A Live Coal in the Sea

by Madeleine L'engle

  And what was, was that somehow or other Taxi managed to get out of his crib, cross the living room on his wobbly legs, and get into bed with Art and Olivia. Into their bed and into their hearts.

  One evening as they sat out on the veranda after dinner, watching the pale rose of the afterglow fade from the sky, the bishop rocked gently back and forth in his green rocker, murmuring, ‘Tell me, brother, What are we? / Spirits bathing in the sea / Of Deity.’

  Mac raised his arms over his head luxuriously, looking out over the ocean gently rolling in to shore. ‘That’s beautiful, Papa. One of your favorite unknown poets?’

  ‘Christopher Cranch. Apt, isn’t it, for this place, this peace.’

  Olivia gave a small shiver. ‘This peace. Yes. May it last. Do you ever wonder who Taxi’s father might be?’

  The bishop turned toward his wife, shaking his head. ‘My dear—’

  ‘No,’ Camilla said firmly. ‘I don’t wonder. Very carefully I don’t wonder. The four of us and my father are the only people who know that Taxi’s father isn’t—Maybe whoever it is doesn’t know. To the rest of the world, my father is Taxi’s father. He’s getting old, he travels too much to care for an infant. He’s getting arthritis. Taking Taxi’s the natural thing for us to do.’

  The children were asleep. Mac glanced up as though he could see into their room. ‘Camilla and I don’t think of Taxi as her brother. Not now, if we ever did. He’s our son.’

  ‘He’s a love of a child,’ Olivia said. ‘He certainly doesn’t look like Rose, or whoever—’

  The bishop said, ‘Rafferty talked bitterly of some Frenchman they met at a party. Who knows? Taxi looks enough like Camilla to be her natural son.’

  Olivia said, ‘Darling Frances has considerable Rafferty in her.’

  ‘Father?’ Camilla asked in surprise. ‘I think she looks like Mac.’

  ‘She does, but Frances is not going to be small like the Xanthakoses. Height is what she has from Rafferty.’

  Art said, ‘Let them be who they are.’

  ‘Precious lambs.’ Camilla nodded.

  The bishop reached for his wife’s hand. ‘They’re our grandchildren. We are very blessed.’

  But the blessing, it seemed to Camilla, was precarious.

  Frank came to the United States for three months’ home leave. Bethann was pregnant and had gone to stay with her parents. Frank flew down to Georgia to spend a long weekend with Mac and Camilla.

  ‘Your timing is marvelous,’ Mac said. They were sitting at the table under the pine tree, a wooden picnic table Rafferty had sent them to replace the old card table. The children were in an enclosure Mac had made, about the size of half a dozen playpens, where they kept their outdoor toys. ‘Camilla and I have a big decision to make.’

  ‘We’ve made it, haven’t we?’ Camilla asked.

  ‘Yes. I wish I felt surer that we’re doing the right thing.’

  Frank put down his tea glass and stretched. ‘Dear Mac, if you think you can be absolutely sure about anything, you’re in the wrong business. What’s this about?’

  ‘I’ve been offered a parish in Jacksonville. We need to leave Corinth. Everybody who sees Taxi knows that his mother was killed in an accident, and that she was Camilla’s mother. They see a tragic story, not a happy little boy.’ He looked toward the pen, where the two children were pummeling each other. Peals of laughter rang like bells against the evening air.

  ‘You’d be a priest in your father’s diocese,’ Frank pointed out.

  ‘I don’t think that would be the problem. If we want a new and fresh life for Frances and Taxi, even Jacksonville’s too close to everything that’s happened. Too many people know.’

  Frances’s laughter was joyous as she scuttled away from Taxi and sat on a large stuffed polar bear.

  ‘Fankie!’ Taxi shouted. ‘Fankie.’

  Frank laughed delightedly. ‘He calls her Frankie! My little namesake. I think you’re right, Mac. Frankie and Taxi are sister and brother. They need to be somewhere where they can live out of the spotlight.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ Mac said, ‘we’re in Corinth. Taxi’s beginning to talk. Frances tries to imitate him but she is, after all, considerably younger than he is, in baby terms.’

  ‘What does Taxi call you?’ Frank asked.

  Was that everybody’s question? Camilla asked, ‘What do you think?’

  Mac said, ‘Taxi says Dadada, and Mamama, and Frances comes close.’

