“You’ll be sorry,” said Susan.
“Go away,” said Edie. “I don’t want you round any more.”
“I’ll come and see you when I get back,” said Susan. “But I don’t see any use of bringing anything if all you do is throw it away.”
Edie didn’t answer. She got up and went into the dark upper part of the boathouse where Aunt Louise kept a billiard table and a player piano and lay down there until she heard Susan pad along the roof and jump down into the hazel bushes. The trouble with her was that she was in love with Theodore. She thought he looked like a noble mountain goat. She didn’t suppose there was any other man in the world who had reddish hair and reddish eyebrows too, she said.
“Don’t forget he has green eyes,” Edie had pointed out. And seeing that Susan was not impressed, she had added, “Anyway he’s too bossy.” But Susan had stuck to it; she liked to be bossed by a man. “That’s because you haven’t much of any in your family,” said Edie. She thought perhaps she had better tell her that Ted called her “Sink ’em Susan” because she couldn’t swim.
Edie sat up. She could see that she would be given food and drink if worse came to worst, but Susan was not going to do anything the noble goat would disapprove of, that was certain. Probably she would even sail in the race with him if he asked her. She had not known that there could be such treachery in the world. There must, must, must be some way to get out of here and fool them all. From the balcony it was too far to jump, and from the balcony railing the gutter was too high for her to reach and get on the roof; the honeysuckle vines here were weak things that had been affected by salt water—they wouldn’t hold a baby. She got up and wandered around again. She couldn’t use the billiard table or its black shiny cover. The walls were covered with flags. She couldn’t use them; bunting always tore. When she got to the balcony door, she looked out over the harbor. It had sprung to life. White butterflies were fluttering everywhere. There were even some set to the wind, already out in the bay. She continued her circuit, entering the darkish room again and taking a look at the skylight. Even if she stood on the billiard table and a chair, she couldn’t get up there. She opened cupboards. There was paint in one and a lot of old cleats in the other. Boo! Widgy panted after her and finally lay by the door where a little draft came in, watching her from between his paws.
“Why don’t you help me, bad dog?”
Doing another round, she ran her hand along the walls. When she came to the door, she felt the panels. They were rather thin, like all doors at the beach. If she had something to break them with! But she did not really want to break Aunt Louise’s door, so she went on and looked from the balcony once more. The boats had all flocked down to the harbor entrance and could just barely be seen on account of the pine trees. They would come in sight again as soon as they were out in the bay. The only one that was left was the Cares’ dory, demasted and desolate right in front of her, tied to the float. It was a lumbering old thing compared with the P.D.Q., Cousin Blade’s boat that Theodore was sailing, but she would know what to do with it if she could get out of here. Theodore had to admit she could sail, no matter what else was the matter with her.
Edie came round again to the tempting panels. They certainly were thin, and she had never seen so much light around the edge of a door before. It looked as if it had shrunk. Things shrank like anything at the beach. Her hand slid down to the handle. She would just try. She turned it and pulled. Nope, it was locked all right. She rattled it. Nope.
“Widgy, get out of the way!”
Edie gave the door a yank with her whole body attached to it, and the door opened so wide that she fell backwards. As soon as she walked out, she had to walk back again to shut up Widgy who had followed at her heels. “I can’t take you,” she said. “I would if I could, but you wouldn’t like it anyway.” She had to close the door carefully on account of his nose. “I promise to come back and get you,” she said.
She was startled as she came out from the little ravine that ran down from the lawn to the beach. She had thought the place was deserted, but there right in front of her in the eelgrass were The Fair Christine and Lou. Chris had a rock in her hand, and they were looking concentratedly at the mud and gravel left by the low tide.
“What are you two doing?” said Edie. She certainly did not want them to think about her.
“We’re persecuting crabs,” said Chris.
“What?”
“We catch them and mash them,” said Chris.
“What for?” said Edie sternly. “Don’t you know you must never treat animals badly!” She took the rock away and threw it out in the water.
