CHRISTINA WAS ON THE wharf, waiting for her mother to come in on Frankie’s boat. It was a clear day: The sea was sparkling glass. Christina felt as if she could see through the curving horizon of ocean all the way to Burning Fog Isle. She loved the wharf: the stacks of lobster traps, the lapping water, the clacking of ropes and chains against flagpoles and masts.
Benj stood as solid as the wooden pilings on which the wharf was built. “Chrissie, what is all this about? Mr. Gardner wouldn’t tell me. The Shevvingtons wouldn’t tell me. And now you won’t tell me, either.”
She could not tell him.
The night had been so long. There had been storms, and every streak of lightning and every boom of thunder seemed to call her name. The ocean had raged, hurling itself against the cliff, the waves reaching for Schooner Inne like drowning sailors trying to get out of the water.
She had not slept. She had lain in her warm bed, in her room of fire and islands, and thought of Val, alone in the darkness of the cellar.
At two in the morning she got up. She slid out of bed, slid out of her room, slid toward the stairs — only to find Mr. Shevvington standing there, still in his suit, as if he never undressed, as if he had come that way: tailored and pinstriped and perfect, like a Ken doll you zipped back into its carrying case when you were done playing with him. “Going somewhere, Christina?” said Mr. Shevvington, and he laughed.
“I’m getting a drink of water,” she said with dignity.
“The bathroom is the other way,” said Mr. Shevvington, smiling, enjoying himself.
Did the Shevvingtons know about the alone, creeping up, swarming around their ankles, trying to pull Christina and Val both underwater, to drown in the ocean of their minds? They must. Perhaps they were the alone.
She had gotten a drink of water. And stood in the bathroom and wept, because she could not check on Val. Could not tiptoe down and cuddle her in the dark, in the endless night.
I’m wrong, Christina had thought, lying in bed again. I shut her up for no reason. I can’t save Val from anything. I’m only making it worse.
She tried to imagine spending an entire night down there in that cellar.
“Talk to me, Christina!” said Benjamin on the way to the dock to meet Christina’s mother the next morning.
She laughed. It was a queer, shaky laugh, because she had had no sleep to back it up. “That’s good coming from you,” she teased, “who only started talking last week.”
Christina stared at Schooner Inne, where she had learned about Evil. The glass in the high cupola caught the morning sun and blinded her. She decided to test Benj. See if he could understand. “Think of Anya,” she said to him, picking her words carefully. “The Shevvingtons chose Anya as a victim. They attacked her in every way. Humiliating her, setting her up, terrifying her, undermining her courage. She began to lose her mind. And then her looks, her character, her grades. That’s evil, Benj. It’s the Shevvingtons’ hobby. And with me, with Val, they —”
“Christina, stop it! Anya was trying too hard. She got too nervous to stay in school and she dropped out for a while. It happens to a lot of kids. They take a little rest and they’re fine. There is no evil, Chrissie, no plot.”
Christina was exhausted and desperate. But Benjamin Jaye was furious. Every bone, every muscle was tight and full of anger. “The reason you’ve had problems with Mr. and Mrs. Shevvington is your bad attitude, Chrissie. You made up your mind from the beginning not to get along. The very first day in September when we got off Frankie’s boat, you were spoiling for a fight. And when spooky things happened, you blamed them on the Shevvingtons. I thought you were making everything up. When we found out about the Shevvingtons’ insane son, and that you were right, we apologized, Chrissie. But you still wanted the Shevvingtons to be evil. Evil, evil, evil! That’s all we heard from you.” Benj took a breath. His lungs filled, his T-shirt stretched, his big shoulders lifted and stayed there. “Christina, some people are dumb and some are mean and some lose their minds, but nobody is evil.”
He wants the world to be like himself, thought Christina. Solid and secure and comprehensible. He wants a perfect match: engines that work, tides that change, people who are reliable. Once I thought the world was like that. I thought all parents were like my parents: perfect and loving. I thought all teachers were like my teacher on the Isle: good and kind. I thought all grown-ups could be trusted.
