The cottage was a simple square structure of four rooms, living area, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. Maggie hadn’t asked her brother to describe the surroundings of the other rooms, preferring a white, amorphous background that she could decorate in her mind.
The soft cushions of the rattan couch and chair felt worn and faded. She’d made them a muted blue and gray, adorned with a shell pattern. The cushions were pink to accent the shiny underbelly of the shells on the coffee table and bookshelves. Just like when she was a child.
When she was nine, she'd come to Gull Island, her parent's idea of practical therapy for a child's phobia. She’d nearly drowned the year before on a family fishing trip, and ever since had been terrified of water.
For the summer, she'd stayed with her Aunt Louise, a captive audience to her aunt's oddities and yet charmed in the way children are entranced by honesty, freedom, and daring. She'd learned, in those three months, how to make popcorn yellow or red or blue, how to paint on the floors or in bottles with colored sand, and how to find the most perfect shells. Aunt Louise had shown her how to tie-dye her blouses, how to weave placemats using dried marsh grasses, and where to look for coyote prints among the dunes. On rainy days, when ennui gripped both adult and child, they'd sat together on the sagging couch and talked or read.
By the time the summer had ended, Maggie knew that she might never overcome her fear of water. But she had discovered two other important truths of her life - she would forever love Aunt Louise, and she wanted to be an archeologist when she grew up.
The cottage suddenly felt lonely, as if it missed those days.
Two windows in the bedroom faced the ocean. The first refused to open despite her efforts. The second was marginally easier. Grabbing the two handles at the bottom, she jerked with all her strength, nearly falling out the window when it slid upward.
A brisk breeze stirred the curtains, blowing them over her head. She brushed them out of the way and leaned her elbows on the sill, staring in the direction of the ocean. Whitecaps would be dotting the water, and waves would be pounding the sand.
November on the Texas coast meant that tourists went home. For a few weeks nothing happened. The temperature was still in the eighties and summer lingered. Then, one morning, the skies turned leaden and the sea was colored black, both harbingers of winter.
She could feel the warmth of the sun on her arms and wondered if she had the courage to return to Gull Island this winter.
“Hello."
The voice was so unexpected that Maggie jumped, banging the top of her head on the bottom of the window.
"Vicki?"
“I was rude, wasn’t I? I do apologize. I should have said something to let you know I was here."
Maggie rubbed the top of her head and ruefully smiled. “Apology accepted. Have you been here long?" Again, that feeling of being observed without her knowledge annoyed her.
“No, I haven’t. It would be insufferably rude to stare.”
“Yes, it would,” Maggie agreed. “Are you never rude?”
“I’m not supposed to be. My family prides itself on our manners. I’m the daughter of a duke, you see, and we are supposed to be above reproach."
Maggie smiled. When she was a little girl, she’d imagined herself Cinderella, but she’d never once confessed that secret to another living soul. Vicki’s confidence amazed her.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked. “I haven’t any tea, but I think I can scrape up some hot chocolate."
“I should like to, thank you. If you’re certain it wouldn’t be an imposition."
She’d not slept well the night before, and she'd been set to indulge in a little self-pity. Any diversion was welcome, especially this fascinating child.
“Come in,” she said pulling out of the window. After making her way through the labyrinth of living room furniture, she opened the front door.
“I’m here,” Vicki said. A small hand reached out and rested on her arm.
Once again, she was surprised at the perception of the nine year old.
"Do I call you Your Highness?" Maggie asked.
“Actually, I'm Victoria Elizabeth Agatha. Isn't that a hideous combination? I don’t mind the Victoria Elizabeth, but I shudder at Agatha. I was named after an obscure aunt," Vicki added for clarification.“However, as the daughter of a duke, I outrank a countess, even if I marry a commoner."
Maggie wondered if the child chattered on like this all the time.
“What is your name?” Vicki asked.
“Maggie. Maggie Carlisle.”
“Shall I sit on the couch, Miss Carlisle?”
“Maggie is better. Please sit where you’re comfortable."
“My nanny says familiarity is the cornerstone of a failing civilization. But I shall call you Maggie if you call me Vicki."
“Your nanny has a great many opinions,” Maggie said, amused.
The child sighed. "She does, and they seem to all be directed at me. May I help you with the chocolate?”
“If you’d like,” Maggie answered, walking into the kitchen. A moment later she heard soft footsteps.
“I’m here,” Vicki said, alerting her to her presence once more.
“Has anyone ever told you that you don’t act very child-like?" Maggie asked, turning on the electric burner beneath the kettle.
