by Mary Monroe
“I thought you loved that house.”
“I did, for a while. I’m talking about more than just the house. There, I had a role to fulfill in society as your father’s wife, your and Palmer’s mother, an active member of my church, schools, business. There was an endless demand on my time. Invitations and thank-yous, political drives and cultural events, endless telephone calls and meeting someone for this or that, preparing meals, cleaning up after meals, doctors, dentists, the garden, shopping. There was always a button that needed sewing or a plant that needed watering. And driving. Lord, the driving! I spent years in carpools, then more years worrying about you and Palmer driving, and then the final insult, worrying about Stratton’s and my own skills behind the wheel as we aged.
“A woman’s life has so many demands because she is the axis around which so many little planets spin. I did it and, yes, there were countless delightful moments. But that part of my life died when Stratton did.”
Her voice was firm on this point. Lovie turned to allow her gaze to travel lazily over the yellow cottage. She breathed deeply and when she spoke, it was heartfelt. “If I made one mistake, Cara, it’s that I did not allow enough time for solitude every day. A quiet time to reflect, to pray, to refill my well. I was so very busy. In that big house every minute was so consumed that I simply dried up inside. I suppose I could point to people and events and cast blame, but in my heart I know that this was my own responsibility, not anyone else’s.” Her face brightened. “Except, I did come here in my summers. This place saved me. I love it here. I always have. I feel freer, happier. Like it’s summer inside of me every day of the year.”
Cara leaned forward, peering into this window to her mother’s personality that she’d never looked through before. “That’s the way I’ve always felt here, too.”
“Is it? I always believed that about you. And that you understand how important Primrose Cottage is. To us and to the family.”
“Hmm,” Cara replied, not willing to link herself to strong family sentiments. “It’s nice, talking with you like this. We don’t do it often enough.”
“Then stay.”
“Mother, I can’t. I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t get summers off.”
“You’re still my little girl.”
“This isn’t a good time for a vacation. I have a lot going on. I can’t explain it all right now. Maybe next year.”
“No. Not next year, Cara. This year.”
Cara uncurled her legs, rose and walked to her mother. Reaching out, she took Lovie’s hand. “I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t. I’m all packed up and will leave at dawn.”
“You’re going so early?”
“I really must get back.”
“If you stay a few more days, we could—”
“I left my home, my bills…. I have to earn a living, Mama. If I leave tomorrow real early I can get back in a day.”
“I see. Will you come back soon?”
“I’ll try.”
Lovie dropped Cara’s hand. She knew it wouldn’t happen and felt inexpressibly old and woeful. “You go on to bed, dear. I’m just going to finish my tea.”
The night was blowsy but it was a good thing. The wind moved the clouds that had blanketed the sky earlier like a giant eraser. The stars now sparkled in a clear sky and made one understand why generations had so often compared them to diamonds.
Stepping out from the screened porch Lovie raised her chin and saw that the Big Dipper was so clear little Cooper could play connect the dots. Still, the path through the tangled lot would be treacherous. Lovie flicked on her special flashlight that glowed a soft red that would not disturb the turtles, wrapped an old sweater around her shoulders, then headed out toward the beach. It was very late, past midnight, but she was deeply troubled and overcome with lassitude.
She needed to walk. Being old, she couldn’t walk as far as she would have liked. Being tired, she would most likely just rest a bit on the sand. But this pacing in the sand was the only easing of her soul she had at her disposal now that Russell was gone.
Dear Russell…Oh, how she missed him and his gentle counsel. He had been her dearest friend and love, and if he were alive she would tell him all about the mess she’d made of things with Cara and ask for his advice. Her thoughts were full of him as she followed the thin stream of light that snaked ahead of her. She walked one foot in front of the other along the narrow path, careful for vines that could trip her and leave her stranded all night with a broken hip. Wouldn’t Palmer have a fit then!
She climbed the small dune that peaked where the beach stretched up to meet it. At the top she sank gratefully to her knees, warm with exertion. It was horrible, this getting old. She used to run along this same path to the beach then straight into the sea for a long, vigorous swim before she even felt the need to catch a breath. Putting her hand to her chest she chuckled. Goodness, it didn’t seem all that long ago.
She slipped off her Keds and dug her toes deep into the cool sand, then flexed her fingers to do the same. This was her favorite roosting spot. On this bit of land she could sit for long periods of time and feel close to all that was dear to her heart: the sea, the sand, this land. And all this was dear because it brought her close to Russell.
She lay back into the sand and, closing her eyes, imagined she felt his arms around her again. The older she became the easier it was to feel his presence. It was a game she allowed herself to play more often now. She couldn’t see the harm. If she was going senile, what of it? She’d likely die before she went totally gaga. Besides, it was too much of a comfort to resist.
In her imagination, she and Russell were lying together again on the old black-and-red checked blanket she’d always dragged along from the cottage when she met him on this dune. Back then, Russell’s hair was so blond it appeared white against his leathery tan from hours of field research in the sun. She remembered how his skin was both smooth and callused in spots. Her own skin was soft and pliant in those days and she wore her long, thick blond hair twisted in a braid during the day. At night, however, Russell would slowly unwind the skein and spread her hair out upon the blanket to look at it. He said it reflected the gold of the moonlight.