  Frank nodded. ‘You’re letting them do what comes naturally.’

  Taxi’s laughter turned to a whine, and Camilla stood up. ‘When they stop having fun, it’s time for bed.’ She picked the two children up, tucking one under each arm, and headed for the house.

  ‘Good for you,’ she heard Frank say. ‘You’re not spoiling them.’

  ‘It’s easier not to spoil two than one. It’s simply self-preservation.’ The slamming of the screened door cut off their voices.

  When she returned to the pine tree, Mac was alone. ‘Where’s Frank?’

  ‘He went in to take a shower. I told him.’

  She sat down beside him on the bench. ‘Told him what?’

  ‘That Rafferty’s not Taxi’s father.’

  ‘Oh, Mac, no,’ she protested.

  ‘It’s Frank, Cam. I’d trust Frank with my life. I do. You know that.’

  ‘I trust him, too. But the fewer people who know, the better.’

  ‘Frank will never say anything.’

  ‘I know that, but—it’s Father—it’s so hard on him—humiliating—’

  ‘I needed to have Frank know. Taxi has become as dear to us as Frances. But he is, in fact, not our child. He has no blood tie to me.’

  ‘He does, to me.’

  ‘Frank won’t tell anyone, not even his wife. I just have this weird feeling we’re on the edge of a precipice.’

  ‘A premonition?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No. Just—the secrecy. I know we have to protect your father. But one secret leads to another. Sooner or later Taxi will have to know the truth.’

  ‘Not sooner. He’s just a baby.’

  ‘He won’t be a baby forever.’

  ‘But not yet, Mac, and not ever, about Father—’

  ‘Not now. I know. But—’ He shook his head. Changed the subject. ‘I’m glad Frank agrees that Jacksonville is too close to home. That’s another reason I had to tell him, so I could talk to him honestly about the whole thing.’

  She nodded, still wishing he had said nothing about Taxi’s paternity. ‘We need to leave Corinth. Taxi’s bright, almost too bright. I don’t want some troublemaker like Mrs. Lee hurting him.’

  ‘Or Frances.’

  ‘Or Frances. But Taxi’s in the vulnerable position.’

  ‘We can’t protect them forever.’

  ‘Maybe not from the normal things, the ordinary, growing-up things. But vicious gossip?’

  Mac bent down and picked up a handful of pine needles, letting their rust-colored stickiness slip through his fingers. ‘It needn’t even be vicious to hurt them. Cam, darling, I think I do want to go for my doctorate.’

  ‘If you’re sure it’s what you want.’

  ‘As much as I want anything right now. I’ve done a pretty good job here. Mama and Papa will understand about Jacksonville. I think they’ll agree. But maybe we could go to the beach to be with them for a couple of days, talk it all over, get their advice.’

  ‘In the end,’ she said slowly, ‘we have to make the decision ourselves.’ She had made her major decisions on her own, not even considering consulting Rose and Rafferty. But then, Rose and Rafferty were nothing like Olivia and Art.

  Frank came back out, wearing a fresh shirt and clean shorts. ‘I’d forgotten this kind of heat. Your little ones are sound asleep, glistening with sweat. I guess they’re used to it. Acclimated.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Camilla said. ‘I wanted to get another air conditioner, but Taxi tends to croup, and the air conditioner isn’t goo
d for him. Thank heaven Frances seems to thrive, no matter what. We tried having her sleep away from Taxi, but it didn’t work. They both howled till we put them back together.’

  ‘What a good and pleasant a thing it is,’ Frank quoted, ‘for brethren to dwell together in unity. Not much of it in the rest of the world. Or all around you, with racial unrest increasing. How’s Corinth?’

  Mac shrugged. ‘Still living in the dark ages. Sooner or later the world will catch up with us, but for now we’re quiet. Segregated, but quiet.’

  Frank sat across from them, stretching his legs along the bench. ‘Enjoy it while you can.’

  ‘I’m not exactly enjoying it.’ Mac scratched his head. ‘The thing is, how much can I say without creating so much antagonism that nothing is accomplished?’

  Camilla said, ‘The kids talk a little, on Sunday evenings. Gordie is such a reactionary he tends to make the others more open than they might be. Freddy Lee is applying to Harvard, and he’ll probably get in.’

