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By Root 232 0

her dreamy sister through the winter—but there was this other part of her who had lived it all, balls and visits to the White House and fine dresses and expensive wines. As she told it all to Dr. Levinson she was slightly aware that she was presenting as handed-down fact and lore things she had read in books special-ordered from off island, but this hardly seemed an infraction, as Dr. Levinson and little Liz responded so passionately to her confession that she decided in the moment to take them over to the house to see the portrait of Theo that hung over the mantel, which hung now over her bed in the nursing home. As she led them from church to house she told how Theo and her great-great-great-grandfather Claxton Whaley had broken into Thaddeus Daniels’s compound near Nag’s Head while the crook was out thieving and had stolen the portrait that hung over his mantel (according to local gossip, Daniels actually prayed to it, confessed his sins to it, was rumored to be driven mad by it), loaded the portrait into a skiff, and paddled south down to Yaupon, how after Theodosia’s death of a stroke while she was hanging out the wash, her children found the painting hidden in their mother’s bedroom, how it hung in Aunt Mandy’s parlor, which was where Whaley first remembered seeing it as a young girl playing with Mandy’s fat tabby cats.

Maggie was in the kitchen that day she brought over the Tape Recorders to see the portrait. Apparently she overheard Whaley carrying on about Theo. Later that night Maggie came into her room and sat on the bed. Whaley was working her word puzzle but not really—more dragging her eyes across the page waiting to fall asleep.

Maggie said: “I heard you talking about Theo.”

Whaley put down her puzzle book and waited. She felt foolish for going on about such in earshot of her sister, who did not need encouragement in the fantasy department.

She said, “Well, you know, Mag, Dr. Levinson and them love a good story. You tend to talk a little out of your head around them, just giving them what they want and all.”

“I’ve never heard you talk out of your head around them before,” said Maggie. “Or around anyone. Anyway, you don’t need to defend yourself, I’m not criticizing. I just wanted to tell you, see, I feel the same way.”

“Feel which way?” Whaley did not want to talk about this with her sister. She made no attempt to hide the irritation in her voice.

“Like a part of her—Theo—is inside of me too. I don’t know near as much about her as you, you read all those books about her father, I mean, I only know the basic story. But the part of her I feel wasn’t in any of those books.”

“What part would that be?” Usually Whaley was able to shut her sister up with her tone. But Maggie wasn’t listening, obviously, to her questions or the way they were pitched.

“Well, I’m not real sure, exactly. Not the Theodosia who grew up in New York and entertained presidents and spoke French and married a governor and all. I guess that’s the part of her you feel …”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I told you I’m not criticizing. I’m just saying, for me, it’s the part of her that all of a sudden turned up on the Banks having had this whole other life, all these things happen to her. And the way she nearly died but got spared, that especially.”

Whaley nearly hyperventilated exhaling her dramatic sigh, not that her sister noticed.

“You know I’m not real big on religion. But her being, you know, spared because they thought she was touched by God, well, that too.”

“What do you think God spared you from?”

“I know, it’s not like some murderer was about to toss me overboard. But I’d have gone a whole lot crazier than I did whenever Boyd left me …”

“I cannot believe you even remember his name. It’s been years since you even laid eyes on him.”

Whaley thought this would shut her up for certain. In the past it was easy to shame her into silence by suggesting that she was willfully prolonging her hurt. But none of the old failsafe ways were working. Maggie seemed to be off in one of her foggy dream-states, and Whaley, it seemed,