Light Over Water

by Noelle Carle

  Then he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, tears trickling down onto her fingers. A low whimper escaped his throat. In one swift movement he pulled her onto his lap, wrapped his arms around her and leaned his face into her neck. He cried for his mother, his shoulders straining as he sobbed, and Alison’s heart broke to hear his sorrow. She wanted to ease his pain and soothe him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek on his hair, her own tears flowing now. She held him until he quieted. She wasn’t aware of time passing, or of the slow dying of the wind. The lamp sputtered in the growing quiet, and Alison held on to Sam, aware and knowing for the first time that what she was feeling, more than any sorrow, was love. She wasn’t surprised. It had been a seed in her heart since they were little, but she was overwhelmed at the immensity of it. She felt as though she would burst and she could never hide it from him. For what seemed natural to her may be utterly foreign to him.

  It was curious to her. She’d known Sam always. They were as comfortable together as brother and sister. She’d listened to his dreams and longings, and helped him diagram sentences and measure angles. They had competed fiercely in all their childhood games and sparred over everything from sleds to politics. But in this one thing his heart was hidden. She never knew if he loved anyone. All these thoughts came to her in an instant and as she mused on this, she realized that she should move out of his arms. She was indulging herself in the nearness of him while he was simply seeking solace.

  Even as she considered this, she sensed a change. Stillness came over him. She could feel the muscles in his neck and arms gathering themselves to move. He lifted his head, drew his sleeve across his eyes and sighed, a long shuddering breath. Then his eyes met hers. He studied her face, a sad one-sided smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “You are…” he started, when they both heard heavy steps on the stairs outside.

  Alison slid off Sam’s lap and bent to pick up the lantern. The outer door opened with a bang and Pastor Whiting hurried through, holding his own lantern high. His breath came in short puffs and he gasped with relief.

  “Ah, I just got back from calling on the Alleys, when I saw the bit of light flickering in the windows. I was afraid there was a fire starting.”

  He drew his hand across his high forehead, and loosened his overcoat, while drawing in a shuddering breath. He was a round man, young for a pastor, with a dark fringe of curly fluff circling his already bald head. His blue eyes were always bright, and for a man of his size he possessed an enormous energy. He was a methodical preacher who was somewhat stern and a bit intimidating in the pulpit, but outside the church he showed an unusual depth of compassion and sympathy for the struggles of mankind in general and in his flock in Little Cove in particular.

  “Mr. Eliot, Miss Granger, you have taken sanctuary, it seems.” His voice held a clear note of disapproval until he eased closer. Immediate concern lit his eyes as he read the distress in their faces and discerned the signs of tears.

  Alison cleared her throat. “Pastor, I guess you haven’t heard what happened.” She swallowed as she felt Sam’s hand slide around hers. “That Sam’s mother passed away today and her little baby too.” The words felt funny as she said them; grown up words she’d heard her aunt use rather than say directly that someone died.

  A groan escaped Neal Whiting. He slumped into the pew ahead of them. He sat there shaking his head for several long moments, and when he turned to look at them, his eyes gleamed with tears. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Sam. I’m going to go over to your house. I can take you back there now, or you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. There’s no better place to talk to God than right here.”

  “Thank you, Rev. Whiting. Please tell my father I’ll be along directly. I’m going to walk Alison home first. As for talking to God, I don’t believe I care to do that right now.” Sam stood up and Alison followed, gripping the lantern. The pastor stood also and watched them leave, his mouth a grim line.

  The wind had softened to a caress, but it was still cold. They crossed the field, and then started toward the Granger home when Alison stopped. “I forgot. It’s Mrs. Reid’s lantern. I need to take it back and the shawl and blanket too. But…then you’ll be cold.”

  Sam gazed at her silently, and then replied, “We’ll be cold together.” His voice sounded strained and hoarse after his tears.

