Jacaranda Read Online Free Page B

that.
    When he looked again, harder, he saw pieces of her dress and tangles of her hair snagged in the crystals of the great light above them. Hanging there like so much moss, or so many cobwebs.
    He cleared his throat. “Did anyone witness…what became of them? Or merely the aftermath?”
    “A boy who worked in the kitchens found them. He was bringing in the soup, and by then, it was all over.”
    Even though the padre wasn’t looking anymore, he saw a slender boy in his teens with dark hair and sun-kissed skin, and eyes like coffee. He saw the boy drop the tureen, his mouth agape but silent. Such was his shock and horror that he could not scream. He could not breathe.
    “I don’t suppose we could speak with him.”
    “He fainted, and when he awoke he never said a word. They found his body yesterday. The poor lad threw himself into the ocean.” She stepped into the center of the room. She stood beneath the gore-splattered chandelier. “Before the Pattersons, there was Silas Andrews. Before Silas, there was Maria Chavez. Before Maria, there was Mr. Martin and his daughter. And that’s only been this month.”
    The padre stayed where he was, just inside the doors. “God in Heaven…then why would anyone come here?” he wondered aloud.
    She shrugged. “Word has gotten out, but not so far and wide. For reasons that elude me, the Jacaranda’s danger is nothing but a faint rumor. That said, it’s the finest resort on Galveston Island, which is an easy stopping place on the way to the Caribbean. Merchants, travelers, sight-seers. Bankers and financiers. They call this the Wall Street of the South, you know—at least that one neighborhood, down on the Strand. And as for the rest…some of us are drawn here, whether we care to be or not.”
    “Some of us? You felt called to this place?”
    The nun nodded. “At first I thought…well, I thought whatever was here…perhaps it wanted assistance. But now I know,” she said, almost to herself. “It doesn’t scream for help. It merely screams .”
     

Having finished their inspection of the dining hall, the padre and the nun were first to arrive in the community room for the evening meal. The next to appear was a lean older woman, who greeted the nun as she approached the table. “So nice to see you again, Sister Eileen.”
    “And you as well. Father Rios, this is Constance Fields. She’s been here since Tuesday.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she mumbled toward the padre, as she drew up a chair next to the nun. Even while seated, she seemed quite tall—and the narrow fit of her pale yellow dress emphasized the long lines that made up her shape. She was perhaps seventy, with bright blue eyes and hair as gray as a nickel, twisted into a bun atop her head.
    He raised an eyebrow. “Three whole days? You must find this place agreeable.”
    “I’m waiting,” she replied—neither confirming nor denying anything. “My husband is returning to Texas, from Barbados.”
    “Then I trust he has been delayed by the weather.”
    “As likely as not.” She folded a napkin onto her lap, and lifted her eyes when a doe-eyed young man chose the seat next to hers. “William,” she said in acknowledgment.
    Sister Eileen smiled. “Good afternoon, dear. I hope you’ve gotten a goodly amount of work done today.”
    “Yes ma’am,” he answered. He was a soft lad, not quite fat but leaning toward heavy—and the roundness of his face made him seem young. A fine gold watch chain peeked out of his pocket in a pretty, glimmering arc. It cost easily more than the rest of his wardrobe, which was (in every stitch) the uniform of a very poor man dressing upward, aspiring toward respectability if not taste. The padre suspected an academic.
    “Father Rios,” the nun offered, “this is William Brewer. He’s a botanist, researching the unique plant life on the island.”
    “Good to meet you,” the young man replied with a wide, if uncertain, smile.
    “Likewise, of