Briefly, the woman’s eyes flickered with the awareness of someplace bigger than Mercy Island, and in that moment, Julie gave her a shove so hard she stumbled.
* * *
When Julie got outside, the day was both sunny and gray, a strange, two-faced dichotomy, as if the weather couldn’t decide who to be. Peter stood in the little plot of kelpy grass, holding onto Depot. When he spotted Julie, he met her eyes with a look of certainty and heightened expectation, as if he’d known all along that things were going to go this way. Julie grabbed Peter by the hand, and they started to run toward the cove, Depot racing along at their side.
Assuming Callum had brought the Mary Martin to the closest possible point next to shore, they would still have some distance to cover in the dinghy. And a dinghy could only be rowed so fast; it wasn’t a craft built for speed.
The tide was coming in, up to the boulders that stood between Julie, Peter, Depot and the beach. Suddenly, a shadow, long and sloping, was thrown in front of them, cast by the sun and a dark cloud. Julie lifted her head to see the grandmother looming beside one of the rocks, water swirling around her ankles in a furious froth.
“You must think yourself very clever,” she said to Julie. “Such a perfect choice of play. Why, this move of yours feels almost…scripted.” The grandmother’s thin, sculpted brows drew together in a frown. “But what did you intend to do with Peter? Do you imagine taking him to that backwoods village you call home and raising him yourself? As a substitute perhaps for the child you let die?”
As blindingly cruel as the words were, Julie was glad to hear them. They meant the grandmother did not in fact know that Julie had learned the truth about Peter’s birth. And thus had no clue where Julie planned to bring him.
The grandmother raised her voice to be heard over the roiling surf. “Don’t you think others have tried to best me? That awful, impoverished man who thought himself good enough for my secondborn. My own husband even. No one has ever succeeded in battling me. I can muster a bigger army.” Her gaze scoured Julie. “You should have remembered whom you’re opposing. All of this”—she thrust out a hand, and it wasn’t clear whether she meant the school, or the island, or the whole of the ocean—“is mine. It’s been my family’s since this slab of rock was settled. And now I’m the ruler of—”
“—a speck of land that sits eight miles out to sea,” Julie broke in.
The grandmother eyed her as if from a great height. “How naive you are. The size of what comes below doesn’t matter. All that matters is who’s at the top.” A pause. “Now come, Peter. It’s time to go home.” Turning her back on Julie, the grandmother stretched out an arm behind her, so confident it would be taken, she didn’t even look.
Peter glanced at Julie before beginning to walk toward his grandmother, hand obediently extended. But he darted back to deliver one final pat to Depot’s head.
Julie had just described Depot as big and friendly, and he was.
But he could become dragon-fierce when someone he loved was threatened.
Depot pulled back his lips in a tremble of fury, then took a leap forward, knocking the grandmother onto the sand. She struggled into a sitting position, trying to get to her feet, but Depot staved her off against one of the seaweed-slick rocks.
Julie snatched up Peter’s hand and ran with him toward shore.
Depot kept growling, not so much as a pause in his threatening rumble until Julie and Peter had reached the sea. When they got to the curl of surf at the water’s edge, it became clear how rough the seas had grown since Julie and Callum had made the crossing that morning. A few yards to their left, Callum held the skiff in place, arms straining, muscles bulging, as he prevented the craft from being driven seaward by incoming waves. He rowed toward Julie and Peter as soon as he spotted them, and they splashed through the water and climbed into the dinghy. From behind, at a galloping run, only a second’s hesitation at water’s edge, Depot entered the sea. Julie and Peter heaved and hauled, pulling the dog into the little boat. His weight forced the skiff down before it popped back up into a well between waves.
Callum sank the oars into the water, pulling back on them fiercely, and grunting with the effort it took to battle the crests. For a second, gray skies obliterated fair, but the sun fought back, throwing out shafts of light so bright they were blinding.
Julie searched the water for the Mary Martin. Fifty yards or so out, and once onboard, they would have the power of an engine. But the peaks and valleys of the sea opposed them. The skiff dropped and climbed, steep angles that Callum had to work to navigate. Which was probably why he didn’t realize it first, get the chance to warn them. There was too much weight in the skiff.
The floor of the small craft sat low in the water, waves coming halfway up its sides. The farther they got from shore, the higher the water rose; it was now at the rim of the dinghy. Seawater trickled over in streams, then the largest crest yet towered. When it broke, it would pour into the dinghy, a waterfall, not a trickle.
Julie grabbed Depot’s collar, holding onto her dog with one hand, while keeping Peter close beside her with the other. Callum lifted the oars free of the water; no way to row in the face of a wave that size. They all braced themselves as it plumed, drenching them, water pooling at their feet. Another wave like that one would submerge the small craft.
Callum’s eyes met Julie’s.
“You’ll have to row!” he yelled. “I’ll take Depot and swim with him to my boat!”
Julie’s gaze shot to her dog. He was trying to get free of a puddle of seawater—ever since their swim by the cliffs, he hated being soaked by the ocean—which only made the dinghy pitch up and down more steeply, like a cradle rocked by a demon hand.