  When she tapped on the schoolteacher’s door, it was pulled open after only a moment. Mary Reid had obviously been weeping. She held a handkerchief to her nose and her voice was nasal with tears, but she smiled when she saw them. “Good. You found him then. I’m so sorry, Sam love. Your mother was my dearest friend.” She pulled him into an embrace which was short-lived because of Sam’s stiffness. Undaunted, she put one hand on his cheek and gazed at him. With a shake of her head she wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.

  “We just came to return your things. Thank you,” Alison offered as her own throat tightened again with unshed tears.

  “Oh, no, no! You still need them. In fact, let me get you a coat to put on, Sam. My husband’s is right here in the closet.” When she turned her back to open the closet door, Alison and Sam stared at each other, their eyes wide. Mary drew out a heavy wool jacket that she held up for Sam. “I think it will work just fine. Now you tell your Da that I’ll come over in the morning to help out with the youngsters and the arrangements. I’m going to close the school tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Reid. I’ll bring this back tomorrow.” Alison raised the lantern as they turned to go back outside.

  “Hurry home now. It almost feels like snow again,” Mary’s voice followed them into the night.

  Alison and Sam followed the rutted road, stepping carefully to avoid puddles that were skimmed with ice. Their breath came in clouds, as the air had turned frigid. They soon came to the three forks, where one road led past the store and post office, down to the dock. The second led north out of town where it eventually joined Route One and made for Bath. The third branch swerved left and led to the Granger home and the farms owned by Chester Gilman’s father and his brother-in-law, Roy Cooper. Their farm carts churned up the mud every spring into an almost impassable lane, so several years before they laid a series of half-sawn logs down the length of the lane, calling it the Corduroy Road. It improved the problem with mud, but made it a particularly uncomfortable ride on the wooden seat of a wagon. The partially submerged logs were slick from the rain, and as Alison started tripping along, Sam took her arm to steady her, then to steer her off the logs to the edge of the road. This brought a lump to Alison’s throat, and tears rolled down her cheeks. The statement he’d made which had almost slipped past her now became appallingly clear and she felt a double loss. I leave in two weeks, he had said. She pulled the shawl closer and began to shiver all over. It wasn’t just the chill in the air; she had turned icy inside.

  Sam felt her trembling. He moved his arm across her shoulders. “You cold?” he questioned, but noticing her tears he hesitated.

  They stood within sight of Alison’s house where they could see the windows glowing with yellow light. A stand of gray birches leaned over them; their empty branches just tipped with red buds.

  Alison didn’t answer. She swiped her cheeks and looked at the ground, feeling his arm across her shoulders. Sam didn’t speak either, but slowly he pulled her into an embrace. She leaned into him, letting his arms support her. Then softly, like a rising breeze, he whispered, plainly and simply, “I love you, Alison. I think I have since I could remember. But I have to go to this war. I’m sorry.”

  Alison closed her eyes and smiled despite her tears. Then pulling away she met his gaze. In the lamplight she read great anguish and slight hope. She rose on her tiptoes, pressed her lips timidly to his, then whispered, “I’ll be waiting right here.”

  Chapter Five

  Sunk and Overwhelmed

  Gladys Cooper made the best pies in Little Cove. She brought six for the collation after the funeral. She began the
baking on the evening she heard about Olivia Eliot’s death. She cried as she cut the lard into the flour, leaning her solid square shoulders into the dough with grim purpose. Her heart ached for all those little lambs without a mother. She muttered to herself about injustice and the abundance of evil people in the world, and questioned why such a good person had to die.

  Vernon, her husband, kept thinking she was talking to him. His hearing was defective and each time he asked “What?” she roared back with great vehemence, “Nothing! I’m not talking to you!” Then more quietly, to herself she added each time, “Idiot man!” She sliced the stored apples from her own trees while pondering the inevitability of death. She pounded the sideboard with the rolling pin as she rolled out each circle of dough, deciding who in the village should better have gone than Olivia. Alvie Cooper, Vernon’s cousin who cared for the lighthouse, caught pneumonia every winter for the last thirteen years, but always pulled through, and him almost eighty. Aurietta Alley, by her own admission, longed to die but somehow held on so that she was able to recite every ache and pain at each mission meeting.

