Birds of a Feather (Salt Sisters #5)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
June 1993
T he first time Rose saw Nantucket Island, she was twenty-one years old. In a cheap miniskirt and a baseball cap, she stood on the top deck of the Nantucket Ferry, hands around the railing, chin lifted. Tears drained her eyes and lined her cheeks, and her tongue was scratchy from dehydration. But I made it, she told herself as the soft northern breeze swept through her hair. I’ll never go back to Mississippi again.
Back home, Rose had answered an advertisement in a newspaper. It read: Good with kids? Hungry for an adventure? Contact us for the summer opportunity of a lifetime. Although she’d never worked with children beyond her seven younger brothers and sisters, she’d called the number immediately. She pressed the phone hard against her ear to combat the demonically loud television her father played at all hours of the day. A woman with a prim voice answered, asked Rose a series of simple questions about her background, and set up an interview. Rose learned later that the first woman was only a secretary, a first line of defense between potential babysitters and the Walden family. There were numerous interviews, followed by a meet and greet with the mother and the four Walden children. It was a shock to Rose that she’d gotten the gig. She’d never gotten anything in her life.
Rose had only a backpack and a small suitcase filled with essentials, mostly play clothes and swimsuits since the majority of her hours would be spent with the children. She carried these down the ferry ramp and out toward the ticket office. A chauffeur awaited her in a black hat and an all-black outfit that looked sweltering. His smile was brief and not warm.
“Good afternoon, Miss Carlson,” he said. “How was your trip?”
Rose shifted her weight from foot to foot and watched him ease her dumpy-looking bags into the back of a sleek BMW.
“It was my first time on an airplane,” Rose said finally, then cursed herself. Don’t let anyone know how green you are, even if it’s true.
“Welcome to the twentieth century,” the driver said dryly. He opened the back door and gestured for Rose to enter.
Rose buckled herself in and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She bit her tongue when asking the chauffeur what to expect from this spring and summer in Nantucket. She already guessed he wasn’t the sort of man to look out for others, that his rank as “chauffeur” put him far above “family babysitter.” Plus, he was in his forties or fifties and clearly wanted nothing to do with helping a twenty-one-year-old girl from the sticks.
I crawled out of my life, Rose reminded herself. Nobody did this but me. I don’t need his approval or his help.
It shouldn’t have surprised Rose that the Walden house was the biggest she’d ever seen in her life. Located in the exclusive and wealthy east Nantucket Siasconset, the house was like something from a sprawling epic about American wealth, with a west wing and an east wing, three walled gardens, a private white beach, and woods on either side, thick with oaks and maples and birch trees.
An iron gate unlatched itself and swung open, allowing the BMW to cut through and park in the driveway. Rose didn’t wait for the chauffeur to free her. She popped out and stood in shock, arms hanging loosely. The mansion had to have a thousand windows. It had to have a zillion rooms.
Rose had shared a bedroom with her two sisters her entire life. She’d never known what personal space felt like. But the Walden children assuredly had separate bedrooms. Their hide-and-seek games were probably epic. Rose said a small prayer for her future self. Please don’t let the children be massive brats. She’d hardly met them in passing: two girls, and two boys, all between the ages of four and ten.
Mrs. Audra Walden herself met Rose in the sitting room a few minutes later. This was a surprise. Rose had imagined herself diving right in with her tasks for the children. But Mrs. Walden wanted to take a moment to properly welcome her to Nantucket, serve her tea, and, of course, provide her with the numerous house rules that would govern the following three and a half months of her Nantucket stay. Rose felt like a woman in a fairy tale, caught in a tapestry of rules she couldn’t comprehend.
“For one,” Mrs. Walden said, “there will be no leaving the grounds unless it is your day off. We’ve hired you to work for us, and that work requires you to be here. There’s plenty of woods, beach, garden, and house for you and the children here.”
Rose nodded. Where else could she go? She didn’t have a car. She didn’t know her way around the island. It seemed like a silly rule.
“You will have one day off per week,” Mrs. Walden said. “Usually, that day will be Tuesday, although that is apt to change based on our schedules.”
Mrs. Walden removed a small book from the side table and passed it to Rose. In it, Rose found instructions and schedules for each of the four children: Evie, age four; Hamilton, age six; Kate, age eight; and Hogarth, age ten. Hogarth was an old family name, apparently. Rose had dug into the Walden family and discovered several other Hogarths going back six generations. According to the schedule, the two older kids had tennis and French lessons, while the two younger children were required to nap and make art. Every day was regimented. Rose was reminded of The Sound of Music and wondered if she would find it within herself to break beyond the Walden boundaries and fuel life and beauty into the children’s lives. She imagined she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to get fired. She had everything to lose.
Mrs. Walden led Rose to the beach to discover all four children in their swimsuits. Evie and Hamilton kicked a soccer ball back and forth while Hogarth and Kate leaped over the waves. A large picnic of strawberries, baguettes, cheese, watermelon, and cured meats was spread across a blanket. A maid supervised them with her hands on her hips and bucked away as soon as Rose arrived.
Rose thought, They’re my problem now.
But that first day was magical.
As soon as Mrs. Walden disappeared inside to “make phone calls,” the four Walden children surrounded Rose, captivated by her, asking question after question.
“Where did you come from?” Kate asked.
“I’m from Mississippi,” Rose answered.
“Jackson,” Hogarth said, raising his chin with pride at having remembered the capital.
“No,” Rose said. “I’m from a tiny town called Carmack.”
