Eye of the Storm (Hudson 3)

"How did they even know I would be home?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Victoria just assumes you will." He looked back at me, his eyes a little wide. "That woman is all confidence," he said. He laughed. "I can remember her as a little girl. She walked so straight and perfect and always looked like she was thinking. She was so serious, even back then. and I remember the way she would look at Megan, look down her nose at her as if to say. 'How did this bug get into our house?'

"One thing about Megan though, she never seemed to pay her much attention. Victoria's comments slid off her back like ice cubes off a hot plate."

"Which had to drive Victoria crazy." I said.

"Exactly. Exactly." He laughed. "If Megan gave her much thought, she'd be upset. I suppose. Even back then. I nicknamed her Turtle. She'd get this faroff, dreamy look and crawl into her shell of fantasies to escape Victoria."

"Megan is like that with everyone." I muttered, more to myself than to him.

"Um," he said.

I hadn't told Jake anything about Megan being my real mother and I hadn't told him about my real father at all. Since the funeral and all that followed, he and I hadn't really spent much time together. This was the first trip, the first time he was driving me anywhere when I was by myself,

"So, have you decided to return to England. Princess?'" he asked me.

"Probably," I said. "I'll stay in the dorms this time, of course,"

"I understand, Leonora and Richard are two pieces of work, all right. Frances used to shake her head and laugh at how regal and how English Leonora had become."

I wanted to tell him there wasn't all that much that was funny about them. They had lost their little girl who had a defective heart valve and it had left my great-uncle rather bizarre. Shortly before I had left England, he had impregnated their maid. Mary Margaret. whom I discovered was the daughter of Great-uncle Richard's driver. Boggs, the man who ran his house. No one but Boggs. I and Mary Margaret knew. Both my great-uncle and great-aunt were people who created their own imaginary world to replace the reality they couldn't face. and Mary Margaret had been forced to be part of Great-uncle Richard's fantasies.

"You didn't happen to find yourself a nice young English

man while you were there now, did you, Princess?" Jake asked.

"No, Jake." I said.

He raised his eyebrows at the way I had replied. He could hear my audible sigh following. At the school I had met a handsome Canadian boy. Randall Glenn, the type of young man who could make every woman's heart flutter when he looked her way. We had become lovers for a while. Randall had a beautiful singing voice. I was sure he would be a great success, but in the end, he proved to be too immature for ine.

"No one to go back to then?" Jake pursued.

"Shakespeare." I replied and he laughed.

The cemetery soon loomed before us. We passed through an arch and went to the right and then to the left to the Hudsons' plots. Grandmother Hudson had been buried beside her husband Everett and to his right were his parents and a brother.

Jake stopped the car and turned off the engine.

"Looks like there might be a little storm later," he said. "I was going to take Rain out for a little trot. but I'll wait until tomorrow. Hey," he said while I procrastinated, building up my courage in the rear seat, "maybe you can ride her from time to time. Until you return to England, that is."

"I haven't ridden for a while. Jake, not since school here."

"Yeah, well it's like ridin' a bike. Princess. You just get on and it comes back. Don't forget," he reminded me, "I've seen you riding. You're good."

"All right. Jake. I'll do it," I promised, took a deep breath and got out.

I didn't think as much about Grandmother Hudson during the funeral. There were so many people and so much tension between my aunt Victoria and my mother. I was often distracted. I kept expecting Grandmother Hudson would appear and be outraged by the ostentatious arrangements Victoria had made.

"How dare you conduct such a silly service in my name? All of you, get on with your own lives," she would command and then smile at me and we'd go home.

Dreaming seemed to be the best medicine for such deep, sickly sadness. I thought and walked toward her grave. Jake remained in the car, watching me.

"So here I am. Grandmother," I said to her stone. "right where you put me. I know you had your reasons for this. You know they all hate me because of what you have given me. Was it meant to be some sort of test?"

I stared at her stone. Of course. I didn't expect to hear any answers. The answers, she would say, are in you. Coming here I hoped would help me find them, hear them.

The wind grew more brisk. Clouds looked like they were galloping across the sky. Jake was right about the weather. I zipped up my jacket further.