On land and sea, motors roared. Sea gulls screamed and dipped. Benj let out his breath. Like a summer person he stared at the sea and the eternal waves, hoping the rhythm of the world would ease his tension.
Frankie’s boat was visible. Her mother would be standing by the rail, hungry to see Christina. Frankie’s nasty dog Rindge was barking; his tourist-scaring yap crossed the waves ahead of the boat.
She remembered her grand idea of telephoning all those principals to get the names of girls who had had nervous breakdowns while the Shevvingtons were there. But the personnel secretary — married to that Mr. Gardner — had alerted the Shevvingtons, who doubtless had alerted their allies back in Louisiana and Oregon and Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Christina would never know.
And even if she did get the names, none of those families of the past would blame the Shevvingtons, either.
That was the whole key — make it be the girl’s fault. Make her be weak, or stupid, or nervous, or uncooperative.
Never use words like Evil.
People could not accept the presence of Evil. They had to laugh, or shrug. Walk away, or look elsewhere.
Look at Benj, furious with her for not trusting him, and then when she trusted him and told him what was happening, he got even more furious with her for making it up.
My mother will be exactly the same, thought Christina. She wants to talk about buying a dance dress. About summer coming, and her restaurant on the Isle, and how Daddy is repairing the tennis courts, and how summer people are trespassing on the bird nesting preserve again this year. I am alone in the battle.
Unless …
Christina was suddenly shot through with hope. Little crystals of hope tumbled through her mind like fireworks in a distant sky.
… unless I can get hold of the briefcase! The one where they keep the Fear Files: the folders with our photographs on them: the only part left of the girls who are in rooms 1 through 6.
I’ve tried before … but I can try again. You can always try again. That’s what I am. Granite of the Isle.
The wharf came to life. People waiting for Frankie’s boat emerged from cars and off benches. They brought packages to carry to Burning Fog and waved to their friends coming in. The sea gulls screamed for sandwich crusts and the last of the popcorn.
A horn honked in the parking lot on the hill. It beat a tattoo until everybody on the wharf turned to look. “Chrissie!” came a shout. “Hey, Benj! It’s me, Anya!” Anya — who had left Schooner Inne so fragile she hardly breathed on her own? Anya — who without Blake would have folded like paper, shut in the envelope of her mind?
Today’s Anya danced over the sunburned rocks, tripping down the long, steep wooden steps. Light as a cloud, Anya came to rest against Christina and Benj. “Chrissie,” she said, cuddling. “It’s wonderful to see you. I’ve missed you so, living with Blake’s aunt in the city. But it gave me time to calm down.”
“And be free of the Shevvingtons,” said Christina.
Anya’s chuckle hit the waves and the waves tossed it back. “I’m healed, Chrissie. I can hardly wait to be home.” She breathed in a great lungful of restorative sea air.
“What healed you?” said Christina.
“Blake’s aunt. She made me finish my senior year after all. Did you know you can go to night school, with adults, and still get your credits? And she said the most calming thing is to read how other people stayed calm, so she made me read ancient books of truth: Plato, Isaiah, Marcus Aurelius.”
Christina could not imagine choosing a “calming” book. She liked her books packed with action and excitement, preferably murders and chases.
“I need to go to Burning Fog, Chrissie. I need to smell it and see it and walk it!” She was the island princess again, sea spray misting her hair like diamonds. “Here’s Frankie’s boat! Here’s your mother. Oh, Christina, I’m so glad to be going home.” She whirled around, shading her eyes against the bright sun, calling upward, “Blake! Hurry!”
Blake was here! Blake, whom Christina had adored with all her strength and mind and soul. Her heart soared, carried by Anya’s high, happy voice.
“See, Christina,” said Benj. “Nothing evil touched Anya. She just needed a rest. It’s true what they say about island girls. There’s something about all that isolation. It touches each of you when you get to the mainland. It’s harder for you.”
He rambled on about Anya and Dolly and Christina. But Christina had forgotten Benj. Forgotten the Shevvingtons. Forgotten evil.
Like a catalog advertisement — windblown hair, fine physique, excellent clothing — Blake leaned against the shining red triangle of his sports car. The car was nothing but an accessory: his was the beauty. When he descended the steps, he was taking over the world. He radiated exciting plans.
