At last Jimmy came to Laura’s aid. “C’mon, Josh. My ma made poundcake and she said we could both have some when we got back.”
The mention of poundcake at last put Josh’s skepticism to rout, and he turned down the path toward Jimmy’s house. Laura stared unseeingly at their backs for a moment, suddenly reluctant to make the journey down the hill herself. She pressed a hand to her lips, shut her eyes, thinking, No! no! This is all some ... some silly little boy’s mistake!
But a moment later she hiked up her skirts and flew like a windjammer before a gale—down the scallop-shell path, along the sandy lanes, onto the cobblestones that echoed the alarm of her running feet as she crossed deserted Main Street Square and ran on toward the blue water of the bay, where masts had come to harbor for the night. The closer she came to the wharves, the greater grew her terror, for she saw a crowd gathered there, all faces turned toward the bar, where nets were stretched between bobbing dories. She realized, too, that the wind had switched to the north, pushing the ocean before it. The bar, always treacherous, was more so when the winds blew northerly. Yet it seemed impossible that the bar could have wreaked disaster, for from here, the breakers did not look high enough to pose a threat.
Laura shouldered her way through the crowd. Murmurous voices trailed after her, and eyes watched her progress.
“Here she is now.”
“They’ve found her.”
Somber expressions turned her way as she lifted her skirts and edged toward the end of the wharf. Laura flashed pleading glances to one person after another while moving woodenly through the group, seeking a single face that did not reflect disaster. Her breath fell in bellowlike heaves after her headlong run, and her eyes were wide and sparkling with fear. “Wh ... where’s Dan? What happened?”
A sympathetic hand touched her arm, but it seemed they’d all lost their tongues. Laura wanted to scream, shake someone, force at least one voice to speak!
“Where is Dan?” The words sounded strange, for her throat was tight with rising hysteria.
At last someone answered.
“He’s out lookin’ with the others.” It was old Cap’n Silas who spoke. He surveyed the knot of people at the end of the wharf—the family—while Laura’s knees turned to water and she put off going to them.
She clutched Cap’n Silas’s wiry arm. “H ... How long have they been looking?”
“Near two hours now. Y’ mustn’t fret, girl. All y’ can do is wait with th’ rest of us.”
“Wh ... what happened?”
Silas clamped his teeth hard on his cherrywood pipestem, turned rheumy eyes toward the waters of the bar, and replied tersely, “Pitchpoled.”
“Pitchpoled?” Laura repeated disbelievingly. “But how? Was he alone?”
“With his brother Tom, as usual. But Tom was thrown clear. He’s out there lookin’, too.”
Again Laura’s eyes were drawn toward the searchers. Tom was out there looking, too? Searching for his own brother after the two had fished these waters together all their lives?
“But how?” Laura repeated, raising pleading eyes to Cap’n Silas. “How could a thing like that happen when they know every whim of these waters?”
“Overloaded ’er bow,” Cap’n Silas answered flatly. He’d been a whaler for forty years, and after those forty had taken up his station as guardian of these wharves. He had seen everything that could happen along them. With the grim acceptance of one older and wiser, he’d come to understand that life and death meant little to the sea. If a man worked by it, he knew he might die by it. A fickle bitch, the sea.
“Good catch today,” he went on, scanning the horizon. His voice was like the crackle of an old salt-caked tarpaulin. “Stayed out t’ bring in a few more barrels, Tom said. Knew she was yawin’, so they shifted a little weight to ’er stern before they hit the bar. But not enough. Wave caught ’er and flipped ’er end over end like a clown doin’ handsprings.” He puffed once on his pipe. “Tom was the only one surfaced afterwards.”
On the calmest day there were breakers over Nantucket Bar. When the wind came in behind them, as it did now, the waves grew steep. Laura pictured Zach and Tom heading in, happy with their day’s catch, when they misjudged the speed with which they climbed a wave; the bow, plummeting hard down the forward face of the wave while its succeeding crest nudged the underbelly of the schooner and flipped it stern over bow.
And now Tom Morgan was out there searching for his brother, and Dan Morgan for his father.
