The Secret Keepers Page 20

  Long after they had hung up, Reuben sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. The ticking of the ominous clock in his mind had suddenly accelerated. He’d counted on more time to figure things out, to decide what to say to his mom, to get them both out of the city. But now the Directions were going door-to-door in the Lower Downs? What if they came by again when his mom was home? What if they asked for a picture of him? All they had to do was show it to one of those Brighton Street employees to confirm that Reuben was the one they sought.

  His eyes swiveled toward the phone. He could call her back right now, tell her the truth, tell her where he was, and that’s all it would take—she’d be on the next train to Point William. But what if the Directions suspected the truth already? What if they were secretly following her?

  Reuben squeezed his head and let out an anguished sound, half growl and half howl. He felt frightened, and he felt angry, and at the moment he could hardly distinguish between the two feelings.

  “Reuben?” Penny poked her head in through the kitchen doorway. “Sorry, Dad sent me to check on you, and it didn’t sound like you were talking anymore, but then I heard you—you know, kind of scream a little there. Are you okay?”

  He looked up at her as if he didn’t know her. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

  “No?” Penny stepped inside, looking concerned. “Can I help you? What can I do?”

  “No, no, I’m fine.” Reuben climbed shakily to his feet. “It’s just—things are complicated. I’m fine, though. Thanks, Penny.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” she said, and to Reuben’s astonishment she came over and hugged him. “We’re in this together now, right? And whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” She drew back to give him a reassuring smile.

  Reuben managed a weak smile in return. He nodded.

  “I’d better tell the others you’re off the phone,” Penny said. “The tide’s back in, and Luke’s going to row some aunts and uncles over to the mainland. But most of them left their shoes in the house!” She chuckled and turned to go.

  “People are leaving?” Reuben asked, confused.

  “Only to get pajamas and toothbrushes,” Penny said from the doorway. “They’ll all be back for dinner. Believe me, no one wants to miss any of this!”

  Reuben looked bleakly after her. Great, he thought. Perfect.

  Of course the Meyers were excited to find out what had been hidden in the smugglers’ tunnels all this time. Some of them surely thought the same thing he did, that a chest full of gold pieces or jewels was down there, just sitting there across the generations, tantalizingly untouched. At least in this respect they might not be disappointed, since Reuben intended to leave most of the treasure for them. But naturally they were also dying to know the reasons for everything—to understand why they had done what they’d done for all these generations. And in this respect they were going to be seriously let down.

  Yes, tomorrow morning there would be a lot of disappointed people on this island. Disappointed and angry. Maybe someday, Reuben thought, he could write a letter explaining everything. Maybe they would understand. Maybe they would even forgive him.

  As the world outside grew dark and the blustery winds of the approaching storm caused the stunted evergreens to sway and shimmy, Reuben sat in the open doorway of the oil house. Let the Jacks fetch crowbars and flashlights. The phrase had stuck in his head. He had a flashlight in his backpack, and he’d seen crowbars among the tools in the oil house. All he needed now was for time to pass. Time was in absolutely no hurry to oblige him, though. Three o’clock in the morning seemed ages away.

  Aware that he was probably being watched, Reuben avoided glancing toward the granite boulders on the seaward side of the island—the watery side—and kept his eyes on the troubled sky. The Meyers mustn’t suspect he had any notion of where to find the entrance to the smugglers’ tunnels. He went back over some of the words he’d heard Penny chanting in the oil house:

  Scarcely seen at low tide,

  Never seen at high,

  Only from the watery side,

  Never from the dry.

  Always bring your tools, mate,

  And keep your lanterns low.

  Reuben hated to think how Penny would feel if she knew she’d given away the secret. Horrified. Mortified. Positively ill. What had Jack called her? The most Meyer-like of all the Meyers. It was a good thing she’d never find out. She was going to be unhappy enough as it was—the thought made Reuben feel ill himself. Penny was possibly the nicest person he’d ever met. Her whole family was nice, for that matter, with Jack being the lone exception.