Christina yearned to run up to him, fling herself upon him, tell him that he had just lit up the world. But she held herself still. If she touched Blake, she would turn hot and gasping with love. And what would she do with all that love? Blake was not hers. He was Anya’s. And even if he were not, she was — rounding off — only fourteen to his eighteen. He would have no use for her puppy love.
“Christina,” said Blake, holding out his arms. In his mouth the world was perfection and romance.
“Hi, Blake,” she said, not moving. Without permission, her heart took off anyway, thundering down the road to love. In a one-second daydream, Blake forgot Anya, begged Christina to love him, took her to Paris, asked her to marry him.
“No hug?” teased Blake, hugging her anyway. “I’ve missed you, kid. What a senior year I’ve endured — Anya off with my aunt in one town, you here at home, and me at that ridiculous boarding school.” He grinned. “But I triumphed. Graduated with honors and went back to claim Anya. Knight in shining armor that I am.”
Next to this conqueror, how quaint, how dull Benj was.
I am granite, Christina reminded herself.
But she was not. She was Silly Putty.
Frankie’s boat docked. Ropes were tossed, mail carried off. Rindge barked like an attack dog. Christina’s mother leaped into the huddle of Anya, Blake, Christina, and Benj. Hugging them separately and then all together, she cried, “What a pleasure! How is everybody?”
They all claimed to be “Very well, thank you.” They kissed, hugged, said how their parents were, how the weather had been, when graduation was. How well-named was “small talk.” This group had no lack of “large” topics: they could talk of Evil, Jealousy, or Nervous Breakdowns, but no, they said how blue the sky was.
“Guess what we’re off to do,” said Mrs. Romney to Anya and Blake. “Dress shopping.” She giggled. “Benj and Christina are going to the sophomore dance together next Friday.”
Anya shrieked joyously, the way girls do when romance appears. Blake grinned and shook hands with Benj, who remained solid and silent.
“A landmark occasion,” said Mrs. Romney. “My daughter’s first dance. I’m so excited.”
Benj did not look the least bit excited, but nobody expected him to.
Her mother rattled off department store and dress shop names. “Mother,” protested Christina, “some of those are miles away.”
“This is an all-day expedition,” said Mrs. Romney. “We have to find the perfect dress and you can’t do that in a minute.”
Frankie leaned on the whistle of his boat. Tourists scrambled on. Groceries, dry cleaning, engine parts, new screen windows were carried aboard. Anya cried, “Good-bye everybody!” She and Blake, holding hands, dashed gracefully onto the boat.
Christina ached to be that hand. To be tightly clasped by Blake.
How could life be so unfair? The only two escaped victims of the Shevvingtons — Anya and Blake — were vanishing again, without admitting the war was still on. What did they think of Christina still living with the Shevvingtons? Did Anya choose not to remember what had really happened to her? Did she, too, think that it had been her own imagination and weakness? Did she think Evil was disposed of forever?
The wind increased. A deep, cruel cloud covered the horizon. The ocean stopped laughing. It slapped the cliffs with its usual anger. On top of Breakneck Hill, Schooner Inne stood alone: its white-clapboard bulk perched on the very edge, ready to tumble off the cliff.
Christina’s mother ran up the steep stairs toward the parked cars. She always had energy to spare. “Come on,” she cried to Christina and Benj. “Benj, do you want to come shopping with us?”
Benjamin Jaye touched Christina’s hair. She could feel her colors. He was touching the gold. He wound her hair around his wrists, binding himself to her by golden ropes. “I’m not going, but get a pretty dress,” he said.
She saw that he loved her as a faithful, uncomprehending dog would love her. That he would adore, accept her flaws, and be hers.
For a terrible moment, he seemed nothing but a burden. She wanted to run or fly. To skim away like the terns fluttering so close to the waves. Motionless, Christina stood on the wharf, while her mother and Benjamin Jaye ascended. The bones on her face seemed truly carved of granite. She had been quarried from Burning Fog’s deep abandoned pools.
In the cupola of Schooner Inne, sun glinted off a pair of binoculars.