A wave loomed in front of them, and Callum fought to hold the skiff steady. The force of the water jolted the craft.
As soon as it bobbed back up, Julie found Callum’s gaze, and nodded.
He crawled over the seat, approaching Depot, but the dog backed away, eyes liquid with panic. His paws scrabbled for purchase on the slippery floor. Then his big body hit the bottom of the dinghy with a thud. Depot dropped to his belly, flattening himself out while emitting small, terrified yips.
The dinghy climbed the peak of an oncoming wave, before dropping into a trough and taking on a great gush of water. Callum reached for Depot, who got onto all fours and tried to scuttle away. But there was nowhere for him to go in the tiny, sinking craft. Julie pushed past Peter and knelt before her dog. A wave came up and splashed them both as Julie laid her wet hands on Depot’s dripping fur and lowered her face to his.
“It’s okay, Deep. You hear me? You’re going to be okay.” She paused, tears trembling in her eyes, mixing with the wetness already on her face. “But you’ve got to do this. We’ve got to. For Peter.”
Callum edged forward then, keeping himself upright by bracing his hands on both sides of the skiff. He bent down and placed one arm underneath Depot’s rump.
The sea let out a mighty roar, and the dog looked at Julie with terror.
Then he let Callum lift him, settling into the crook of his arm.
With one immense heave, the two of them went over the side of the skiff and into the mouth of the next huge wave.
Chapter Seventy-Three
With its lightened load, the dinghy stayed on top of the water, sliding across the pitched crest of the wave that had taken Depot and Callum. Julie drove the oars like spears through the sea, rowing them in the direction of the Mary Martin. The skiff bucked like a rodeo bull in her grasp.
“Sit down!” she told Peter, who was leaning over to try to spot Depot. The boy obeyed instantly, dropping onto the plank seat.
Julie fought to pull the skiff forward, but it felt like trying to move through cement. A great roll of water began to curl, propelling them upward as if they were riding the back of some beast. Julie twisted around, trying to find Ca
llum’s boat in the churn. She blinked stinging seawater out of her eyes just in time to see a wave loom up.
“Peter!” Julie shouted. “Peter, duck—”
The wave broke, driving the skiff downward.
“Ms. Weathers!” Peter coughed, spat out a mouthful of liquid. “Look!”
Sputtering and gasping, Julie swiped water from her face, scouring the sea for whatever Peter had seen.
Another lobster boat appeared out of the strange shimmering light, and as soon as Julie read the name painted across its stern, she knew that if their escape hadn’t been defeated already, it would be now. Island Family. There could be only one family with sufficient belief in its claim to the title to thus designate their boat.
As the Island Family chugged closer, taking on form and dimension, Julie slid the oars into their rings, letting the skiff be shunted along by the force of the sea. Thrashing around, trying to row, would only draw attention to them. Perhaps the grandmother would lose sight of the dinghy in the bow and dip of the waves. Julie drew Peter to her across the plank seat, while searching the water for signs of Depot and Callum. She tried to get a bead on the Mary Martin. Maybe her dog was already in the boat.
The Island Family was upon them now, lifted and dropped by the swells of surf.
Fear, worry, and their near capsize had distorted her thinking, but the realization crept up on Julie now. There was no way the grandmother could have made it to the pier, onto her boat, and out to the cove already. She had been on shore, forced by Depot to stand down, mere minutes ago. Unless the woman were more sorceress than human being, able to defy the laws of time and weather and physics to get to her grandson?
“Come!” came a ringing command, and someone leaned overboard, holding out a hand.
It was the Captain.
* * *
“Hurry, son,” he said, reaching for Peter and swinging the boy up with a show of strength that belied his years and ailments. Then the Captain leaned down again. “You too, my dear,” he said, and took Julie by the hand.
When they were both onboard, he confronted her without his customary smile.
Julie tried to dry off her face, but her hands were shaking too hard.
“And now,” the Captain said to Julie. “Shall we get our boy where he belongs?”
Peter walked across the boat, legs wobbly, but mostly upright, and lifted a hinged lid on a seat. He pulled out a life jacket and buckled the straps across his narrow chest, passing another one to Julie. The boy enacted the moves automatically, as if being onboard his grandfather’s boat called forth training long since impressed.
The Island Family was bigger than the Mary Martin, and the ease with which it passed over churn that had nearly capsized the dinghy was startling. Waves flattened underneath the boat like hummocks of soil pressed beneath the tread of boots. Julie didn’t see the Mary Martin anywhere.
With obvious effort, the Captain began to turn the wheel, pointing them toward the mainland. It was only then that Julie noticed how pale and gray the man looked. On Julie it might’ve been seasickness, but not on a lifelong lobsterman.
“Where are we going?” the Captain asked, speaking over his shoulder while he squinted out toward the horizon. He seemed to have forgotten the last words he had just said. “For our fine day at sea.”
Julie swallowed. “Um, Duck Harbor?” She mustered more force in her voice, and repeated it. “Duck Harbor.”
“Ah,” the Captain said, rubbing one shoulder. “A fine destination indeed. One of my favorites.”
“Yes.” Julie swallowed again. Her mouth was so dry, salt-parched. “Only could you…can you please go a little faster?”