There was silence while Vicki seemed to consider the statement. “Very often,” she said. “But only those few visitors who come to Andover.”
“Your castle?” she asked, humoring the child’s imagination.
“I never think of it that way,” Vicki admitted. “It’s just home. It’s been in our family for hundreds and hundreds of years."
Maggie opened the cupboard below the counter, but the tray wasn’t there. One more thing about being blind that she hated; she had to have an excellent memory of what she’d done last. There were no visual clues.
"I'm afraid it's instant hot chocolate," she said.
"I shall be very glad of anything. Thank you."
What a strange and lovely child.
She emptied the contents of an envelope of instant hot chocolate into each cup, then poured boiling water from the kettle. She'd gotten so good at this task that she didn't burn herself once. She stirred both cups with a spoon, wondering where she put the tray.
“We don’t get many visitors to Andover," Vicki said. "Father doesn’t like strangers. Even though Charlie will go off to school in two years and, of course, I'll continue at Lady Hathaway’s, we are still insulated. At least that's what Nanny Bryce says."
"Is it a bad thing being insulated?"
"It's limiting. I’ve not met many Americans."
“I've not met many daughters of dukes,” Maggie said, smiling.
She reached under the sink, hoping that nothing of the insect variety was waiting for her. Yet another thing about being blind she hated. She wasn't fond of spiders, and the idea of accidentally encountering one made her shudder.
"Are you blind for good?" Vicki abruptly asked.
"I'm afraid so."
"Is that a question that I shouldn’t have asked?"
“There really isn’t a bad question, is there?” Maggie said, reaching into the next cupboard over, finding the brass tray with relief. She loaded it with both cups, added a few napkins and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
"You sound like Father. He says there is no bad question. I've never known a blind person before. Is it really as beastly as I think it must be?"
"It has its moments," Maggie said, picking up the tray.
“Shall I take that?” Vicki asked.
“It’s not necessary. Just stay behind me and I’ll navigate into the living room."
She made it to the couch without incident and placed the tray on the coffee table. Sitting, she waited until Vicki sat beside her before handing her the cup.
“I have marshmallows if you’d like,” she said.
“Thank you, no. This is wonderful. Thank you for all your trouble on my behalf." The tone was well practiced, the words formally delivered.
“What's your father’s name?” Maggie asked cautiously, beginning to believe that Vicki was no ordinary child.
“Richard, Duke of Lancaster, but of course, I call him Father. Have you heard of him?"
She had, of course, but only in a distant way. The tabloids loved him, featuring him in full color spreads. A handsome man, she remembered, but couldn’t quite recall his face.
“My brother, Charlie, looks just like Father. But right now he’s just a difficulty."
“A difficulty?”
“He’s only four and has the manners of a toad."
Maggie smiled. “Little brothers are a pain,” she said. “I have a younger brother and I know that I used to feel that way. But it passes."
“Father says that we must hope for the best and that Charlie will grow up eventually. I only hope that he will change as he does, because he's awfully silly now.”
"Who do people say you look like?"
"I've long black hair and blue eyes and they say I'll be a beauty one day although I can't see how that will happen. I look like my mother, mostly, with a little of my paternal grandmother thrown in, I expect. I think I'd like mostly to look like myself, instead, but I don't suppose that's possible what with DNA and inheriting stuff from other people."
"Good heavens, are you studying that already?"
"I'm known to be bright, which I suppose means that I have a brain like a sponge. I don't forget what I read and that's a lot, even if they do take away the most interesting books. And, I've a computer, but I'm only allowed on for an hour each day. Nanny Bryce says it’s addictive, which is just another word for interesting."
Maggie imagined that Vicki’s nanny had her hands full with the child.
"She does the oddest things, sometimes, like marching us up and down the garden before tea if she thinks we haven’t had enough exercise. It's embarrassing, being paraded around like pets."
“Is she with you now?"
“Oh no, she’s been given a real holiday. She’s gone to Spain. She wants Sangria and sun."
“You really are a very special child. I'm beginning to think you are a daughter of a duke.”
“Did you think it a falsehood?” Vicki sounded amazed.
“Perhaps just an active imagination,” Maggie said truthfully.
Vicki didn’t say anything in response and for a moment they sipped their hot chocolate in silence.
“I wouldn’t lie about such a thing,” Vicki said finally.
“What are you doing in Texas?”
“I’m not supposed to know." Once again, the child’s voice changed, the tone now one of reluctance.
“Then you mustn’t say,” Maggie said. “Especially if it’s privileged information."