“They treated us badly,” said Chris. “Anyway, Lou.”
“Look, Mith-thes,” said Lou.
She did have a small fiddler crab attached to her toe.
After Edie had taken it off, Lou gave her one of her hugs and kisses. It was just like eating a new doughnut while you put your face in sweet peas. But only Lou could do it. None of the other Cares knew how. Theodore and Hubert had often remarked on it. Edie would have liked to give her a treat in return, but what was there to do? Lou stood on one leg and held her other foot in her hand while she steadied herself on Edie.
“Mith-thes,” she said, tipping her head so far back she almost upset, “would—you—take—us—out—on—the—ocean?”
Just by looking at Lou’s face Edie got an idea that practically made her blind. Her ears sang, the top of her head burned.
“Where’s G-nan?” said Edie hurriedly. She had expected her to be in hiding somewhere.
“She went to the bathroom,” said Chris. “The tide’s so low a flea couldn’t get drowned. We’re to stay right here.” She paused. “But we didn’t promise.”
Edie started for the pier. The time was so short she was almost out of breath. “I might take you for a sail,” she said, “if you come quick and do what I say.” She dared to look toward the house. There was not a sign of anybody. Maybe G-nan had stopped to gossip with Gander.
The dory, as Edie had seen, was tied up to the float, but were the mast and rudder there? She hurried down the pier with the children trotting behind her. Yes, yes, yes! The first piece of luck she had had for a long time, she thought, forgetting the door that opened, being at Aunt Louise’s, going sometimes as Theodore’s crew when he sailed, getting driving lessons from Hubert on the back roads, swimming, fishing, sun, and all the good smells. Well, she was in a hurry. She had to step the mast, put on the rudder, fix the jib and centerboard, and get the kids into the boat before anybody saw them, not just G-nan, but anybody—because this was kidnaping and she knew it and she meant to do it. Besides having a marvelous time by turning up at the races and making them all goggle, she would practically kill G-nan in her tracks. G-nan would never, never, never dare to make a fool of her again.
Edie got the work done quickly. Theodore was right. She was a good sailor and she knew it too. She turned to look at the children. Chris was looking up at the house.
“I wonder if she’s going to come,” she said.
“I’m the captain of this boat now,” said Edie, “and nobody matters but me. Get in.”
Chris took a long precise step from the float to the middle of the dory’s seat just as she was supposed to do. She settled herself neatly and quietly in the stern. Edie was puzzled for a minute, however, about what to do with Lou. She couldn’t pull her in like a sack or roll her in like a barrel, and she was too heavy to lift with one arm while she held the boat steady with the other. “Crawl!” she said.
“Yeth,” said Lou.
She was halfway in when there was a halloo from the beach. In fact, there was hallooing and hallooing.
“There she is,” said The Fair Christine, looking round. “She’s running.”
Edie gave one swift peek. G-nan was trying to run, but it is not easy to run in sand. She kept her own voice as slow and steady as she could. This was the crucial moment. She had better win. Squatting, she gave Lou’s fat fa
nny a good firm push. Naturally she fell flat on her face on the middle seat. “Get up,” said Edie, “and get in the bow.” Lou scrambled. “Chris,” said Edie. Oh Lord, Oh Heavenly, Oh Spikes, that was G-nan’s feet on the pier. “Just move over and hold the float for one second. Hurry.” Chris did it of course. The Cares all wondered sometimes how The Fair Christine was the way she was. Edie took one long step to the cleat on the float that held the dory. G-nan was almost trumpeting like an elephant, and she was on the gangway down to the float. Edie turned. Very, very carefully she stepped daintily from the float into the very middle of the dory. “Get down on the floor, quick,” she said to Chris, who did it, and Edie had the stern seat free. She had picked up the jib rope and pulled it taut; then she found the mainsheet and she leaned her body against the tiller. Just as G-nan flung her mighty self flat on the float and reached out an arm, the dory leaned over and took the wind. It didn’t take G-nan a second to decide to swim after them. She was a terrific swimmer and could do the Australian crawl, which even Theodore didn’t know. But she didn’t have on a bathing suit; she had on a long skirt with buttons and there was a lovely breeze. It was a relief to Edie. If G-nan had really caught them, she would have had to bang her fingers with an oar. After that, of course, she would be a real criminal exactly like a pirate. While G-nan was getting back to the float when she saw she could not swim fast enough, Edie put her boat in order. She located the bailer, saw that Lou was sitting properly, rescued Christine, tied the centerboard rope, and looked for her oars. She could not find any. She would not have been able to get G-nan’s fingers off the side of the boat after all. Phew, what a close call! But she would have to have oars. Anyway one. She was too well trained to go without them. Halfway down the harbor was one boat she had not noticed that had not gone out. It was Shaw Wells’s. He was always fussing around with his boat, but he never seemed to go out. She put over the tiller and started tacking down to him. It was too bad; it would take her a long time, but the races were always late in starting and she would have a fair wind back through the narrows and out into the bay. She had forgotten all about G-nan. She had almost forgotten about everything except herself and the boat.
