Charmaine Morris
IT WAS Sunday, and Elaine's day off as Lareston's Police Chief. She and Darla were seated on the verandah at Warren House, sipping lemonade and watching the children play in the area before the house. Darla's daughter and Elaine's goddaughter, Samantha, was among them.
This particular Sunday was one year since Elaine's return to Lareston; an unsettling point for Darla who, time and time again, would come back to the subject of Elaine's hasty departure.
"I hate this town," Darla said.
"We all hate this town," Elaine replied, with a smile in her voice that faded when she took a sip of Darla's lemonade. Like her, Darla couldn't make a decent drink or cook, for that matter. She didn't know how Samantha ate her mother's preparations, and thought better of the child for being such an excellent liar.
"So, if we all hate this town, why'd you come back?"
Elaine was always careful with her answer. Telling Darla that when Anthony was killed and she was later shot, there wasn't much reason to go on, would remind her that Elaine had found a way out of Lareston and she, Darla, hadn't. She had been at her lowest when Thomas showed up at her hospital bed and said he was there to take her home. It'd been easier for someone else to make the decisions and she let him. Now she wasn't so sure. But she knew better than saying any of this to Darla. Instead she said: "I needed to be around people and things I knew."
Darla scoffed at her remark. "I would never have come back. Never." She pronounced the last word with an all too familiar, harsh resolve.
Darla placed the half-empty glass of lemonade on a wooden box and rose. Her hands were everywhere: she smoothed her skirt, touched her cheek, bit her nails. Her brows narrowed. There were times when it seemed Darla didn't know what to do with herself. Elaine was the only one who truly understood how Darla felt about being trapped in a place she'd rather not be. Lareston had been founded by Darla's great-great-grandmother, and subsequent generations of Warren women except for Darla's mother had it in their mind that a Warren should always be resident in Lareston. So Darla was tied by blood, and by money as well, because her grandmother had gone to pains to ensure that, outside of Lareston, Darla had nothing.
"I almost died there, Darla. I had to come back."
"I would have chosen death."
Elaine glanced towards the street. "And what about Samantha?"
Darla's face contorted in self-admonishment. She spun and hurried down the steps to the walk, rushing past Samantha and the children. Her flared skirt flapped in her wake as though she were about to take flight. Elaine made to follow.
"Leave her."
It was Thomas. He'd come from the side of the house. Thomas owned the dry goods shop on Main Street and was the self-appointed Mayor of Lareston. He knew things, and so had everyone's respect.
Elaine wondered how much he'd heard. From the look on his face, everything.
"She'll come back." Thomas hitched his hands in his pants pocket and rocked on his heels.
Elaine told him to watch Samantha. She found Darla at the edge of the lily fields, sitting where the land tumbled into the churning sea. Her legs hung over the edge. Her palms gripped the ledge to support her angled body.
Carefully, Elaine lowered herself. She placed her arm around Darla's shoulder and fixed her eyes on the young woman's face to avoid looking at the sea. Darla's features were delicate and pale, similar to most of Lareston's. The rest were darker, like Elaine.
"I'm sorry," Elaine said.
Darla slung her arm around Elaine's shoulder and playfully pulled her in for a hug. She grinned.
The following morning, a tour group visited from the hotel down the coast. They came to see Warren House and the famed lilies, which provided employment and income for all of Lareston. The tour took them through the fields, the packinghouse and shops, and then to Warren House, where it ended at the base of the stairs leading to Darla's quarters.
Elaine watched the tourists through the police station's front window as they strolled in and out of the shops, accumulating the symbolic brown and white paper bags with the large lily on the front. Anthony, too, had come on a tour bus from the hotel where he was vacationing with his family. Elaine had watched him until he crossed the street to the station, and said to her that professional attachment had brought him to ask how they got on in Lareston. One conversation led to another, to several telephone calls and secret visits, until, six months later, he proposed.
Elaine's shift ended shortly after the visitors left. Deputy Devon came to replace her. He arrived with a transistor radio and a magazine about lilies. Elaine asked him if he ever read anything else.
"It's very interesting. You should borrow it when I'm through."
She thought otherwise, but nodded just the same. She handed him the keys. "There's coffee in my office and the prisoner's asleep."