  Dining with the Meyers had been awkward, to say the least, yet almost everyone had taken extra care to make Reuben feel welcome. In high spirits, they’d told funny stories, and teased one another good-naturedly, and urged second helpings on Reuben. No doubt by private agreement they had resisted asking him any probing questions, treating him instead as if he were just one of Penny’s friends. The nicer they all were, however, the worse Reuben felt, and Jack’s penetrating stares continued to unnerve him. By the time dessert was served, he couldn’t bear another minute. Politely declining, Reuben had excused himself.

  “You can’t help it,” he muttered to himself now. He ripped up a few blades of grass near his feet and let the wind carry them off. “It doesn’t matter that you like them, so stop thinking about it.”

  Penny appeared at the screen door of the keeper’s house. She pushed it open with a foot—she was carrying a bowl in each hand—and with the same foot eased it closed behind her. She was pretty nimble, Reuben reflected, and as she walked across the grass toward him, his mind played a strange trick: it conjured an image of Penny climbing up a drainpipe. Reuben thought he knew why. He would have liked to have Penny as his friend before now, in his other life, would have liked her company on those lonely days among the alleys of the Lower Downs.

  “I brought you some berries and cream,” Penny said. “It was obvious to everyone that you wanted some.”

  “Right. I forgot. Meyers always know.” He accepted the bowl and spoon that Penny held out to him. “Thanks.” He spooned a bite of sliced strawberries and whipped cream into his mouth. It was so delicious he instantly wished he had more than just one bowl.

  Penny sat down next to him. “Good, isn’t it? We have a cousin with a berry farm. She always gives us the best. And the whipped cream comes from a dairy not far from here.”

  “So this isn’t a Penelope dish?”

  Penny laughed and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “You must be from the city if you think this dessert is exotic. No, Penelope never wrote about berries and cream, but I’ll bet she ate plenty of it growing up here.”

  “She did if she had any sense,” Reuben said with his mouth full.

  Penny lifted a spoonful to her mouth, then paused and looked at him sidelong. “So are you? From the city?”

  Reuben looked out at the waves tossing in the bay. He took another bite.

  “Come on.” Penny nudged him with her elbow. “One thing. Surely you can tell me one thing.”

  Reuben felt another pang of longing. He wanted to tell her everything, he realized. Not just one thing, but everything. He was tired of carrying the burden of all his secrets alone. But telling Penny would be disastrous. She would have to tell her family, and they would surely intervene. They would want the watch. And so he bit his lip and continued to look away.

  “You want to tell me,” Penny teased. “I can tell! So why don’t you?”

  Reuben almost blurted it out: My mom’s in danger, okay? Or she will be soon, anyway, and it’s because of something I—something… well, I didn’t mean to do anything bad. But now I’m stuck. I have to get her out of there, but we have nothing.…

  He sighed. He couldn’t say any of it. One thing would only lead to another, and it would all come tumbling out, and that would be that. He glanced at Penny, who was searching his face with a troubled expression, and quic
kly looked away again. “I promise I’ll explain everything eventually,” he said, and felt better even as he said it. Yes, when all of this was over, he would definitely write that letter. He looked back at her. “I promise, okay?”

  Penny twisted her mouth to one side. “Fine,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to accept that. I will hold you to it, you know.”

  The screen door banged, and both of them started. Jack had just stormed out of the keeper’s house and was marching down toward the pier. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, and even from this distance Reuben could see the muscles working in his arms. He looked as though he wanted to rip something apart and had both the strength and the ferocity to do just that.

  “What’s the matter?” Penny called out, waving her spoon at Jack. She seemed completely unperturbed by her brother’s evident anger.

  “The boat’s come loose,” Jack snapped, with a hostile glance at Reuben. “Luke can’t tie a knot to save his life.”

  The children rose and went around the oil house to watch as Jack threw off his shoes and waded into the surging water. The rowboat hadn’t drifted far and was trailing its mooring line. Jack snatched it and dragged the boat back to shore. With forceful, jerking motions, he set about securing it to the pier.

