Melody

  "How would she know?" Grandma Olivia snapped. "Haille's off to be a movie star."

  "Is that right?" the judge asked, still directing himself to me.

  "Many people have told my mother that she was pretty enough to be a model or a movie star," I said. "She has auditions and meetings in Hollywood."

  "Is that so?"

  "Likely story." Grandma Olivia looked at Uncle Jacob, who nodded and sneered with a face that was nearly a replica of his mother's. My daddy had taken after his father much more than his mother, whereas it was the exact opposite for Uncle Jacob.

  "She was one of the prettiest girls in

  Provincetown," the judge said. "Don't forget that beauty contest. I was one of the judges."

  "What beauty contest?" I blurted out. Aunt Sara brought her hand to her mouth to cover a gasp. I was breaking a rule: I was speaking before being spoken to.

  "Your mother never told you?" Judge Childs asked.

  "Apparently, her mother told her very little," Grandma Olivia said with a twist in her thin lips.

  "Oh, some company or another--I forget which one now--sponsored a Miss Teenage Cape Cod contest and it ended up here, with your mother one of the five finalists. They paraded around in their bathing suits and pretty dresses and answered questions with their eyelids batting." He laughed. "None of the other four had a chance, did they, Samuel?"

  "Not a chance," he said nodding.

  "Hardly an accomplishment to talk about now," Grandma Olivia said.

  "Oh, we all thought it was a lot of fun back then, Olivia. You had a celebration here, didn't you?" he reminded her. She glanced quickly at Grandpa Samuel.

  "That wasn't my idea. I went along with it, but I never thought it was anything to brag about."

  "Why, as I recall, Provincetown folks were proud that one of their own took the prize. You know how people get competitive, especially with those Plymouth Rock folk," Judge Childs added winking at me. "Didn't she get a trophy or something? You never saw it, Melody?" the judge asked me.

  "No, sir."

  "Maybe she pawned it," Grandma Olivia mumbled just loud enough for us all to hear.

  "There wasn't a boy in town who wasn't in love with Haille in those days," the judge continued. Grandma squirmed in her chair. "That's when Kenneth started camping out on your front lawn." He laughed.

  "How's he doing these days?" Grandpa Samuel asked. "I can't recall the last time I saw him."

  "Same as always," the judge said shaking his head. "If I didn't go to his studio, I wouldn't see him either. He's married to his work, worse than a monk. I hear that those small clay sculptures of the terns are going for ten thousand dollars. Imagine that, Jacob?"

  "I can't," Uncle Jacob said. "Just a lot of foolish rich folk, I guess."

  "Kenneth's not complaining." The judge gazed long and hard at me again. "What are your interests, Melody?"

  "I'm not sure yet," I said. "Maybe teaching," I added, glancing at Cary. He blushed.

  "Good idea," the judge said nodding.

  "She plays the fiddle," Grandpa Samuel said. "You bring it tonight?"

  I looked at Aunt Sara quickly and then back at him. "No, Grandpa," I said.

  "Oh, that's a shame. I was looking forward to a concert."

  "I can go back and fetch it for her," Cary volunteered, that impish smile on his face again.

  "There's no time for that," Grandma said, rising quickly. "It's time for dinner. Jerome," she called and the butler popped into the doorway as if he had been dangling just above it.

  "Madam?"

  "Tell the kitchen we are ready to sit at the table," she commanded.

  He nodded. "Very well, madam."

  The judge rose and held out his arm.

  "Olivia, allow me to escort you," he offered, while throwing me a coy smile.

  Holding her head high and her shoulders back, Grandma took his arm. Grandpa Samuel followed behind them and we walked behind him into the dining room.

  The table was as elegant and as rich a table as I had ever seen, even in movies. The dishes were on silver platters and there were crystal goblets for the wine. There were three tall candles in each of two silver candelabra as well. Between candelabra was a spray of white roses. For this dinner the judge sat at Grandma's right side and Uncle Jacob sat on her left. Grandpa sat where he had sat before, as did Aunt Sara, May, Cary, and I.