She had been only thirty-nine and he forty-one. She’d clung to him with the knowledge that they had only that one golden summer to treasure. For she had a husband and he had a wife. They had families and social standing. Commitments they could not—would not—break, no matter how tempted they might be. They had both understood from the onset that their love affair could not continue into the fall.
This small bit of land on the deserted bit of island had been their oasis. Back then, no houses overlooked their haven. No lights shone except for the moon. Around the lovers the sea oats clicked. Above them, the stars watched and winked in sympathy. If she closed her eyes tight, Lovie could imagine he was here with her. If she let her mind go very still, she could hear Russell’s voice, his delicate Southern accent that was sweet to her ears.
“Russell, I am all confused,” she said aloud. “Did you hear Palmer tell how much this piece of land is worth now? I had no idea it would ever be so valuable. You know what a comfort it has been to me all these years of such loneliness and want of affection. I feel close to you here, and wouldn’t part with this land for the world. But I am dying now. I will be leaving this world soon. What am I to do with this land? I have to decide. Did you hear Palmer go on about wanting to buy this land? Should I tell him that it’s mine? He would surely sell it—after he danced a jig. It would break my heart, but it would be a lot of money. Just think what I could do with so much money!”
What would you do?
“Oh, if I were only young again, I would travel! There’s so much of the world I would like to have seen. But I’m too old for that now and too ill to manage the trip. I don’t care much for clothes. I’m giving away all my jewelry. At this point in my life, I see all possessions as just more stuff, as Cara called it. Meaningless! Worse than meaningless.
They are distractions. Yet I feel so responsible. It is an awful lot of money that might mean something to my children.”
You will have given them each a piece of property.
“That’s more than many children ever get. Then there are my grandchildren. The money could give them a leg up when they’re grown. Help them with tuition, a down payment on a house, that sort of thing. It would be nice to be remembered fondly. And, of course, there’s Toy. I really must help Toy.
“Oh, but what should I do? If I leave the land to my grandchildren, people will wonder where it came from. Questions would be asked and eventually answers would be uncovered. I’ve sacrificed too much for too long to lose my dignity, our privacy, at the end.”
Privacy or secrecy?
“Is there a difference?”
Privacy is something that we maintain for the good of ourselves and others. Secrecy we keep to separate ourselves from others, even those we love.
“But I only want to protect my family!”
But you have succeeded in dividing them.
“Tell me, my love, what do you think I should do?”
You know what I would do.
“I do. You always intended to leave the land to the Conservancy. I want to, but I’m not sure if it’s the right thing. And I’d need someone who I can trust to help me.”
Cara?
“Cara is leaving.”
She is still here now. You should talk to her. You know you want to.
“There’s no time. She’s leaving tomorrow. It would take a miracle.”
Miracles happen every day.
“Where are you going? Please, don’t leave me.”
I’ll never leave you.
“Russell!” She sat up and reached for him. Lifting her hand, the sand sifted slowly through her fingers until it was gone.
She was alone again and knew that she could not wish him back. Bereft, she leaned her elbows against her knees and tightened the sweater around her shoulders. The bright moon gave the beach a silvery glow and the earlier wind had swept the sand like a broom, leaving it smooth as pavement. The tide was coming in. She could see the white ruffled edges of the waves as they cascaded upon the shoreline.
With a jolt, she peered at the edge of the water. She thought she saw something moving out there. The waves rolled in, then back again, leaving bits of luminescent plankton, shells and seaweed in its wake. Lovie remained quiet, her heart pounding, not daring to move and scare away the large, shadowy hulk emerging like a great, prehistoric creature from the sea.
Yes, it was a loggerhead!
At the water’s edge the turtle lifted her head, arching her neck as if sniffing the air. Then she lowered her beak, poking it into the sand. Lovie could only guess she was tapping into some ancient, instinct-stored information that would guide her. She waited breathlessly for the turtle to make her decision. At last, with a slow, dragging shuffle, the loggerhead plowed her way onto the beach straight in Lovie’s direction. Every few steps the turtle stopped, contending with the effects of gravity on her three-hundred-plus pounds of weight. Foot by foot the turtle persevered in her sluggish gait, lurching forward, then stopping to gasp for breath.
It would take time for the loggerhead to make its way up the beach and Lovie had a moment’s inspiration. Very slowly she swung her legs around and crawled down the opposite side of the dune. With a hunched back she hurried down the dune, not turning on her flashlight lest she scare the loggerhead. She scurried across the path as fast as she could back to her beach house.
This time she didn’t knock on Cara’s door. She went into the bedroom, past the suitcase at the foot of the bed, put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and gently rocked her.
“Cara. Cara, wake up.”
Cara awoke with a jolt, her breath hitching and her eyes opening wide in a startled expression.
“It’s me, honey. Wake up. There’s something I want you to see. Hurry now.”
“Whatisit?” she slurred, looking around the room.
“Come on. Put on your jeans. A turtle has come ashore. You don’t want to miss this.”