  ‘Harvard’s not exactly a hotbed of integration,’ Frank said.

  ‘It would be a start, and I think Freddy’s open to it.’

  Camilla wrapped her arms about herself as though a cold breeze had blown across the table. The violence that was spreading in the South had not touched Corinth, and she had isolated herself to some extent through her preoccupation with her little family. With half her mind she listened to Mac and Frank, while still keeping an ear alert to the house and the children’s open bedroom window.

  When she was in Athens she usually dropped into the library’s reading room to catch up on The New York Times. If they went to New York for Mac to get his Ph.D. she would return to the world, the wider world, where she could forget that Mrs. Lee did not think she was quite what a rector’s wife ought to be, and could remember to be a member of the larger universe.

  The children were not an excuse but they were the reason for her isolation. Although Taxi looked sturdy, he was not as strong as Frankie—as they were now calling her. When Frankie had a mild case of chicken pox, Taxi had a bad one, and Camilla and Mac took turns sitting up all night with him until his fever abated and his running sores had dried up.

  Frankie was growing into an independent little girl, wanting to do things on her own, to feed herself as soon as Taxi did, to drink from a cup, to imitate everything. Taxi was willing to be dependent, to need cuddling, to count on the unvarying nighttime routine, the same songs, the same prayers, in the same order.

  The cribs were replaced by two youth beds, sent by Rafferty. Taxi was usually the first one to waken in the morning, calling softly, ‘Ma-ma.’ Camilla was his mother, there was no question about that; he was her child as much as Frankie, the little tomboy.

  When Mac came home, Taxi would rush at him, ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!’ followed by Frankie, equally loud, both of them waiting for Mac to pick them up and swing them. Quantum, unwilling to be left out, would make one of his leaps onto Mac’s shoulder, and then purr loudly enough to be heard over the children, while Camilla laughed with pleasure.

  When the children were in bed, Camilla, often joined by Mac, read to them.

  One night Taxi looked at them, asking, ‘Who bought Frankie and me?’

  Mac said, ‘No one could possibly buy either you or Frankie. You’re both much too precious to buy.’

  ‘Extweemly pwecious,’ Frankie announced.

  ‘But who bought us?’ Taxi persisted.

  Camilla tried to help. ‘You couldn’t be bought, Taxi. God gave you and Frankie to us.’

  ‘For Cwistmas,’ Frankie said.

  ‘But we was tiny babies. How did we get to be tiny babies?’

  Mac said, ‘You know how we put seeds in the garden, and they turn into flowers and vegetables? You might say you and Frankie were grown from seeds.’

  Camilla looked at him. He was right. Ultimately Taxi would want more accurate stories of his birth.

  ‘But how did you get the right seeds?’ Taxi asked.

  Mac answered seriously, ‘We do have to have the right seeds, son. If we got the wrong seeds, you could have been a tomato instead of a Taxi.’

  He and Frankie broke into delighted giggles at this fancy.

  ‘Bedtime, bedtime,’ Mac said. ‘No more questions tonight.’

  He and Camilla kissed the children. Then Camilla went outside and stood looking up at the night sky, at the familiar patterns of the stars, until she felt relaxed enough to go to bed.

  ‘Star-gazing?’ Mac asked as she came into their room.

  She laughed. ‘Yes. Most astronomers don’t actually go out and look at the stars, but it’s something I’ve always liked to do, maybe because there weren’t many stars visible in the New York night sky. The stars at night were one of the things that got me through my years in boarding school. They’re especially beautiful, here, in Corinth.’

  Mac rubbed his hand gently against the back of her neck. ‘I go into the church and pray, and you go out and look at the stars.’ He stretched his arms high. ‘God, it’s good.’ Then he turned to her and pulled her to him.

  Later that night, waking from a dream, Camilla went downstairs to write her weekly letter to Rafferty, whose arthritis was worsening, and who had moved from Chicago to New Mexico. New Mexico was far enough away so that Mrs. Lee no longer asked Camilla why Taxi’s father did not come to visit. He sent expensive presents regularly, and Camilla wrote him long, chatty letters about the children.

  This chore was the sad point of the week. She had lost Rafferty as her father when he sent Taxi to them.

  TEN

  Early in the spring, when Taxi and Frankie were four, Mac finally received his seminary appointment. His job would begin in February with the Lenten term. He would be tutoring a group of junior seminarians, and teaching a seminar in ascetical theology, as well as doing his own work for his degree.

