The Sea is a Thief

by David Parmelee

  Alas, Sam Dreher had not been at liberty to deal with Nancy as others did. The Bagwells were his hosts. It didn't take him long to realize that she had set her cap for him. Others were free to reveal their true feelings; he was forced to hide them. When he longed to declare outright that he had no desire to keep company with her, discretion obliged him to bite his tongue. When he wanted nothing more than to storm from the room, duty demanded that he count to ten and continue his work. If it were up to him, their relationship, once-sided as it was, would have ended quickly. As things were, Sam had no choice but to take his leave politely, providing Nancy the tiny shred of evidence she needed to conclude that the two of them might have a future after all.

  A girl like Nancy could survive for months on a little hope.

  Thus, when Sam’s work at her family’s home was complete, Nancy resolved to seek out the young sailor and keep up acquaintances. She let a short time pass, then launched a carefully-orchestrated campaign to run into him, quite by accident.

  Nancy was puzzled to discover that this was far more difficult than she imagined.

  She knew her way around the little social circles of Chincoteague. If someone wanted to know who had been seen with whom, Nancy was the best source. It wasn’t easy to hide on an island ten miles long and three miles wide. When Nancy had her buggy brought around one brisk afternoon, hitched to a docile old horse called Lucille, she calculated that she would encounter Sam Dreher within two hours at most. She manufactured some errands that would take her to the most likely places. She set out with confidence, inquiring as she went about the whereabouts of the sailors. She found out that a party from the Louisiana had indeed come ashore that day, and that Sam Dreher was among them. The tall, handsome carpenter always attracted his share of attention. When directed to the Henderson farm, Nancy set out eagerly. She did find a few of the Louisiana’s crew there, working on a sagging corn crib, but when she asked after Sam Dreher they informed her that he had gone elsewhere at the beginning of the day. They suggested he might be at the home of Major and George Rayfield, two elderly brothers. At the Rayfields’ she found another group of blue-uniformed sailors, closely supervised by both brothers as they labored over a dilapidated stone wall. Sam Dreher was absent; she was told he had left for the widow Zipporah Hill’s place. Nancy’s patience was wearing thin by the time she reached the widow’s home. She was encouraged to see, through the front window, a tall figure clad in a federal uniform.

  When she knocked at the door, Zipporah welcomed her inside and introduced her to one Ethan Platt, also a carpenter from the Louisiana. Nancy was curious. Her curiosity grew when she asked after Mr. Dreher. Yes, Sam Dreher was assigned to the Hill residence that day, but had left to get some food and additional supplies, according to Mr. Platt, who seemed strangely ill at ease responding to her questions. Zipporah remarked that Mr. Dreher had been gone for quite some time, but Mr. Platt did not comment. He was only repairing a window sash, and did not seem to lack for any materials. Nancy took her leave politely and returned to town the way she had come.

  How odd, she thought. What route would he have traveled to get supplies? She had not encountered Sam Dreher on the way out, and did not see him on the way back. She pondered it the entire evening.

  Those who knew Nancy Bagwell would agree that it was not in her nature to rise early in the morning. She was different from her neighbors. As a rule, ‘Teaguers woke up early. The farmers and livestock herders needed to attend to their animals and the fishermen were eager to get out on the water while their chances were good. The prosperity of the Bagwell family no longer depended on the wind and weather. By island standards, Nancy usually slept late. After several attempts on different days to find Sam Dreher, however, she was restless. Something was not right. Sam’s mysterious absence gnawed at her. He had to be somewhere, but so far his whereabouts had eluded her best efforts. Where was he? Everyone she spoke with seemed to know where to find him at first, but all of them were mistaken. She was certain that Ethan Platt was misleading her; she had been misled before and knew the signs. But why? The search for of Sam Dreher engaged her mind as nothing had in quite some time. To solve the puzzle, she would have to get up unusually early, before the sailors arrived on Chincoteague. Unpleasant, to be sure, but worthwhile.