“Carmack,” Hogarth repeated, furrowing his brow.
“You have a funny accent.” Evie sniggered.
Rose smiled nervously. She’d expected them to tease her for her Southern drawl and had even tried to practice it out of herself. She’d run out to the fields and woods outside of the little shack where she’d been raised and whispered to herself in what she assumed was a “northern accent.” But it was uncomfortable to speak like somebody else. She wasn’t very good at it.
“Everyone speaks differently,” Rose explained. “It depends on where you come from.”
Evie pondered this for a moment and turned to her sister for confirmation. Kate nodded vigorously.
Somebody had taken Rose’s bags for her upon her arrival, which meant she was at the beach without her swimsuit. Because she was wearing a tank-top and thick black underwear, she removed her skirt and went swimming with the kids, rolling through waves that felt so blissful and chilly and powerful. Hogarth and Hamilton cackled and leaped, splashing each other and their sisters. Rose kept tabs on Evie and Hamilton especially, as Mrs. Walden had said they couldn’t yet swim. At one point, Evie slipped her hand into Rose’s, and Rose’s heart pumped with gladness. They already trust me, she decided. It’s going to be a brilliant summer.
Evening fast approached. The air chilled and cast soft blues and purples as it blinked across the horizon. Rose knew it was time to gather the children up and get them cleaned up and changed for dinner. She wrapped Evie in a thick towel as Hogarth and Hamilton continued to splash. Kate attempted to draw her hair into a pristine ponytail, clearly imitating her mother’s professionalism.
That was when Rose spotted the black smoke on the other side of the woods.
Rose drew herself to full height. The thick, ominous smoke roiled through the evening sky. It smelled like chemicals and burning wood. Is the forest burning?
Suddenly, a helicopter approached overhead and circled the smoke.
“What’s going on?” Hogarth demanded.
But what could Rose tell them? She didn’t know herself. “Let’s get inside,” she said, scrambling to throw everything in the picnic basket.
The helicopter and the fire captivated the children, so much so that it took bribery and cajoling to get them down the stone path that led back to the house. Rose carried Evie on her hip, trying to keep herself from looking back at the fire. What if we have to evacuate? she wondered. Should I get my things? Where is Mrs. Walden? Is this an emergency?
Rose hurried the children through the side entrance, where they dutifully removed their shoes and went up the back staircase to their bedrooms and bathrooms, separate from their parents’ bedrooms and bathrooms. Separate so that their parents only had to think about their children when they wanted to.
Rose paused at the base of the steps. Evie giggled as she erupted up the stairs after her brothers and sisters. Next came the sound of the shower; Hogarth, Hamilton, or Kate were already washing up. Rose had promised Evie she would help soon.
But Rose heard voices coming from down the hall. Two men and a woman. Mrs. Walden? Yes. Was one of them Mr. Walden? Were they talking about the fire?
Rose took a hesitant step away from the staircase. She knew better than to eavesdrop, but she ached to understand more about her surroundings. She sensed that Mrs. Walden would only tell her things on a need-to-know basis. She crept from the hallway into the dark sitting room. A door separated Rose and the three speakers.
“Of course, he can,” Mrs. Walden was saying. “I just can’t imagine he’d want to.”
“The man’s lost his way,” one of the men explained. “I’ve never seen him like that.”
“You don’t think he…” Mrs. Walden breathed.
“Let’s not get carried away,” the other man warned. “We don’t know anything yet.”
“We know the house is unlivable already,” Mrs. Walden pointed out. “Anyone with a nose can smell that.” She cleared her throat. “Zachary, we’d be pleased to welcome you and your brother for dinner and drinks this week.”
“I know he’ll appreciate that,” Zachary said. “Thank you.”
“And thank you for letting us know.” Mrs. Walden sighed. “We always assume Nantucket is the safest of all the safe havens. Our children know it as heaven on earth. It’s terrifying to know such things transpire just a forest away.”
“It’s hard to know how bad luck grows,” Zachary said. “We must batten down the hatches and ensure nothing else threatens our magnificent community.”
Mrs. Walden agreed.
What are they talking about? Rose furrowed her brow, listening harder. She understood that Mr. and Mrs. Walden weren’t entirely on the same page and that Zachary’s brother was somehow involved with the fire. Zachary’s brother has lost his way. Was it his house? Had he burned it on purpose? Why would someone do that? For insurance purposes? Rose had grown up without two pennies to rub together, and it was often difficult for her to imagine the problems of the terribly wealthy. But she was surrounded by them.
Suddenly, the door between them burst open. A man she didn’t recognize stood before her in a suit jacket and a pair of slacks, his hair mussed, his eyes red-rimmed and frantic. He looked at her with his jaw slack, then fixed his face into an arrogant smile—one that told her he’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t have.
Mrs. and Mr. Walden squabbled behind him about something Rose couldn’t understand anymore. Rose met Zachary’s gaze and touched the wall beside her for support. She thought she was going to collapse. She thought he was going to tell on her immediately.
But he tilted his head. It took Rose a full ten seconds to realize what he hinted at. Get out of here before they catch you.
Rose tiptoed out of the sitting room and rushed up the staircase with the air of someone running out of that burning house across the forest. Her thighs screamed. Why did he let me off the hook? She marveled. But she didn’t have time to question it further. Hogarth was out of the shower; Hamilton was refusing to bathe. There were tasks to tend to. It was only the first day in Nantucket. And the fire was clearly out of her control—and nothing that concerned her.
She decided to put it out of her mind.