by John Casey
It was worse now that Dick was out to sea again. It had bothered May some that Deirdre could get Dick talking, could ask him just the sort of questions to get him going. But Deirdre pulled Charlie into it, too. It turned out Charlie had done some research on red-crab habitat. Deirdre didn’t come right out and suggest it, but she’d got Charlie thinking about going out with Dick to take a look. At least, Charlie asked a lot of questions about what sort of electronics were on board. It was a blessing May had waited for.
When Dick was in the house Deirdre slept in Tom’s old room. She still started out sleeping in Tom’s room, appeared to wake up in Tom’s room, but May had heard her going down the hall to the bathroom and not going back to Tom’s room.
May couldn’t bring herself to ask the doctor about that sort of thing.
Rose came to visit. She came with Tom—May saw that Rose and Tom were thick as thieves, and that pleased her. Everyone piled into the kitchen. May set out biscuits and jelly and watched, trying to keep herself away from her little dark wish that Rose wouldn’t like Deirdre. But Deirdre held back, let Rose get all the attention from Tom and Charlie. When Charlie stuttered, Rose opened her eyes wide and then put her hand on Charlie’s arm. Charlie smiled a little tugged-down smile. He said, “I’m working on it, Rose.”
Rose said, “I’m in a play at school, and the hero stutters a little and the heroine likes it.”
May felt one of her pangs of love for Rose. The thought of Rose at that school made her fearful, but she loved the way Rose touched Charlie, the way Rose was at home here.
May asked Rose if she could stay for supper. Rose said it was a school night, she had a ton of homework. Tom said he had to be off, too, and May got ready for another supper with just Charlie and Deirdre and her at the kitchen table.
It was Deirdre who said, “So can we come see your play? Or is it just for the school?”
May tried not to mind Deirdre saying “we.”
“Yeah, sure,” Rose said. “I mean, yes, they want people to come.”
“You got a big part?” Tom said.
“Yes, but only because I can sing. It’s a musical version of She Stoops to Conquer. Some guy in Boston wrote the music. It’s not bad.”
“Jeez, Rose. Right out of the gate and you’re a star.” Tom laughed. “Some of the other girls must be pissed off.”
May said, “Tom …”
Rose said, “Yeah. Some.” Rose’s face tightened—Tom always did say one thing too many. Then Rose lifted her head and May saw how Rose would look when she was full-grown. Rose said, “A lot of the teachers went to Miss Perry’s funeral, and one of them’s the music teacher. It’s not like I said, ‘Me, me, oh, pick me!’ ” Rose said this last part in a squeaky voice that made Tom laugh. Rose added, “So let ’em be”—she looked sideways at May—“peeved.”
Tom laughed, and Charlie and Deirdre joined in. May flushed. Tom said, “Well, there you go, Ma. At least you raised one of us right.”
May turned to Tom to hush him before he got going the way he sometimes did, barking out joke after joke. Then, as if she’d struck a match that sputtered for a second and then burst into flame, she heard what Tom just said. It made her eyes sting. It wasn’t really true, it couldn’t ever be but a little bit true. It certainly wasn’t meant to be said out loud like that. She took a step back, away from Tom, away from where he’d just plucked it out of her, Tom the magician taking a penny out of her ear in front of everyone.
She put her apron on, got busy fixing supper. She heard a chair scrape. She turned and saw they were all getting up. They weren’t laughing. Tom put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder; Charlie touched Tom’s arm. May thought that was what she ought to have been worrying about. But here was Rose coming to her; Rose, who’d shot up over the last year, but not just that—her face was more definite. Girls grow up quicker than boys—May could say things like that now.
Rose said, “Can you come to the play? It’s not till spring, but they’re already getting parents to buy tickets. I know the songs; all I have to do now is get a kind of accent for the dialogue parts. Mary Scanlon said I should think of the way Miss Perry talked, but I didn’t see her all that much, not when I was old enough to pay attention to people’s accents. It’s an old English play, but we’re doing it as if it’s nowadays. The joke is the girl is sort of upper-class, but she pretends to be the maid because the boy she likes doesn’t stutter when he’s flirting with the maid.” Rose laughed. “It sounds silly, but we’re getting it to be funny. So say you’ll come.”
