Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to, Miz Edith.” Leroy’s lip trembles. “Are we going to die out here?”

  Edith looks at his pale face, eyes red with unshed tears. I did this. She contemplates the long, uninterrupted line of the horizon, the empty sea. A guilty conscience doesn’t need an accuser.

  Her gaze returns to the scared little boy in front of her and her heart sinks. Trust me to make a bad situation worse. I’m definitely not mother material. “Someone will come along, kiddo.”

  They wait. And they bob. The sun climbs higher. The waves against the Rex, the creak of the boat, the breeze, and the recriminations echoing in Edith’s head play out over and over in their otherwise noiseless world.

  “I’m sorry I shouted at you, Leroy. It wasn’t your fault. I was just cross, but I should have been cross with myself. I should have looked to make sure we had gas. Like Harley showed me. You’re a trooper coming out here with me.”

  “I wouldn’t let you go alone, Miz Edith. Not after we spit-shook.”

  Edith smiles. “Come here,” she says, holding up an arm. Snuggled close, they settle into the rocking boat.

  “Did I ever tell you the time I got lost underground in the mine and met a dragon?”

  Leroy, wide-eyed, shakes his head.

  “Well, there I was deep underground. The air was damp, and it was dark….” The story of a small girl’s courage is mostly made up, and the dragon probably wasn’t real either, but it passes the time and keeps Leroy distracted.

  Story telling is a new experience for Edith and she warms to it. The tale gets more fantastical and she’s rewarded with gasps and giggles as she battles the fearsome dragon and rescues the miners.

  “That’s a great story, Miz Edith.”

  Edith tries to moisten her cracked lips but can’t even work up spit. “Next time we need to bring water.”

  A small speck appears on the horizon, gradually growing larger. Edith and Leroy stand and shout, waving their arms. It gets closer. It’s a patrol boat for the Coast Guard. The cutter’s massive white hull dwarfs the Rex as they pull alongside.

  Frozen in place, Leroy stares up at the white fortress in front of him, open-mouthed. The hull’s registration numbers and the letters spelling out Mojave and US Coast Guard are as big as his head.

  One of the Coast Guard on board leans over the side. “Ma’am, what the heck are you doing out here? Do you need assistance?”

  Edith laughs, giddy with relief. “Assistance? Yes, you could say that. We’re out of gas. We were fishing and this is the first time I’ve taken the boat out and I forgot to check the gas.”

  The commander of the patrol boat also leans over. “Do you need any medical assistance, ma’am?”

  “Just the gas and a map, sir.”

  Edith wraps an arm around Leroy, whose eyes are as wide as saucers. She can feel him tremble.

  “Hardy, grab those jerry cans of diesel, will you?” The commander barks the order and Bosun Hardy snaps a salute. With her arm still around Leroy, she can feel him stiffen as he watches the precision with which the orders are carried out. Hardy hops aboard with diesel. “This should be enough to get you to the main pier, ma’am. But go slow. And be more careful. Here are the headings you’ll need to get to Coconut Grove.”

  “Thanks for your help, officer. You don’t happen to have any water to spare, do you? I didn’t remember that either.” Edith can’t quite manage the flirty grin with her parched lips, but her and Leroy’s eager guzzling from the jug of proffered water says it all.

  As the Mojave pulls away, Leroy stands at attention, arm raised in salute. He turns to Edith, breathless, eyes shining. “They’re heroes, Miz Edith. Real life heroes.”

  The sea gets choppy on the way back and Edith feels green with the rise and fall of the Rex. She ignores her roiling mind and stomach, determined not to show weakness again in front of Leroy. When they finally catch site of the main pier, she almost collapses with relief.

  Leroy clings to her arm to steady himself as he jumps up and down on the bouncing boat, pointing at the approaching shore. “Yay, land. You did it, Miz Edith. You got us home. I knew you could do it. You saved us.”

  His wide-open grin and the trust in his eyes feel as good to Edith as that first drink of water.

  Chapter 36

  E dith tears February off the calendar in the kitchen and turns off the light. It’s been two months since I bought Gator’s, and what do I have to show for it? She crosses the vacant barroom to check the locks on the front door, then with a flick of the switch, plunges the place into darkness.

  Days spent worrying about empty chairs and cleaning up from the night before. Nights spent slinging beer and pouring whiskey to a handful of customers. Where are my line-ups of people? Moonlight guides her steps to her bedroom.

