by Kathi Appelt
109
“KEEEEEPPPPPEEEEERRRRR!!!!!”
110
Surely, Signe thought, Keeper couldn’t have gone far, could she?
How far could a little girl in a boat go?
Could The Scamper manage in the deep water beyond the breakers?
Signe put her hands against her cheeks; she rubbed her eyes with her fingertips.
More and more questions flew into her head. Tears, a million of them, a trillion of them, blazed down her face.
She should have told Keeper long ago, told her about her mother, told her that she, Signe, had made her leave, told her that Meggie Marie was no mermaid. But instead, she had let Keeper believe in things like elves and tooth fairies and crabs that talked.
Oh, what had she done? What had she not done? And then the cruelest question of all: What kind of mother was she?
On the water’s edge, her feet sinking clear to the middle of the earth, Signe’s knees buckled and she slumped down into the wet sand.
“Keep her,” she whimpered, “I was supposed to keep her.”
Signe looked out again across the rolling breakers, so many of them, so tall, the phosphorescent foam glittering in the dark. She felt Dogie standing beside her, and suddenly, a sound that she had never heard before slipped from her body, a low wail that wrapped itself around her chest and her hips and her knees until it felt like it would suffocate her right there in the sand.
Signe tried to stop, tried to make the sound end, but she couldn’t.
She closed her eyes. If she stayed here, as tight as an oyster in a shell, packed into the sand, would the sea come and get her? She didn’t think she could ever move from this spot, from this position. She didn’t think she could ever stop the hideous sound that wouldn’t stop couldn’t stop wouldn’t stop couldn’t—
Just then Dogie wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gently pulled her up. Then he lifted her into his broad arms and just held her, held her while the sound just kept sliding from the deepest part of her throat and belly and feet, her whole body. He stood there at the edge of the entire world and held on to her, the most tender holding in the universe, until finally, the sound was done with her and flew away.
“Let’s just wait,” he said. She could only nod. She had no other sound left in her, none at all. And in the meantime, the tide had come closer and closer and closer while the sky got lighter and lighter and lighter.
111
Yemaya.
She doesn’t grant just any wish. She is old. She is cranky. She is hard of hearing.
But her heart is not as crusty as some may think. As one by one the small figures found their way through the waters, she began to smile. Gifts.
She lined them up on her undersea dresser in a parade and admired the artistry. There was Sedna and Lorelei, the siren, the ningyo, and the rusalka and the Meerfrau. The rusalka, with her tangled hair, made her laugh. She tossed it above her head and caught it again.
Yemaya, she just loves to laugh. It fills her round belly with happy. Makes her think, Just one wish.
The girl called out for her mother. Yes? Not a hard wish at all.
Yemaya.
She will grant that wish.
112
Just as Signe began to believe that Dogie might have to hold her until the end of time, there on the water’s edge she heard a familiar sound.
“C’mon, c’mon!”
Dogie stepped aside. Captain landed with a thud at their feet. “C’mon, c’mon,” he cried.
It was not completely light yet, but Signe could see an odd gleam coming from the bird’s neck. She reached down, but the bird hopped to one side.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he urged again.
Signe reached for him, and before he could get away again, she caught him. She held him with both hands firmly on his wings to keep him from flapping. Then she tucked him beneath her arm and looked.
“The charm!” she cried.
She recognized it, the charm that Meggie Marie had given Keeper right before she left. Meggie Marie had told her that a seagull had dropped it in her hand. Signe hadn’t believed it. But here it was, tied around Captain’s neck. And there was the pink ribbon, the one she had given to Keeper just because.
Then she knew. It was a message. Keeper had tied the charm around Captain’s neck. It was a message from Keeper. Hurry, it said. Hurry.
113
In her sleep Keeper felt the bump when the little boat hit the sandbar. She opened her eyes. The sky was still dark, but the moon cast enough light for her to see. She sat up and looked over the sides of the boat. Sand.
Sand!
And the rock! De Vaca’s Rock!
The tide must have pushed her back this way.
In front of her, she could see the shadows of home. Home! She was almost there. Suddenly, she had to get there. Everything in her, every bone, every sinew, every cell called for home.
“Signe,” she croaked. Her voice was just a whisper, but it didn’t matter. She just needed to get to Signe, to home.
She scrambled over the edge of the boat and stepped onto the jutting sandbar. It was harder than she thought it would be, not sandy at all, but rocky. Solid.
Her legs were wobbly. Her whole body was wobbly. She squatted down beside the boat and held on to it to try to steady herself. The tide, she could tell, had turned back around and was spilling onto the beach a hundred yards in front of her. Only a hundred yards. Could she make it?
A thin pink line of light slipped over the horizon.
Pink. Like her ribbon. She reached up to touch the charm, then remembered that she had given it to Captain. Had the seagull made his way back? Would Signe know what it meant?
And then, as if in answer to her question, she heard her name. “Keeper! Keeper!” Only this time it wasn’t coming from the waves. It wasn’t a whisper. It wasn’t a memory. It didn’t come from a mermaid or a haint.
Just like electricity, an enormous jolt of happiness charged through her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Zing!
