Hold Fast 'Til the Dawn

by Mary Haskell

  "He's in love with her, isn't he?"

  Jenny almost choked on a swal ow of cocoa. She set down the cup and focused her ful attention on her troubled son, wondering how she should answer this terrible question. Poor Rick, he was far too insightful for his own good. She formulated her words careful y, thrusting aside her own instinct for self-preservation and concentrating on Rick's need to have his father's image preserved. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry you have to get involved in this."

  "Mom, that's sil y. I'm involved in everything about you and Dad."

  Wow. She had once again underestimated this young man's sensitivity. She fought against the hot tears that pushed for release. Rick was mature for his age, but he shouldn't be exposed to the spectacle of a sobbing mother. "Al right, Rick, you deserve an honest answer. I don't know if your father is in love with Ky. He was, many years ago. I'm sure you know that."

  "Yes."

  "Wel , sometimes our emotions go haywire, and no matter how hard we try to control them, we just can't." Rick lowered his head, but not before Jenny caught the glint of wetness in his eyes. She put her hand on his arm. "I don't think your father knows either, Rick. He's very confused and upset."

  The darkened gaze flashed up at her, the glistening wetness heightening the angry glow. "I hate that dumb Ky Kayle. And I'm going to tel Christy how stupid she was, fal ing al over herself just because she got some stupid clothes!" The little boy had won supremacy, and the tears began to flow.

  Jenny moved to his side of the couch and pul ed him into her arms. She didn't try to say anything. She, too, was on the verge of bursting into tears, and that would do more toward estranging Rick from his father than anything else she could do. When she had final y calmed herself enough to speak, she held her voice as steady as possible. "We haven't had many crises to deal with in our lives, Rick, but we're a strong family. We'll hold on and pray. At least I have you to help me, and you can try to help your father. Ky will be going back to Texas in a day or two, and we'll be going on your birthday sail. It wil give us some time together to try to mend our family."

  "Do you think Dad wil stil want to go sailing?"

  "Why yes, honey, I'm sure he will." Unless Larry had changed beyond her imagining, he would honor his commitment to his son.

  Rick looked slightly encouraged. "Dad loves to sail.

  Maybe when we get out in the boat, he'll forget al about that stupid Ky."

  Hope springs eternal, Jenny mused. "I'm sure he wil ." She closed her mind against the lie.

  Rick sat up straighter, the color returning to his face. "I mean, Dad was real y excited about getting out in Mr.

  Baxter's Pearson. Wasn't that a great idea of his to trade sailboats?" Larry had made arrangements to exchange their Bristol for a friend's Pearson 39 that was harbored in East Boothbay. That way both families could have long weekend sails in less familiar waters without the hassle of transporting boats.

  "Yes, it was, and you're right, he was excited. I'm sure everything wil be fine once we get on the water. And now I think we'd both better go to bed. It's been a tiring evening."

  "Yeah, I'm beat." He kissed her on the cheek and stood up, pausing to give her one last I-wish-there-were-some-thing-I-could-do look. "Night, Mom."

  "Good night. Rick. Sleep wel ." Jenny dragged herself up to her room, hoping she had successful y hidden from Rick her true feelings about the upcoming cruise in Maine. How dreadful could a prospect be! A strange boat, a too-watchful son, and a husband who wanted to be with someone else. She prayed Yankee backbones were not a myth.

  The Baxters' boat was a beauty, meticulously maintained, and with the same equipment they were used to on their own boat. Jenny stood at the rail, taking an appreciative look at East Boothbay Harbor as they inched away from the mooring.

  Larry was at the wheel, with Rick beside him cal ing off the directions. The ground rules had been agreed upon; Rick was to plot the course, Larry to supervise.

  Jenny recal ed the incredible excitement that accompanied the realization that one was capable of taking the responsibility for navigation. Rick had been learning al his life, just as Larry and Jenny had, from parental instruction. Now it was time for him to exercise the authority of "skipper." Larry would change nothing unless there was a clear problem. He and Jenny were to be the crew. The captain was in no danger of mutiny, Jenny thought, but the crew might annihilate each other.