  “I don’t think Jack likes me,” Reuben said quietly as they watched.

  Penny laughed. “Don’t let that bother you,” she said. “Jack doesn’t like anyone.”

  “He seems to like you well enough,” Reuben ventured, remembering how Penny and Jack had interacted in private, though of course he dared not mention that.

  Penny shrugged. “That’s different, I guess. Kid sisters get special status. That’s what Jack says, anyway.”

  Jack was fastening a tarp over the boat now. He paused to wipe water from his eyes and then from his head. His red hair was cropped so close to the scalp that, from this distance, it seemed little more than a coating of brick dust. Reuben wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Jack had shaved it off in a fit of anger.

  “What’s he so mad about?” he muttered.

  “Oh, he always finds something,” Penny began in a light tone, but then she trailed off. Jack had finished his task and was looking up at the sky, across which dark clouds were flowing swiftly, like an invading fleet.

  “Usually he takes it out on a punching bag,” she continued, more seriously now. “He got teased growing up, you know, because of the way our family is. And then he had to watch Luke get teased, too. When it started happening to me, he just lost it. That was the last straw.”

  Reuben considered this new information. “I guess that makes sense,” he said. “I’m sure I’d be mad, too, if I got teased like that.”

  “It isn’t just the teasing,” Penny said. “I think he resents our family for seeming so weird to other people, and he hates other people for thinking we’re weird—because he knows that we’re just trying to do what’s right.”

  “You don’t seem weird to me,” Reuben said.

  Penny shot him a grateful look. “Well, we kind of are, though. Compared to a lot of families, anyway. I mean, sure, the Meyers have a reputation for being the most upstanding citizens in town, but it goes too far for most people’s tastes. Nobody in our family ever drinks a drop of wine; nobody ever lies or cheats; everybody eats properly, exercises, pitches in wherever we’re needed. The list goes on. But you understand, Reuben. We have to be this way—we have to be clearheaded people, good judges of character, reliable and steady. Because of that original promise, because of the secret! It’s our duty!”

  Reuben shook his head in wonder. It hadn’t really sunk in until now—the trial it had been for the Meyer family to do what they had done, the burden they had borne all these years. It was incredible, but in a way it was awful, too. “What do you mean,” he asked, “when you say Jack ‘lost it’?”

  Penny looked at him soberly. “Let’s just say nobody would tease him now. Nobody would want to be Jack’s enemy.” She sighed. “Of course, no one would want to be his friend, either.”

  “You seem worried about him,” Reuben said.

  “Of course I’m worried about him.”

  Jack had left the pier and was stalking back up to the keeper’s house. He glanced over at them as he passed. “Thanks for the help, you two.”

  Penny laughed her bright laugh. “You’re welcome! We watched as hard as we could!”

  Jack disappeared into the house, letting the screen door bang behind him.

  “He shows his love in so many ways,” Penny said, and now Reuben laughed, too—he couldn’t help it. He licked his spoon clean and dropped it into his empty bowl.

  They were quiet for a while. The wind had grown steady and strong. Waves crashed against the island rocks.

  At length, in a soft voice, Penny offered a final point on the subject of her brother. “Jack is kind of a mystery to the rest of us. He does love us, though. He’s mad, but he loves us. That much I know.” She gazed out at the churning waters with a look of such wistfulness that Reuben felt an urge to hug her, to tell her that Jack would be all right—that everyone would be all right. He could sense how worried she was. But he only nodded and, like her, looked out to sea. The waves were getting bigger, crashing with greater force against the rocks. Reuben could feel the occasional tingle of sea spray even where he sat.

  It was a perfect night for feeling the way he felt: guilty, conflicted, afraid. In the course of a single day Penny had become his friend—and not just any friend, but the best kind, the kind you want to share your secrets with. He kept thinking about what she’d said to him in the kitchen. We’re in this together now, right?

