THE SPENCER CLUB REUNION LASTED FAR INTO THE night and started up merrily again at breakfast. But Gwen and Mai Lee had nursing jobs to report to. Josie had a job interview to go to, and Bertha had promised to shop in New York for her numerous farm relations. The rush for hats, coats, and the front door started all at once.
“At least my jalopy is going to Crewe with you,” Gwen apologized to Cherry.
Cherry jammed on her hat. “I wish I could spend the day visiting with all of you.”
“We’ll visit tonight,” Mai Lee promised. The dainty Chinese-American girl urged the other four out of the door. “We’ll all meet here at dinner this evening.”
“At the Witches’ Cave,” Josie said. She was a rather timid girl, but she had a passion for murky, candlelit restaurants.
“We eat dinner at home,” Bertha ruled. Since Bertha was a fabulous cook, no one argued. They called good-byes to one another, and the nurses wished Cherry good luck on her extraordinary search in Crewe.
Nearly a two hours’ drive out from New York City brought Cherry into the quiet suburban town of Crewe, Connecticut. White-pillared churches, white houses with pumpkins set on their doorsteps, and the many schools and libraries reminded Cherry she was in New England. She drove along under Crewe’s flaming autumn trees, remembering the poem about New England’s “stern and rock-bound coast.”
“Well,” she thought, “I’m looking for ‘a stern and rock-bound coast.’”
Her plan was to go first to the rocky beach that Richard had described with so much unexplained agitation. It had seemed to both Dr. Hope and Cherry that of everything Richard recalled, the unnamed, disturbing incident at this place was most important to Richard. That is, if such a place actually existed. She’d better inquire.
Cherry pulled in at a gas station and asked the young man in coveralls if he knew of a beach on rough water, which had big jutting rocks.
“Sure, miss. Probably you mean Gull Point.”
“Is that a public beach, or private property, or what?”
“It’s a public park and beach. It’s open April through October.”
She followed a bus marked “Gull Point,” and after passing scattered cottages and sandy marshes, she saw from a cliff the open waters of the Sound. It was gray, churning water today, rough and angry looking. Cherry drove downhill into the park, past rows of closed bathhouses. At the edge of the empty beach she parked the car and got out. A salty wind flapped her hair and coat wildly.
She looked around rather anxiously for other people. Some workmen were repairing a dock. Cherry saw a weather-beaten elderly man wearing a park attendant’s cap, and hailed him.
He was chilly and glad of a chance to step inside a shelter and talk to Cherry.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m the caretaker at Gull Point Park, all during the season. Sam Beasley, that’s me. I’m a fixture here. Been working in this park for over twenty years.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Beasley. I’m Cherry Ames, and I need some information from you.”
He was eager to oblige. Cherry asked whether this beach happened to have any large, jutting rocks. For answer the caretaker led her out of the shelter into the wind and pointed far down the beach. She saw jagged gray rocks, taller than men, towering out over the water’s edge. The crags tallied with what Richard had visualized from the vague TAT picture. So he had remembered this place as it really was.
“Mr. Beasley, you’ve been here for many years—do you by any chance remember the Albee brothers?”
“Albee brothers? Why, of course I do! There’s an Albee family been living in Crewe for years, same as me. Crewe is the largest town around. The Albee brothers ain’t boys any longer, though. It’s twelve years, maybe fifteen, since the two of ’em used to come down to the Point, in summer vacation from school. Yes, fifteen years, every bit of it.”
Fifteen years ago, Cherry figured. Richard had been about ten or eleven years old. Let’s see. He was about that age, he’d said, when “something terrible happened.”
“What were the Albee boys like?” she asked curiously. “Or maybe you don’t remember. After all, you’ve seen thousands of boys at Gull Point.”
“I know them well,” the elderly man asserted. “I’ll tell you this. I never saw two brothers more different from each other! Different as night and day. Even before his mishap here at the beach, Merrill never was—“
“So there was an accident!” Cherry exclaimed.
“I’m coming to that. I have to admit I liked Richard a whole lot better’n the other one. Most people did.”
The park attendant said that Richard, though four years the younger, outstripped Merrill in strength, abilities, handsomeness, and pleasantness of disposition. Merrill was a nice enough boy, but Richard outshone him, effortlessly. Richard was not even aware of this. He looked up to his older brother. Merrill, though, seemed jealous of the younger boy. At the beach and in the water Merrill showed off, making the most of being four years older.
“I’d say Richard was around ten years old, and Merrill maybe fourteen, when he had that bad time in the water.”
“Merrill?” Cherry asked. “Not Richard? Was it Richard’s fault?”
“Now look, young lady. Who’s telling this story, you or me?”
Cherry grinned, apologized, and listened.
Merrill, when a teenager, occasionally undertook feats at the beach that his younger brother could not manage. He often teased Richard in front of their friends. One day he and Richard swam far out and raced each other. It was the last week in September and the beach was officially closed, so there were no lifeguards on duty.
