Dark Nantucket Noon by Jane Langton Read Free Book Online Page B

marriage that seemed predestined by a happy fate … the last survivors of this historic Nantucket family joined in wedlock … Helen Boatwright Green … youth, beauty … selfless devotion to the Nantucket Protection Society … inspiration of her life to all who knew her … grief of her bereaved husband, whose book about their marriage is still a best seller … hundreds turned away at the church.” Shock, despair, horror , exclaimed the Inquirer and Mirror.
    Well, don’t look at me , said Kitty to herself. It isn’t my fault. And so it isn’t a triangle at all, you see. After all, it was Helen and Joe who were the children of destiny, not me. I was just a random episode in the distant past. The paper drooped in Kitty’s hand. With a deliberate effort she slapped it open and looked for advertisements for real estate. There was a big one on page four. She picked up the telephone beside the bed and dialed the number.
    â€œMagee Realty,” said the telephone. “Mrs. Wilhelmina Magee speaking.”
    â€œHello, Mrs. Magee. I’m looking for a house or an apartment to rent. Do you handle rentals?”
    â€œYes, we do. I’m sure we can do something for you, Miss …?”
    â€œClark. Katharine Clark. And I’d just as soon not be right in the town. Would there be anything a little farther out?”
    The telephone fell silent. Then Mrs. Magee said, “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Clark, but, would you believe it, every single one of our rentals has been taken. You might try the Miller cottages. You’ll find them in the phone book. Good -bye.”
    Doggedly Kitty worked her way through the ads in the paper. At last she ran across a man who didn’t boggle at her name, and he drove over to the guesthouse on Main Street and took her to see a couple of places on the north side of town.
    â€œThey’re very nice,” said Kitty. “But I really would like to be farther out, where I could be a little more private.”
    â€œWell, zheesh, it’s too bad. I don’t have a thing out of town right now, except for one listing. But it wouldn’t be right for you at all. Old Mr. Biddle’s place. Old chap didn’t keep the place up.”
    Kitty was interested at once. “Where is it?” she said. “Is it cheaper than the others? That would be great.”
    â€œIt’s out the Polpis Road. It’s not anywhere near the beach. Way down a dirt road. Doesn’t even have an inside toilet. You wouldn’t—”
    â€œReally, I don’t mind. It sounds fine.”
    The realtor, whose name was Flakeley, shrugged his shoulders and looked significantly at his watch. What he meant was, customers like Kitty should accept his professional opinion and shut up—after all, he had been twenty-five years in the business. But Kitty insisted. “Okay, sister, it’s your funeral,” said Mr. Flakeley. Grumpily he eased his expensive car away from the curb, drove through town and turned out on the Polpis Road.
    It was a gray day. Kitty found herself looking at the Nantucket landscape as if she had never seen it before. She had been this way twice, that day last week. But she hadn’t seen it at all—the wind-swept trees, the colored fields, the thick silvery undergrowth. “Why, it’s beautiful,” she said, turning to Mr. Flakeley.
    â€œBeautiful?” said Mr. Flakeley, “Oh, sure: Beautiful.” The word seemed to offend him. “That’s what they always say. After a while it makes you puke.”
    â€œThey?”
    â€œConservation types. Holier than thou. That Nantucket Protection Society. Creeps.” Mr. Flakeley began to talk, almost to himself, slumbering resentments whining in his voice: partly at Kitty, who was wasting his time this way, partly at the damn-fool snobs in the Nantucket Protection Society, who were trying to ruin his livelihood by keeping people out.