He laughed. They'd never had a prisoner.
"I won't bother the prisoner then," Devon said with a wink.
"How's Emma?"
"She's fine. The baby's coming along nicely too."
Elaine forced a smile. She and Anthony had planned for children. Now that would never happen; she couldn't see herself bearing a child for any man in Lareston. "Maybe I'll stop by later and see how she is."
"She'd like that." He switched on the radio and fiddled with the knob till he found a classical station. It was Elaine's cue to leave.
Emma was Elaine's cousin. Elaine was also distantly related to Deputy Devon, as was Darla, who was Thomas' niece. Sometimes it seemed Thomas was father to everyone in Lareston and that Lareston was an entanglement of DNA, evidenced by the absent stares of the Larestonian children. Elaine
raised her hand in goodbye and left Devon to his book about lilies. She made her way to Ilene's, the only place in Lareston for a meal if you didn't cook, or if you felt the need to dine out. Elaine hadn't gone into her kitchen in a long time. The fridge Thomas had bought when she returned was empty except for two bottles of water and a tray of ice.
Elaine searched for an empty table. She spotted Darla with Neville, the attorney who'd come from the city to handle Grandmother Warren's estate, which, for the most part, had been left in the care of the town with a monthly provision for Darla, whether she worked or not. Elaine hadn't expected to see him again, at least not so soon.
Neville cocked his head. She raised her hand. Darla saw him staring and turned. Elaine didn't have much of a choice but to respond to Darla's wave. At the table, Darla introduced Neville.
Elaine said they'd already met. She and Neville exchanged a look. Darla clapped her hand to her mouth and mumbled something about being silly. She giggled. Neville had risen and extended his hand to Elaine. She shook it. He had nice fingers.
Neville waited until Elaine was seated before lowering himself in the wooden chair - one of those Ilene had had made especially for the restaurant. The chairs were washed white with red lilies painted on the front and back of the top rails. The seat cushions were covered with a deep red fabric with giant white lily prints. Elaine was grateful for the abundance of derrieres.
The colour had risen to Darla's cheeks. Her feelings for Neville could not be hidden. She was bubbling, fidgeting with her food and talking too much, but Neville didn't seem to notice. The waitress brought Elaine's dinner, took orders from Darla and Neville and scuttled back to the kitchen.
Darla laughed at something Neville had said. Elaine was jealous. It was how she'd laughed around Anthony, even when his jokes weren't funny, because she'd learned that men liked that sort of thing.
"I could live in a place like this," Neville said.
Darla stopped mid-laugh. She recovered enough to ask Neville what he meant.
"It ... it's predictable." He squished his brows as if uncertain he'd used the right word.
"Predictable?"
"Yes. Predictable. It's nothing like the city."
"So you used to live in the country, then?" Elaine spoke before Darla could.
"My Aunt did. I used to visit her regularly." His eyes lit when he spoke of his aunt's remote farm. "But," he concluded, "she died and the farm was sold. Lareston reminds me of the town near the farm."
Darla relaxed enough to make a joke about the Larestonians disliking strangers and how they tarred and feathered them. The response was the desired one and Neville's comments were shortly forgotten.
"So, Elaine, Darla tells me you moved away for a time."
Elaine placed a forkful of food in her mouth and nodded.
"Why'd you come back?"
Darla touched Neville's sleeve and hurriedly began speaking about the lily harvest. To a stranger, and certainly to Neville, she seemed to be in love with the flowers and Lareston: the compact oatmeal buildings with the white roofs and identical gardens, save for the colour of the lily blooms.
Elaine's attention shifted from Darla to Neville. She saw two desperate people who should continue past each other. No good would come of their union.
"...Elaine would be happy to take you. Wouldn't you Elaine?"
"Sure...where" I'm afraid I wasn't listening."
'Neville wants to see the fields and the cliffs and I suggested that you should take him."
"The fields are prettiest at sunrise. We can go then, if it's not too early."
They agreed to meet at Warren House.
Elaine excused herself, saying she'd promised to look in on Emma.