From across the room Tom said, “You want to sound funny, talk like Phoebe Fitzgerald.”
May said, “Yes, Rose,” although she felt uneasy already; she’d never been up to that school, and the notion of going up there to see those private-school kids—a lot of them from Sawtooth Point—put on a play making fun of the way people talk … And there she and Dick would be, talking the way they talked …“Yes, Rose,” she said again. And then to Tom, “And don’t you pick on Phoebe Fitzgerald.”
“Have you ever noticed, Ma, that you spend a lot of time saying ‘yes’ to Rose and ‘don’t’ to me?”
“Well, who wouldn’t?” Deirdre said. “I just got here and that sounds about right to me.”
Tom laughed. “Hey—I got to watch out for you. Come on, Rose, before she zings me again.”
Rose leaned closer to May and whispered in her ear, “I’m glad Charlie’s all right. That’s so great.”
Charlie and Tom were laughing together; Rose was whispering in her ear. She said, “Yes, Rose,” again, as close to telling her she loved her as she dared.
chapter forty-six
Elsie was sitting outside Jack’s new office on the top floor of the Wedding Cake, having second thoughts. She said out loud, “The truth is …” and couldn’t finish her sentence. She’d thought that saying it out loud to herself would make her untangle her thoughts. The look of relief on her boss’s face when she’d handed him her letter of resignation still hurt. And she hoped Jack wouldn’t ever let slip to Rose how Johnny Bienvenue had helped with her severance pay and pension, or how Jack had handled the board of governors at the school. Jack ushered her in, and she interrupted his waving his arm at the view of Block Island Sound. She said, “I haven’t really thanked you. I think I sort of took my own breath away.”
“Not necessary. A good move all around.” He came from behind his desk and sat beside her in the other visitor’s chair. “Of course, you’ve got to settle Miss Perry’s estate before you can officially start. As executrix you’ll be in charge of whatever has to be done to the house before title passes. The will stipulates that the estate will pay for that. It’s some extra work for you, but you’re the only one who can make sure it gets done the way Miss Perry would have done it.”
Elsie let Jack roll on, didn’t even raise an eyebrow when he said, “Six months. Johnny did a good job. Usually takes a year. In addition, I happen to know there’s a good feeling about all this—a charitable donation from a person above reproach. Not a lot of scrutiny.” She only spoke up when he said, “Usually someone who’s done the sort of caregiving you’ve done …”
“Jack. Don’t.”
“It’s just that it strikes me … Why the Pierce boys and why not Rose?”
“Jack.”
“Of course, as executrix you certainly can’t award yourself compensation for prior caregiving, but there may be—”
“Jack, listen to me.” He tucked his chin in, then gave a little start when she touched his arm. She said, “I know you mean well, and I’m grateful you’re ready to go over all the ins and outs. But there’s one part of all this I really want to leave … undisturbed.” She was surprised, too—she could see her usual sharpness far away, like the rare appearance of the aurora borealis this far south, a pale green flickering just above the northern horizon. “So we won’t talk about the time I spent with Miss Perry.” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s in its own—” She held her fingers around an i
maginary ball.
“All right,” Jack said. “A closed book.”
“Sphere.”
“Sphere,” Jack said, and nodded. He leaned toward her and took her hand. “I understand, and I think it’s admirable.” Was he being nice or an old goat? Elsie thought she’d better free her hand before he started saying things like “I’ve always admired you.”
She said, “Sally,” and sat up straight. Her hand came loose. “Sally had some ideas.” She couldn’t think of any ideas. “Or maybe it was Eddie Wormsley. Or about Eddie Wormsley. I mean, it makes sense to use Eddie to do the carpentry, but you know that there’s a certain irony there.”
Jack said, “What?” and then settled himself. “Eddie’s first-rate. I use him all the time. It’s good practice to deal locally. You weren’t thinking of someone else, were you?”
“No, Eddie’s fine. I was just thinking of how skittish he used to be about coming up Miss Perry’s driveway.”
