Chapter 19 Una #2
The scale came from Eel’s Nest.
Una thought of the black-and-white photo she’d seen the last time she’d been in the library. Even now, she felt the darkness
of that woman’s stare.
Had Jill seen something, too? Something outside the realm of belief?
Turning the scale this way and that, Una said, “You said the gar is a very old fish. Maybe this also came from a very old
animal. Like a fossil. Was there anything else in the garden that seemed old?”
Jill met Una’s curious gaze. “There’s a stone face with a bunch of wavy brick paths coming out of it. I thought it was a sun
at first. Or maybe Medusa. J.J. thinks it’s a mermaid—that the paths are her hair—but she’s got a mean face. She could be
a siren, I guess. In some books, they look like mermaids. They sing to sailors until they jump overboard and drown.”
“So, it’s a mean face surrounded by wavy rays?”
Jill’s brow furrowed. “Actually, there weren’t any paths coming off the top of her face, like, where hair should be. They
were here.” She mimed waves originating from her cheeks. “And here.” She repeated the gesture under her chin.
“Like an octopus?”
Jill’s eyes went wide. “Yes! Totally! It’s like the shape in the stained-glass window, except with a woman’s face.” She leaned closer to Una. “Does Iceland have a story about a sea monster with a woman’s face?”
It was Svana’s face Una thought of now. Svana disappearing into that dark, roiling sea.
In Una’s memories, there had only been Svana’s face and those black holes for eyes staring out from just below her.
But last night, she’d dreamed of the thing in the water. She’d seen details that had caused her to bolt awake, drowning in
sweat. She’d seen a creature with ropy arms and spear-point teeth.
Rippling shadows in the water had surrounded Svana’s body. Were they eels? Or . . .
“Tentacles,” she whispered.
Jill waited for her to elaborate, but at that moment, Mrs. Stapleton appeared at the end of the stacks, a patron in tow.
“We’re finishing up here,” Una told the librarian. To Jill, she said, “Give me the books you want to check out and put the
rest back. I’m driving you home.”
Jill did as she was told. A few minutes later, she and Una ran out to her little yellow car.
“What about my bike?” asked Jill.
“One of your parents will have to pick it up. You can’t ride home in this weather. With library books and only one good hand?
It would be a disaster.”
Jill’s face fell. “Mom’s showing a house. I can ask Dad, but he’ll be mad that I went out.”
Una wiped a stray raindrop off Jill’s cheek. “I need to stop at Rudy’s Market on the way home. I’m going to make bread today,
but I don’t think I have enough flour. Why don’t you come in with me, and we’ll see if he has any sprinkle cookies left? I
think cookies taste better on rainy days, don’t you?”
Ten minutes later, Jill followed Una into the little shop and held the shopping basket while Una filled it with eggs, flour, and two cookies. Then they stood outside under the awning and ate their cookies, marveling over how the sprinkles turned their rain-damp fingertips green, yellow, and blue.
Back in the car, they stuck out their tongues and laughed at the streaks of color covering the pink flesh.
Jill seemed more relaxed now than she’d been at the library, but as soon as Una turned onto her street and slowly traversed
the descending curves, she went quiet again.
“Would you do me a favor?” Una asked.
“Sure.”
“Will you soak your hand as soon as you get home?”
Jill glanced at her bandaged palm. “Okay.”
“But show it to your dad first. Tell him it’s why I wouldn’t let you ride your bike.”
Jill picked at a curled corner of the Band-Aid. “He doesn’t know I went to the library. He thinks I went to Heather’s.”
Una sighed. Everyone kept secrets. Told white lies. It was part of being human, but she wished Jill could be more honest with
her parents. Her fear of disapproval had her constantly saying things she later regretted.
“Why? Don’t you think he’d understand why you went to the library today?”
Jill shook her head.
“I’m not sure I do, either. You want to know more about the face you found in the garden, right? And the scale, too. But why
today? Why not wait until the storm passed?”
By this point, they’d reached the cul-de-sac. Instead of going down Jill’s driveway, Una pulled over next to the Bernsteins’
mailbox.
