by Noelle Carle
Alison graduated from high school. She hoped to go to college in Boston, to the same school her father had attended. “I don’t want to go too far away,” she confided, burrowing into Sam’s arms. Sam was proud of her, of her hopes to become a doctor like her father, but his former aspirations to get an education and leave Little Cove had faded. He could be happy out on the water for the rest of his life.
The letter that came from Chaplain Hudson at the end of June confused him more than anything. It arrived on a dismal day. It had been raining and windy for forty-eight hours and they had been unable to go out fishing. Reg had been out of the house both days, only coming in for the supper meal and eating silently and quickly. Sam expected to see him at their bait shack near the wharf, where he carried on working on nets or fixing lobster traps both days. He decided that his father must have gone out walking, or sitting in the empty church where Esther said he sometimes spent hours. On the third day Sam found the bait shack was empty and cold, so he shut the door and went over to get the mail.
Vern Cooper always spoke eagerly with Sam. He was pathetically fishing for stories about Tim and this day was no exception.
“Morning, Sam.”
“Morning, Mr. Cooper. Nasty out today.”
“Ayuh.” He handed Sam the mail, then said, “Our Tim didn’t write home too often. Wan’t much of a kid for letter writin’.”
“No?”
The older man shook his head. “Bothered his mother somethin’ fierce when she’d see so many letters comin’ from you to a certain young miss.”
“Well, no offense, Mr. Cooper, but it is different writing to your girl than your mother.” Sam smiled at Vernon.
Mr. Cooper laughed out loud. “Ayuh. You’re right there.” He took out a rag and wiped the already clean counter. “I seen your father yesterday with that dark-haired fella, used to work with him.”
“What?”
“Well, I thought it was him. They was walking out towards Alley’s woods. Thought they musta been talkin’ over old times.”
“It couldn’t have been him. That guy is out in New York with my chaplain from the army.”
“Oh.” Mr. Cooper pursed his lips and his bristly eyebrows drew together over his faded blue eyes as he thought. “I’m pretty sure it was him. Got a good eye for faces.”
Sam shrugged and thanked him. He saw that one of the letters was from Tom Hudson so he hurried home to read it. He sat on the porch out from under the rain where Brute thumped his tail briefly and groaned as he laid his head back on his paws. Sam rubbed Brute’s head and said quietly, “Poor old fella.” Then he tore open the envelope.
“Dear Friend Sam,” it began. “My wife Ruth sends her greetings and her heartfelt thanks to you for the part you had in redeeming my life from the pit, as it were.” Sam smiled at the typical speech. It sounded just like his chaplain. “She is writing this letter for me as my assistant of late has gone. Let me tell you why. I feel a bit like Saint Paul writing to Philemon. If you need to refresh yourself of the story, take the time now for it is relevant.
You know Aubrey has been troubled since I first knew him. In his time here with us he has proven himself a useful and willing helper. He is patient with the children and kind to Ruth and her sister Naomi.
A few weeks ago we had a new arrival at our home, a child who was the result of violence perpetrated upon its mother. And since that time Aubrey has been unusually withdrawn, even sorrowing and unable to lift himself out of his dark moods.
When he consulted me about clearing his conscience I recommended that he go to the one he harmed and ask forgiveness and make amends in some way. He has seemed afraid to do that. But a week ago he gathered himself together, said his goodbyes and told me he was going to Little Cove.
Has he done some violence to you or your family, Sam? Or to someone in your town? There seems to be a direct connection to you, and in his unusual actions when we were in France. He wants to see you, I think.
I’m not condoning anything he did, nor denying that justice needs to be met, but just know that he is a man deeply troubled and seeks to make things right with you or yours.”
Sam dropped the letter and sought out his sister Esther. She was in the kitchen, preparing their noon meal, while the younger kids swirled about her seeking some relief from the boredom of a rainy day. Her skin was flushed with the heat from the stove and her face was set in frustrated lines.