At last Laura could put it off no longer. She looked toward the end of the wharf. There, staring out over the water, was Dan’s mother, Hilda, with a black shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders, as if to hold herself together. Beside Hilda stood Tom Morgan’s wife, Dorothy, in much the same pose. The two women’s shoulders almost touched as they stared out to sea. What went through their minds as they watched the hungry waters where brother searched for brother and son searched for father?
Laura looked at the spot at which the two women stared. The scene on the bar appeared to be nothing more momentous than a few fishermen putting out seining nets for minnows. From here the figures of the searchers appeared very tiny, and she could not make out which one was Dan. What was going through his mind out there in the boats when time after time the nets came up empty? And, my God, how long has he been hauling on them? For two hours, while Rye and I lay naked in a meadow, deceiving him? The first wave of guilt washed over Laura, leaving her stomach churning.
She studied the squared shoulders of the two women at the end of the wharf, thought of her afternoon with Rye, and silently cried, Dear God, what have I done?
Suddenly realizing she’d put off going to Hilda as long as she could, Laura approached her mother-in-law. Nantucket women had been schooled for generations to wait for their seafaring men with stiff backs, and as Laura lay her hand upon Hilda’s shoulder, she felt that lesson incarnated: Hilda’s back was as rigid as any whalebone.
“Hilda, I’ve just heard.”
Hilda turned but seemed to maintain that same stoicism that Cap’n Silas managed. “Dan’s out there, and Tom, too, with the others. All we can do now is wait.” The stiff back turned away.
Laura found herself clutching her arms just as Hilda and Dorothy clutched theirs, and tremors ran through her flesh as she squinted over the water toward Dan, besieged by memories of receiving the news of Rye’s death. Oh, that corpseless death. No, Dan, no. Not again.
Feet shuffled behind Laura, and she turned to find Dan’s older sister, Ruth, standing there with two cups of steaming coffee in her hands. Asperity was written on every muscle of Ruth’s face as she assessed Laura’s white dimity dress and broad-brimmed bonnet. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her mouth pinched in much more than grief. Even as she stared balefully at Laura, Ruth’s lips pursed tighter and a knowing expression arched her eyebrows.
She pushed past Laura, handing the cups to her mother and aunt, elbowing her way as if to make it clear that she would do the comforting here!
Laura stepped back, but Ruth turned to confront her with slate eyes. “We tried to find you. Dan was nearly out of his head.”
Laura swallowed, sickened further by the need to lie. “I walked out to Jane’s for the afternoon.”
Ruth made no effort to disguise her opinion of Laura’s dress, which was totally inappropriate for a walk across the moors. The critical eyes raked from neck to hem, then back up. “Well, you might have told Dan where you were going.”
“I ... I thought he knew. Josh wanted to go out and spend the day with his cousins.”
But Ruth’s expression told Laura she didn’t believe a word of it.
Did they send someone out to Jane’s looking for me? Would Jane have tried to cover for her?
Without another word, Ruth turned away, moving protectively to her mother’s side, effectively shutting Laura out.
She knows! She knows! And if she knows, it won’t be long before everyone on the island knows. Ruth will see t
o it. For the first time Laura scanned the faces on the wharf—DeLaine Hussey was there, and Ezra Merrill, and ... and even Rye’s cousin Charles! The whole town had seen her tardy arrival! Laura’s insides trembled uncontrollably. She was shaken by guilt not only for the afternoon’s act, but because she could stand here now more concerned with being found out than with the tragedy at hand.
No, that’s not true, she told herself. You care about each of these people. Their sorrow is yours.
Yet Ruth Morgan had hit her mark. Laura felt tainted, outcast, and swamped by remorse. She stood removed from the trio of women, watching the pitiful spectacle on the water. Out near the bar, the searchers had pulled in their nets, hauled anchor, and were turning their bows toward shore. A muffled sound of despair came from Hilda Morgan’s throat. She covered her mouth and watched the boats heading in and wept against Dorothy Morgan’s shoulder.