Jill’s gaze was immediately snared by Mrs. Smith’s house. She raised her eyes to the roof and stared, even though there was nothing to see. Both the widow’s walk and attic windows were shrouded in mist.
“Is it the regatta?” Una whispered.
Jill’s eyes drifted to the Bernsteins’ house. “I don’t think it was a propeller. I think it was . . . something else.”
“Because of what Charles saw?”
“Because he saw a finger,” Jill said. “And eels. I know he wasn’t lying because I saw them, too.”
Una’s blood ran cold. “You did?”
“Not during the regatta.” Jill looked down at her injured hand. “Last night, when I was watching TV, my hand got really hot.
It felt like it was burning. Mom told me to let the dogs in. They were down by the water, barking like crazy. I called them,
but they wouldn’t listen, so I went down to the beach. My hand was on fire, so I stuck it in the water. That’s when I saw
them.”
“Tell me.”
Hugging herself, Jill murmured, “Eels. Hundreds of them. Only, they weren’t actually there. They were, like, in my head. But
it wasn’t a dream because I was awake.”
“What were they doing?”
“Swimming under a boat. A Blue Jay. Like the ones we use in sailing class. There were so many of them. It was gross. Then someone fell off the boat. They were wearing white sneakers and white shorts and a life
jacket. Then there was a big cloud of bubbles. Then . . . the water was full of blood.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Una grabbed tissues from her purse and wiped them away.
Jill’s eyes pleaded with Una. “I’m not lying, I swear! I saw the eels swimming through the blood. They were excited—like sharks
get in a feeding frenzy. Then I yanked my hand out of the water, and everything went back to normal.”
Una smoothed Jill’s hair. “Amma had visions from time to time. She said it was like dreaming while she was awake. Some people thought she was just telling stories, but I believed her. I believe you, too.”
“I think I saw one of the missing boys. I think . . .” Jill pointed at the library books strewn across the back seat. “If
it wasn’t a propeller, or a shark, then it was something else.”
A catalog of sea monsters surfaced in Una’s memory. These creatures appeared again and again in Amma’s fireside tales. Some
came from Norse mythology. Others were part of their island’s folklore. All were very old.
Una guessed Jill’s mind was filled with monsters, too.
Serpent. Leviathan. Kraken. Sea witch.
What were the curved paths radiating out of the stone face in Mrs. Smith’s garden? Were they tentacles? The eels from Jill’s
vision?
Eel’s Nest.
Una cast an anxious glance at the looming gray mass of a house.
“I want to tell you something.” Una took Jill’s hand. “The box I got from Mrs. Stapleton is about Cold Harbor’s history. I
borrowed it so I could learn more about that house and the people who lived there.”
“You did?”
Una nodded. “We can share what we learn, you and me. We can be a team. Okay?”
Jill’s face flooded with relief. “Okay.”
Una drove down the Scotts’ driveway and let Jill off by the garage door.
Before Jill got out, she leaned over and kissed Una’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Una waited until Jill scurried inside before turning around and motoring up the driveway. When she reached the top, her car paused as if holding its breath, and Una caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye.
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her head to the left and saw a woman standing in Mrs. Smith’s driveway, her hands curled around
the bars of the motorized gate.
She wore a silky blue robe, which the rain had plastered to her skin. Long dark hair framed a phantom-white face. Her feet
were bare. Her mouth was a slash of red. Her eyes were deep black marbles. They studied Una with cold malevolence.
Una heard a low moan of terror and realized it was rising out of her own throat.
It was the woman from John Stapleton’s book about Cold Harbor. She had the same face. The same soulless eyes.
Una wanted to strip off her own skin, to burn it—anything to stop the prickling, probing invasion of the woman’s black gaze.
Instead, she stamped down on the accelerator. Her car shot forward, breaking the spell.
She drove as fast as she dared on the winding road, too petrified to look in the rearview mirror.
She tried to tell herself that she must be mistaken. That the rain was playing tricks on her.
But it was no use. She knew what she’d seen. Her worst suspicions had just been confirmed.
Mrs. Smith was done hiding.