He handed the newspaper to William and said, “Go read the comics to the kids, in the other room.” They moved out of the kitchen and the sudden quiet made Esther smile and sigh.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Esther, sit down. I have to talk with you.”
She sat down at the kitchen table, her face smoothing. She lifted her shoulders tiredly and wiped perspiration off her forehead. “About what?”
“You remember Aubrey Newell?”
“Of course. He lived here.”
“After I left, did anything happen with him? Anything strange, or odd?”
Esther thought for a moment. She carefully folded her hands in front of her, looking at them intently, rather than at him. “I don’t know what it was, but something happened with Cleo. Remember how she flirted with him so much at first, then just before you left for training she was so different towards him, hostile almost.”
“She didn’t talk with you about it?”
Esther shook her head. “She clammed up whenever he came around or we talked about him. But just before she died there was something.” She stopped for a moment as her eyes filled with tears. She gulped. “She needed to see Alison. She was desperate to see Alison, and after Allie finally came over and they spoke, she died. It was almost as if she were staying alive until she could talk with her.”
Sam looked away from his sister’s troubled face. Esther had hardly spoken about all the death she’d been witness to, and the stark reality of it now washed over him. He reached over and laid his hand on top of hers. “I’m sorry…for all the hard things you’ve been through. I’m sorry that Cleo died, and the little ones. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to be a help.”
Esther sniffed and straightened her shoulders. “Anyway, I think you should speak with Alison. I don’t know if Cleo talked with her about anything concerning Aubrey, but there was something happening that I didn’t know about.” She drew her hands away and looked at him carefully.
He returned her gaze, trying to assess her change in demeanor. Was she upset that she didn’t know, or was she merely trying to keep herself together after remembering their sister’s death? He stood up. “I guess I’ll go over to see her now. Don’t wait for me for lunch.” He started for the door, then turned. She had already risen to resume her meal preparations.
“Have you seen Dad this morning?”
Esther shook her head. “Not since breakfast. He said he probably wouldn’t be home till supper. Took some food with him.”
Alison was alone in the kitchen, sitting at the table writing something. When Sam tapped on the door and leaned his head in, she smiled. “Hi!”
She stood and practically fell into his arms as soon as he removed his jacket. He inhaled deeply and held her for a long moment.
“I haven’t seen you since yesterday,” she told him.
“Too long,” he replied, gently kissing her before looking furtively around. “Is Aunt Pearl here?”
Alison shook her head. “They all went to clean out the teacher’s house. I guess Rena Mayhew is going to move in before the fall, so they’re doing some painting and repairing. Not that my father is very handy with a hammer and saw.”
“Good. I need to talk with you about something, alone.” He urged her to sit back down and he drew a chair beside her.
Alison moved her papers aside, brushed some stray curls away from her forehead and grinned at him. “You look so serious. What is it?”
Sam began, hesitatingly. “Do you know of something that happened between Aubrey Newell and my sister?”
&nb
sp; Alison’s smile faded. She looked away from him, and her face paled. When she didn’t answer, he leaned towards her.
“What happened? Did he hurt her?”
“How…” she questioned. She stopped and swallowed. “How did you know?”
Sam brought the letter from Tom Hudson, explaining to her that Aubrey went to the Hudson’s home to help after the chaplain was injured. He showed her the letter and watched as she read it. Her hands, as she held it, began to tremble, and her breath came in short gasps. Her eyes filled with tears and as she returned the letter to him she began moaning. She pushed away from the table suddenly and ran out the back door.
The rain was heavier now, and Sam had to squint to see Alison flying across the back yard. He caught her under the maple tree and pulled her to him.
“No,” she cried as he held her against his chest. “No, I can’t tell you.”
He held her away from him by the shoulders. “You have to tell me, Alison. He’s coming here.”