  It was a glorious day, bright and crystal clear, with that edge of crispness to the air that seldom left the Maine coast. Jenny heaved a deep, liberating sigh, trying to let go of the tension that had ridden with her on the long car trip. Rick, with the resilience of youth, had sloughed off some of his concern about Ky when he'd learned that she was once more "safely" in Dal as. Jenny had noted with interest that evidently Rick hadn't said anything to Christy. He'd probably decided that it was al Christy could deal with to be left behind on this trip.

  Jenny watched the father and son, heads close, hair blowing. It was a wonderful sight. Some of the magic of the ocean breezes had indeed begun to work on Larry the moment they climbed aboard after a very early breakfast at the motel.

  Her need to remain detached from Larry was now overcome by her sailor's desire to be included in the plans, so she joined them in the cockpit. Rick had the chart laid out on the deck and was sitting on one edge while holding the other. "Dad, can we have lunch at Monhegan and go ashore for ice cream?"

  "Whatever you say, son—you're the skipper."

  "Great! Okay, we'll go above Ram and set on 120 degrees magnetic."

  Larry grinned at Jenny above the bowed head of their son. It was the first col aborative, we're-in-this-together smile he had given her in such a long time. The weight of at least four stones fel from her chest.

  "There it is!" Rick's excited yel brought Jenny abruptly to a sitting position. She had been sunning herself for the last hour. She sat on her haunches, sheltering her eyes from the bril iant sun, thril ing to the sight of Monhegan Island jutting up on the horizon. She scrambled down to Rick's side, warmed by the pleasure on the boy's face as he stood at the wheel. "How about that, Mom? A little under two hours! Not bad, huh?"

  "You're doing great, Rick, just as I knew you would. Where's your father?"

  "He went down to hone in on the RDF station on Manana. He's having some trouble with the radio, but he thinks he can fix it."

  Jenny frowned. "I hope so." How tranquil and comfortable, this skimming across the quiet sea, the three of them wrapped together in a blanket of wel -being, as if they had tied up al the discord in a neat, biodegradable package and dropped it overboard. She would pretend they had, and make this trip as pleasurable as she could—for her own sake as wel as Rick's. Maybe the worst was over and the healing would start, aided by the cure-al of salt water and sun.

  "How're we doing?" Larry appeared at the cabin door.

  "Great!" Rick swel ed with authority. "We'll head in the southwest entrance and pick up a mooring. I'm sure there'll be a lot of them free on a day like this." He was definitely in control.

  They ate lunch aboard, then Jenny and Rick rowed ashore in the dinghy to pick up ice cream at the Monhegan General Store. By the time they got back to the boat and were sitting together enjoying the cooling treat, the sun was winning the race to melt the last of the chocolate-covered bars before they could finish them. Some of the tired, anxious lines had faded from Larry's face, and when he spoke to Jenny his voice no longer held the sharp edge she had heard for days.

  "Hey, Jen remember old Philip Townsend? Remember the first time we saw him... what was it, the third or fourth month of our marriage?"

  She laughed. "Sure do. I miss seeing him up there." Miss that and so much more.

  Rick fol owed her gaze up the great cliff that sloped to the water's edge. "Up where? And who's Philip Townsend?"

  "Not is, was," Jenny informed him. "See, right at the top, on the grassy spot above al the shacks?"

  Rick squinted, then nodded, a quizzical frown appeari
ng on his face. "It looks like an old beat-up chair."

  "It is an old beat-up chair," Larry assured him. "Philip Townsend was known as the hermit of Manana Island.

  He used to sit up there on his improvised throne and survey the boats that were moored here between Monhegan and Man- ana. He obviously considered it his fiefdom. And nobody ever saw fit to quarrel with him."

  "Is he dead?"

  "Yes."

  "Gee, why does someone like that have to die? Now I'll never get to see him. Some things ought to last forever."

  Jenny's eyes met Larry's for a brief moment. "Yes,"— Larry's tone was muted—"some things ought to last forever." What things, Larry? Jenny wondered. What things do you wish could last forever?

  "Okay!" Rick jumped up. "Time to set sail for Criehaven!"

  "Right you are." Larry stood up and stretched, then went to free them from the borrowed mooring. Rick took a slip of paper out of his pocket and studied it intently.