Peter came up and stood beside her.
The Captain adjusted the wheel in minute increments, turning it arduously, hand over hand. He looked back at them, wearing an expression of affection that shone a light across Peter’s face, and even seemed to encompass Julie.
“You girls always did like to go fast,” the Captain said. “I used to say, what do you think this is, a motorboat?” He was trying to smile, but his face was beaded with sweat that the sea breeze couldn’t evaporate.
The boat bounced gently up and down on the waves, a gymnast on a trampoline, preparing. The Captain held onto the wheel as if it were trying to buck him off, although the sea seemed calm enough now. Suddenly, he removed one hand and clapped it to his arm. Rotating his body in a slow circle, he peered around until his gaze landed on Peter.
“Get to the stern!” he commanded. “Sit down and stay aft until we dock. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Captain,” Peter said.
The Captain squeezed his upper arm, fingers trembling with the force he applied.
“Captain?” Peter said, his voice wobbling. “Grandpa? Are you all—”
“I said get going, son. Now!”
Peter ran down the slippery length of the boat, and threw himself down.
The Captain faced Julie. “Take the wheel.” Despite his bleary, rheumy vision, there was an unyielding quality to his voice that brooked no protest or delay.
Julie took a step forward, and the Captain let go of the wheel as if it had finally thrown him free. Julie wrapped her hands around the cold metal disk, feeling an instantaneous tug from the boat, a racehorse whose reins she now held.
The Captain gave her a nod. “I knew you’d be the one,” he said, and it was the clearest and most certain statement Julie had ever heard him make.
* * *
The earthquake tremor of his fall could be felt underfoot, surely all the way back to Peter, perhaps even as a ripple along the ocean floor. The Captain’s eyes were open and staring, fixed on the turbulent sky above, gray and blue still fighting for dominion.
Julie dropped into a crouch, one hand above her on the wheel, and placed two fingers against the Captain’s neck. No pulse. Not even a thin thread of breath when she placed her hand an inch or two over his mouth. The Captain’s chest was sunken and still. But that ghastly gray tinge had left his face, and he looked almost happy.
Julie rose swiftly and faced the sea.
She couldn’t see any sign of land, but the sun had finally beaten its way out of the clouds, and it was possible to tell that they were headed west.
The task seemed doable—certainly the Captain had trusted her with it, even though she had his grandson in her care, not that he’d had much choice—yet boats got lost at sea all the time. The radio system looked complicated. Julie couldn’t imagine trying to figure it out and driving at the same time. Who were you even supposed to call for a Mayday?
Briefly, she considered summoning Peter to the front of the boat, but Julie didn’t want to frighten the boy more than he already was, nor give him reason to doubt Julie’s ability to protect him. Plus, the Captain’s wishes had been clear. Peter had already experienced one death this year. He didn’t need to see his grandfather, so meager and reduced, lying on the floor of his boat.
They were on course; the Captain had made sure of that. And by this point, Julie could pick out features at sea as she had spied landmarks all her life in the woods. Up ahead bobbed one of those green oversize buoy-type things she’d seen when Callum took her out on his boat. It meant that an obstruction lay underwater, the marker telling you which side to steer clear of.
With a mighty wrench of her hands, Julie sent the Island Family past it.
Duck Harbor was a promontory. They should reach it before coming to any other land. And if Julie somehow missed it, the town from which the ferry departed would be next. With the sun having revealed itself and beginning its afternoon descent, so long as Julie kept the boat going straight, the worst that could happen was they would run aground at some spot on the mainland that didn’t have a pier.
One damaged lobster boat—but Peter would still be free.
Focused on the horizon, squinting so as to be
able to detect the first thin splinter of land, Julie pushed the throttle forward, lurching a bit as the boat picked up speed.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Driving a lobster boat was both easier and harder than Julie had expected. The sea kept wanting to shift it; Julie had to put up a fight with the wheel due to all but invisible, infinitesimal changes in the slug and sway of the water. At the same time, the sheer blankness of a seascape, its total lack of interruption, made whatever you were looking for relatively simple to find.
Duck Harbor was a finger of land poking out into the Atlantic. Julie recognized the ferry station by its size and shape, and turned the wheel abruptly, steering toward the dock in a zigzag line, and coming to a hard stop that pitched her against the wheel. She had no idea how to tie up the boat, but Peter took care of that, jumping out and fiddling with a stout rope.
The ferry station was where she should find Bobby. Julie would bring Peter over and let his father decide how to introduce himself, whether he wanted to call his wife, take Peter to the house, or some other scenario entirely.
But before any of that could happen, someone came running down the pier, a slimly built woman in jeans and a thick sweater, the lowering sun catching purple lights in her hair.
“You came,” Melinda said.
“So did you,” Julie replied.
Melinda snatched a quick peek around, her gaze darting out to sea. She didn’t spy Peter crouched beside the two-pronged hook, nor did he notice her.
“I don’t think I’ve left the dock since you did,” Melinda said. “Bobby and I slept in the station last night. Do you have an update for us?”
Peter stood up then. “Ms. Weathers, I got it. It’s good.”
The Second Mother Page 37