“What?” Her look was wild and she tried to twist away from him, but he held on. She stopped resisting and began clinging to him desperately, still insisting, “I can’t tell you.” Her tears were coursing down her cheeks, mixing with raindrops.
Sam held onto her for an age, until her sobs subsided and they were both soaked. Her look, when she finally met his eyes, held such misery that Sam’s mouth went dry and his heart pounded in fear.
He covered her wet face with kisses. “Tell me, Alison. Please tell me.”
Her shoulders slumped and she turned her face away. “Don’t, Sam. Stop.”
He waited, watching as she gathered herself. Her look was shattered and her voice shook as she began. “Aubrey tried to…” she stopped and swallowed, searching for the right word. “He tried to molest Cleo.”
Sam’s heart slammed against his chest. “What?”
She nodded, eyeing him fearfully. “Back before you left, the night of the bonfire, I think.”
His expression changed from disbelief to anger as he realized what she said. “I can’t believe it. Why would he…?”
Alison simply stood shaking her head.
“What else? Why did Cleo have to tell you that? Why did she hang on until she could tell you? Why are you so upset about this?” Sam’s pleaded with her to answer him.
The rain poured down. Alison wiped her eyes and drew a deep breath. Sam stared at her as the truth dawned on him. “He tried…he tried it with you too?”
Alison nodded, sobs welling up again.
“He…? He hurt you?”
“Yes. Yes. I wasn’t going to tell you because he rescued you. You’re alive because of him, so I didn’t want to…” She broke off as a wail escaped Sam’s lips and he stumbled back, leaning against the tree, his hands on his legs and his head hanging down.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry.” She tried to lift up his head, to get close to him, but he groaned and pulled away. Then he lifted his head and saw her misery and seemed to realize what she was saying. He pulled her into his arms.
“If I had known,” he gasped. “I’d have…” He held her tightly until she flinched, then he rained kisses across her cheeks and lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This was not your fault. Do you hear me?”
After a time, as they calmed, the rain lessened and their tears slowed. Alison told Sam the whole story, even about the baby and how Mary had planned to adopt it. She told him how his father tried to keep them apart, and how she thought her life was ruined, and of the miscarriage. Sam listened to it all without a word, his face as pale as moonlight and his head shaking once in a while. He was silent as she finished. Then abruptly he started off.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to find my father,” Sam answered.
Alison caught up with him and twined her fingers into his. “I’m coming with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Into the Full Light of a Perfect Day
“Why would my father think you were…that you…” Sam couldn’t finish his thought but Alison understood what he was trying to ask.
“It was Cleo. She told him I was expecting when she overhead me talking with Mary one afternoon after school. We thought everyone had gone home, but she was listening outside.”
Sam considered this ruefully. “I loved my sister, but she was always sneaking around, trying to find out about stuff that was none of her business.”
“Well, so, he knew that I was pregnant, but not that I…that it wasn’t…” She hesitated too, and then went on bluntly, “He didn’t know I was raped. Cleo left that part out, out of spite or meanness. I don’t know. She knew what happened.”
“She was probably jealous of you. She always wanted to be different, to have a different family and be the only girl,” Sam commented.
They were walking through the soft afternoon. The air was warm after the downpour and the wind had stopped. Sunlight filtered through the greening trees and made the road before them dappled with light.
“Your father was trying to protect you from getting hurt,” she continued. “I understood that, but he wouldn’t listen to the truth until Cleo explained it to him. When she knew she probably wouldn’t live, I think she wanted to clear her conscience. She told him what happened, to both of us.”
Sam walked in silence, gripping Alison’s hand. He had the look of someone who’d been ill. He was still pale. The skin around his mouth was tinged with green, as if he was almost sick. “He’s been acting strangely since I got back. Sneaky almost. And these last two days I don’t even know where he’s been. Mr. Cooper said…” Sam stopped walking. He turned to Alison, but his eyes were focused on something behind her. “Hey. Oh no...”