“Mith-thes,” whispered Lou from the bow, using her whole body to say it, “is this the ocean?”
“No,” said Edie, absent-mindedly, “it’s just the harbor where we go swimming.”
“I feel like the owl and the pussy cat,” said The Fair Christine. “She’s still there,” she added, looking over the water at G-nan who was standing on the float with her hands up to her face.
“There’s not one thing she can do,” said Edie complacently. “Everybody who can sail has gone to the races.”
She did not mean to, but when they reached Shaw Wells’s boat and ran alongside, she bumped it slightly. He happened to be in the cockpit bending over, so that it bumped him a little too. He stood up, annoyed.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Don’t you know how to sail a boat yet?”
He had to waste time looking at the bump.
“Would you,” said Edie, “lend us a pair of oars?”
“No,” said Shaw Wells.
“Would you lend us one?”
“No, did you think you knew how to sail for heaven’s sake?”
There was a dent in the paint on his boat as big as a pin-head.
“Yes!” said Edie boldly.
“Since when?”
“Since a hundred years, pig,” said Edie.
“You better not take those kids out of this harbor, pig yourself,” said Shaw.
“I’m coming aboard,” said Edie. She was bigger than he was. “You keep still,” she said to Lou and Christine.
“You are not,” said Shaw, and he lifted the oar she wanted and held it high but dangerously over all their heads. Edie shoved off. “I would hate to be such a dog in the manger,” she said.
“I would hate to be such an owl and a puthy cat,” said Lou softly. “Mith-thes, can I put just one hand in the water?”
“No,” said Edie crossly. “Sit still.”
“I have done it,” said Lou. “I have put my hand in.”
“Has she?” asked Edie.
Chris looked under the sail. She nodded. “She’s painting the side of the boat with the rope,” she said.
Edie let out her sail and ran sweetly up the harbor. There was a good-enough breeze, so that she had no trouble, only every once in a while Lou got tangled up in the jib and was so annoyed she tried to bite it and hit it with her fists.
“It might push her in,” said Christine, watching.
“Go get her,” said Edie.
They were stumbling back over the seats as they went past the float. G-nan was still there. Edie did not notice her at all. A revenge like this was almost solemn, and she was not going to make any mistakes. She ran the dory as close to shore as she dared and then set her on a straight course out the mouth of the harbor. The tide was slack and the usual tugs and pulls of the current that ran out through two pieces of land to the open sea were missing. She would have to look out for them on the way back, but now it was clear sailing round the point into the bay. Ahead of her the white butterflies were forming and dispersing, forming and dispersing, jockeying for position. She hoped she could get there in time just to say “hello” to Theodore. In the meantime, if Lou would keep still, they could all enjoy a sail, but Lou kept getting up on the seat and sliding off again in a sort of game. It became more and more frantic.
