“Tonight, please. You must.” His hands cupped my face. “You must go home, far from here. You are not… you must. I love you as I have always loved you. But tonight, go home.”
He walked away from me. I stared after him, incredulous. I had missed our nights together. I had dreamed about them time and time again as I had prayed that he would return from the war.
My father emerged from the study. “Jules, we must go home, and let these fine folks rest for the night.”
“But-” I began.
“Jules, please,” my father insisted.
Brent stared at me. He was not going to help me. And even Janey Sue, next to Brent, appeared to be a little lost.
I had no choice but to leave with my father. I was not invited to stay.
The next morning, fishermen from Douglas Island boarded the schooner which had brought Johnny home, but not into the docks.
The schooner was empty. There was not a soul aboard her.
My father, commonly looked upon as the people’s leader on the island as we had no mayor or other governmental structure there, listened gravely to the men, then announced that we’d be going out to Fairhaven to speak with Johnny while he sent other men in one of our fastest ketches to alert the proper authorities on the mainland.
Brambles, deeply distressed, opened the door. He told my father that Johnny was doing poorly. He would get Mr. Brent.
Brent, looking worn, came to the foyer and led us into the study. My father told Brent about the lack of a crew or other passengers on the schooner. Brent listened gravely. I thought his face became more ashen as he did so.
“That’s quite a mystery,” Brent said.
“Surely, Johnny can tell us something!” my father said.
“Johnny is sedated right now; he had a very hard night,” Brent said. He grimaced. “I have laudanum, for my hip, you know. Johnny needed sleep, very badly,” he said.
“Well, I must speak with him. Authorities will come from the mainland, and they will demand to know something,” my father said.
Brent nodded. He looked like a man under torture. Still, I was resentful. I was convinced he was jealous of Johnny, and that he was hiding something.
“May I see Janey Sue?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “She is resting, as well.”
“Brent, damn you-!”
“Jules!” My father said with horror. “The war is over. We will not become animals because it existed, or because it is over!”
Brent looked away. “It’s all right, Mr. Shelby. I realize that my own behavior must appear far less than hospitable. Forgive me.”
I wanted to slap his face. My father, however, had my elbow. He apologized for me, and we were quickly out of the house.
“He’s doing something to Johnny-it’s Brent. Father! Maybe he’s trying to kill him. Brent would probably like to inherit the property. You must stop him!”
My father looked at me. He was grave, but didn’t share my fear or my passion. “Child, war is hard on the women who wait. It is devastating to the men who fight, who stare at their fellow human beings, sometimes look them in their eyes, and shoot them or stab them through with their knives or bayonets. Let it be; we will see. Brent knows that Johnny must answer to me. Give it the day.”
I had no intention of giving it a day. I rode out to Johnny’s beautiful Fairhaven, and I came around the back. I left Mathilda, my horse, behind the stables, grazing on long grasses, and I slipped through the kitchen door. I knew my way around the house, and I looked out for both Brambles and Mable as I climbed the stairs.
What I found horrified me.
Johnny’s room had been boarded; there were nails imbedded in the wooden planks that now walled him in. I walked to the door and called his name.
He did not answer. I tried and tried, and then hurried down the hall to Janey Sue’s room. Her door was not barricaded, but she wasn’t there.
I slipped from the house, furious now. Brent was locking his cousin away! What had he done with Janey Sue?
I rode hard, straight back to my home, determined that my father was going to do something, and do that something now. But he wasn’t there, and as I stood in the parlor of our home on Main Street, not far from the docks, I heard the shouting.
The sound was distant, but so loud it carried on the breeze. I left the house and ran down Main Street until I reached the long boardwalk that stretched out so that the larger ships could avail themselves of the deep harbor, and there, found the reason for the horror. People had backed away, but they were in a circle around something on the dock.
I pushed through the crowd.
And I saw what they saw.
Bodies. White, swollen, and bloated, and torn to shreds. They had been gnawed upon.
Eaten.
“Sharks,” someone cried. “The water is infested!”
“This was not a shark attack,” one of the older fishermen said. He shook his grizzled head, rubbing his chin. “This is not a shark attack. I’ve seen what the big fellows can do to a man left in the water. The bodies are… not missing any limbs. They’ve been chewed by something. But not a shark.”
As I stood there, Brent arrived at the docks. He pushed his way through the crowd until he could stare at the bodies. He became the color of burnt ash, and he turned around without a word, and strode back to his carriage.
I ran after him. I caught him at the end of the dock, grabbed his shoulder, and forced him to face me. He stared at me for a minute as if he didn’t even see me. I slapped him across the face, I was so scared and furious. “What is going on, Brent, damn you, what is going on? I went to the house. I saw what you did to Johnny, and I will not stand for it, do you hear me?”
He did then. The slap had angered him, but it had brought him back to the reality of the moment-and me, forcing the issue, in his face.
“Go away, Jules,” he said duly. “Go away, and lock yourself in your house. Better yet, take your father and go far, far away.”
“You have lost your mind, Brent. What are you going on about? What is happening?”
He hesitated, but then indicated the tavern on Main Street. He set an arm around my shoulder and led me toward it, and around to the benches that sat outdoors to where, in better times, many a fisherman and farmer had gathered together to drink beer and eat their noon meals.
Now, the area was empty, and he made me sit down.
Across from me, he closed his eyes for a moment as if gathering both his strength and his sense of sanity, then, he looked at me. “There’s something really wrong with Johnny.”
“What?” I demanded. “I know he has been at war. I know he might have been injured, I know that many men bear mental wounds, that they’ve seen things, but…”
“You saw the men on the dock,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. “I’ve seen just a similar thing- before.”
“Go on,” I said, frowning, and truly puzzled. Maybe Brent had returned more damaged than any of us had imagined.
He let out a breath and looked at the moss dripping from one of the old oaks that bordered the small outdoor dining area. He didn’t want to look at me.
“It was at Cold Harbor,” he said.
I shook my head, still trying desperately to understand what he was talking about. I placed my hands on his. “Brent, Cold Harbor was a victory for Lee. I know that dead men are still dead men, and I know that more than two