  The sun was just rising on frosty ground as Nancy gazed on the choppy waters of the Chincoteague channel from the dining-room window. Hearing her up and about so early, Ruth Broadwater had made pancakes, and was now wrapping them to take along. She packed a willow basket with a jug of milk and a little crock of blueberry jam.

  “You be careful, Miss Nancy,” she admonished. “It’s cold today, you know.”

  Nancy was gracious to the cook. “Thank you, Ruth. Autumn air is good for the constitution, Father says.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m sure he’s correct. You’ll be back from your inspection for lunchtime, won’t you?” Nancy had told Ruth that she was heading up towards Wildcat Marsh, on the northernmost end of the island. She explained that someone was pasturing cattle on the Bagwell property, in defiance of the law, and she was going to identify the cattle. Indeed she had heard about the cattle, over the dinner table, though no one had asked her to chase them down. It made an excellent pretext.

  Nancy had dressed for the day with uncharacteristic practicality in a simple grey herringbone woolen frock with very little lace trim. She wore a matching bonnet lined in ivory wool and a broad black belt. Tucked in her belt was her Italian spyglass. On her feet were tall boots, presumably for hiking into the marsh. Ruth thought it all a little odd, but she did not concern herself overly much with Nancy. The girl never seemed to have a problem she couldn’t solve. When Ruth saw that the buggy had arrived from the stable, she brought out a heavy cloak and long gloves. In a moment, Nancy was on her way up Main Street.

  When she was sure that Ruth had gone back to her work, Nancy turned her horse off the thoroughfare and into a little side street past the bank. A covered portico stood to the rear of the building, used by a certain few patrons who arrived by carriage and wished to enter without exposure to the weather. At this time of day it stood in deep shadow. Nancy stopped the horse under the portico, her buggy entirely hidden. The air was still, the town quiet. She pulled her cloak around her, unwrapped her breakfast, and waited.

  Even before she had eaten the last of Ruth’s pancakes, Nancy’s patience was rewarded. In the distance, she heard the crunch of boots on oyster shells. She knew it could be no one but the sailors from the Louisiana. She drew her cloak around her face and sank into the seat of the buggy. In a few moments a small group of men walked past her vantage point, oblivious to her presence. She counted eight. At the head of the group was Sam Dreher. Next to him was Ethan Platt. Her heart leapt. Today, there would be no misleading her. She would have a conversation with Mr. Dreher, and unravel the mystery.

  At a careful distance—she wanted the sailors neither to see nor hear her—Nancy followed in her buggy. The group would pull out of sight, and she would catch up a bit, using her spyglass to track them. In time, two men turned onto a side street, then two more onto another. The remainder continued to march north and east, into the rising sun, until two more headed southwards onto a narrow lane. That left Dreher and Platt. They walked side by side, both carrying heavy bags on their shoulders, talking and sharing a loaf of bread.

  Finally Platt bid farewell to his friend, disappearing on a track that led to three farms. Dreher continued on. Nancy kept her buggy far behind him; surely he would hear it coming, and she wanted to move in secret. As the road turned she pulled up behind two thick cedars. She watched Sam Dreher through her spyglass as he walked, then suddenly stopped. With a careful look to his right and left, he ducked quickly behind the Daisey home.

  Nancy did not know what to make of it. There was no shame in working at the Daiseys’. Why the secrecy?

  It was still very early; not a time for a social call. However it might look to the Daisey family, Nancy had to kn
ow Sam Dreher’s purpose. She waited a good half-hour after he had made his exit and then urged her horse forward. As she pulled up in front of the home, she scanned the property quickly. There was no sign of him.

  Just as she was alighting from her buggy, Beau Daisey emerged through the front door. He stood stock-still, staring at Nancy.

  Finally he spoke. “Nancy Bagwell,” he managed, very slowly. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”

  Nancy, true to her nature, was prepared. “A request from my father.” This simple sentence never failed to get anyone’s attention. “He has business with Mr. Dreher.”

  Beau was not certain he had heard her correctly. He descended his front steps, standing directly before her. “Business with who, did you say?”