He grabbed her hand and began running, shouting back to her as they moved quickly up the hill. “In his letter Chap Hudson said Aubrey was coming here. And Mr. Cooper said he saw my father with him, earlier.”
“Then he’s here, you mean?” Alison questioned as her lungs started burning and her legs grew tired.
“Somewhere!”
They hurried into the kitchen of the Eliot house but it was empty. Everyone had gone outside as soon as the rain stopped, and they could hear the voices of the children shouting out in the back yard.
Esther was sitting out on the back porch in a rocking chair and Remick was with her. They were taking their ease before darkness fell and he must tend to the light. “Have you seen Father?” asked Sam urgently.
“No, not at all. I told you he took food with him,” Esther replied. “Why?”
“I think he’s in trouble. Something is wrong,” Sam said cryptically. He moved out onto the lawn as Alison leaned against the railing, catching her breath. Esther came and stood beside her.
“What is he talking about?” she asked Alison. She moved her hand up and brushed Alison’s damp hair out of her eyes. “You look ill, Ally. Are you okay?”
Alison took Esther’s hand and gripped it for a moment. She blinked back tears that were prickling at her eyes. “I’ll tell you later. Right now we have to find your father.” She moved to join Sam, who was questioning his siblings. William and Henry were up in the old maple tree. She stood with him under the branches where the raindrops were still dropping off the leaves.
“Hey, Will, have you seen Father?” Sam yelled up to his brother. Henry answered though.
“He’s down to the wharf, getting into the boat. I can see him from here. I thought it was you with him.”
Sam and Alison raced to the edge of the lawn where the Eliot dock could be seen from the high edge. The tide was still running in, and Reg was pulling the boat in from its mooring. Standing next to him, unmoving, was a figure shrouded in a dark green oilcloth coat, one that they kept in the bait shack for wet weather.
“That’s him!” Sam exclaimed. “Come on!”
They ran headlong back down the road. Alison soon felt as though her legs had turned to wood and she couldn’t keep up with Sam. She stopped after they reached the bottom o
f the hill, urging Sam to go on while she caught her breath. There was a weakness in her legs that she’d sensed since she lost the baby, and they trembled now as she walked hurriedly after him. She heard the sound of the gasoline engine as it caught and ran, and then she heard Sam’s voice yelling.
It felt as though she was moving through the mud at low tide as she rounded the rocks and came to the wharf. Sam stood at the end of the dock waving his arms and yelling, “Come back! Dad, come back here!”
The boat moved slowly away. Alison could see Reg looking back at them as he stood at the wheel. Beside him, shadowed but pale, they both saw the face of Aubrey Newell, staring as if they were apparitions.
“Where are they going, Sam? Why won’t he come back?” Alison felt near tears again and she moved to Sam’s side, slipping her arms around him. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His arms tightened around her.
“I don’t know. But he’s not thinking right,” Sam said. Then he groaned. “Look. He’s got a gun!”
Reg’s stance had shifted and they could see that to one side he held his hunting rifle.
Aubrey’s eyes were still on them, and now he was shaking his head from side to side.
“What do we do, Sam?” Alison implored.
“Spencer’s,” Sam said tersely. They cut through the woods, avoiding the long hill, and rounded the deep cove, leaping from rock to rock. The rocks were wet and slippery from the rain and they moved slowly, but steadily to the side where Nelson Spencer had his lobster pound. He had a small dory that he had fitted with an engine and Sam knew that it could catch up with the larger boat. Reg was always making modifications to his lobster boat, but still the engine was crude and small for the size of the boat. It allowed him to fish farther out, but sometimes it had seemed to Sam to take longer than rowing had.
Nelson Spencer was working on his smack, the boat he used to ship the lobster to the canneries and other customers. When he heard Sam and Alison approaching he straightened up in surprise.
Sam hastily explained, “My father is just leaving the cove and it’s urgent that I catch him. May we borrow your dory?”
