“She sure looked like one, Miss Persis. Got a face on her ’bout a hundred years old, nose and chin coming as near one another as the parts of a nutcracker, and her eyes all sunk in. But she isn’t blind—she could see good enough with them eyes. I wouldn’t want to have her overlookin’ me with ’em—not if she took some sort of a spite to me.
“After they were gone, cook tells me as how this witch woman has powers all right. Indian she is, but not like the rest of the Indians hereabouts. They’re all afraid of her, too. She speaks as good as a Christian if she wants to and she has healing powers. She brings Mrs. Pryor leaves and herbs and such things for nursing. Mrs. Pryor is well known for a nurse. Did all the doctoring on the Key before the real doctor came.
“And the Captain, he lets this old witch come around and gives her what she wants—’cause of those other Indians—the raiding ones. As long as this here Askra is friendly, then maybe they won’t try to move in. They say as how it was her people who lived here a long time ago, and built their houses on mounds. Askra, she comes to talk to the ghosts of the Old Ones. Leastways that is what they say in the kitchen. Sounds like a lot of real nonsense, only when you see them eyes of hers lookin’ you over you begin to wonder a little.”
Persis was amazed at the new angle of life on Lost Lady Key. The figure she had seen disembark from the canoe, that must have been Askra. And that the very correct Mrs. Pryor would accompany such a visitor anywhere was another surprise.
“They’re talking about trouble comin’, them in the kitchen. More than just this witch.” Molly dearly loved to gossip, but it was seldom she had such unusual material to work with. “They don’t take kindly to that ship out there,” she gestured to the window. “One of the men has gone to warn the Captain about it. Seems like the Captain don’t want to be neighborly with this Grillon. They had a run-in ’bout six months back over some wrecking business. Grillon, he has no right in these waters and the Captain warned him off. But Miss Lydia took a shine to the man and if he comes courtin’ she’s partial to it. Now this Grillon says as how he needs fresh water, his casks got stove up and stalted in the storm. So he comes here. But they think downstairs as how he really came to spark Miss Lydia, knowing somehow that the Captain ain’t here.”
Persis went back to the window. Yes, there was now a long boat midway between the Stormy Luck and the wharf, near enough for her to see it carried some barrels. Water was scarce in the Keys, even Key West had to be supplied by shipped-in water when their rain-filled storage tanks began to fail. But Lost Lady was unique (which probably accounted for its long habitation by different peoples) in that it had a spring of fresh water, jealously cherished by the islanders, as the captain of the Arrow had told them one night.
“All this is none of our business, Molly.”
“Maybe so, Miss Persis. But when Captain Leverett gets back there is goin’ to be such a rumpus—if this Grillon is still here—as will make you think you are back in a storm again. Now, I’ll just take these and see what can be done to freshen them up.” She scooped up an armload of dresses, petticoats, and underlinen and went out.
Persis settled on a chair by the window. When Captain Leverett returned—yes, she could well imagine that that great giant who had seized her so roughly would not take easily to having his orders disobeyed. This was his room, too, and she had no right here. If Uncle Augustin were only as well as he had been when they left New York. But she was sure she dared not suggest transporting him now, unless there came a sudden change for the better in his condition. She watched the wharf and the incoming boat. Her fingers nervously pleating the edge of her apron. What should she do?
Life in New York had never been this complicated. It had revolved with slow and undisturbed dignity (if a little dully at times) about Uncle Augustin’s routine, so regularly kept that Persis could chart her employment for hours ahead. Then she had been bored. Now she wished herself back in that snug safety where there were no storms, either human or natural, and all the rest which seemed about to beset this house.
Finally she arose and went to her uncle’s chamber, tapping softly. The door opened and she faced Shubal who looked even more worried and shrunken. His finger was at his lips, already urging silence as she squeezed through the small space he did not quite dare bar. He hissed at her in a half whisper:
“He’s asleep, Miss Persis. But I don’t like the look of him at all, no I don’t.” He shook his gray head. “I wish that our Dr. Lawson could see him. He knows the master, all about what ails him—”
„I am told that the doctor here is very good.”
Shubal shrugged. “That is as may be, Miss. But he ain’t knowed the master for years, like Dr. Lawson. And the master—he’s worse than he’ll let on. Seems like he called on all his strength to make this here trip and now that’s giving out on him—fast. He won’t take no more food. Just tells me not to bother him when I bring it. But how can he keep up his strength when he won’t eat?”
There was a querulous note in Shubal’s voice. He twisted the fingers of one vein-ridged hand in the other. During the years he had been with Uncle Augustin, his master had been the true center of his life.
“When he awakes, Shubal, let me talk with him. I know you are doing all that you can, but maybe he might listen a little to me.” Persis was not sure of that, but she had to answer the pleading in the old man’s eyes.
“Miss Persis, I think—” Shubal’s quavering voice broke and his eyes dropped. Once more Persis felt that stab of fear. She knew very well what Shubal feared. It lay like a cloud over her mind also. And Uncle Augustin had never meant as much to her as he did to Shubal.
“We must keep from such thinking,” she said gently, “we must just hope. After all, wasn’t he much worse right after the first attack, Shubal? And then he surprised even Dr. Lawson when he made such a good recovery.”
“He was in his own home then, Miss Persis—and—” Shubal’s thin old voice cracked as he went to the foot of the bed.
Persis stood by the door. Her first fear was blossoming into a panic she fought against. She would have to, for she would be the one to make decisions now, take the responsibility. And she shrank from that. Going back to her own chamber she sat once more in the chair by the wide window. The wind blew steadily and cleanly from the sea, cooling her flushed face. There she sat and tried to think of the future.
Uncle Augustin must now believe that he would never reach the Bahamas. He was a man who never before had discussed any such affairs with her, who had shut her out from this family secret. He had told her because he believed she would now be the one to carry on.
And here she had no Mr. Hogue to depend upon. None save herself. Shubal, Molly—they would look to her, not she to them. She felt very young and frightened. But she was not stupid. A long buried core of stubbornness arose in her to give resolution. There were men of law in Key West, and she could ask that one of honesty and integrity be named to aid her.
The thought of going back to New York crossed her mind, fleetingly—to be discarded at once. What would face her there but broken fortunes, a future so dark it had driven Uncle Augustin to make this trip, and he was not a man to be frightened by shadows. So if there was this estate waiting in the Bahamas, then it would be up to her to claim it.
Persis drew a deep breath. She did not like what she thought might lie ahead, and she longed for someone to depend upon for advice. But if that was the way the future was going to be, she must be prepared to face it.
Decisions could be made, but the means of carrying such out was another matter. She had no idea what funds Uncle Augustin could control now. There was this matter of the wrecker’s fee for example—