Melody (Logan 1)

I felt a ceiling of oppressive gray clouds and heavy air, too thick to breathe, go out with her.

"You should call this place the Ice House," I remarked.

Cary smiled. "She's not as tough as she makes out."

We ate the dessert and, I had to admit, I did like the small cakes. "This house itself is very nice, nicer even than Alice Morgan's."

"Who's she?"

"My best friend back in Sewell." I gazed at the pretty things, the antique hutch filled with expensive crystal, the beautiful chandelier above us, and the rich, large paintings on the walls.

"How did Grandpa make so much money?" I asked Cary.

"A great deal was left to Grandma Olivia when her parents passed away. Grandpa had a fleet of fishing vessels, including five lobster boats. But, he lost most of them during bad times. Luckily, my father had his own by then. Come on. I'll show you around."

He signed to May and she gulped down one more spoonful of ice cream. I took her hand when she came around the table. Cary led us through the house, down the corridor, past the door to the kitchen, past a den-office on the right, finally to a rear door. It opened on a small porch.

Behind the house was a large gazebo, some benches and a rock garden with a small fountain. The rear of the property was on the beach and there was a dock with a large sailboat and a small motorboat tied to it.

"This is a beautiful place," I declared.

"Aye. They actually have a small cove here so it's not as rough as it is up and down the beach."

We walked down to the dock and l

ooked at the ocean. The waves were gentle. Milk-white streaks of clouds lay against the blue sky. To the right against the shoreline were large rocks.

"See the mussels clinging to those rocks," Cary said pointing. They were dark purple against the stone. On the sand, seagulls strutted about searching for clams. I saw one circle the rocks and then drop something from its beak. The moment what it had dropped hit the rock, it swooped to retrieve it.

"What is that bird doing?"

"Seagulls drop the clams on the rocks to break the shells and then drop to eat them as soon as they hit the stone. Smart, eh?"

I shook my head in amazement, not only at what I saw, but at how much Cary knew about nature.

I looked down the beach to our left. A large sailboat bounced over the waves, its sail flapping in the breeze. "I can understand why my daddy wanted to go to the seashore so much. He missed this."

Cary nodded, glanced at me, and then checked the knot on the rope that held the motorboat to the dock. May signed to us she was going to look for seashells.

"Not too far," Cary signed. She nodded and directed her attention to the beach.

"Our grandmother sure hates my mother, doesn't she?" I said.

Cary kept his watchful eyes on May. "Looks that way," he admitted.

"Do they often talk about her and my daddy?"

"Hardly ever," he said. He started for the beach and I followed.

"I can't understand what my daddy could possibly have done to make them so angry. Why shouldn't a man have a right to chose the woman he loves to marry? Why did they have to disown him? She's very cruel, or are you going to tell me it's simply because she's afraid, too?"

He spun around, his eyes filled more with pain than anger. "Grandma's bark has always been worse than her bite," he said. "After you're here a while, you'll see that, too. It takes her a little time to warm up to strangers."

"I'm not a stranger. I'm her granddaughter, whether she likes it or not."

He looked away. May was close enough to the water for the tide to just touch her feet. "Damn!" He rushed to her and pulled her farther back. I thought he was unnecessarily rough with her and said so. Then I took her hand and we walked away. I told her I would help her find seashells. Cary followed.

"She can't swim, you know," he said in his defense.