“I’m not certain it’s a secret,” Vicki offered. “I think my father doesn’t wish me to worry about him. My mother died three years ago, you see, and it’s the anniversary of her death. I think we’ve been brought here so that we don’t remember."
“I am sorry,” she said, feeling a surge of pity for the child. “It must be very difficult losing your mother."
Vicki didn’t answer, and in a swift, biting moment of regret, Maggie wished she could see the child’s face.
“Yes,” Vicki said. “It is."
For a moment the nine year old girl felt oddly like her contemporary.
"Will you get a guide dog? Or don’t you like dogs?"
“I love dogs,” Maggie said. “I just don’t know if I’m ready for one yet."
Another bit of honesty she offered in exchange for the child’s candor.
“Charlie wants a dog. But Nanny says it isn't a proper influence." Vicki sighed. "Everyone spends a great deal of time worrying about our influences. They don't want us watching too much telly and they monitor our purchases even at the book shop. Everyone thinks anything we see or hear will make an indelible impression on us."
It was impossible not to like this child with her adult-like composure.
“I cannot imagine anyone believing that of you,” Maggie said. “I think you would decide on your own what to think."
“What a delightful compliment. Thank you." There was a click of china against brass and a wiggle of the cushions beside her as Vicki sat back.
“Would you like some more hot chocolate? Or a cookie?"
“Thank you, no. If I spoil my appetite for lunch, I’ll just have to explain it to Harold.”
“Your tutor?"
Childish laughter greeted that question. For the first time since she’d met her, Vicki sounded like a child.
“Harold? No, he’s Father’s secretary. But he’s really more than that. Father says he can do everything."
The first man she’d met on the beach. An unctuous voice, one that belonged to a man accustomed to serving the whims of the royals.
“My lessons are faxed to me every day,” she said, sighing again. “This isn’t my holiday, I’m afraid.”
“But you’ve escaped for awhile."
“I’m to take a bracing walk along the beach,” Vicki confessed.
“But you’re here instead.”
“You’re a great deal more interesting than the ocean."
“Now that is a delightful compliment,” Maggie said, charmed.
“But I truly should go now. The island isn’t that large."
“And you’ll be missed."
“Yes." That sigh again. “Father is very protective. He’ll be looking for me."
“That’s not a bad thing, Vicki."
“Oh, I know,” the girl said. “He’s a very good parent. My mother was killed in an automobile accident. I remember thinking that I was so very grateful Father wasn’t with her. Do you think God heard me?”
“I’m certain He did,” Maggie said gently. “But I’m sure He understood."
“I was only six at the time."
Maggie placed her cup on the tray and settled back against the cushions.
“Father was always a good parent before that,” Vicki said, “but he didn’t dislike strangers so much. Everyone is very nosy about him."
“Are they?"
“It isn’t just being a duke,” Vicki said. “It’s that he’s a widower now. And handsome. They call him a great many names."
Maggie was left without a thing to say.
“He isn’t debauched or desolate, of course. He courted the Countess of Bledham for awhile, but they decided finally just to be friends. I was very relieved. She wouldn’t have been a proper stepmother, I’m afraid."
“Does your father know how you feel?”
“Oh no,” Vicki said. “He would be horrified that I knew he was dating at all. He has no idea how the servants gossip about him, you see. I’m not about to tell him. He thinks that Andover is sacrosanct."
“But it isn’t.”
Vicki sighed again. “It’s him, I’m afraid. Everyone is fascinated with him."
Maggie recalled the clipped, formal voice of Vicki’s father. “I imagine he hates that."
“Do you want to build a sand castle tomorrow?”
The change of topic was so sudden that it caught Maggie off guard.
“Tomorrow?"
“Or we could play a game. I’m allowed an hour to myself after lunch while Charlie naps."
“What would we play?"
“Oh, I see. That would be a difficulty, wouldn’t it? You can’t play cards, can you?"
“There are Braille cards, but I haven’t any."
“Shall I come anyway?”
Touched by the loneliness in the girl’s voice, Maggie wanted to say yes. Instead, she was cautious. “What would your father say?"
“I think he would agree, but perhaps…" She hesitated, and the interval stretched out so long that Maggie turned in her direction.
“He’ll come and see you, of course. Father always wants to know what I’m doing. But could you not tell him that I told you? Not that I wish you to lie,” she added hurriedly. “But he’s very protective of his privacy."
“I understand,” Maggie said, smiling.
“So you won’t tell him?"
“I won’t," Maggie said. wondering what one wore when being interrogated by a duke.