Candles Burning

Forty-seven

DRAWN by the growl and beat of the engine, I raced up to the crest of the dune to see it: A black-and-cream Corvette was speeding toward Merrymeeting. Maybe Mrs. Mank had traded her Porsche. I had no burning desire to see Mrs. Mank but the Corvette commanded my attention. When I reached the parking area, its engine was ticking down. The driver was next to it, taking off his sunglasses. He squinted at me and smiled.

He was one of the FBI agents who had interviewed Mama over and over at Ramparts. He had considerably less hair than he had had then, but I knew him nonetheless, and would have known him anyway once he spoke.

“Howdy, Miss Dakin,” he said. “Why are you hiding under that big hat?”

I didn’t answer his question. I had more important things on my mind.

“I know you.”

He laughed. “You are sharp. I believe you were all of seven years old the last time I saw you. You done some growing.”

“You ain’t wearing your FBI suit.”

He shook his head. “Even FBI agents take vacations, sweetheart. Your mama at home?”

I didn’t want to tell him. What if he had come to arrest us, and his Hawaiian shirt and chino pants were just a costume to make me think he was on vacation?

“Not saying anything, sweetheart, you might as well be saying yes,” he told me.

I got sassy with him. “You’re smart for an FBI agent.”

He winked at me. “I’m too big to spank. But you’re not, not yet.”

“I am eleven-gone-on-twelve,” I informed him, “and I am way too big to spank too.”

He chuckled and then asked, “Miz Verlow at home?”

I saw no harm in promptly answering, “Yes’r.”

“Show me the way,” he said, with a little bow.

I bowed back, extending my hand toward the front of the house.

He followed me around the corner and along the verandah and up the steps to the front door.

Miz Verlow was in her little office, with the door open. She stood up at the sound of our footsteps on the verandah and emerged into the shadowed foyer.

“Is it Mr. O’Hare?” she asked.

“All day,” he said.

Miz Verlow extended her hand and he grasped it.

“Welcome.”

“Pleased, ma’am.”

“He’s an FBI agent,” I told her.

Miz Verlow cocked her head quizzically.

“My day job,” Mr. O’Hare said. “Miss Dakin and I are old acquaintances.”

Merry Verlow’s smile disappeared.

“I had understood you to be a guest.” Her tone was guarded.

“I am. I am on vacation, ma’am.”

“I won’t allow any disruption, Mr. O’Hare.”

“There won’t be any,” he said. “I am here for personal reasons only. You must be aware that the investigation into the Dakin case has long been closed.”

“Indeed. Nevertheless I must ask your promise that you will not trouble any member of this household on the subject.”

“You have it,” Mr. O’Hare agreed. “Call me Gus.”

“He asked me if Mama was home.”

Miz Verlow looked at each of us in turn.

“Yes, I did,” he admitted easily. “I won’t deny that I wish to see Mrs. Dakin again.”

Miz Verlow looked to me again. “Calley, bring your mama here, please.”

I shot off to the small parlor. Even if I had not been able to hear the television, I knew that Mama was watching it. It was time for Queen for a Day.

Mama was not pleased to be summoned.

“It’s important,” I told her.

Pouting and muttering, she put out her cigarette and followed me to the foyer.

Miz Verlow and Mr. O’Hare stood as I had left them, and I knew that neither of them had said a word while I was fetching Mama.

“Mrs. Dakin,” said Mr. O’Hare.

Mama stopped dead. Her eyes widened in alarm and one hand fluttered toward her throat.

“Gus O’Hare,” he said. “We met in unfortunate circumstances.”

Mama nodded. She was rigid, fighting the urge to flee.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Dakin, I never thought ill of you and, in fact, you have been in my thoughts in a good way ever since. I happened to learn that you were here. I had vacation time coming and I wanted to see you again. To tell you that I never thought ill of you.”

Miz Verlow made an odd noise in her throat.

Mama smiled faintly.

“I did not come here to be a pest,” Mr. O’Hare continued. “I would be pleased to spend my few days of leave in this lovely place and have the pleasure of a few words with you, as few words as you might choose, Mrs. Dakin. If you wish me to go away at once, I will.”

Mama smiled slowly. “That seems fair.”

“All right then,” Miz Verlow said briskly. “Let me show you your room, Mr. O’Hare.”

Gus O’Hare gave Mama a little bow and a little nod in my direction, and set off after Miz Verlow’s wake.

Mama rolled her eyes at me. I covered my mouth. We both tiptoed back into the television room, where Mama turned the television back on and reached for her cigarettes.

“I’ve made a conquest,” she whispered to me, and giggled. I couldn’t help giggling too.

“He drives a Corvette,” I told her.

“Oh my! Admit it,” she went on in a low voice, “he’s kind of cute.”

It wasn’t what Mama said or how she said, so much as I was just old enough to grasp, at last, that Mama might one of these fine days remarry.

Mama had always attracted men. It was entirely expected that many of Miz Verlow’s male guests cast an appreciative eye in her direction. However, most of Miz Verlow’s guests were couples. The few single men who came to Merrymeeting were rarely what Mama would consider eligible.

To my relief, Mama had previously displayed great tactfulness toward both her married admirers and the occasional single one. It would not do to have anyone’s wife alarmed, nor would Miz Verlow tolerate even a flavor of scandal. So Mama never accepted a compliment from a married man without turning it back toward his wife, and her flirtations with single men were as chaste as Doris Day’s—at least under Miz Verlow’s roof and within sight and sound of Merrymeeting. Miz Verlow was too cynical, I am sure, to expect virtue; she only wanted the conventions observed, and a decent hypocrisy.

I was ignorant, of course, of sexual behavior and sexual tension, and had yet to see the primness of the times for the ludicrous charade that it was. But I was not too young to have seen Mama in action, charming men and women both into doing whatever it was she wanted them to do. I was young enough to feel very little threat and not much more interest in the first two or three single men who showed interest in Mama. Nor had I forgotten that we were bound to the island. Guests must sooner or later depart. In any case, the earliest flirtations were brief.

Mr. O’Hare continued to behave with a distinct courtliness toward Mama. He hastened to hold her chair for her at dinner, and took a chair next to her. He did not force his conversation on her, but with a strict Southern mannerliness, spoke as much to Miz Llewelyn, on his other side, as he did to Mama, and to Mr. Llewelyn, opposite him. His interest in birds seemed unfeigned and informed, without being too expert, which pleased the Llewelyns. He tried to draw Mama into the conversation about birds, describing various ones that he had seen, all of them quite common and recognizable to her, doing things that struck her as remarkable: crows that untied strings and purple martins that outsmarted squirrels at birdfeeders and that sort of thing.

Mama ate up the attention, of course. At the same time, she assessed Mr. O’Hare closely. He was aware of her appraisal, yet remained cool and unflappable. He did not resort to preening, which would have made him ridiculous, nor did he refer in any way to the previous acquaintanceship. Miz Verlow observed approvingly.

Occasionally Mr. O’Hare spoke to me, addressing me as Miss Calley, and with the warmth of an old family friend. He asked after my schooling and activities, and expressed delight at my interest in birds. My wariness softened.

He asked Mama to watch the sunset on the beach. Seeing them rise from their chairs on the verandah, Miz Verlow came to the kitchen, where I was at the sink.

“Calley,” she murmured, “Mr. O’Hare is taking your mama to watch the sunset. You had better scoot into the tall grass and eavesdrop. I’ll be waiting in my room for you to report back.”

Miz Verlow had never asked me to spy on anyone. I did not hesitate, however; Mama was going beyond our sight in the presence of a man authorized to arrest people.