  Uncle Jacob said grace, which seemed to go on twice as long as usual, and the meal finally began. It was orchestrated like a theatrical performance with as many people serving the meal as were eating it, each person seemingly assigned the serving of one course. We began with a caviar appetizer. I was ashamed to say I didn't know what it was, but the judge's eyes twinkled with laughter when Uncle Jacob said, "I always feel guilty eating fish eggs."

  "I swear, Olivia," the judge said, "you've raised a saint here."

  "Jacob is a good man," she bragged. "We've been blessed."

  Uncle Jacob didn't blush at the compliment. He merely looked satisfied. But the judge threw me a smile and a wink. He was the main reason I was feeling relaxed at all.

  Jerome poured wine for the adults and the judge offered a toast to everyone's good health and continued happiness. I was impressed with the way he could imbue his voice with senatorial power. There was an immediate sense of authority and strength. He could bring seriousness to a gathering in seconds, I thought.

  The appetizer was followed with delicious cream of asparagus soup. While we ate, the judge discussed the local political scene and the fall elections. The adults listened attentively, as if they were party to classified information.

  After the soup came a mixed salad of baby field greens and walnuts sprinkled with feta cheese in a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. That started everyone talking about the price of fresh produce, but to me it seemed that money problems were the smallest of worries for this family.

  I was surprised when we were served a small ball of orange sorbet. Was the meal over and was this dessert? I wondered. The judge saw the confusion in my face and laughed.

  "I don't think your granddaughter is familiar with this culinary custom, Olivia," he said.

  "How could she be, growing up in the back hills of West Virginia. The sorbet's meant to cleanse your palette. You know what your palette is?"

  "Yes," I said sharply. I glanced at Cary who was scowling at Grandma Olivia. She caught the look on his face and turned back to the judge to talk about the race for governor.

  All the kitchen staff and the butler served the entree, which consisted of roasted quails with wild rice and baby vegetables. There were servants all around us, replacing silverware, fixing napkins, pouring wine and water. One of the servants appeared to be assigned to Grandma Olivia only. The moment she started to reach for something, the maid was there to get it for her. It was truly an overwhelming feast, capped with a dessert that brought an exclamation of delight from the judge.

  "Your favorite," Grandma Olivia announced.

  It was creme brulee--sornething I had never seen nor tasted before. The moment I did, I knew why the judge loved it so.

  "Good, isn't it?" he asked me.

  "Yes, sir," I said.

  "Nothing wrong with enjoying rich things occasionally," he said. "Is there, Jacob?" he asked, enjoying teasing my uncle. I had to admit, I enjoyed seeing him do it.

  "As long as you know whom to thank for them," Uncle Jacob said.

  "Oh, I do. Thank you, Olivia, Samuel," he said and laughed. My grandpa joined him, but Grandma Olivia shook her head as if he were behaving like a naughty little boy.

  "Really, Nelson," she said chidingly.

  "I'm just kidding, of course. No one is more thankful than I for my good fortune. I only regret Louise couldn't be with me longer," he added, losing his smile for a moment.

  "We all miss her," Grandma Olivia said. "Thank you, Olivia."

  Coffee was served. Cary and I were permitted some. I had never tasted French vanilla coffee, either, but I didn't want to
appear as unsophisticated as Grandma Olivia was making me out to be, so I sipped it as if I drank it every day.

  When the meal ended, Grandpa suggested brandy and cigars in the parlor.

  "This is when we could have heard that fiddle concert," the judge remarked, his eyes glittering at me.

  "I could still go fetch it," Cary offered.

  "By the time you returned, it would be too late," Grandma said. "Another time."

  Cary looked disappointed, but I was relieved. I would have hated to perform before such a critical audience.

  "You children amuse yourselves, but do not go out and then track in mud, Cary," she warned.

  As the judge passed me, he leaned over to say, "I'll hear that fiddle yet." He winked and followed my grandparents and Uncle Jacob and Aunt Sara out of the dining room. The staff began to clear the table.

  "You want to walk on the beach or just sit on the porch in the back?" Cary asked me.

  I thought a moment.