“Oh, Mama…”
She cajoled and hurried a sleepy Cara into her jeans, T-shirt and sandals, and with her heart beating joyfully in her chest, led her daughter out into the cool, moist night. In single file they hurried along the path to the sea. Lovie’s eyes were accustomed to the dark and she led the way quickly. As they neared the dune, she turned to put her finger to her lips and slowed to a crawl as they rounded the hill and came out on the beach.
The tide had inched back and the smooth sand was scarred by a long, wide furrow of turtle tracks from the water’s edge high up near the dunes. In the silence, Lovie could hear the scrape of the turtle’s digging. Following the line of tracks, she found the loggerhead. The creature was magnificent. Sand flew into the air in great gusts, spraying sand like confetti.
Lovie heard Cara’s gasp behind her and guided her to a spot hidden by a dune. The turtle worked without pause to dig the egg chamber, using one rear flipper to scoop out the sand and another flipper to brush the mound away in an ancient ritual, over and over for almost an hour. Then she stilled and a deep silence again reigned. Signaling with her hand, Lovie led Cara closer now, for it was said that, once the mother began laying her eggs, she went into a trance and was less likely to stop until her work was done.
It was a perfect night, with little wind and a bright moon to light the area like a theater. Lovie felt the excitement she always felt at the sight. No one knew at what time or where a loggerhead would come ashore. Even with vigilance, seeing this was a matter of luck.
And God’s grace, she thought, whispering a prayer of thanks for this small miracle. She looked at Cara’s face. It was as still and watchful as a child’s and Lovie smiled to herself. She’d made the right decision to fetch her, she thought. She knew her daughter would always remember the night they shared this ancient ritual of the loggerhead for which she’d been named.
They sat shoulder to shoulder during the next hour and Lovie felt that their silence bonded them now rather than divided them. From time to time Cara would look over to her to exchange a glance, their eyes gleaming like the moon overhead. The loggerhead was steadfast as one by one more than one hundred leathery eggs slipped into the sand. While she worked, great streams of salty tears flowed down from her eyes.
A mother’s tears, Lovie thought to herself. The tears of duty, love and commitment. The tears of resignation and acceptance. And, too, the tears of abandonment. For this sea turtle would finish laying her eggs then leave the nest, never to return.
Don’t cry, Mother, she silently said to the turtle. Didn’t all mothers abandon their children at some time? Soon she, too, would leave her own children, never to return.
What did scientists know, explaining those tears away as a mere cleansing of the eye? A woman saw those turtle tears and instinctively knew that the turtle mother wept for her children. A mother knew of all the predators that awaited her young, of the swift currents that might lead them astray, of the dazzle of dangerous lights, of the complicated nets that could entangle them and of the many years of solitary swimming. She wept because she could not protect them from their fate.
Lovie lifted her hand to wipe away the tears from her own face, feeling a powerful kinship with the beautiful beast before her. They were like old friends, having a good cry together.
Then Cara squeezed her hand and all at once it no longer felt so sad. Such was the way of nature. Like the Bible said, there was nothing new under the sun. There was a time for being born, for giving birth, and a time for dying.
The turtle finished laying her eggs and began shoveling sand into the nest with her hind flippers. Then she turned and tossed sand violently to camouflage her treasures. They stepped back, giving her a wide berth to finish hiding her nest and crawl back to the sea.
Lovie and Cara were her honor guard, walking quietly behind her. Each movement seemed a colossal effort and her sh
ell scraped the sand as it dragged. She paused frequently to breathe and raise her head as though sniffing out the sea. The nearer she drew to the water, however, the more vigorous she became. The new energy and excitement in the turtle was contagious.
Lovie sensed the turtle’s relief when it reached saltwater. A wave washed away the coating of sand and her gorgeous reddish-brown carapace shone like fabulous armor in the moonlight.
“You’re home free!” Cara called out to the turtle.
The moon was now high over the ocean, creating a long ribbon of light that appeared as a road for the turtle to follow home. Lovie and Cara had walked all this way to the water’s edge with her, agonized each step with her, but now they could go no farther.
Lovie watched the turtle lumber forward into the sea. As she became buoyant in the saltwater, her strong flippers began to stroke and in that miraculous instant the turtle shed her earthly burdens and was transformed from a plodding, hulking beast to a creature of great grace and beauty. She raised her head once more, as though to say farewell, then dove beneath the surface and was gone.
Lovie stepped forward into the water after her. She felt an inexpressible urge to go with her. Beyond, she sensed a great, deep unknown. Out there, under the surface, lay a vast otherworld filled with mysteries and beauty. Transfixed, she wanted to follow the turtle down that ribbon of moonlight.
“Mama? Come back. You’re going out too far.”
Lovie blinked and looked down. The water was up to her knees and the hem of her skirt floated around her.
“Why, I’ve barely noticed. I was watching her. But she’s gone now.”
“Here, take my hand.”
“Wasn’t she beautiful?”
“Breathtakingly beautiful. I never imagined it could be so magical.”
Lovie came out from the water to stand by her daughter. “It is, isn’t it? I’ve seen it many times, but each time is like the first.”