Standing behind them, Laura felt helpless. She wanted to reach out and comfort Hilda, but Ruth and Dorothy still flanked her. Hilda, Hilda, I’m sorry. Have I been the cause of all this? I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to. Laura bit her lips to keep from crying as the boats came nearer and nearer. Let him be alive, she prayed, though she knew from the expressions of the approaching men that they had not found Dan’s father, either dead or alive. Laura’s eyes were dry as she picked out Dan’s white face among the others. How will I answer when he asks where I was? With more lies?
As if she possessed some sixth sense, Ruth turned to pierce Laura with eyes that convicted and sentenced. But a moment later the reproachful stare moved to a point behind Laura’s shoulder, where it remained fixed until at last Laura turned, too, to see what Ruth stared at.
There a few feet behind her stood Rye. He was still dressed in the clothes he’d worn this afternoon. His expression was somber as he looked from Laura to the approaching boat.
He found Dan among those on the water, and his gaze again returned to Laura. Already he sensed the direction her thoughts were taking, and he forced himself not to rush to her and say, Laura, Laura, it would have happened anyway. We are not to blame.
Suddenly aware that Ruth studied their silent exchange, Laura pulled her gaze away from Rye. But as she turned to await the search boats, Ruth’s censuring eyes remained coldly assessing, until Laura felt transparent.
The dories drew nigh and Laura again found Dan’s stricken face, the eyes empty and sunken, the skin deathly pale. He still wore the wool suit he’d donned that morning before leaving for the countinghouse, and the sight of it there among the ruggedly dressed men intensified Laura’s feeling of guilt. She stared at his sleeves, wet to the elbows, and the wrinkled, ruined trousers, imagining Dan sitting at his desk on the high stool, looking up as someone approached with the horrifying news, then running home to tell her but finding the house empty. Had he paced the rooms in a frenzy, wondering where she was? Had he set out with the search party doubly forlorn because she wasn’t there when he needed her? Had he tugged at those nets all afternoon with his suspicions of Laura and Rye adding weight to his grief?
The dejected men clumped tiredly onto the wharf only to face the next heart-rending task, consoling the grief-stricken women. Dan lunged to his mother, taking her in his arms, pressing his cheek against her hair while she cried against him. Laura watched the mother seek strength from her son, the son sprung from the man the sea had claimed—father, husband, lost to both of them in life’s inexorable cycle.
Laura hovered, tristful and uncertain, waiting for Dan to see her. When he did, he gave his mother over to the arms of his uncle, aunt, and sister and came to her. She saw his gaze move momentarily to Rye, still standing behind her, then she was clasped against his chest. She held him hard, awash with emotions—pity, shame, guilt, and love. Laura grasped him tightly while over the wharf drifted the awful sound of Hilda and Tom Dalton’s weeping, though Dan made not a sound, only swallowed convulsively beside Laura’s temple. He clung, arms trapping her in a crushing grip, while the town and Rye Dalton looked on.
At last Dan choked, “He’s b ... been sailing over that b... bar all his life,” as if unable to comprehend how an incredible thing like this could have happened.
“I know, I know,” was all Laura could manage. He rocked her back and forth while tears flooded her eyes.
“Where were you? I looked everywhere.”
His question was like a thorn piercing her heart as she was forced to answer in a half truth. “I took Josh to Jane’s.”
“I was so ... He gulped to a stop, and she felt his body tremble. “I needed you.” His eyes were pinched tightly closed, his cheek pressed against her hair.
“I’m here, I’m here,” she reassured him, though half her heart was with the man who watched from a few paces away.
Dan opened his eyes to find Rye watching them. But friendships don’t die as easily as Nantucket fishermen ... and the gazes of the two men locked together with the joys of a thousand happy yesterdays come to revisit this sad today. Each felt the need to comfort and be comforted by those most familiar, those longest loved. And they were moved by forces quite beyond their control.
Dan released his hold on Laura. His heart thudded hard and heavy while the eyes of Rye Dalton remained burdened with deep sadness. They stood before each other, taut and straining, and it was Rye who took the first long step.
They met with a pining, silent agony, chest to chest, heart to heart, their competition for the woman who looked on arrested temporarily by the far greater importance of death. Clasping Dan tightly, Rye knew a confusion of emotions such as he’d never felt before: love and pity for this man, the need to solace him, and guilt for what he and Laura had done.