“I don’t know whose idea it was to race, miss,” the park attendant said, “but it was a fool stunt. I was on shore and I could see Merrill was having a hard time to swim back. Richard swam up to him several times, I guess to try to help him, but Merrill wouldn’t have it. A couple of us swam out a ways, wanting to help him, but Merrill motioned us to go back. Well, he wasn’t in any real danger, just tired, and anyway Richard was alongside him, so we did go back. He made it back to shore, finally, all spent.
“And then, if you please, for all that Merrill was shaking all over and could hardly stand up, I heard him bawl Richard out—in front of their friends, again—and argue with the little fellow. Maybe Merrill felt ashamed of making a poor showing. Honestly, I never in my life saw such an expression as on the little fellow’s face.”
“What expression?” Cherry asked.
“Well, Richard was all bewildered and close to crying. And that ain’t all,” Mr. Beasley said. “After that, Merrill contracted rheumatic fever.”
Cherry knew that rheumatic fever, or inflammatory rheumatism, could start from prolonged exposure to dampness or from an infection, with children especially susceptible. She pitied Merrill for it is an extremely painful disease, and it often leaves the victim with an impaired heart. Even with good care and long rest, complete recovery is difficult to achieve. A person who has had rheumatic fever must cut down on his activities so as not to overstrain his heart. That must have been hard for a boy of fourteen, just growing up.
“Merrill was sick for a long time,” the park attendant continued. “First at the hospital, then at home. He never got really well. The experience sort of changed him, too. He never had Richard’s nice, friendly disposition, but after that, Merrill—Well, he was hard to get along with.”
From Mr. Beasley’s halting account, Cherry understood that Merrill had become a sickly, complaining boy. He had demanded special privileges and often blamed others for the results of his own shortcomings. He had been unable to go in for sports, and he did not care to take much part in other activities. As a result he had few friends. Except for Richard.
“You have to give Richard credit,” Mr. Beasley said. “He was the most devoted brother you ever saw. Even when Merrill wasn’t easy to live with. Lots of times—I live in Crewe, so I know—lots of times Richard would stay home with him, or give up good times to stay with Merrill, just because he felt sorry.”
“Do you think that was because,” Cherry asked, “Richard felt responsible or guilty about Merrill’s accident?”
“He didn’t have any reason to feel guilty, for heaven’s sakes! Merrill struggled back to shore by himself—when he needed help—to make himself look superior to Richard. Still—well, yes—I suppose you could be right. Kids get funny ideas in their heads—grownups do, too, for that matter. I do know that Richard felt bad that he grew up big and strong and won the track meets and played on the school baseball team, while Merrill had to sit on the sidelines.”
“So possibly Richard did blame himself, in some obscure way.” This might be the reason—or one reason—for her patient’s guilty, troubled feelings. Then Cherry asked, “Did Merrill have to sit on the sidelines? Couldn’t he have written for the school magazine, or belonged to the French or Latin clubs, or something else that isn’t too taxing?”
“You’re a sharp one,” Mr. Beasley said. “That’s exactly what a lot of Crewe people thought. He’s bright enough. Me, I always wondered if Merrill didn’t enjoy poor health. And maybe traded on it a little.”
“Well”—Cherry sighed—”rheumatic fever is a serious disease.”
She asked Mr. Beasley what he could tell her about the Albee brothers at the present time.
“I’d judge Richard to be about twenty-five or six by now, and Merrill around thirty. Still in poor health. The two of ’em still live with their mother in that big white house of theirs—the father is dead. Wait a minute. I heard Richard’s out of town, heard it about six months ago. Haven’t seen him around for six or seven months.”
Cherry pricked up her ears. “Do you know why he left?”
“No. Nothing special, or I would’ve heard. Everybody in town would’ve heard. Nothing unusual or alarming happened, I mean.”
So far as the town knows, Cherry thought. A secret could be well guarded. The park attendant had no other recent news of the Albees.
“Can you tell me anything about the business owned by the Albee family?”
He could tell her only that the Albee factory was located just outside of Crewe. He “guessed” that Merrill operated it—“or maybe I should say he used to. Seems to me that factory is closed down.”
“Are you sure? When did it close?”
“Well, I’m not so sure, at that. Haven’t passed by on that road recently. But I heard something about the business having its troubles. Failing, maybe.”
Cherry decided she had better visit the Albees. If the firm had closed down, that fact might be related to Richard’s breakdown. Perhaps, though, it would be wise to visit one or two more impersonal sources before she ventured into the thick of a family and business situation.
“Well, Mr. Beasley, I certainly do thank you for giving me this information.”
“Glad to be of help, ma’am.” They solemnly shook hands. Cherry was walking back to Gwen’s car when the park attendant called after her, “Hey! You didn’t tell me why you wanted to know about the Albee boys!”
She smiled and climbed into Gwen’s car. There wasn’t time to explain. Besides, as Richard’s nurse, she was pledged to keep his secrets.