis's as well, saying he wasn't keen on "being frog-marched to the clink, at least not over a slab of drawer porridge." Ellis kissed my cheek and implored me to eat my own porridge in whatever fashion I saw fit, and to make sure the staff looked after me. And then they were gone.

  I had planned on asking Anna to draw me a bath, but after threatening to call the warden she never returned. I began to think she'd left the building.

  I found my way up the stairs, grasping the rail and stopping several times. At one point I thought I was going to fall backward, and sat on the step until it passed.

  There was a black line painted around the inside of the bathtub, about five inches up, which I assumed was a guide to how deep the water should be, but no matter what the temperature of the water, there wouldn't be enough to warm a person up. I decided it was a suggestion rather than a rule, put in the rubber plug, and turned the taps on full. I left them running while I went to my room.

  When I returned and tried to step into the bath, I discovered that the water coming out of both faucets was icy.

  By the time I got my clothes back on and rushed down to the grate, my teeth were chattering.

  The fire gave off a fearsome heat, and I couldn't seem to find the right distance from it--too close, and my shins and cheeks stung, too far and I got chilled through. At one point, my toes were burning and my heels were freezing all at the same time. I was cold, dizzy, queasy, and filthy. It was hard to imagine being more miserable.

  There was a newspaper on the low table, but when I tried to read, the words swam on the page. I gave up almost immediately, left it open on my lap, and gazed into the fire. Its movement masked that of my eyes, and was the most helpful thing yet in making me feel steady.

  The chimney stones were charred, and the fire, part coal and part mysterious other, hissed and cracked and occasionally let off an unlikely whistle. As I watched, a glowing red ember shot out, landed on the carpet, and immediately turned black. A pair of brown utility shoes, thick wool socks, and reddened shins appeared right where it had landed.

  Anna was standing beside me, holding a plate and a steaming cup. She put them on the table in front of me.