“Well, it’s between you and him now. You’ll get a fair price from Eddie. That woman manager of his, she can be the one to push a little too hard. I’m sure she imagined that I’d pay extra for the indoor court just because she looks so damn cute in her tennis skirt.”
“That won’t be a problem for me.”
Jack laughed. He said, “Elsie, Elsie, Elsie,” and patted what would have been her knee if she hadn’t put her hand on it. “That reminds me. We haven’t seen you out on the court for quite a while. I know, I know … But it’s time you unwound a little, a little tennis, maybe come for a sail. A little salt air does wonders. Not that you look … On the contrary, you look positively splendid. And that reminds me of another thing. I’ve renewed your membership.” He got up and opened a desk drawer. “We have a new system. This key card opens all the doors—the gate to the tennis court, the spa.”
“Jack.”
“And of course that includes Rose. A certain number of the Perryville students come down here to play after school—now Rose can join in. This is a gift I want to give. And what’s the point of all this”—he gave a backhand sweep toward the windows overlooking the tennis courts and putting green—“if I can’t do what I want?”
A moment ago she’d touched his arm and spoken gently. She knew—she’d even warned Mary Scanlon—that Jack’s good side was more of a problem than his bad side. The bit of fumbling and fondling, perhaps only affectionate, that came as an undertow to his generosity was easy enough to deflect. Of course, another aspect of his generosity to Rose and her was snobbish—he could bear to have poor relatives so long as he could endow them with trace elements of his life. But what really bothered her was his pontifical assumption that without his cloak of protection her life would be a mess. That assumption bothered her because she had let him help. How often? Often enough. And those times she’d told Sally about a problem, told her not to tell Jack and of course Sally did … They counted, counted as much as if she’d wailed, “But what’s a poor girl to do?”
He must have sensed her stiffening. He said, “Think of it this way—it’s for Rose.” He put the card in an envelope and wrote “Rose” with a flourish. In smaller letters: “from Uncle Jack.”
Rose would take it, would take pleasure in being a Sawtooth member, and take pleasure in having another place where she could get away from Elsie. Rose could go be adored by May, or drop by the Sawtooth kitchen and sing a song or two with Mary, and here was Uncle Jack giving her more treats.
Then, as with one of those puzzle pictures where the corner of a box seems to stick out but in an eyeblink is seen to stick in, Elsie saw Rose as sought after rather than seeking, pulled this way and that.
Jack licked the envelope and sealed it with the bottom of his fist.
Things wouldn’t be like this if she had a husband. That thought was an even more contemptible wail than “But what’s a poor girl to do?”
She took the envelope and said, “Thank you.” She took it because her anger at Rose for being spoiled, at Rose’s retinue for spoiling Rose, now turned to accuse her. What had she done for Rose? She’d quarreled and quarreled with Rose and relied on Mary and May to praise her. Now Jack wanted to stake a claim on Rose. Who was she to say no? Things wouldn’t be like this if she loved Rose enough.
chapter forty-seven
During the January thaw the creek ran clear, rose a bit from the melting snow. The air was so still that when May opened the back door she could hear the gurgling around the wharf pilings. Nobody home but her. She put on her boots and headed downstream to look at the salt marsh. There was ice around the edge of Sawtooth Pond and some chunks bobbing along in the current from her creek and the other salt creeks that fed the pond. The tide was dead low, about to turn. The air was soft on her face. It was a relief to look farther than the walls of her house, to take in the stillness of the marsh. The lines of sight seemed longer with no green to break them—gray sky with puffs of white, gray ice with cracklings of white, the withered spartina broken or bent by winter wind. May loved the plainness. She’d be glad enough for spring, but the January thaw suited her fine. She scarcely dared say more than that, though she knew that when she dreamed a pleasant dream it most often was set in the salt marsh during the January thaw. Sometimes she saw the lace of ice along the banks of the creek, sometimes the long view she saw now.
She caught sight of a small boat coming through the breachway into Sawtooth Pond. At first she mistook it for a slab of ice, but then she made it out. Somebody rowing. It was the skiff Dick gave to Rose. Rose? What on earth was she up to, coming from the open sea? Water cold enough to kill you in twenty minutes. Even in the pond you could hit a chunk of ice and flip over.