“Keeper! Keeper!”
Her name again!
It was Signe.
Calling her.
Signe!
She looked toward the beach. And there was Signe, wading into the water just as she had seven long years ago, standing in the surf up to her knees, calling her.
“I’m coming,” Keeper tried to shout, but her voice was completely gone. It didn’t matter. She pulled her life vest as tightly around herself as she could and jumped right into the shallow water. Keeper hurried and hurried; she swam just like she had seen all those surfers do every day of her life, just as she had learned in the Tater Municipal Swimming Pool. She pushed herself through the water, she rode the waves, rode right on their backs, rode them straight into the arms of Signe.
114
As soon as they got to the beach, Dogie picked Keeper up. He slung her onto his broad back, just like he had when she was small. She pressed her face into his ropy dreadlocks. They were scratchy, but she didn’t care. She held on to him. Beside them, Signe held on to her too.
Here in this small corner of the world unto itself, they all held on. A family.
115
The problem was, there was a family member missing. BD.
All the happiness that Keeper had felt when Signe swam out to her evaporated in the missing of BD.
“BD,” she tried to say, but her throat was too raw for words. She mouthed his name again and again, tears streaming down her face, but all that came out was a rasp.
As Keeper clung to Dogie, the loss of BD grew and grew, until it felt as huge as a mountain. Huger.
Keeper reached for Signe.
“We’ll look for him, Sweet Pea” was all that Signe could say.
And Keeper sobbed.
116
Meanwhile, as much as Keeper loved BD, someone else loved him too. Does it seem odd that a seagull and a dog would be such friends? Perhaps. But ever since that stormy night when that nasty winter
wind blew Captain through the kitchen window, when BD had wrapped his warm body around the seagull to keep him from shivering in pain and fright, Captain had adored that dog.
Now he circled the dog lying on the beach, there on the water’s edge, flew right down beside him and nestled up, right under his chin.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he whispered. But the dog didn’t move.
Captain hopped right up on BD’s side. The dog was so still. Captain stared at him for a very long time. He walked in a circle all around his best friend. Then he walked in the other direction. Only one thing to do. He flapped his wings and shot into the air.
In minutes he circled the group on the beach— Keeper, Dogie, Signe, and Too—flew right up into their faces.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he cried.
And for the second time that day, he delivered a message.
117
The world is full of mystery, isn’t it?
How do the stingrays know when to migrate to the sandbar in time for the moon to light their way into the Cut and then back out again?
When does a star decide it’s done with burning and fall to the earth?
Why do the manatees swim with mermaids?
How does a good dog know that his girl needs him as much as he needs her?
Questions for the universe.
And here’s another question: How can that same good dog deliver up so many stealth kisses at one time? When Keeper finally found BD, right at the water’s edge, life vest still intact, he washed her face in one stealth kiss after another. Keeper found her finder dog.
118
It seems like the story might end there, but when so many wishes had been cast about in a single night, at least a few of them have to come true. Yemaya, after all, is not the only one who can grant a wish. Let’s not forget that the moon has a part to play when it comes to matters of love.
Sure enough, while they all walked along the beach, the familiar tune of the two-word song entered Dogie’s head and wouldn’t let go. Suddenly, he began to hum it, even without his ukulele. And before he knew what he was doing, Dogie reached over and took Signe’s hand. Then, right there in front of everyone, he knelt down beside her on one knee and said those two words. He said them without a single stutter. Clear as a bell. Said them right to Signe: “Marry me.”
Signe looked at him, surprised.
Then Dogie said them again, even more clearly this time: “Marry me.”
Signe was silent. She had waited for this moment for such a long time. Ten years. Ever since the day she had first seen him, the day Keeper was born.
A tear ran down her cheek, and when she rubbed it away with her palm, she actually blushed, something she had not done in years. Then, just like in the movies, just like in old fairy tales, Dogie pulled her toward him and kissed her.
Just like that.
And Signe?
She said yes!
119
Several days later Keeper sat at the kitchen table. Signe sat next to her, filling out all the reports left by the sheriff and the Coast Guard and even Dr. Scarmardo, the veterinarian, who had proclaimed BD as fit as a fiddle.
Where the wooden bowl used to rest on the counter, there was a pot of replanted antique roses. She and Signe had gone over to Mr. Beauchamp’s house and helped him repot his roses and night-blooming cyrus, and he had insisted that they bring some of the roses home with them. Now they sat on the table, bright pink, like Keeper’s ribbon.
Mr. Beauchamp had been glad to see them, but Keeper noticed that he looked older than ever.
“Barnacles,” he told them. “I’m as old as barnacles.” But this time he did not chuckle when he said it. He did not add “mon petite!” Instead, he stayed in his rocking chair and rubbed Sinbad’s black-and-white fur and gazed out over the water.
Now Keeper sat at the kitchen table with her red purse, counting her money. She had $44.00. As soon as her hands had felt better, she’d resumed her duties as official waxwing. In front of her, she had the Sears catalogue that Signe had brought home, the “Wish Book” edition. Signe had told her to save it for a rainy day.