  "What's that?" Jenny asked.

  "I've got everything figured out and written down." Jenny smiled. He was learning wel . "We'll go out to Eastern Duck Can and set course for Bantam Ledge Buoy, then on to Ragged Island Buoy. Once we clear Eastern Duck we can pick up the southwest wind. It should be a pretty free run."

  "Aye-aye, sir." Jenny saluted smartly and went to her station.

  Three and a half hours later they worked their way through the breakwater to the entrance of the tiny harbor.

  As they motored by a lobsterboat, they realized there were no free moorings in sight. Larry leaned over the rail and hailed the lobsterman busily assembling his catch. "Hel o!"

  The wizened, weatherworn face turned in their direction. "A-yuh?"

  "Any chance we could tie onto your boat for the night?"

  "A-yuh. Toss me yuh line."

  Rick raced to throw the line to the waiting salt, who efficiently secured it.

  "Come aboard for a drink?" Larry was fol owing a time- honored protocol.

  "A-yuh." With an agility that belied his aged appearance, the lobsterman climbed over into their boat. He looked around, then at Larry. "Dick Baxter's boat, ain't-ut?"

  Larry laughed. "Right."

  They spent a delightful hour trading sea tales and bartering on a passle of lobster to take ashore with them. It seemed like heaven to Jenny—a brief return to the way things used to be. They found, as they had expected, that the courtesy of the sea did not extend to cut prices on the lobster, but haggling was also part of the custom and part of the fun.

  In due time they bid farewel to their newfound friend and rowed ashore, armed with a large canvas bagful of squirming crustaceans and plenty of warm gear for the two nights. They pul ed the dinghy onshore, distributed the load, and started the trek to the Clarksons' cottage.

  Coming around a bend, they sighted a cabin. At the same moment Greg Clarkson darted out the door. "Hey, Rick! I've been watching for you!"

  "Hey!" Rick dropped his bags and joined in the back- slapping, mock sparring greeting ritual of teenaged boys.

  In short order they were ushered into the rustic cottage and their gear stashed in the bedrooms—Jenny's and Larry's in a rear bunkroom and Rick's in with Greg. There wasn't a fancy fril in sight, but the place oozed charm. Jenny loved it on sight.

  Meg and George Clarkson were genuine, friendly people, and their warmth soon engulfed their guests. Even Larry looked relaxed as they al donned heavy sweaters to ward off the late afternoon chil and headed out for a walk. When they returned, they were advised of a house rule. "Everyone takes a rest before dinner," Meg told them. "You'll understand the necessity later on."

  With gratitude, Jenny stretched out on her bed. Just before she slipped into blessed slumber, she heard Larry's reassuring snore from across the room.

  When she awoke, Larry's bed was empty and it was dark. She sat up and groped for the kerosene lantern and matches on the night table. As she lighted the lantern, the sound of raucous laughter boomed in from the other room. She straightened her clothing, put the heavy sweater back on, and went into the bathroom. After freshening up, she felt prepared to join the others.

  She was amazed to see a roomful of people gathered in the large "everything" room, as the Clarksons cal ed it.

  At least twenty laughing, joking guests were assembled, pouring drinks, munching potato chips, and helping to keep an eye on the enormous pots of water that were heating on the stove. There was fire in the wood stove, and an aura of casual conviviality fil ed the room.

  "Jenny!" Meg came to meet her and guided her around the room, weaving expertly through the massed groups to introduce her to everyone. Larry was deep in conversation with one of the guests. He gave her a warm smile when she and Meg stopped by their group for quick how-do-you-do's.

  The evening was one long party. Dinner consisted of massive numbers of lobsters and freshly baked bread.

  Larry got a little high. But then, even Jenny drank more than usual; it was that kind of gathering, fun and a trifle crazy. And for the first time in weeks, Jenny felt like half of a couple. Larry went out of his way to stay beside her, to help her past her initial shyness, and the two or three extra drinks just lubricated the smooth flow of conversation.

  She began to pay the price for that brief euphoria the moment she awoke the next morning and started to sit up. "Ouch." She put her hand on her head and sank back. The groan from the other bed conveyed the message that Larry felt worse than she did.

