Homeward

by Melody Carlson

  She hadn’t had much chance to speak with him again last night after she’d returned to the exhibit. She had only discreetly handed him his jacket before she was pulled into a conversation with a bearded man who displayed metal sculptures in the gallery and wanted to make sure that nothing would change in his commissions and contracts. She hoped that Matthew knew how much she appreciated what he had shared with her, and perhaps someday, hopefully when she was further along in this forgiveness process, she would have a chance to thank him. She watched his back as he returned to his seat near the front, and saw that Abby and Cal were seated up there as well. Had they gone to church here when she was a child and she hadn’t noticed? She wondered if Clive would normally be seated with them and, if so, appreciated that the thoughtful girl had joined her.

  After church, Meg visited with Clive briefly, then began to make her way toward the door.

  “Don’t leave yet, Meg,” said Clive, pulling on her arm. “I want to ask Daddy something.”

  Meg waited uncomfortably by the door, fearing that Clive, out of pity, might be begging her father to invite Meg to join them for Sunday dinner or something like that.

  Matthew and Clive walked over to where Meg was standing, and Matthew shook her hand. “Say, Meg, Clive has come up with a really terrific idea. It’s a beautiful day, perfect for sailing. And I just got our boat all cleaned up and ready to go out last weekend.” The way his blue eyes lit up reminded her of a young boy about to play with his favorite toy. “Anyway, we wondered if you would like to go out with us. Have you ever sailed? Or do you already have plans for today?”

  “My only plans were to go out and weed the bog.”

  “Oh, that’s right, Meg,” said Clive. “I almost forgot about the bog. We made such good progress last week, and then—” She stopped in midsentence, her face red, but Matthew graciously jumped in.

  “I have an idea. How about if we make a deal with you, Meg? You come with us today, and we promise to help you out at the bog to make up for this lost time. We could come out next week if you like. Okay?”

  Meg smiled. “It sounds like a pretty good deal for me. But I don’t think you have much to gain.”

  Clive put her arm around Meg. “We get to take you with us.” She looked over her shoulder. “Abby,” she called. “We’re taking the boat out, and Meg’s coming. You want to come, too?”

  “Sounds great,” called Abby. “Can I bring a guest?”

  “Sure,” said Matthew. “The more the merrier.”

  “What time shall I meet you?” asked Meg.

  “Can you be ready in about an hour?” Matthew glanced at his watch.

  “Sure. Anything I can bring?”

  “Nope, but plan on eating lunch on deck. And dress warm,” he said with a smile. She wondered if he was referring to last night.

  “Aye, aye, Skipper.”

  “I can see already that you’ll make a good sailor.”

  “I hope so. I’ve never been sailing before.”

  Within the hour, Meg was at the docks, where she found Matthew and Clive already at work on the boat, removing the heavy canvas mooring cover and untying ropes. Matthew looked younger in his faded Levi’s, sweatshirt, and deck shoes.

  “This is a beautiful boat, Matthew,” she said as he gave her a hand to help her aboard.

  “Thanks. She’s called the Regina.”

  Meg figured that must be his wife’s name but didn’t comment. “What can I do to help?”

  “Well, I don’t want to come across as a chauvinist, but if you wouldn’t mind getting those groceries into the galley, that would help.”

  “No problem.” She gathered the bags and headed below, relieved to have such a simple task. She’d been worried that she might have to understand sailing terms, which would be a problem since she didn’t know a fore from an aft. The galley was cozy, with a gas stove, sink, refrigerator, and all the other comforts of home in miniature sizes. She quickly stowed the food and checked to see that the refrigerator was running before she returned to the deck.

  “We’re here,” called Abby from the dock. She had Sigfried with her, and Meg waved to both of them, glad to see that he was the other guest.

  “Meg already put the food away,” said Matthew. “I didn’t mention to her that you were the official galley slave.”

  “Slave?” said Abby indignantly. “Ha! You mean the galley queen. I rule down there, Meg. Be warned.”