But Keeper had a better idea. Why spend money on a rainy day when she could spend it on a happy day? Keeper had dog-eared the exact page. She had found the perfect wedding gift for Dogie and Signe—a new, stainless-steel cooking pot. Exactly. The price was $34.95, which meant that once she added tax and shipping, she would probably have just the right amount, with maybe a little extra for gift wrapping.
When she showed the photo to Signe, Signe smiled and said, “Sausage gumbo. No more crabs.”
But as Keeper looked at the roses on the table, she felt regret. Once she paid for the new gumbo pot, she would not have enough left over to repay Mr. Beauchamp for his broken pots, especially those for his night-blooming cyrus.
Even if she waxed surfboards every day for hours, it would take her months, maybe years, to repay Mr. Beauchamp for his losses. She rested her elbows on the table and held her face in her hands.
The only thing of any value that she owned was the charm.
That was it! Her mother’s charm.
Keeper had no need for it now, that was for sure. She scooped it out of her dresser drawer again, still icy cold, and put it in her pocket.
“Cooleoleo!” she said, then she walked out the door, down the steps, and across the road to Mr. Beauchamp’s house.
That very night Henri Beauchamp stood by the water and held the charm in his hand. It was warm, like it was all those years ago in that village by the sea on the southern coast of France. He held it over his heart and made a wish. Sinbad curled up at his feet and purred.
A short time later, sitting on his porch in the darkness, he swore he heard the soft nicker of a charcoal gray mare. Or maybe it was just the wind.
And just off the coast, not too far away, in a deep puddle of moonbeams, the old swimmer raised his head above the water. There it was again, the old porte-bonheur, only this time the message was unmistakable. At last, he knew, the charm was in the right hands. Jack ducked beneath the water and swam as fast as he could.
120
Dogie and Signe said their vows right there on the beach, with Keeper and BD and Too and even Sinbad all there as witnesses.
Even Dogie’s mother was there, arrived all the way from New Jersey along with his great-uncle Sylvester. “I have to meet my new granddaughter, don’t I?” Dogie’s mother said. And straightaway, she started in on hugging. She hugged Keeper, she hugged Dogie and Signe, she even hugged BD and Too. It was hug city.
And there were also two old men, sitting in lawn chairs. In the shirt pocket of one was the long-lost porte-bonheur; he could feel the warmth of it through the fabric of his shirt.
In the lawn chair next to him, just as old and wrinkled as he, sat Jack, his eyes as blue as the sky. They held hands, like they did so long ago.
And Keeper?
Beside her stands BD, finder of missing sandals and wooden spoons and Popsicle sticks. Captain is perched on his broad back like a jockey astride a horse. With one hand, Keeper pats BD’s soft head. In her other, she holds a carving of an old woman. Somehow, it remained safe in Keeper’s pocket. She’s the only one of the original seven merlings left. Keeper curls her fingers around it and holds it against her heart. She had asked for a wish. A wish for her mother to find her, and she had.
“Yemaya,” she whispers, “thank you.” And she tucks the tiny carving into her pocket. There it nestles beside her new merling, the one just finished, of Jacques de Mer. Mr. Beauchamp carved it out of the old piece of juniper that Keeper had found on the beach. Juniper, a tree that grows in the Camargue region of France.
Keeper looks out at the blue-green Gulf of Mexico, the sun turning the waves to silver. She takes a small paper boat from her back pocket, dubbed “The Perfect Plan,” straightens its folds, and sets it atop the water where she thinks it might sail to the sandbar.
Legend has it that it might have been a mermaid who lured Cabe
za de Vaca onto that rock five hundred years ago. It could have been.
In the shallows of the Cut, a manatee raises its head above the water, then dips back under and disappears.
Author’s Note
My Texas town of Tater is completely fictional, as is the world unto itself known as Oyster Ridge Road. However, the Spanish explorer Álva Núñez Cabeza de Vaca did run aground in 1528 near Galveston Island, known at that time as the Isle of Misfortune, probably because of the vicious storms that pummeled it from time to time. Once ashore, Cabeza de Vaca spent several years with the coastal tribe known as the Karankawa, or the Clamcoehs, first as a slave and later as a respected member of their community.
Some of the only written accounts that we have of this coastal band, as well as several others, are from Cabeza de Vaca’s journal, La Relatión, which is available in its entirety online at: http://alkek.library.tx state.edu/swwc/cdv. It’s important to remember that Cabeza de Vaca’s view is that of a European, but the journal is nevertheless a detailed documentation of sixteenth-century Texas and its inhabitants.
Useful information can also be found through the Texas State History Museum at: tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/KK/bmk5.html.
The ponies of the Camargue are among the world’s last surviving wild horses. Over the centuries they have adapted to life in the swampy regions of the Rhone Delta of southern France. There was a lovely film made in 1953 by Albert Lamorisse called Crin Blanc, or White Mane, which is about a boy who tames a Camargue stallion. When I think about my character Henri Beauchamp, I imagine that when he was fifteen, he was something like the young hero Folco of Lamorisse’s movie. For more information go to: janusfilms.com/redandwhite.