  “Mr. Dreher.” Beau spread his arms dramatically and turned from side to side. “And why would that bring you here?”

  Nancy was becoming annoyed. This must be a charade, like Ethan Platt’s little pretense at Zipporah Hill’s. If he was toying with her, she had no tolerance for it; not so early, on a morning so chilly.

  Her voice rose as her temper flared. “He has just now walked onto your family’s property with his own two legs, Beau Daisey!”

  Beau met her anger foursquare. “Not to my knowledge, he has not, Nancy. But if it pleases you, go and look for yourself!”

  She brushed him aside in a huff, headed for the back of the house. Surely she would find Sam Dreher there, or inside.

  But he was not there. And, when Beau graciously invited her in, a small grin on his face, he was not to be found there either.

  Sam Dreher had disappeared.

  Nancy did not like it, and she was not about to let it go this time.

  “Where are you bound this morning, Beau?”

  “Down to the wharf. Fishing. If you detain me any longer the boat will sail without me.”

  “That is the last thing I should wish, Beau. Ride with me, and I will see to it that you arrive more quickly.”

  He could hardly decline. It would not do to refuse to accompany Nancy. Truth be told, he needed to hurry. He climbed into the buggy, and they were off.

  They spoke little on the ride to Chincoteague. Beau was uncomfortable around Nancy. He had treated her badly and knew it. He had no patience with the girl, but he felt a certain shame about rejecting her so callously. When she was not around he did not dwell on it, but now he had to sit very closely by her all the way back to town.

  Nancy knew exactly why Beau was so quiet. Her ability to turn such situations to her own advantage was legendary. As Beau sat in silent remorse, she was planning her next move. A thought was taking shape in her mind.

  “Where is your sister this morning, Beau?” she asked.

  “I did not see her about the house.” Beau had not seen Anna either, but hadn’t given it any thought it until that moment. “I must say I do not know, Nancy. I suppose she is on some errand.”

  Nancy nodded, “So early.”

  “Yes. She is up and about very early. She is often gone before I am.”

  “And why is that, Beau?”

  Again, he had no answer, but her questions angered him now. “What is your concern for Anna?”

  Nancy’s thoughts were turning and focusing like the finely-polished lenses of the spyglass tucked into her belt. She recalled Beau’s behavior when he walked in on her at the Atlantic Hotel. She reflected on Sam’s conduct when he worked at her home. She became more and more confident about the conclusions she was reaching and less and less pleased about their import.

  They arrived at the main wharf with time to spare.

  “Which is your boat today?” asked Nancy sweetly.

  “Thank you, Nancy, I’ll have no trouble walking from here,” Beau responded, ready to leap down from the buggy.

  Like a snake striking prey, Nancy’s hand lashed out. Her gloved hand gripped him tightly by the forearm as she met his eyes with an icy stare. “Which boat?”

  He paused, pointing to Elijah Bunting’s old buckeye. “Bunting’s boat, the Jenny.”

  “Then please allow me a word with Captain Bunting.” Nancy dropped quickly to the ground. Planting her buggy whip in its socket, she strode towards the wharf. Beau followed, clueless about her intentions. Nancy approached the boat captain, who paused in the midst of securing a line.

  “Good morning, Captain Bunting,” Nancy sang out.

  Bunting cocked his head. “Morning, Mss Bagwell. What brings you by so…” He caught himself. “…early?”

  Nancy let the comment pass. “If my family were to require the services of Mr. Beau Daisey today, would that cause you difficulty?”

  It was an odd request, but the answer was easy. Beau was usually the least productive member of any crew. Bunting waved a bony hand in dismissal. “No trouble for me, miss.” He went back to tying off the line.

  “Many thanks, Captain,” said Nancy. “The favor will not be forgotten.” With that, she turned and began to walk back to her buggy. Beau stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do.

  Bunting jerked his head towards the retreating Nancy. “Come back tomorrow, if you’re able,” he called to Beau.

  In a few steps Beau caught up to her. “That’s a day’s wages, Nancy Bagwell!” he protested.