  By the time the pies were cooked and cooling in the pantry her tears were spent although her heart still felt like a sledgehammer in her chest. She blamed men for the ills of the world, and Mr. Reg Eliot for this one in particular. He took care of his family; he worked hard and obviously loved his wife. Obviously loved her too much. If he could just have learned when enough was enough. Everyone in Little Cove could see how with each child Olivia Eliot got weaker, thinner, and paler, as if they were leaching the lifeblood from her. She loved each one as if it were the only one, but they would be the end of her; everybody said so. She, Gladys, could have told Olivia what to do, how to stop it. After her last baby, her second girl, she told Vernon never again. And stuck to it, whether Vernon liked it or not.

  The funeral service was good; almost unbearably sad. Reverend Whiting did the best he could, but how do you give hope to the nine little ones missing their mother, and a grief-stricken husband? Watching them now at the collation Gladys revised her thoughts in her mind, for the children were not all so little. Sam was taller than his father, a man now, really. Esther was herding the younger ones together with all the instincts of a mother. Cleo carried the baby, who looked feverish and sleepy.

  Gladys directed now as the food was quickly set out. The aroma of coffee permeated the air. The mourners, as always, were eating heartily. Her pies went quickly, she noted with calm pride. It was always so. Rachel Alley’s gingerbread and Lorelei Anders’ chocolate doughnuts were favorites also. Barely anyone touched Irene Mayhew’s lemon bars. Everyone knew that Irene had a scalp condition and sometimes the violent scratching took place in the kitchen. Very few ate Mary Reid’s scones, being too foreign a food for the average Mainer.

  There was a disturbance, she had heard from Rachel, with Olivia’s Boston relatives who wanted to take her body back to the family cemetery in Massachusetts. But the burial today took place in their own Little Cove cemetery so Reg obviously prevailed. Very few from Olivia’s family actually made the journey to Maine. Her parents and one cousin, and an elderly woman that no one could place, sat together at a table with Reg. He looked not only miserable but also tongue-tied. The children though, clustered around their relatives, chattering in their open unselfconscious way, bringing looks both benign and bemused.

  The older children sat together too, Gladys noted. Aubrey Newell, who sat with her boy Tim, made quick work of a plate load of food, came back for seconds, then returned to sit with a quartet of girls who teased him and giggled too loud. He enjoyed their attention, no doubt, but his glance kept sliding across the room. Gladys followed that gaze to where Sam was sitting with Alison Granger, beside Esther, who watched her younger siblings closely. Too bad Sam had to leave so soon, she mused. Those two might be a good match. They weren’t speaking but sat watching the people in the room. Sam studied his father for a moment, then whispered something to Alison, who laid her hand on his arm and shook her head. He covered her hand with his own, then raised it to his lips and kissed it while gazing at her intently. It happened so quickly that Gladys wondered if she only imagined it.

  “Did you…” she started to question Esther, but then she spied Shirley Spencer moving a bouquet that she herself had brought over from the sanctuary for the table. She rushed to intercept her, her color high and her mouth a grim slash. Then the incident was altogether forgotten after what happened a few moments later.