  “That’s fine by me,” said Meg. “But I’m happy to help, and I know how to take orders.”

  “Good,” said Abby. “In that case, I’ll let you help.” She turned to Sigfried. “You said you know how to sail, right?”

  He smiled. “Sure do.”

  “Well then, here’s your captain.”

  “This is one nice-looking boat, Matthew,” said Sigfried. “How long have you had her?”

  “Just a couple years. I couldn’t really afford it, but then I decided that Clive and I weren’t getting any younger. Here, can you handle this for me?” Matthew handed him some loose rope, and Meg followed Abby down the steep, ladder like stairs that led to the galley.

  Abby put Meg to work making a tossed salad, and before long they heard the engine rumbling and felt the swaying motion of the launch. At first there was barely any movement, but before long the boat began to rock up and down. Meg had almost finished with the salad when she started to feel woozy.

  “Good grief, girl,” said Abby. “You look like you’re going to toss your cookies right into our salad. You’d better get on deck fast and get some fresh air.”

  “Okay,” said Meg. She climbed the stairs weakly. She desperately hoped that she wasn’t going to be seasick. That would spoil it for everyone.

  Matthew was at the top of the ladder, looking down. “Meg, you’re looking a little green around the gills.” He reached down and pulled her up out of the hold. “Come sit in the cockpit and get some air.” He led her over to the padded bench seat and set her gently down.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  He reached into a cooler next to the bench seat and pulled out a cold club soda. He popped it open and handed it to her.

  “Here you go. This and some good sea air usually does the trick. I forgot that being down below isn’t the best way to get someone used to sailing. And it does get a little rougher here when we cross the bar.”

  Meg nodded and breathed in some fresh air, then cautiously sipped the soda. To her relief, she quickly began to feel better.

  “Looks like my remedy is working,” said Matthew with a warm smile. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, we need to get some canvas up.”

  Before long, Meg felt back to normal. She leaned back and looked across the horizon. The sky was mostly clear, with just a few wispy clouds passing by from time to time. The ocean was calm and blue. Clive, wearing a crew hat, manned the helm like a pro, while Matthew and Sigfried hoisted the mainsail.

  Meg watched the two of them working together. Matthew was taller and probably ten years younger, but Sigfried was holding his own and appeared to know what he was doing.

  “Cut the engine, Clive,” yelled Matthew as the sail whipped into place and gently filled with wind. The sound of the engine died away, and a peaceful quiet followed as the boat seemed to glide like a bird across the water. It was amazing how just the wind could propel a large boat with such power and speed across the water. Meg felt exhilarated.

  Matthew came over and sat down. “You like it, don’t you, Meg?”

  She nodded.

  “I could tell.”

  “It’s beautiful. Almost like we’re flying,” she said in wonder.

  “That’s what I thought the first time I sailed.”

  “How about some help carrying this food?” called Abby from below. Meg started to get up, but Matthew stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

  “I think you should stay on deck this time around. It takes a while to get your sea legs, and we don’t want to spoil this trip for you.”
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br />   “Okay, but I don’t like feeling like a useless piece of baggage.”

  Matthew laughed. “Don’t worry about that. By the way, didn’t I see your camera around here?”

  “It’s in my bag.”

  “How about getting some shots of the boat and everyone? That’s something I haven’t taken time to do. Not to mention that I usually cut off heads or hold the camera cockeyed. After seeing your photography talents at Sunny’s last night, I think a few pictures would be a pretty fair exchange.”

  Sigfried and Matthew each carried up two plates loaded with grilled chicken strips on pasta, salad topped with fresh crab, and big wedges of sourdough bread.

  “How can you balance coming up those steep stairs with your hands full?” said Meg.

  Matthew grinned as he handed her a plate. “Just naturally graceful, I guess.”

  Sigfried handed a plate to Clive, then tried to talk her into taking a break, but Clive insisted on eating at the helm.

