The scent of a man still young but not so young — past thirty. Sweat, soap, spunk, a bit more fat than was usual, but not too much. His skin had been darker than Leon’s, which probably complicated his life off island. A secondary aroma of women — but Lamont had carried that in himself. He’d had not brought any women here.

And apples. Lamont had sweated and breathed out the scent of apples. A little earth on the skin. He’d liked to garden.

Leon looked around. The room had been cleared the way someone clears out a room before a long absence, someone who is planning to come back. Someone private, but not meticulous. Someone who liked a bit of clutter.

There were a few baseball cards and pictures. Lamont had liked sports. Actually, he’d liked to watch sports. The trophies up on a shelf with the cards and photos turned out to be for a third-grade spelling bee and a three-legged race at the Touperdu Fourth of July picnic in 1914. A sardonic, slightly self-deprecating sense of humor.

Folded clothes, still acrid with soap, lay on top of the dresser. Probably done by Marion after Lamont was gone, and then left there because she hated going through drawers and knew by that time that Lamont liked his things left undisturbed.

An empty plant pot. A couple of framed snake skins — collecting those was a common boyhood hobby on the island. Several decanters, which were responsible for the faint scent of Vinjoie, an aroma like burnt matches dipped in honey. Lamont had likely used Papa’s alchemy table more than once. Which meant he’d been highly skilled.

Pencils, scraps of paper. He had liked to draw. Or write. Probably write, because Leon could see no art on the wall signed by Lamont Duday. A few postcards on the bedside table, mostly from California. Liana, Derek, Uncle Greg and one birthday message from Laney. “We miss you!” “Come see us!” “Love to Uncle Lam, X,X,X…”

Under the bed he found another postcard that had been been dropped or kicked under the bed, was from somebody named Grace in Montana. “Someday I’ll come back to see you, you naughty boy!”

There was also a file with information about the old Mercury mine, with a few hand-written notes for an article. And there were a couple of journals. One was a gardening notebook, filled with notes about soil, sun, fertilization.

And other things that indicated a more rarified, uncommon skill.

Lamont, unlike Brigitte and Leon, had taken after the Duday side of the family. No wonder Papa was a wreck, Leon thought bitterly.

The other had been used as a scrapbook. Not, as he’d hoped, a book of photographs, but of press clippings, the pieces Lamont had written for the Beacon. Leon spent much of the night reading those.

Once, he heard the door open down the hall, and Marion’s light footsteps. She’d paused at the door for a moment and he’d waited for her knock. Then the footsteps had faded as she walked back to the main bedroom.

The sun was up when Leon emerged from the room. He was tired, but not so tired as an ordinary man might be after staying up all night.

So many holes. So many ugly gaps. So horrible to look at objects and remember them, but not the person who made them important.

When he looked through the window down into the courtyard garden he saw Marion walking about. Probably trying to make sense of things. Leon went downstairs and stepped into the courtyard.

“Your mother is sitting with your father now,” Marion said.

“Is Papa awake? Has he said anything?”

“Not yet. Not that I know of. And Felicia… She’s too quiet. It scares me. Leon, I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything this morning.”

He had to tread carefully, think carefully.

“Doctor Graves spoke to me privately,” he said. “You know what he told me? ‘Every family has secrets.'”

“It seems we’re no exception. You love my father. I love my father. But… Dr. Graves thinks Papa had another son by someone other than my mother. Someone he named ‘Lamont’, someone who later took the name Duday.”

“He thinks Papa Duday committed adultery?”

“That’s what it comes to.”

“Maybe Papa made a mistake, Marion. Years ago. Maybe he tried to make it right by keeping track of his other son, by keeping in touch with him.” “And you don’t remember him? Lamont?” she asked. “No.” Marion looked away from him, her eyes roving over the courtyard with its fruit trees and herbs. “There’s evil in this house.”