Walking with Neville the next morning, Elaine talked about growing lilies and how Lareston had acquired its fame. She told him that Darla's grandmother had introduced the lilies to the town. Before that, they raised cattle and made leather goods. Business slowed because the ancestors refused to mechanize. No one thought lilies could grow in the shadow of the mountain and in the path of the sea breeze; but Grandma Warren usually got what she wanted. Now everyone in Lareston worked with the lilies or in support of them.
They stood with their backs to the sea and examined the vividness of the lily field, repeated on the postcards sold in the gift shops. The sprinklers came on and created a delicate fine mist, framed by the mountains. Elaine sensed Neville's awe and wished she could tell him not to be entirely fooled. Living in Lareston required a specialty acquired over years, or borne out of very bad experiences.
"Lareston is such an unexpected place," Neville said.
It was what the visitors all said when they came off the bus; their eyes expressed a combination of horror at the treacherous path around the mountain and child-like surprise at the sudden and beautiful spread.
"You people are very lucky. In many ways, your friend's a rich woman."
"I'm not so sure she would agree."
There was a silence.
"Why are you here, Neville?"
"I ... I had documents?"
"Is that what you were doing at Ilene's - signing documents?"
"I-"
"Just don't hurt her." Elaine held his gaze long enough for him to know that he'd been caught at whatever game he was playing. Then she led him away from the cliffs.
At Warren House they found Darla and Samantha on the verandah. Samantha was playing with her doll but it was obvious Darla was waiting. Neville knelt to examine the doll Samantha proffered. Darla took the opportunity to pull Elaine aside. In a whisper she asked if Neville had said anything about her. But Neville was once again on his feet and Elaine was prevented from answering. She exchanged brief pleasantries then said she had reports to complete. She was becoming quite skilled at creating excuses to escape uncomfortable situations.
In time Neville and Darla settled in a comfortable pattern and he became an accepted intruder.
One day, when Elaine had left the police post and was making her way up Main Street to Ilene's, she spotted Neville's car parked on the opposite side of the street, near the dry goods store. Darla and Neville were in the front. Darla leaned across and kissed Neville. Elaine watched them till the kiss ended. Then she hurried into Ilene's so they wouldn't see her.
That night, Elaine visited Darla at about the time Samantha was being put to bed. She offered to make coffee and was grateful for the reprieve to build her courage.
They took the mugs to the chairs on the verandah. Elaine held hers tightly, more for courage than warmth. Years of friendship didn't make it any easier to speak to Darla about certain matters. It was why Darla and the rest of Lareston had heard about her marriage to Anthony through letters.
But Darla had her own news - the diamond ring on the finger she wiggled beneath Elaine's eyes.
Elaine's heart fell. "When did that happen?"
"Today." Darla giggled. She threw herself back against the chair, swished her feet as if she were treading water, and gave a soft cry.
"When you two were in his car?"
"You saw us?" Darla sounded only slightly surprised.
Suddenly the coffee was tasteless. Elaine placed the mug on the floor. Certainly, this would be disaster. Neville was sure to return to Lareston, if not for his love of a small town, or Darla's wealth, then to run from his own demons. For she'd seen them in his eyes and the pallor which sometimes overcame him. What would happen when Darla found herself back in the place she'd run from" When Elaine spoke, her voice was low, the words barely discernible. "Is this what you want?"
Darla understood enough to be angry. ?How could you ask such a thing?"
"Why not wait and let some more time pass" Neville's in no hurry."
"Why? So he can get comfortable in this godforsaken place...or leave and send me a letter?"
"That's not fair."
Darla shot to her feet and Elaine found they were right back where they were weeks earlier, having the same conversation.
"You married Anthony in a heartbeat. Before anyone here knew him or knew what you were up to. You wrote me a letter! A f--king letter, Elaine! I was your best friend and you never told me."
Elaine turned to be face-to-face with Darla. "Marrying Neville's a mistake. He can't rescue you. This - " Elaine took hold of Darla's hand and lifted it so the ring was between them. "This is not happiness."
"Maybe not, but it is escape." Darla dragged her hand away, causing the stone to scrape against Elaine's finger. Elaine gave a soft cry and jammed the finger in her mouth.
"Good," Darla said and spun on her heels.
Two days later Thomas telephoned the station. He said that Elaine should come quickly. Darla had killed them.