  Reuben tried not to think about how she was going to feel tomorrow, when she found that he’d gone. The thought of her reaction made him so miserable that, in a way, it was a relief to know that after tonight he wouldn’t have to see her again.

  But only in a way. In every other way, it felt like the loss of a lifetime.

  At exactly three in the morning, Reuben woke with a gasp, thinking, Low tide! He was never supposed to have fallen asleep in the first place. Thunder rumbled outside. Wind and rain rattled the windows. He looked around, disoriented. He was on the sofa. The other Meyers were spending the night and had been given the guest rooms—as well as Penny’s room, which meant that Penny was sleeping in the great room, too. Now he remembered. She lay on a pallet of blankets near the fireplace. In the near darkness, Reuben spied her sleeping form.

  Evidently, his fatigue had been too much for him. He’d been lying on the sofa, fresh from a warm bath, listening to the murmur of Mr. and Mrs. Meyer talking in the kitchen. Penny had already fallen asleep, her red hair spreading out from her head in all directions, so abundant that it covered her pillow. She was sleeping with her mouth open, her two front teeth plainly visible. There had been a lamp on then. Her parents must have turned it off when they went to bed.

  Reuben peered at the luminescent dial of the mantel clock. It confirmed the time, which somehow he’d already known. Perhaps he’d been counting the minutes in his sleep. He drew back the blanket, eased off the sofa. He took his sneakers from the floor and crept into the kitchen, where a light had been left on over the stove. From his pocket he withdrew the note that he had written earlier and set it on the table. Be back soon, it read. He had intentionally left the meaning unclear. He only hoped to put off a search until after he’d caught the morning train.

  In the anteroom off the kitchen, he took down the darkest of several raincoats, a navy-blue one that was only a couple of sizes too big. He put it on, transferring the watch to one of the raincoat’s deep pockets. Then, with his sneakers tucked inside the raincoat and his socks stuffed into them, he slipped out the back door.

  Rain pelted him even under the eaves of the house. The wind blew it into his face. High overhead a beam of light flashed into the darkness. Two quick strokes, followed by a pause, then a third stroke. Another pause, and the pattern repeated. The light was so brilliant
it must be visible for miles. Yet it was designed to penetrate the darkness over the stormy sea, not the ground beneath it, and Reuben gazed up at it from a near-total darkness. He was taking no chances, though. When he had rounded the corner and gotten a fix on the oil house door, he vanished completely.

  Barefoot, he crossed the wet grass at a fast walk. He had, of course, memorized the distance, and when he slowed and stretched out his hands, he found the door just where he’d expected it to be. Inside with the door closed it was quiet. Reuben pulled out on the winding key, but there was virtually no change in the darkness. He found his way to the oil drum and the backpack he’d left hidden behind it, along with his muck boots, which he’d brought up from beneath the pier after dinner. His searching fingers unzipped the pack and probed its contents until they came upon the familiar form of a flashlight. Reuben turned it on long enough to fetch a crowbar, then switched it off again. He was used to darkness now.

  Storing his sneakers inside the backpack—he would want dry feet later—Reuben put on the boots and tightened the raincoat around him. Then he vanished and went out again into the crashing storm.

  It took him mere seconds to make his way to the base of the lighthouse tower, but several minutes to go from there to the northern shore of the island. Traversing the close-packed granite boulders would have been challenging enough without the added difficulty of fierce wind and whipping rain—and blindness made it virtually impossible. At last Reuben was compelled to reappear and trust in the darkness to hide him. He even had to resort to the flashlight, flicking it on for a few moments at a time to be sure of his path. (The regular bursts of lightning were no help, for they appeared only as orange or yellow patches in the sky, swallowed up in an infinite blackness of thunderclouds.)

  Laboriously he picked his way over the slippery rocks, often losing his footing, repeatedly wiping water from his eyes. Finally he reached the end of the island, where the granite yielded to a skin of seawater swirling over mud.