  She did not break her stride. “Your wages will be made up to you. Please come with me.” She took her seat in the buggy once more. Beau clambered up next to her just as she was snapping the reins. They soon arrived at the Bagwell Oyster Packing House, where Nancy tied up her buggy. At the near end of the wharf was a little sailboat, its fancy woodwork pristine, the sail on its single mast tightly furled. Nancy buttoned her cloak securely about her throat and then walked quickly to the boat, indicating to Beau that he should follow. As she reached the mooring, she extended her arm for assistance.

  “I should like you to take me to Assateague, if you please.”

  “Assateague?”

  “You know the way, I am sure?”

  “Of course, but--” he stammered.

  “What would be your objection, Beau?”

  “To go and return will take some hours, Nancy.” He was dreading so much time in her company.

  “Yes. You were prepared for a full day at sea, were you not?”

  “I was, but…” His voice trailed off. “Why do you wish to go to Assateague? There’s nothing on Assateague but wild horses.”

  “So I am told. Are you refusing me, Beau Daisey?”

  He was not. For all the usual reasons, he could not.

  He took he arm and helped her into the boat. Pushing clear of the wharf, he unfurled and hoisted the sail. It caught the wind. With a careful touch on the rudder, he guided them southwards down Chincoteague Channel, towards the tip of Assateague Island.

  The channel was unusually calm. The lightest of chop slapped the snow-white hull of Nancy’s sailboat. A steady breeze carried them almost silently down the channel. Black-headed laughing gulls wheeled overhead, curious about the new presence among them. The sun had cleared the tallest of the pines. Its glow warmed them as the sail billowed forward. Had Beau and Nancy liked each other, it would have been a lovely morning’s jaunt. The thoughts of each ran elsewhere. Beau was resentful at being pressed into service. Nancy had accomplished everything so quickly and left him no recourse. This was just the sort of thing she was known for. Still, he was unable to divine her purpose. What did Nancy Bagwell want on Assateague?

  He was certain that this was no casual journey. It was far too early for Nancy to be sightseeing. Her behavior hinted at some powerful motive; a malicious one, if his instincts were correct. A creeping dread began to come over him. This day, he feared, would not end well.

  The channel opened to the sea with a hard eastward bend just past the mouth of Cockle Creek. The wreckage of the Venus lay on the far shore, half-submerged. Stripped of anything of value, the hulk was already forgotten. It served only as an oversized channel marker now. Beau ruddered eastward, clipping the corner of C
hincoteague’s southernmost point of land. In time the open ocean rolled into view, and beyond it the infinite blue horizon. Nancy stared into the distance, her gaze fixed on the sea. She paid no attention to her pilot in the stern.

  At low tide a strong current ran down the channel between Chincoteague and Assateague, picking up strength where the two islands nearly touched. It emptied the marshes and the broad, flat pools on the barrier island, coloring the waves and marking the boundary between the estuary and ocean. As Beau passed the murky band of water he reset his course due north, just outside the rollers coming in to the beach. The wind was against them now, blowing steadily towards shore, and he tacked from starboard to port to maintain his course. The sleek little boat with its forward-mounted mast could hold a course close to the wind. Still, it was slow going. Assateague bulged into the sea at its lower end; Beau knew it would not be long before the contour of the beach turned flat and straight, running for miles northwards. Soon the brick tower of the lighthouse would break the horizon, standing tall against the pale sand. Nancy began to move on her seat, shifting position as they came about, but always watching the shoreline, shading her eyes with her hand. Beau could tell that she was hoping to see something, but as he peered towards the shore he could not tell what it might be.

  The lighthouse appeared, looming larger as they made slow progress up the coastline. Nancy withdrew the spyglass from her belt and surveyed it. Elizabeth Reynolds’ tent was still in place beside the structure. Nancy could see no one inside. Two ponies lingered by the lighthouse, grazing calmly. There were no others nearby.

  The boat passed the lighthouse in its shallow zigzag course, Beau tacking expertly with the contrary wind.