“What do you mean?” “The night after you left for the base, I saw something, something terrible here in the courtyard. I saw a demon. I tried to forget it, but now I know it was not my imagination.” “Marion, my God. Surely you don’t believe that? Demons?” “I feel as though I’m on a pitching boat and I’m the only person who can feel the deck rocking.” She looked at him. “Or the only person who’ll admit to it.” “No Mouse, don’t think that that way. We’re all upset and disoriented right now. And back then, you were in a new house, with a new family. Everything was so unfamiliar to you. It was an adjustment, that’s all.” “Papa Duday said that. And Felicia.” “And they were right. They’re still right. All families seem strange, even a bit crazy to newcomers.”

He spread his hands. “Like the cat in the story says — ‘We’re all mad here.'” Next came Laurette. She arrived a little after eight in the morning, just after Leon had coaxed his father back into his bedroom. Marion was fixing breakfast and Felicia had gone out to the balcony to get some air. Leon heard his father calling his name and hurried upstairs to find Tel wandering the corridors in his pajamas, holding some papers. “Son,” he said. “There are things that need to be done. Do you think you could get down to the Beacon today? The obituary… Your brother needs an obituary.” “I… I’m a little tired. A little… I’m not sure I can put one together, but if you take this to Roland, I’m sure he could use it to write something very nice. It will jog his memory. He was so fond of Lamont. Everyone was so fond of him…”

Leon forced himself to smile. He longed for his tough old man, the one who had frightened him, who’d looked at him with hard, skeptical eyes, and not asked but told, issued lists of “you wills.” He glanced at the typewritten page “Dear Mama and Papa…” “Of course, Papa. I’ll do that as soon as I can. Let’s get you back to bed, first.” Their voices had carried. He could hear his mother’s footsteps as she hurried down the corridor behind them. “But there’s so much to do,” said Tel as Leon led him back to the room. “The funeral. We have to tell Pere Quitol at St. Elmo’s.” “Yes, Papa” Leon got him to sit on the bed. “Now, I think you should lie down.” “The club! Does the club know?” “I already telephoned them, darlin'” said Felicia as she came in. “Now you climb back under those covers. Marion is making some tea downstairs, and we all want you to drink it up.” Tel shook his head. “I can’t lie down. We need to talk about this, ‘Sha.” His eyes filled and his lower lip trembled. “Oh, it’s hard, my love,” he said, his voice hoarse with tears. “So hard, but he was our son and there are arrangements to make.” He bowed his head and his shoulders began to shake. Felicia sat next to Tel and put her arms around him. “Yes, sweetheart, yes, there are. If we talk about them for a moment, will that make you feel better? Will you lie back down then, and take another wee nap?” “I…maybe. Yes, I might be more rested if we did that.” “Leave us alone for a moment,” she said to Leon. Leon started towards the door then stopped, his head cocked. “Laurette is here,” Leon said. “I just heard her came in.” “Oh thank God,” sighed Felicia. “Go meet her, warn her.” Leon hurried out. Felicia kissed Tel tenderly on the check. “My love,” she whispered. “My poor, poor love. Do you understand what has happened?” “I can’t breathe, ‘Sha. Everything is too close, too big.”

“All right then, darlin’, all right.” She moved to the chair next to the bed. “Now, Telesphore Duday, look at me. Tell me you understand.”

“Our boy is gone,” he whispered. “Don’t you remember him?”

Laurette said nothing. She ignored Marion as she swept past, and something about her face made Leon step back when he saw her and allow her to go straight to her brother.

As soon as he saw his sister, Tel opened his arms to her.

Laurette bent to embrace him, turning her head to whisper something in his ear.

His head dropped to her shoulder like a child’s and she carefully lowered him onto his pillows. Felicia helped her lift his legs into the bed. They covered him, and Laurette settled down in the chair, never taking her eyes off her brother’s face.

“Let me sit with him for a while,” she said quietly.

Marion had tried to keep herself busy. She’d fixed a breakfast that nobody wanted to eat, including her. She’d put away the food. She’d washed the dishes. She was drying them when Laurette came in.

“How are you, Cherie,” she asked.

“Confused.”

“That is not surprising.”

“Laurette, please tell me. I know you’ll be honest with me. Has Papa Duday gone mad?”

“No.”

Laurette’s face frightened Marion. She had never seen Laurette look like that. It wasn’t grief, but something worse. It was hopelessness.