  “Yeah, you’ll be lucky if you ever get your hands on that wheel, Siggie,” called Abby as she sat down with her own plate of food.

  The four adults sat down on the curving bench seat of the cockpit, and Matthew said a blessing over their food.

  “Abby, this looks delicious,” said Meg, thankful that all signs of her earlier nausea were gone now. “This is the first time I’ve felt hungry in days.”

  “The sea air will do that to you,” said Abby. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  It was quiet and peaceful as they ate, with just the sound of the water swishing alongside the boat and the occasional snap of the sail. Before Meg had finished her last bite, Abby ducked down into the galley again and emerged with a pan of steaming blackberry cobbler and five bowls.

  “Can you dish this up, Meg?” said Abby. “I’m going to brew some coffee.”

  “You bet,” said Meg. “It looks fantastic.”

  “And don’t forget this.” Abby pulled a can of whipped cream out of her jacket pocket and held it proudly in the air. “The galley queen thinks of everything.”

  Meg dished out generous helpings of cobbler but couldn’t get the whipped cream to squirt out of the can.

  “Here, let me try,” offered Sigfried. He fiddled with the top and finally gave it a firm push, which sent an explosion of whipped cream into the air and all over Meg’s face and sweatshirt.

  Sigfried looked so horrified that Meg began to laugh. He seemed confused for a moment but soon started to chuckle. Matthew joined in, and when Abby returned from the galley, all three were laughing hysterically over the silly incident.

  “So this is what happens when I leave you kids unattended,” Abby teased as she handed out mugs of coffee. Matthew pulled a blue bandanna from his pocket and carefully began to wipe Meg’s face.

  “There,” he said with a smile as he dabbed one last spot on her nose. “That should do it.”

  “Thanks,” said Meg, looking into his clear blue eyes. She suddenly felt self-conscious and took a step away from Matthew. Returning her attention to the cobbler, she topped each dish with whipped cream and handed them all out. She took the last one over to Clive and remained by the girl’s side for a few moments to regain her composure.

  “So, Clive, do you know which way you’re going?” asked Meg as she took a sip of coffee.

  Clive looked down at the compass. “Yep. We’re going south-southwest. Pretty soon I’ll have to turn her around to tack back north.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Meg, although she didn’t know what the girl was talking about. Clive had a beautifully confident look in her eyes as she stood tall before the helm. Meg abruptly set down her coffee, pulled out her camera, and began snapping shots of Clive, trying to get just the right angle on that look. If she could capture that expression on Clive’s face, it would be a picture worth framing. She couldn’t wait to see the prints.

  “Hey, your cobbler’s getting cold, Meg,” called Abby. Meg returned to the group, feeling more relaxed now. She ate her cobbler, and they all lingered over another cup of coffee.

  Meg leaned back and looked out over the ocean. “What a way to live,” she said. “I can understand now why some people set sail and keep going all the way around the world.”

  “Sure, on a day like today,” said Sigfried. “But if you sailed through some real weather, you might not think so.”

  “You’re probably right,” she said, remembering how she’d felt down below earlier. “Have you sailed in bad weather, Siggie?” It was the first time she had called him Siggie, and it surprised her that it had slipped out so naturally. She had heard Sunny and Erin call him that, but she had never felt comfortable with the nickname before.

  He smiled. “Yep, I’ve sailed through some weather all right. Back in October of 1970, I sailed with a friend from Auckland, New Zealand, up to Brisbane, Australia, in a boat smaller than this. When we hit a storm in the Tasmanian Strait, I thought we were goners for sure. That was one heck of a trip…”

  Just as Siggie finished recounting the adventure, Matthew said it was time to turn around and tack back. Matthew explained to Meg that she would need to be very careful to avoid getting hit in the head as the sail swung across the deck from time to time as the boat changed direction.

  “We sort of zigzag back and forth, catching the winds to take us back up the coast in a northerly direction,” he explained.

  “So that’s what tacking means.”

