Palindrome

CHAPTER 10

Liz left the cottage to wander; she didn't much care where. Since her travels with Angus Drummond had been to the north, she drove through the dunes, onto the beach, and turned south. She went slowly, savoring the morning sun. When she had driven a couple of miles, she saw a Drummond emerging from the sea. There was something cool in the smile that greeted her that made him Hamish. She stopped the Jeep, and, as he jogged toward her, she thought how impersonal the smile was. No, impersonal was not the word; unsexy was. She might have been a man, so little warmth did he emit in her direction. This pleased her, because she was not yet ready for a man; it annoyed her, too, because it pricked her pride. She was accustomed to being a beautiful woman, and even though she was still regaining her looks, she was vain enough to want a reaction from him. "Good morning," he said, stopping alongside the Jeep.

Water streamed from him, ran in rivulets through the curly blond hair on his chest, over the brown skin. She had only seen him carefully groomed before; in his present state he might have been his brother, except that she thought him a bit heavier. "What are you up to?"

"Taking in the sights," she said.

"How's the water?"

"Great. Shall I show you around a little?"

"Sure, hop in." He walked around the Jeep, grabbed a towel and some shoes from the sand, laid the towel on the seat, and climbed in.

"Onward," he said, pointing down the beach.

Liz drove on. "How long are you here for?" she asked. "Couple of weeks, maybe a month. I like it this time of the year."

"Where do you live?"

"New York. I spend a fair amount of time in London, and I have a summer place on Martha's Vineyard. How about you?"

"Atlanta, until recently."

"And where do you live now?"

"Here."

He smiled. "That's good. You'll like it."

"I already do."

"I can tell." They were nearing the southern end of the island. Hamish pointed at a track through the dunes. "Take that," he said. "We'll have a look at Dungeness."

She slowed and swung the Jeep into the sandy ruts. "I hope your grandfather won't mind."

"Not at all. He likes you."

"How do you know?" She was reminded of her conversation the night before with Keir.

"He told me so. I had dinner with him last night, and he talked of little else."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be. From what I've been told, he always had superb taste in women." She felt a need to change the subject.

"You get along well with your grandfather?"

"I always have. When my folks were killed, I guess I became grandson and son combined. He doted on me." He pointed again.

"Bear right at the fork. The left turn goes down to the mud flats at the southern tip of the island. Good clamming there, if you like that sort of thing."

"I'll keep it in mind." They were passing under trees now, and there were buildings ahead. They pulled into a courtyard and stopped. She could see various pieces of equipment in what must have been the maintenance barn, and facing that was a long stable. A teenaged boy with cafe-a-lait skin was brushing a gray horse under a huge live oak tree.

"Morning, James," Hamish called.

"Hey, Hamish," James replied, waving his brush.

"This is Elizabeth Barwick."

"Hey," he said, grinning.

"Hey, James," she said.

"Come on," Hamish said, "I'll show you a small sight." He led her from the courtyard down a path through some trees. After a minute's walk, they emerged into a clearing at the edge of a salt marsh, and a low wall was before them. As they neared, tombstones became visible. "The family plot," Hamish said, pushing open a wrought-iron gate. A large stone dominated the graveyard.

Liz read the inscription. "Aldred Drummond, Master of Cumberland Island, 1740-1829."

"And master he was," Hamish said. "He ruled this island like a king. They say he hanged a few men who deserved it."

"How did he happen to come here?" Liz asked.

"He got the island in a king's grant in 1765. Eleven years later he was at war with his king. He was meant to be a delegate from Georgia at the signing of the Declaration of Independence, but he was delayed en route. Button Gwinnett replace him.

"He was almost a father of his country," Liz said.

"Almost." He moved along a row and stopped at another stone. "My parents are here, in the same grave," he said.

"Germaine told me about their deaths."

He waved a hand. "A scattering of other Drummonds, and then this."

He showed her to a very old stone,

Sacred to the memory of

General Henry Lee

of Virginia, Obiit 25 March 1818,

age 63.

which lay horizontally over a border of bricks.

"He was Light-Horse Harry Lee, Robert E. Lee's father," Liz said. "How did he come to die here?"

"He fell ill on a ship that was passing Cumberland and was put ashore here to die." Hamish pointed at another stone, this one lying horizontal, covering the grave.

Liz read the inscription.

The remains of General Henry Lee were

removed under an act of the General

Assembly of Virginia to Lexington Virginia

May 28, 1913.

Hamish continued, "Old Aldred buried him in the family plot, and when the remains were moved to Virginia, the family kept the grave as it was."

"I don't recall ever seeing an empty grave in a cemetery."

"Nor do I." Hamish chuckled. He looked around the little graveyard. "I always thought I'd be buried here someday, but I guess not."

"Why not?"

Hamish pointed to the edge of the marsh, only a few feet away. "The sea has come too close over the years. As it is now, if we got a big spring tide and a southeasterly gale at the same time, the place would be flooded. Grandpapa's having all the graves moved inland a bit, to higher ground. He's got a professor and some students from the Anthropology Department of the University of Georgia coming down to do the job soon. The graves are too old just to be dug up and the coffins transplanted.

This place needs a finer touch, and Grandpapa is anxious that as little as possible be disturbed. He'd planned on being buried here, too, and he's disappointed about that, but he's not anxious to have the sea coming into his grave."

"It's a nice place. I wouldn't mind lying here until Judgment Day."

Hamish smiled his cool smile. "All you have to do is marry a Drummond."

"A high price to pay," she said jokingly. "Are you married?"

"I was; it didn't work out. We were married in New York on rather short notice-a mistake for both of us, really, except for my son, Aldred."

"Do you see much of him?"

"Not as much as I'd like, but I get him for a while in the summer. He's five, now; when he's a little older I'd like him to spend his summers here."

Liz got the Jeep started and, following Hamish's directions, drove toward the main house. They passed a row of old automobiles, rusting to bits. There was an early-fifties Studebaker convertible among them. "My father used to have a Studebaker," she said, pointing at the car.

"I'm afraid that when things stop getting used around here they just get left where they stand," Hamish said. He pointed out a large collapsed building as they passed. "That was the gymnasium. It housed a pool and a squash court. It just fell in on itself one day."

"Such a waste," she said.

"There were other things on the island that needed the money more, I guess. Grandpapa keeps up the roads and everything else himself."

The huge main house lay before them. It was the first time Liz had seen it.

"Grandpapa's jeep is gone," Hamish said. "He's out there prowling around his island. One of these days we're going to find him dead in that jeep."

"There are worse ways to go," she said.

They passed through the arched gateway and onto the main north-south road.

"Can you drop me at the inn?" he asked.

"Sure." They drove on in silence until the turn for the inn appeared. She dropped him at the back door. As he got out of the Jeep, Germaine appeared. "Some mail for you, Liz," she said, handing over a thick envelope.

"Thanks," she replied, glancing at the envelope. It was from Al Schaefer. "Thanks for the tour," she said to Hamish. "Come up to Stafford Beach Cottage for a drink sometime."

"Sure," he replied, waving as he passed through the screen door into the kitchen. He won't come, she thought as she drove away. She wasn't sure why, but she knew he wouldn't. Back at the cottage, she opened the letter from her lawyer. "Dear Liz," Al had scrawled on a notepad, "I thought you might like to have this. Hope all is going well. Let me hear from you if there's anything you need." She unfolded the attached document. It was her final divorce decree. For the first time in weeks she laughed aloud.