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Taylor proposed the midnight bath, and there was unanimous agreement among the group. Everyone was eager to follow him when he directed the way. Rather than leading, he stayed back with the couples who showed a reluctance to leave each other’s company. Walking between them, Taylor’s motives, whether mischievous or playful, remained a mystery even to himself.
The McPhersons and Rogerss led the way, the women leaning on their husbands’ arms. Evelyn caught snippets of Taylor’s voice from behind and wondered why he didn’t join them. It was unlike him, as he had recently alternated between intense devotion and brief absences, making his absence felt even when unanticipated.
The group walked in clusters toward the beach, chatting, laughing, and occasionally singing. Faint strains of music drifted from Klein’s hotel, blending with the sea’s scent, earthy aromas, and the delicate perfume of nearby blossoms. The moon’s gentle light draped the landscape in a dreamy softness, devoid of harsh shadows.
Entering the water felt natural, like returning to a familiar embrace. The sea, tranquil now, undulated lazily, its gentle waves lapping against the shore in foamy ripples. Evelyn had spent the summer learning to swim, receiving guidance from everyone, including Taylor. Despite his diligent coaching, an underlying fear lingered whenever she ventured into the water without immediate support.
However, on that night, she experienced a breakthrough akin to a child taking its first confident steps. With a few strong strokes, she surfaced, exuberant and triumphant. A surge of empowerment flooded her, prompting her to push her limits, wanting to venture where no woman had gone before.
Her newfound skill drew admiration and applause, each person claiming credit for her success. “It’s so easy!” she thought, vocalizing her realization. “Why didn’t I realize it sooner? I wasted so much time splashing around like a child!” Ignoring the group’s activities, she swam out alone, intoxicated by her newfound prowess.
She turned her face toward the sea, absorbing the vastness and solitude that the water meeting the moonlit sky evoked in her mind. Swimming, she felt as though she was reaching for infinity, yearning to lose herself in the boundless expanse.
Glancing back at the shore, she saw the people she had left behind. While she hadn’t ventured far by experienced swimmer standards, the distance seemed daunting to her untrained eye, appearing like an insurmountable barrier.
A fleeting fear of death seized her, momentarily weakening her resolve. But she summoned her strength and made it back to land, keeping her brush with mortality and the rush of terror to herself, except for a quiet remark to her husband about feeling on the brink of perishing alone.
Stolen story; please report.
Evelyn quickly changed into dry clothes and prepared to leave while the others still enjoyed the water. Ignoring their calls to stay, she walked away alone, prompting Madame Williams to comment on her apparent capriciousness.
Taylor caught up with her on her way home. “Were you afraid?” she asked, without irritation.
“No, I knew you weren’t,” he replied.
“Then why did you come back? Why not stay with the others?”
“I didn’t think about it.”
“What didn’t you think about?”
“Anything. Does it matter?”
“I’m very tired,” she sighed.
“I know,” he empathized.
“You don’t know anything about it. Why should you? I’ve never felt so exhausted. But it’s not unpleasant. Tonight has stirred a thousand emotions in me. I don’t understand half of them. Don’t mind me; I’m just thinking aloud. I wonder if I’ll ever be moved again as Mademoiselle Reisz’s playing did tonight. Will any night be like this again? It feels like a dream. The people around me seem like uncanny, otherworldly beings. There must be spirits tonight.”
“There are,” Taylor whispered. “Did you forget it’s the twenty-eighth of August?”
“The twenty-eighth of August?”
“Yes. On the twenty-eighth of August, at midnight, under the moon’s glow, a spirit rises from the Gulf, seeking a mortal worthy of sharing its ethereal realm for a few hours,” Taylor explained, his words carrying a hint of mystery and fascination.
Mrs. McPherson’s initial response reflected a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “Don’t jest with me,” she replied, feeling a slight sting at what she perceived as his casual tone.
Taylor sensed her wounded feelings, his own demeanor shifting to a more serious note. He offered her his arm, acknowledging her exhaustion. She had been walking alone, her thoughts seemingly distant as her hand rested lightly on his arm, almost as if her mind was racing ahead of her body.
He guided her to a hammock, gently assisting her. “Will you wait here for Mr. McPherson?” he inquired.
“Yes, I’ll stay. Good-night,” she responded, settling into the hammock.
“Would you like a pillow?” he asked, noting the condition of the one in the hammock.
“It’s fine,” she dismissed, adjusting it herself. As she reclined, there was a grace in her repose, a sense of tranquility that seemed to envelop her.
“Shall I stay until Mr. McPherson returns?” Taylor offered, taking a seat nearby.
“If you wish. Please don’t rock the hammock. Could you fetch my white shawl from the house?” she requested, anticipating the night’s chill.
He fetched the shawl, returning to find her still awake. She held the shawl but didn’t wrap herself in it, a subtle sign of her independence.
“Did you want me to stay until Mr. McPherson returns?” he asked again, trying to gauge her wishes.
“You can if you want,” she replied softly, her gaze following him as he sat down and lit a cigarette.
The silence between them carried unspoken emotions, a quiet intimacy that spoke volumes. When the sounds of approaching bathers broke the stillness, Taylor bid her goodnight, thinking she had drifted off to sleep. Yet, she remained awake, watching him leave in the moonlit shadows, the night holding secrets and unspoken desires in its tranquil embrace.