  "I'd like you to take me downstairs again and show me more of the pictures," I said. He smiled.

  "I had a feeling you were going to ask me to do that." He signed to May, who looked excited about the idea. Cary fetched Grandpa Samuel's flashlight. We went out the rear of the house.

  We didn't need the flashlight to walk around the outside of the house. The moon was fuller and brighter than ever, turning the ocean into silvery glass and making the sand glimmer like tiny pearls. I could see the horizon clearly delineated against the inky night sky in the distance.

  "No wonder ancient people thought they would fall off the earth if they sailed out too far," I said. "It looks so flat." Cary nodded. I took May's hand as he led us around the corner of the house to the basement door.

  "Don't let her get her dress dirty," he warned, "or there'll be hell to pay."

  I signed the same to May as Cary opened the basement door. He turned on the flashlight, found the light switch for the single dangling bulb, and then beckoned us to follow. Because the shadows were so deep, we still needed the flashlight to find the cartons and sift through them.

  "Easy," Cary said when he brought one off the shelf. "The dust is thick. You'll get it all over yourself."

  I didn't care about that when I started to dig into the pile of pictures.

  "You really do look a lot like your mother did when she was your age, Melody," Cary said. "And you're just as pretty."

  I glanced at him and saw how intently he stared at me. May stood by my side as I squatted beside him. We were inches apart and the glow of the flashlight made his eyes glimmer.

  "No I'm not," I said. "I could never win a beauty contest."

  He laughed. "Sure you could, and I'm sure you will." "You're beginning to sound like Adam Jackson," I said.

  His warm smile evaporated. "I didn't mean to," he snapped.

  "I just meant that was the kind of thing he was telling me."

  Cary nodded and gazed down at the pictures. "Well," he said softly, "the difference is he didn't mean it. I do."

  I kept a smile to myself as I sifted through the photographs. Under the ones I had seen before, were earlier pictures of Mommy and Daddy in boats, on the beach, on swings behind the house. Uncle Jacob was in most of the pictures, too, but he always seemed to be off to the side or even a little behind Daddy and Mommy. I found their high-school graduation pictures and could see how Mommy had developed into the beautiful woman she now was.

  She was photogenic: the pictures all caught her in funny, happy poses. I imagined it was Daddy who had taken the pictures, but when I turned one of them over, a picture of Mommy in a bikini posing on the beach, I saw the initials K.C. and the date.

  "What does this mean?" I asked Cary. He gazed at it a moment and then smiled.

  "Oh, I bet that's Kenneth Childs. Here." He pulled another album from the stack and searched through its pages. He pointed to a picture of a goodlooking young man, his arms folded across his chest, leaning against an apple tree. His light brown hair fell loosely over his forehead and lay in long strands down the sides and back of his head. He wasn't smiling. He looked serious, almost angry. "That's him. He doesn't look all that different now. He still has long hair, only he keeps it in a ponytail."

  "He does?"

  "Uh-huh. Sometimes he wears an earring."

  "I don't believe it," I said. "Judge Childs's son?"

  "Kenneth is an artist," Cary said. "He can do whatever he wants and get away with it."

  I nodded, wide eyed. Cary flipped the pages until he found another picture of Kenneth Childs. In this one, he was at least sixteen or seventeen. He was taller, but his face hadn't changed all that much. He still had long hair and I thought I saw an earring in his left earlobe. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and just a vest with no shirt underneath it.

  "Any more pictures of him?"

  Cary shook his head.

  "He was the one who used to take the pictures. My father told Laura and me that once,"

  I stared at Kenneth's photo a moment longer. Then I gazed at the other pictures in the album. There was a really nice one of my daddy and mommy when they were in high school. They sat on a bench in a gazebo, Daddy's arm around her. She had her knees pulled up, her arms around them, and her head was back against his. There was a rose in her hair. Her face was radiant. Daddy looked as happy as I had ever seen him.

  "I like this one," I said.

  "Do you?" He gazed at the photograph. "They were good looking. Why don't you just take the picture?" Cary suggested.

  "Really?"