Elaine sent word to Devon who arrived at Warren House within seconds of Elaine's shoving the front door to find Neville face down in the foyer, his right hand stretched forward. Blood stained the walls and surrounding floor and trailed away to disappear in the darkened hall.
Elaine gagged. She shoved Devon aside, intending to make it to the bushes, but vomited on the floor near the end of the verandah. She closed her eyes to drive the demons away. It"s not Anthony, it's not Anthony, it's not Anthony, she told herself.
Behind her she could hear Devon's ragged breathing and something like a whimper, as though he were crooning to a child. When she looked around, she saw that a group had gathered at the gate. She raised her hand and signalled them to stay, knowing they would. They were Larestonians. Obedience was natural.
The blood smelt like the sea and the things it threw up after a time. Samantha was on her bed. She too was bloodied, but someone had straightened her dress and smoothed her hair. Her face had been cleaned save for a smear near her chin. Elaine turned to Devon and buried her head in his shoulder. He bowed his head over hers and together they wept.
Outside in the hall, Elaine wiped her face with her sleeve. Regardless of how she felt, there were things to be done. She took a few minutes to compose herself; then through sniffles instructed Devon to fetch Doc Brown and tell Thomas to send all the disposable cameras he could find.
"And when you go outside, move the crowd further back. Ask Thomas to help if necessary."
Devon nodded. "Do you think - "
Elaine shook her head. "No questions. Just go."
Elaine and Devon had followed the blood from the foyer to the stairs and Samantha's bedroom. Elaine retraced their steps. In the foyer again, she turned left, to the withdrawing room and kitchen beyond. She followed the sound of the percolator, gurgling as if it were drowning. (After that, it would be years before Elaine could stomach the smell of coffee.)
The breakfast table was tucked in the corner, near the bay window overlooking the lily field. Darla was seated at it, her palms flat against the surface, and a bloody carving knife on the table in front of her. The white coffee mug was patterned with bloody finger prints. The engagement ring Neville had given her was also on the table. It was spotless.
Darla said, "You've come, then."
Elaine attempted to speak, but found she couldn't and remained quiet.
"You were right, you know. He chose Lareston."
"But, Darla...Samantha" How could?"
"She's better off dead."
Darla was put in the cell at the police post. Elaine watched her enter, zombie-like and pale, devoid of all expression. Elaine thought maybe she should have spoken to Neville. Made him understand how badly Darla wanted to leave Lareston. How for years she'd fed her mind on stolen books and magazines, knowing before any of the other children that another world existed outside of Lareston, and that, in that world, the people were different.
Elaine retreated to her office; she couldn't look at Darla for too long. Later, she would remember that she hadn't locked the cell and wondered if she'd done that on purpose.
Elaine was roused from a troubled sleep by a shout. She was in her office.
The fields are on fire!
The lilies are burning!
Outside, people ran up Main Street. Up ahead she saw Devon running with a very pregnant Emma. Thomas was shouting, giving instructions.
Elaine skidded to a halt at the edge of the field. The blaze was spreading. There would be no more postcards.
Shortly, they all came. Some stood frozen to the spot; others, led by Thomas, formed a human chain. They passed buckets. Devon ran to the back of the factory for a hose. He attached it to the Warren house garden pipe and stretched it as far as he could. The pipe was turned on. Devon angled the hose. The flames snatched at the liquid pouring from the hose. The stream caught fire. It leapt to the hose.
Devon reacted quickly. The smoldering hose smelt of gasolene. Darla must have used the hose to pump gas from the drums reserved for the generator and left some in it.
A scream! Fingers pointed. The human chain was forgotten, the buckets abandoned. The fire was freed. All eyes were on the cliff.
Darla!
Elaine thought she'd gone. She rushed forward but Thomas grabbed her around the waist, shouting that there was nothing she could do. Elaine struggled, almost pulling free, but no one else came to help. They were transfixed, the way crowds gathered at gruesome accident scenes are unable to tear their eyes from the horror of the mangled bodies.
Elaine stretched out her hand, calling to Darla.
Phump! Darla's body was in flames. Elaine jumped at the sound. It silenced her.
Darla's body remained stationery for an inordinately long time; then it pitched over the edge.
