IV
Morning sunlight brightened the colors of the wax flowers under glass on the high bureau that always seemed to emit the faint odor of old hair combings. Jack pulled back the diamond-patterned quilt and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He expected his mind to be busy wondering about Kesserich and his wife—things said and half said last night—but found instead that his thoughts swung instantly to Mary Alice Pope, as if to a farthest island in a world of people.
Downstairs, the house was empty. After a long look at the cabinet—he felt behind it, but the key was gone—he hurried down to the waterfront. He stopped only for a bowl of chowder and, as an afterthought, to buy half a dozen newspapers.
The sea was bright, the brisk wind just right for the Annie O. There was eagerness in the way it smacked the sail and in the creak of the mast. And when he reached the cove, it was no longer still, but nervous with faint ripples, as if time had finally begun to stir.
After the same struggle with the underbrush, he came out on the rocky spine and passed the cove of the sea urchins. The spiny creatures struck an uncomfortable chord in his memory.
This time he climbed the second island cautiously, scraping the innocent-seeming ground ahead of him intently with a boathook he’d brought along for the purpose. He was only a few yards from the fence when he saw Mary Alice Pope standing behind it.
He hadn’t realized that his heart would begin to pound or that, at the same time, a shiver of almost supernatural dread would go through him.
The girl eyed him with an uneasy hostility and immediately began to speak in a hushed, hurried voice. “You must go away at once and never come back. You’re a wicked man, but I don’t want you to be hurt. I’ve been watching for you all morning.”
He tossed the newspapers over the fence. “You don’t have to read them now,” he told her. “Just look at the datelines and a few of the headlines.”
When she finally lifted her eyes to his again, she was trembling. She tried unsuccessfully to speak.
“Listen to me,” he said. “You’ve been the victim of a scheme to make you believe you were born around 1916 instead of 1933, and that it’s 1933 now instead of 1951. I’m not sure why it’s been done, though I think I know who you really are.”
“But,” the girl faltered, “my aunts tell me it’s 1933.”
“They would.”
“And there are the papers … the magazines … the radio.”
“The papers are old ones. The radio’s faked—some sort of recording. I could show you if I could get at it.”
“These papers might be faked,” she said, pointing to where she’d let them drop on the ground.
“They’re new,” he said. “Only old papers get yellow.”
“But why would they do it to me? Why?”
“Come with me to the mainland, Mary. That’ll set you straight quicker than anything.”
“I couldn’t,” she said, drawing back. “He’s coming tonight.”
“He?”
“The man who sends me the boxes … and my life.”
Jack shivered. When he spoke, his voice was rough and quick. “A life that’s completely a lie, that’s cut you off from the world. Come with me, Mary.”
She looked up at him wonderingly. For perhaps ten seconds the silence held and the spell of her eerie sweetness deepened.
“I love you, Mary,” Jack said softly.
She took a step back.
“Really, Mary, I do.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s true. Go away.”
“Mary,” he pleaded, “read the papers I’ve given you. Think things through. I’ll wait for you here.”
“You can’t. My aunts would find you.”
“Then I’ll go away and come back. About sunset. Will you give me an answer?”
She looked at him. Suddenly she whirled around. He, too, heard the chuff of the Essex. “They’ll find us,” she said. “And if they find you, I don’t know what they’ll do. Quick, run!” And she darted off herself, only to turn back to scramble for the papers.
“But will you give me an answer?” he pressed.
She looked frantically up from the papers. “I don’t know. You mustn’t risk coming back.”
“I will, no matter what you say.”
“I can’t promise. Please go.”
“Just one question,” he begged. “What are your aunts’ names?”
“Hani and Hilda,” she told him, and then she was gone. The hedge shook where she’d darted through.
Jack hesitated, then started for the cove. He thought for a moment of staying on the island, but decided against it. He could probably conceal himself successfully, but whoever found his boat would have him at a disadvantage. Besides, there were things he must try to find out on the mainland.
As he entered the oaks, his spine tightened for a moment, as if someone were watching him. He hurried to the rippling cove, wasted no time getting the Annie O. underway. With the wind still in the west, he knew it would be a hard sail. He’d need half a dozen tacks to reach the mainland.
When he was about a quarter of a mile out from the cove, there was a sharp smack beside him. He jerked around, heard a distant crack and saw a foot-long splinter of fresh wood dangling from the edge of the sloop’s cockpit, about a foot from his head.
He felt his skin tighten. He was the bull’s-eye of a great watery target. All the air between him and the island was tainted with menace.
Water splashed a yard from the side. There was another distant crack. He lay on his back in the cockpit, steering by the sail, taking advantage of what little cover there was.
There were several more cracks. After the second, there was a hole in the sail.
Finally Jack looked back. The island was more than a mile astern. He anxiously scanned the sea ahead for craft. There were none. Then he settled down to nurse more speed from the sloop and wait for the motorboat.
But it didn’t come out to follow him.