  The church hall could barely contain the people who came to pay their respects to the Eliot family. Not everyone in Little Cove came to church on Sundays – the men who felt that their wives and children should go, but they themselves were exempted; the Catholic families; the disinterested; the disenchanted, all stayed away on Sundays – so the little hall was usually adequate for their needs. But on this day it was crowded with the community. Everyone knew Reg and loved Olivia. Folks put aside their religious sensitivities for funerals and weddings. So the whole village was filling the hall, which was an extension of the church. The elderly watched with a touch of awe that they were still living. The teens made an effort to subdue their restlessness and suffered in the tight suits and best dresses for the sake of the Eliot’s, and for the food. The younger children made no such effort, and darted about until they hurt themselves or were corralled by impatient parents. The women made themselves useful, clearing away empty plates, washing dishes, setting out fresh food, and keeping a watchful eye on their youngsters. And the men talked about fishing and planting, the war, politics – standing with their arms crossed or holding delicate tea cups in their rough and sometimes clumsy hands. The Kens, as they were known; Ken Alley and his son Ken, Jr., and their sister’s husband, Ken Mayhew approached Reg, awkwardly expressing their condolences, and then turned to speak with Olivia’s parents. Big Ken Alley was then headed for the door, when it opened from the outside. A man in uniform paused there, his head down as he fumbled with both his coat and the door. The cold wind pushed through, weaving around legs, causing everyone to turn and look. The room grew silent as the door slammed and the man lifted his head. He had dark curls that were tousled by the wind, a lanky long-boned look in spite of average height and his vibrant blue eyes scanned the room. He was awkwardly adjusting his clothes as he eyed everyone, the reason for his fumbling starkly clear. The left sleeve of his uniform was pinned up, and he reached across his body as if to feel what was left of his arm.

  “Remick!”

  Dr. Dan Granger stood up so quickly that his chair leaned back precariously until he caught it. After setting it upright, he hurried across the crowded room and embraced his eldest son for a long moment.

  Then, as the rest of his family rose too, wonder and pain written on their faces, another figure hurtled towards Remick Granger, sobbing as she reached him. Esther Eliot, who for so long had presented a face of composure and nonchalance even at the mention of Remick, made it wondrously clear how she felt. She cried as she hung on to him, completely unmindful of their audience. Remick held her with his one arm, his cheeks flushed. As he patted her back, he smiled in some confusion. She moved away as the rest of his family surged around them.

  “I went home,” he said above their heads to his father, “but no one was there.”

  “Come on,” urged his father. “Let’s go back outside. Why didn’t you let us know?”

  His answer was lost as they moved out the door with Esther determinedly holding to his arm. And the villagers found their voices again.

  Remick was changed. While he had always been the quiet one, and more sensitive by nature than Alison, she knew his withdrawal was more than that. It was as if he’d rallied all his strength for his homecoming, then it was depleted. His father examined his injured arm, endeavoring to be detached and clinical. He allowed Alison in the room, in the name of science, while he stared at the stump, its skin tight and shining. Then she was astonished when her father staggered back to the edge of his desk, fumbling for his ha
ndkerchief, his face as white as a seagull’s wing.

  “It’s a good clean wound,” Remick offered. “No infection.” His face remained impassive as he studied his father’s reaction.

  Dan Granger finally spoke. His voice trembled as he said, “I’m sorry, son, that this has happened to you. It’s a…” He swallowed. “A good clean wound.” He left his office then, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief.

  Alison helped her brother button his shirt back up. Remick watched her tight-lipped as he saw that her eyes too were brimming with unshed tears.

  “Don’t pity me, Allie. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m not coming home in a box, or blind, or burned, or paralyzed.” He pushed her hands away and awkwardly worked the buttons on his shirt himself. “I thought he’d…” He stopped then and shook his head. He breathed slowly for a moment, finally meeting his sister’s eyes. She was working hard not to cry, and looking miserable in the effort. Remick lowered his eyes. “I’m going to lie down.”

  He spent hours in his room. He ate as if food meant nothing to him, causing Aunt Pearl to double her efforts. They were living with the newly introduced “food conservation”, which made it difficult to make his favorite desserts, with less sugar and less butter. He would sit on the porch with Esther when she could come away from her added responsibilities, although she too seemed unable to draw him out. But she was so happy to have him home that she didn’t mind just sitting with him.

  The cat, Maggie, purred in a hard rattling purr whenever he let her jump onto his lap. He would settle for her quiet presence with a loosening of the strain in his features, patting her lumpy fur or studying her yellow eyes until she slipped into happy contentment.

  Alison watched him closely and observed that he acted as a person in shock would be. Her father told her that when a sudden or traumatic event occurred within the body, shock was a protective reaction to manage pain. This was how Remick acted, like he was in pain but somehow protected himself and everyone else from it. She thought that might be worse than feeling the pain, like being dead.