  Jenny slowly got up and pul ed on jeans and a shirt. As soon as she was ful y dressed she decided to go for an early- morning walk, but when she stepped through the door she entered a white, milky world. The fog was so thick she couldn't see the fence or the gate and could barely make out the path that led to it. She looked helplessly around, then quietly re-entered the house.

  She was the only one up. That wasn't an unusual circumstance; she had always been an early riser. When she got back to the bedroom, Larry had pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked miserable. "Hi."

  Jenny smiled at him, stil remembering the camaraderie of the previous evening.

  "Oh Lord. Why did I drink so much last night?"

  She smiled sympathetical y. "It was that kind of a party."

  "Uh. Yeah. I suppose. Oh, what a head."

  "You should have a glass of tomato juice with Worcestershire sauce. I think it's supposed to be good for hangovers."

  He looked at her beseechingly. "Do you suppose they have some?"

  "I'll go see."

  "Thanks, hon." With a groan he sank back on the bed.

  Jenny went to the kitchen, found the tomato juice and other ingredients, and carried the concoction to a grateful Larry. She then returned to the kitchen and started a large pot of coffee. She had a feeling it would be needed.

  When Meg and George final y got up, Jenny was amazed at how chipper they seemed. She concluded they must be used to a much different life-style than hers and Larry's.

  Once breakfast was over and several cups of coffee had been consumed by each of the adults, Larry regained some of his color and a modicum of good humor. "What a night!" he exclaimed. "That was a lot of fun, but I don't think I'd survive too many like it."

  "In that case you wouldn't last long on this island," George informed him. "The summer is one long party!"

  "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din," Larry said with a chuckle.

  When Rick and Greg headed over to a neighbor's cottage to play pool, the four adults stood outside and surveyed the pea-soup conditions.

  "I hope this lifts tomorrow." Jenny didn't want to be stuck here for any length of time. She had a feeling that one more evening like the last would be plenty.

  "Don't worry," George assured her, "these things almost always blow by in a day."

  That night the party was rowdier than the one the night before. The strain of the last weeks had taken its tol on Jenny, and al she real y wanted to do was go to sleep. Rick had shut himself away much of the afternoon with the paral
el ruler and nautical chart, careful y plotting the course for the fol owing morning, making neatly noted calculations. He hung around the edges of the riotous group that

  evening, looking pale and very tired.

  Jenny pushed through to him and asked, "Are you okay? You don't seem as spry as usual."

  His face had a pinched look. "I'm al right. Just a stomachache. I guess I ate too much."

  "That's funny, I had the impression you barely touched your food."

  "Yeah." Rick hunched forward. "I might have some kind of bug." He attempted a not very successful smile. "I'll be fine, don't worry. I'll probably sneak in and go to bed pretty soon, in case Greg is wondering where I am."

  Jenny watched him uneasily as he jumped up and headed for the bathroom. It was going to be a problem if he got sick. A rol ing boat would be uncomfortable, and she hated the idea of staying here in this isolated place.

  Just then a man lurched to her side and put his arm around her. Ken something or other... Jenny struggled to remember. He ran a fishing boat. "Hey Jen!" The booming voice caught the attention of the surrounding group.

  "You're aw'fly sober and quiet. We should loosen you up a little."

  Jenny glanced around for Larry, intending to signal him for aid. She hated this kind of drunken advance.

  Ken laughed, a hoarse, unpleasant sound. "Such a pretty lady should get the ol' sparks fiyin', y'know?"

  She forced a wan smile, sliding away from the groping hands, scanning the room for her husband. She could use a little of his protectiveness right now. But when her eyes did locate him, he was slumped against a far wal , his arm around his new friend. They were both sagging.

  Jenny stared at Larry. He was drunk. Never in al the years she had known him had she seen him in this condition. She glanced frantical y around. Nothing about the place seemed charming or friendly anymore. It was grim and threatening and tawdry. She mumbled "Excuse me" and pushed her way toward her room.

  As she reached the narrow hal way, she heard a groan. Switching direction, she entered the room Rick was sharing with Greg. Rick lay huddled under the blankets, curled in a tight bal . Jenny sat on the edge of the bed and felt his forehead. It was hot. "Rick?"