May ran along the edge of the creek all the way to the mouth. The edge of the pond curved back away, so she stopped, raised her arms. She didn’t yell; she was afraid she’d startle Rose, make her turn suddenly, maybe catch a crab.
It wasn’t Rose. May recognized Deirdre O’Malley’s green wool watch cap. She felt a rush of blood to her face.
Deirdre turned to check her course into the creek. She tilted her head when she saw May, kept rowing until she came up to her. She rested on her oars and glided by. She said, “That was just great!” May didn’t say anything. Deirdre said, “This is a nifty little boat, scoots right along. Of course, I got the last of the tide going out and now it’s coming in. You want a lift back to the house?”
A small plate of ice hit the bow, spun away. May said, “I suppose you know a thing or two about boats.”
“Oh, yeah. Canoes, kayaks, skiffs. All kinds of boats.”
“One time one of those fellows who keeps his yacht over in Point Judith—he took a wooden skiff out. Had an outboard. There was some ice, just a bit of a film. He went up and down the pond, cutting through the ice and slush. Wore a hole at the waterline.”
Deirdre laughed, held the oar handles in one hand, and waved the other at the pond. “Hardly any ice.”
“Course, it was his skiff. So it didn’t matter to anybody but him.”
“Oh.” Deirdre took a stroke to keep from drifting downstream. “I thought this was, you know, a family boat.”
“That’s right.” May let that sit for a moment. “It is.” Another pause. “Dick made her especially for Rose.” She turned and started back to the house. She got to the dock just before Deirdre. She said, “I’ll give you a hand lifting her. No sense in dragging her across the dock.”
They put the skiff on the slings. May readjusted them, wiped off some silt, and lashed the tarp over her. They walked back to the house without a word. Deirdre got as far as the kitchen when May said, “You might take your boots off.”
Deirdre took them off and put them outside the front door. She went upstairs. When she came down she was carrying her duffel bag and her backpack. After she loaded her jeep, she poked her head back in to say, “Tell Charlie I’ll call.”
May felt nothing but dark pleasure until she began to get supper ready. Then she thought about just exactly what she was
going to say to Charlie. One thing she’d do was set a place for Deirdre as if it wasn’t much of anything, just Deirdre O’Malley getting her Irish up.
And then she thought again. Getting her Irish up? She’d surprised herself with how angry she’d been. Cold angry, nothing Irish about it. Angry because Deirdre had made her afraid Rose was out in the skiff. And angry at Deirdre for paddling around at night. Angry at women. Angry at men and women. Sick and tired of them.
chapter forty-eight
Rose phoned Elsie to say she was staying late at school to rehearse and would spend the night in a dorm room. Elsie said, “Okay. I only made a pot of soup for supper. It’ll keep.” Rose said, “Okay, bye”—breezily enough to annoy Elsie. The thought that Rose saved her good manners for May’s house annoyed her more, and it annoyed her even more that she was having this thought.
The sound of a car, didn’t matter whose, was a relief. She opened the door. She’d seen the jeep in Dick’s driveway—the woman getting out must be the one staying there.
The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Deirdre O’Malley. We don’t know each other, but I’m pretty sure you can tell me what I need to know. You’re in charge of Miss Perry’s estate, and I was wondering if I could pitch a tent out by Child Crying Pond.”
“I don’t see why not. But there’s no road into it, not even a trail.”
“I looked at the topo map. It’s not far.”
“But there’s still a lot of snow, and it’s wet. It’d be a slog. Why don’t you come in?”
Elsie made tea. She said, “So you’re the one who pulled Charlie out of the water. My daughter, Rose, told me.”
“Right. I met Rose. I’ve been staying at the Pierces’. I guess we already know a lot about each other.” Elsie must have shown that she thought this was abrupt. Deirdre said, “You were the one who went to Miss Perry’s rescue. So we’re both good scouts. And we both have jobs in the woods. I used to run an outdoor survival program.”