“I suppose she might be seasick,” said The Fair Christine, relaxed with her hands in her lap. Presently Lou sat still, hunched up, and began having the hiccups. She put her thumb in her mouth as a sort of stopper, but the hiccups came through just the same. She looked like a fat mechanical toy whose clock work made it heave every so often, and her enormous hazel eyes kept looking all around without her head moving.
“Give her the end of the mainsheet,” said Edie, “and let her paint some more.”
But Lou would have nothing to do with anything but her thumb. She drew her head into her shoulders and looked up at Edie mournfully. Edie took her eyes off the sail for a second and looked at her. While she was doing it, Lou’s eyelids fell down and she slipped onto the floor boards sound asleep.
Edie leaned back, pleased with absolutely everything. “I never saw such a blue day,” she said.
“It’s as blue as nothing,” said Chris enthusiastically, squeezing her hands with her knees.
“What kind of a thing to say is that,” said Edie disgusted. “Blue as nothing!”
“Well, nothing could be bluer,” said Chris with certainty.
Edie felt as if she should keep on arguing to straighten Chris out somehow, but after all nothing could be bluer, and it was all haloed in silver and gold, the far land and the near sea. The dory was not the fleet-hulled cutter that she would have liked, slicing the waves and leaving behind a foaming, curling wake. It was a good deal like a farm horse, but it went along fast enough for the waves to slap it nicely, it held the breeze so that the sails were taut, and it was getting them there. Besides, the sun was hot; it kept you in a sort of garden of hotness while the breeze blew all around. Edie’s heart was terribly thankful. She carefully did not praise herself. That feeling she cuddled at the bottom of her stomach like food to grow on. Perhaps already she was a couple of inches taller. She had managed things! But, of course, there was danger ahead. Theodore was a good sailor, too, very good, and he had a good boat. He might feel like boarding her and taking her and the children home and giving them to G-nan. He would do it if he thought it was a good thing to do, and she would be helpless. She kept resolutely on because she was going to chance it. She did not believe that Theodore would let anyone else sail his precious boat, especially not Jane, who he said was an idiot in boats, and especially not Hubert, who, although he looked so exactly like a sailor, could not sail at all. So it wasn’t very likely that Theodore would try to pilot her back and leave his boat to them.
“We’r
e almost there,” said The Fair Christine suddenly.
Edie looked under the boom. They were just on the edge of the circling, tacking butterflies. She let go the mainsail and went off down wind so that she would not get anywhere near the starting flags. The breeze was a little fresher in the bay, and the dory seemed almost like a real boat. Some of the fleet noticed her and came over to take a look, but no one said anything. People did not talk much before a boat race; they just looked each other over in a suspicious way. There was no sign of Theodore. Maybe he was going to be late. Edie pulled in her sail and came about, and the dory, catching the wind, leaned over. A little spray dashed across the bow. Chris got it full in the face, and a little salt rain fell on Lou. She kicked out her arms and legs as if she had been jerked and then relaxed again; Chris only licked her face as far as she could reach.
Edie could see that the butterflies were lazily sailing in narrowing circles to be ready for the start, and she thought that perhaps after all she would go right up among them. It would certainly be a terrible thing to do to annoy all those good sailors, but how else was she to annoy Theodore? It was he who had put the enemy on her track. And he had laughed. And he had gone off racing without her when he knew, he absolutely knew, that they were the sailing people in the Cares family. She had been his crew for weeks, taking orders, getting wet, polishing brass, swabbing decks, and they had won two races together. What did he think! On her next tack she brought the dory so near the wind that the mainsheet crept a little, and she pointed its bow right for the middle of the jockeying boats. She had not noticed what was behind her and neither had Chris until there was a shush in her ears. Then she turned. There was Ted on the same tack as herself, easily overtaking the dory. Hubert was stretched out enjoying the sun, and Susan was lying on the weather rail, her chin on her hands, adoring Theodore. He was leaning forward under the boom to see how near they were. They came alongside very easily and took their wind, so that the dory rocked back and forth with loose sails.
Terrible, Horrible Edie Page 5