“Dan,” he said thickly.
“Rye, I’m glad you’re here.”
The two separated. Rye placed a wide hand on Dan’s shoulder. The wool of his jacket felt damp. “I’ll wait with y’ if y’ want. He ... he was good t’ me ... a good man.”
Dan clamped a hand on Rye’s hard forearm, pulling the comforting palm more firmly against his shoulder for a moment. “Yes, please. I think Mother would like it if you did ... and ... and Laura, too.”
The onlookers shuffled their feet and glanced at each other self-consciously. They looked from Rye to Dan to the woman beside them. The face of Laura Dalton was a study in torment. Her hands were tightly clasped between her breasts. Tears trembled on her eyelids, then rolled down her cheeks as she watched the emotional exchange.
They turned then, Dan to Laura’s side, and Rye to Hilda’s. As Rye’s arms went about Dan’s mother, she wept against him. “R ... Rye ...”
“Hilda,” was all he could manage as he spread a large brown hand on the gray knot of hair at the back of her head and held her firmly, silently, letting her weep.
The days turned back and Rye was a boy again, slamming in and out of Hilda’s house on Dan’s heels. He was fishing with Zachary, presenting Hilda with a fresh catch, and staying for supper when she’d cooked it. Then he and Dan were fetching water for dishes, at Hilda’s orders, and being scolded equally when they spilled some on her clean floor. In those days Rye had only reached Hilda’s shoulder; now she barely reached his. He swallowed and held her tight.
An awesome welling filled Laura’s throat as she looked on. To the best of her knowledge, it was the first time Rye had spoken to Hilda since his return. Laura remembered Hilda offering comfort at the news that Rye had been drowned without a trace. How ironic that it should now be he offering comfort to her when it appeared her husband had met the same fate.
Laura glanced at Dan to find him watching Rye and his mother with glistening eyes, his throat working convulsively.
At last Hilda moved out of Rye’s arms, and the voice of Cap’n Silas seemed the only one to have a calming effect, perhaps because he had lived through scenes like this before and had learned to accept them.
“Tide’ll turn in a couple hours or so. Y’ can all go home till then. No sense waitin’ here. Go home, have y’r sup
per.”
The crowd parted to make way for Tom and Dorothy Morgan, who turned to do as Silas suggested. They were followed by Ruth and Hilda. Behind them came Dan, flanked by Rye and Laura. The rest of the crowd dispersed, but when the trio came to the old worn benches on either side of the bait shack door, Dan turned to Cap’n Silas. “Do you mind if we wait here? I’d rather.”
Seating himself on one of the benches, Cap’n Silas pointed toward the other one with his pipestem. “Set yerself down.” The three of them sat on the bench: Rye, Dan, and Laura. Their order had at last changed. For Laura there seemed some bizarre form of justice at work, that on this day when she and Rye had willfully betrayed Dan, they should now end up on either side of him, offering their united support and comfort. She held Dan’s hand and rested her head wearily against the silvered boards of the bait shack wall while guilt made her dizzy and sick. If Zachary was dead, most certainly it was the great hand of justice reaching out to mete swift retribution and teach her a lesson. She squeezed Dan’s hand tighter and waited for the tide to turn.
Sunset spilled over the island and bay. The sandpipers came in to nest while the piping plovers, with their dreary peeps, played their last evening song. The incessant carp of the gulls quieted at last as they settled on wharf piling and spar, fatbreasted and content. The wind disappeared, and the gentle lap of the water under the wharf seemed the world’s only sound until the solemn notes of the vespers rang out from the Congregational bell tower.
Soon the tide would turn, but it would be grim either way—whether the body was borne in upon it or if it was not.
Laura’s eyelids slid closed and she relived the horror of those days right after news of Rye’s death had reached the island. Against her arm she felt the touch of Dan’s sleeve. He sat utterly still, resigned. Now she would be the one to comfort him as he’d once comforted her. She opened her eyes to study his melancholy posture, hunched forward, elbows to knees, and Rye, too, came into view. Laura closed her eyes again and resigned herself to remaining with Dan as his wife.
Twice Loved (copy2) Page 21