  “Right. If you here someone yell ‘coming around!’ and you’re anywhere near the sail, then you’d better duck quick.”

  “Okay.”

  “It would probably be safer for you to stay in one place. You can go up front to the bowsprit, if you like. But you need to be careful up there; it gets a lot of motion. It might be better to stay back here, although you could probably get some good shots from the bowsprit.”

  Meg chose to go up front. It was fun being right at the tip of the bow. The front of the boat rose up high, then went down, again and again, as they went over the waves. It really felt like flying. She didn’t mind being splashed by the sea from time to time as the boat changed course, and she managed to get quite a few good shots. After a while, Matthew joined her.

  “Everything going okay up here?” he asked.

  “Great. I think I like sailing.”

  He grinned. “I think we figured that out already.”

  She smiled back, then paused for a moment, becoming serious again. “Matthew, I wanted to thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For what you shared last night. I really needed to hear what you said. It was perfect timing.”

  “Well,” he said, squinting out toward the horizon, “I think God must’ve told me to go out there.”

  “I’m sure glad you listened.”

  “Me, too.”

  Meg studied his profile as he stared out to sea. His sandy eyebrows were drawn together as if he were looking for something, and his deep-set eyes were the same shade as the waves. She had always considered him handsome, but in that moment she saw something more attractive than his physical appearance, something she wanted to capture in her camera lens, but suspected she could not.

  When he turned back toward her, she averted her eyes, embarrassed to be caught staring. She sucked in a quick breath. What was she getting herself into?

  TWENTY ONE

  The next morning, Meg replayed sailing scenes through her mind as she started to weed the bog. She knew she couldn’t expect any help today since spring break was over, but she didn’t mind working alone. It gave her time to think. Time to work things out.

  She thought about what Matthew had said about grieving for the things that had gone wrong in her childhood with Sunny. But as she tried to consider the earlier days of her life, she kept thinking about that photo of Sunny in the cranberry bog—the one where she was pouring out the cranberries with the look of innocence and excitement on her face. When had that all changed? What had become of that wonder-eyed, sweet-faced count
ry girl? What had turned her into the woman Meg recalled from her childhood?

  Sunny had never told the girls much about their father. Meg had never even seen him. Her parents had divorced when Sunny was pregnant with Meg, and any photos that had, at one time, included their father’s face were blackened out by the time Meg saw them. Erin said she remembered very little about their father and had never cared to talk about him. Even now, she would just brush away the subject if Meg brought it up, saying, “Why worry about the past?” Consequently, Meg had grown up with the conclusion that her father was not a very nice man.

  In the fifth grade, Meg’s class had traced the ethnic origins of their last names, and Meg asked Sunny why their last name was the same as Sunny’s parents’ instead of their dad’s. Sunny had told Meg that after the divorce she didn’t want to have his name anymore and didn’t think that Erin or Meg would either. Meg wasn’t so sure. She asked Sunny what his name was, and after much pestering, Sunny had finally told her. John Gibson. That was all Meg ever learned about him, other than that he lived in California and that he occasionally sent a birthday or Christmas card in care of her grandparents. Even Grandpa would not talk about him when she asked. “Some stones are better left unturned,” he would say. And that was the end of the discussion.

  When Meg was a teenager and feeling rebellious against Sunny, she created her own fantasy of what had happened with her father. In this version it was Sunny who played the bad guy. Meg decided that her father must have been a good man, but simply couldn’t stand the way his wife drank and carried on, and finally she drove him off and told him never to return.

  Meg suspected now that her fantasy had been wrong and that perhaps Sunny had been hurt by her husband. Maybe that was why Sunny made so many bad choices back in those days. Why hadn’t that ever occurred to Meg before? She ripped a weed out of the ground angrily. For a change, her anger was directed not at Sunny this time but at herself.

  An electronic beeping shook her from her thoughts, and she realized that her cell phone was ringing. She jumped out of the bog and ran to pick it up, hoping that nothing was wrong with Grandmother. Erin’s voice greeted her.