“My brother has committed a terrible, terrible sin. A crime against God. I am his sister. I knew this morning something had been torn from him, but I didn’t know… How could I not have known all those years ago? How could his twin not know he was damned?” Marion was shocked. Practical, tolerant Laurette sounded at that moment like Marion’s father, Crossley Sittiford. Papa Duday damned? For adultery? Yes, it was a serious sin, a violation of the seventh commandment, but if that damned Papa Duday, many, many men on the Island were damned. Obviously, Laurette was overwrought. Marion had no brothers. Perhaps if she had, she would have had similar high expectations, felt similar bitter disappointment. “Laurette, we need to call Grandmere Duday…” “No.” “But…” “Absolutely not.” Laurette looked at her and Marion, for the first time, felt frightened of her. There was something implacable in her expression, something that spoke of repurcussions if she were disobeyed. “Laurette, Tel is her son. She has the right to know he’s unwell, in pain. And she has the right to know about her grandson.” “I will tell her. Not now, but later.” “All right, but please, please tell me the truth. Have I gone mad?” Marion asked. She was crying now. “Nothing makes sense to me. I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s going on.” For a moment, Laurette looked at her, as though deciding something. Leon had done exactly the same thing that morning. God help me, Marion thought, the silences are killing me. “My brother is bereft.” Laurette said “He will recover but, there are people on this island who hate him. There are people who, if they learn of any weakness, will attack him. Will attack this family. We have to be careful. Were you planning to do anything today? Go out, meet anyone?” “The officers of the Ladies’ Hospital Committee are going to meet this afternoon. Madelyn wanted a quick talk in the basement of the theater. I was going to cancel.” “No. Madelyn Cooney depends on you. You must attend, or there will be talk.” “I don’t know if I can.” “I would like you to go and behave as normally as possible. For our sake. And for your sake, get out of,” Laurette made a brief, almost bitter gesture at the room “this house for a bit. If anyone asks you about your father-in-law, say he’s just has a bad cold and is a bit overstrung. Please. Could you do that?” “All right. But… you will call Grandmere Duday? Today?” “Today I will contact Gregoire. Then we will reflect on how best to break the news to our mother. She is very, very aged, Marion. She cannot weather serious shocks.” Laurette was right about getting away. The minute she stepped out of the house, into the sunlight, Marion felt better. And the normalcy of that meeting, Mrs. Cooney, the committee president presiding, made her feel as though she were once again on solid ground. It was strange to think this was the next-to-last meeting. The Ladies’ Hospital Committee as they knew it would be dissolved after the luncheon next Friday. All the faces were so familiar, the light against that ugly row of lockers, the sound of chairs scraping on the linoleum floor. They would see each other again, of course, but never quite like this. The war was over. Before her marriage, Marion would never have imagined herself as part of a group outside of her father’s church, much less someone who could command attention when she spoke. Now, she couldn’t imagine not taking part in things, not being involved, and for that she had Papa Duday to thank. Yes, it had been a good idea to get out of the house. She was reminded of what she owed her in-laws. The meeting was short. Convened at two o’ clock, winding down by three. They talked about next week’s luncheon for all the volunteers, the menu, the size of the room. And then, just as Marion was thinking about what she would pick up at the grocery store on her way home (she needed some vanilla for an egg custard she planned to make for Papa Duday), she heard a light, brisk step, and a cheerful voice call out. “Hello, ladies.” Kristal Abbot. “May I?” Mrs. Abbot settled herself down at the end of the table, smiling. “I just wanted to stop by to congratulate you all on the wonderful work you’ve all done for our boys…” Madelyn Cooney didn’t look pleased. Everyone knew Mrs. Abbot was going to be the next mayor. Innesford Stamper had been an old man when he was first elected over ten years ago, and his health was failing. Kristal Abbot would likely step into his shoes without much opposition, but she seemed to be one of those born politicians who had to campaign, and did it as effortlessly as she breathed. So they sat patiently and listened as Mrs. Abbot delivered her brief speech about how she was visiting the various committees and expressing her appreciation, and she hoped that those present would continue their good work in other ways once all the boys were home and she looked forward to working with many of them. And then Madelyn thanked her, her voice dripping ice, which seemed to faze Mrs. Abbot not one bit, and Madelyn declared the meeting over, and they all rose to start home. That was when Mrs. Abbot approached her. “Marion!” she exclaimed, as if they were old friends. “I’m so glad to see you here. I was a little worried you’d not make it, given poor Tel’s illness.” Marion hoped she didn’t look too startled. Mrs. Abbots smile broadened. “Forgive me,” Mrs. Abbot said. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, but I’m friends with Susannah Graves, and he mentioned that Gus was called out to your house last night. About Tel. Nothing serious, I hope?” “No, no, nothing serious. He’s just been working a bit too hard.” Papa Duday had warned her about Kristal Abbot. She was, Marion knew, one of those people he counted as an enemy of the family. “You can’t depend on a thing she says,” he’d told her, “and the worst of it is how convincing she can be.” “Working too hard? I can believe that!” Kristal said. “You know, in all these years, I’ve known him to take a day off twice — once when his daughter, Brigitte, was born, and once when his son, Leon was born. Two times. That’s it. He must very tired indeed.” Marion wished Kristal would lower her voice. Other people were turning their heads slightly to listen. “Then it’s about time he took a rest, don’t you think?” Marion replied. “He’s not a young man anymore.” “Indeed, he’s not,” said Kristal. “By the way, I never really congratulated you on your marriage. And your fortitude. The Dudays, well, they’re quite a family. Unique. So endearingly eccentric. It must have been a bit of an adjustment moving into that big house with them.” “They made me feel very welcome.” “Oh, no doubt, no doubt. But seriously, dear,” and Kristal’s face grew earnest and she rested one hand briefly on Marion’s “Dudays are Dudays. If you ever feel confused in that house, or lost, you have a friend in me. I’ve known them all my life. Just adored them of course! Who does not? That handsome, moody devil of a husband of yours, and darling Felicia, and funny, blustery old Tel… So dramatic, that fellow. But I can imagine it can get a little trying at times. Really, it’s so important for family members to talk to each other, don’t you think?” “Of course,” “…So if you ever need to have a good old heart-to-heart, I just want you to know I’m always willing to make time for you.” She gave Marion’s hand a quick squeeze. “Well, I must be off! Do take care, and send your Papa-in-law my regards.” When she got back, she met Leon going out. He had paperwork to pick up at the Town Hall, something to do with the GI Bill. “Mama’s in her studio,” he said, which Marion knew meant that, for another hour or two Felicia was completely unavailable. “Laurette’s with Papa. Could you stick your head in and say hello to him? Just seeing you would cheer him up.” Papa Duday was in bed propped up with pillows and Laurette sat nearby in the armchair. His face was miserable, resigned, Laurette’s guarded. “I thought I’d bring up some soup and maybe an egg custard for you,” Marion said to Tel as she bent to kiss his cheek. “Would you like that?” “Yes. Yes my dear,” he whispered. Marion wished his eyes weren’t so wide, so pleading. It was as if he were hoping for some reassurance she wasn’t sure she could give. “Thank you, Cherie” said Laurette, nodding her head gravely in what was plainly a dismissal. As Marion walked towards the stairs, she paused at the door near the end of the corridor. This was the room where Leon had spent much of the night before. Once, as her in-laws slept, Marion had stepped out for a moment, just to walk around a bit. She’d seen light under the door of the room near the end of the hall and when she listened, she could hear pages turning. She’d considered knocking, asking what Leon was doing. But then she’d felt unsure. What if it was not Leon? What if it was…? She’d turned and walked back to the bedroom. Marion hated this house late at night. But it was daytime now. And she could hear something. Someone was in the room. A drawer opened, then closed. Papers rustled. And something else. A strange, crackling noise. She took a step closer and… Later, she was not even sure she could remember the door opening. All she recalled was that suddenly, he was there. Uncle Greg. “I am so, so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She could have sworn that, as he spoke, she heard the door to the bedroom click as it locked.