  ‘What’s ascetical theology?’ Camilla asked.

  ‘Oh, prayer, mediation, contemplation. Things like that. I’m glad I haven’t been asked to lecture in church history or Anglican polity. Are you ready for the big city?’

  ‘I’ll miss a lot of people, especially Dr. Edith, but in many ways I can’t wait to go home.’

  ‘Has Corinth been so awful?’ he asked again.

  ‘No. Corinth has been wonderful. Frankie was born here. Taxi came to us here. It will always be special. But I’m ready to leave. The children are still young enough to be able to put down new roots. I was brought up in New York, so I don’t see it as a bad place for children.’

  Mac said, ‘There’s a playground for them at the seminary, and it’s safe enough so they can go about the grounds on their own.’

  ‘What about Quantum? We can take him with us, can’t we?’

  ‘Of course. There are lots of pets there. When the kids are old enough, maybe we can get a dog.’

  ‘Quantum’s enough for now.’

  Mac pulled on a light sweater. ‘We’ll be here for Christmas with the parish, and I’m glad of that. I’ll miss our little brown church.’

  ‘We’ll ask Dr. Edith to come to us for Christmas as usual.’

  ‘Of course. And we should have a Christmas party for the youth group.’ But his mind went quickly back to the seminary. ‘The dean suggests that we come to New York the last week in January, and have a few days to settle in before term starts. We’re being given an apartment in one of the buildings on the seminary grounds, and he says it’s plenty big enough for the four of us.’

  ‘January,’ Camilla said.

  ‘Moving day will be on us before we know it. The dean’s going to send us a floor plan of the apartment. It sounds bigger than the rectory. There are three bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms.’

  ‘More than one bath! Bliss!’

  ‘All right, love. I’ve got to get back to the office. I’m still uncertain about my sermon. Palm Sunday’s almost here, and we have all those extra services in Holy Week. You all right?’

  She looked out the kitchen w
indows to the back yard, where the children were on the swings which Mac had made, hung from a frame near the big pine. Frankie was standing up. ‘For heaven’s sake, get Frankie to sit down!’ Camilla exclaimed. ‘She’s much too young to be swinging that way. Where did she get that from?’

  ‘Not from Taxi,’ Mac said. ‘He’s a cautious little kid. I’ll stop the little hellion.’ The screened door slammed behind him. She watched as he strode to the swings and made the little girl sit down. She heard him whistling as he walked down the path. He was happy about the New York appointment, then.

  She went into the kitchen, sitting where she could keep an eye on the children, and poured herself a cup of coffee, glancing at an article on some strange radiomagnetic phenomena, when she saw Dr. Edison coming up the path.

  The older woman knocked lightly on the door and came into the kitchen. ‘Any more coffee in the pot?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  ‘Here’s your mail. I passed the postman on the way in.’

  Camilla handed Dr. Edison the coffee and a pitcher of milk, then looked through the mail. Begging letters. Catalogues. A package from Rafferty which looked like books for the children. A letter from Noelle, who was still living in Boston. Noelle was happily married and pregnant. Camilla would save her letter to read later.

  ‘What I really came for’—Dr. Edison put down her cup—‘was to see if I could take the children for the morning, it’s such a superb day. I thought I’d take them for a walk, and maybe we could blow bubbles or something outdoors.’

  ‘That would be marvelous, Dr. Edith. I have a million things to do, and I can’t really concentrate when I’m keeping an eye on the children.’

  ‘I enjoy them, and you look tired and as though you need a break. I’ll bring them back after lunch.’ She waved at Camilla as she went out the kitchen door and headed toward the children. Taxi leapt into her arms. Frankie stood up on the seat of the swing again, and Dr. Edison pulled her down. Quantum dashed across the yard to the house and pushed and pulled at the screened door, which he had learned to open.

  Camilla returned to the article, which she planned to incorporate into her next lecture. Quantum sat on her lap, purring. She worked until the sun was high and she realized that it was after noon and that she was hungry. Bless Dr. Edith. And, yes, she was tired. Two extremely active children saw to that. Her time at the university was her time off, and although teaching was tiring as well as challenging, it was tiring in a completely different way from mothering, and she would drive home after class feeling refreshed.