  "Who's going to know?" He shrugged. I looked at May and then ripped the picture from the page.

  We looked for a while longer. There were pictures of relatives I had never heard of. Finally, we came to a set of pictures of a mousy-looking woman who continually looked as if she were going to burst into tears.

  "And who's this?" I asked.

  "That's Grandma Olivia's younger sister," Cary said. "Really? I didn't see any pictures of her in the house. Does Grandma Olivia have any brothers?"

  "No."

  "Where does her sister live?" I asked.

  He paused as if to decide whether or not to tell me. "She's in some sort of hospital."

  "Hospital?"

  "She's not--" He pointed to his temple and shook his head.

  "She's in a mental hospital?"

  "Yeah, I guess. She had a drinking problem and other problems. We don't talk about her much. Grandma Olivia doesn't even like anyone asking about her."

  "How terrible."

  "I guess so," Cary said. "She was brought here for a little while years and years ago, but she couldn't handle life on the outside. I really don't know much about her," he added.

  "What's her name?" I stared at the smallfeatured woman holding herself as if she thought she might fall apart.

  "Belinda," Cary said.

  "What a nice name. What's wrong with her?" I looked closer at the photographs. In one she looked more comfortable, even pretty. "I mean, why did she have a drinking problem and other problems? Did anyone ever mention that?" I asked.

  "No, not really. I once heard my father say she laughed after everything she said and looked at every man as if he were her long-awaited prince, no matter how old or what he looked like."

  "How sad," I said. I studied her face a moment longer and then turned the pages. I hated having to admit it, even to myself, but Grandma Olivia had been pretty when she was younger. Grandpa Samuel was always a good-looking man. As I perused these family pictures that captured moments like birthdays, parties, afternoon outings on boats and on the beach, I wondered about Mommy's childhood. There must have been happy times living in these rich,

  comfortable surroundings. How I wished she had told me more about them. How I wished there had been an earlier end to the lies.

  May was getting fidgety and Cary was afraid she would get dirty moving around the basement so much, so we put the pictures back. I held on to the photo of Mommy and Daddy and we left the basement. We
were surprised to find the butler on the back porch, searching for us.

  "Oh, there you are. Good," he cried when he saw us coming. "I was sent to fetch you. It appears Mrs. Logan is somewhat under the weather and your father wants to take you all home."

  "Ma's sick?" Cary said. He hurried on ahead of May and me.

  Aunt Sara had apparently been struck with an upset stomach, and while we were down in the basement, she had spent most of the time in the bathroom throwing up her rich, delicious supper. Uncle Jacob looked distraught and angry.

  "Where have you been?" he snapped. "We're going home. Your mother's got the heaves."

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know."

  A maid helped Aunt Sara from the bathroom.

  "I'm sorry," Aunt Sara wailed. "I've ruined everyone's good time. I'm sorry, Olivia," she said from the doorway. Grandma Olivia was sitting on the settee, alone in the sitting room. The judge and Grandpa Samuel had been banished outside to smoke their cigars. Grandma Olivia had accused them and their smoke of turning Aunt Sara's stomach.

  "Men and their filthy habits," she remarked. "Get her some fresh air, Jacob."

  "Right, Ma. Say good night and thank you," he muttered at us. Cary paused in the doorway first and did so. Then May followed, signed, and smiled. Grandma Olivia closed and opened her eyes as a response. They followed Uncle Jacob and I paused.

  "What's that in your hand?" she demanded before I could utter a word. Apparently, she had eyes like an eagle.

  "An old picture of my mother and father," I replied.

  "So Cary's taken you into the basement," she said nodding. I thought she was going to become furious. That, on top of everything else, would turn Uncle Jacob into a volcano. However, Grandma Olivia just sighed deeply and shook her head. "I don't know why, but he and Laura used to love spending the most beautiful afternoons in that hole under the house." She caught herself and grew stiff again. "You better hurry along. Sara needs to go to bed."

  "Yes, Grandma." My heart was pounding. Cary, May, and Uncle Jacob were at the door following the maid and Aunt Sara out of the house. "I was