  Nestled in her pretty blue bed, snuggled under her sunny yellow quilt, Edith should be happy. This is what she wanted: a place of her own fixed up and looking good. Instead, she lies exhausted. Not even the new pillow offers comfort tonight.

  It’s not the money, there’s still plenty of Mickey’s money, even more once the lawyers are paid and the tax people are off my back. It’s the fact I can’t get this to work the way I want it to. I’ve never failed at anything before and I’m sure as heck not going to start now. Am I not trying hard enough? Is there something I’m doing wrong?

  It’s like that stunt with the Rex. Not knowing what I was doing or where I was going. Okay, that was rough, but I wouldn’t put it down as a failure. Thank goodness the Coast Guard bailed me out, although they’re not doing my business any favors. Leroy jabbering on about wanting to join up. Must be the uniform. He’s not a kid that would want to take orders. He sure doesn’t listen to me.

  On top of everything else, watching Harley and Nancy’s sweet love is like a blister rubbed raw. The only two things left over from all those years married to Mickey are guilt and loneliness. Where’s my sweet love?

  As tired as she is, she’s tosses and turns all night. The waves and palms, usually soothing, grate on her nerves. A thousand thoughts chase their way down hallways in her mind: the business, Leroy, inventory, Mickey.

  Maybe a speakeasy wasn’t the best idea after all. It’s a constant reminder of Mickey. Of what our life was and what could have been. I hate that I’m still not making my own money, but having to spend his. Gator Joe’s was supposed to translate to independence.

  Edith punches her new pillow, trying to get it to take a shape that will let her sleep.

  It’s harder and harder to remember how angry I was that night in Philly. God, he was such a bastard. I wouldn’t call those last few years with Mickey a failure either, or at least not my failure. I need to hold onto that anger to keep the guilt away.

  Tight fists grip the blanket and Edith’s forced to take a few calming breaths to release her clenched jaw. She loosens her hold on the blanket.

  I’m ashamed to admit it but, the night I pulled the trigger, I felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. Like I’d finally stood up for myself.

  The wispy curtains float on the night breeze. Soft shadows play in the hallway and chase each other along the bedroom ceiling. If I’d know the guilt would be such a heavy burden to carry, would I still have done it?

  Edith gets up and slams the window shut. Damn right I would have. Bastard. Mae probably sees the truth. Living with Al, she must recognize the killer in me that she saw in him.

  Did I run away from Philly like some kind of fugitive? Living at Gator Joe’s in exile? Or is all this another way of standing up for myself?

  What feels like hours later, finding the room hot and stuffy, she reopens the window and leans against the sill, breathing in the salty night.

  It’s dawn soon. What did Mae ask me my first morning in Florida? What would make me happy? Right now, a bit of sleep might help. She crawls back into bed.

  Through bleary eyes, Edith watches the room get lighter. “Enough of this.” She sits up, throws off her
covers, and pulls on her robe. I’ve got to get out of this rut. Meet some more people. I need friends, as well as customers. I should try and make some connections to folks in town.

  In the kitchen, Leroy is sitting eating bread and jam.

  “Morning Miz Edith. You okay? You look kinda frazzled.”

  “Good morning to you, too.” The knot in her shoulders tightens when she snaps at Leroy and he flinches. I gotta stop taking it out on the kid. “I don’t smell any coffee.”

  He looks at her warily. “Didn’t know when you’d be up, being Sunday and a day off and all. Want me to put a pot on now?”

  “My motto in life used to be to start my day with a coffee and finish it with a martini. It looks like neither one is going to happen for me today.”

  Leroy hops off the chair and grabs the percolator. “Sitting on the veranda might cheer you up. I’ll bring it out to you when it’s ready.”

  The veranda offers a dazzling display of sun and sea. Edith squints at the sparkling water. Her shoulders drop, giving into the beauty of Gator’s paradise. Soon, the aroma of coffee drifts its way to her. Maybe, just maybe the day will be salvageable. She closes her eyes and lets the waves and the clickity-clacking palm leaves do their magic.

  It used to be thoughts of Mickey would keep me awake all night, but with a smile on my face. Those were the good times. What a man he was.

  She shifts, a knot in her shoulders reappearing, tight against the back of the chair.

  Now all I got left are bitter dregs. I can’t forget the sleepless nights waiting for him to get home, worrying. Another dame? A bullet? The cops?

  Rolling her shoulders doesn’t help. Oh, Mickey, your death was ugly. I was not the person pulling the trigger. It couldn’t have been me. I wouldn’t have done that to you, would I? You drove me to it. It was you to blame, not me.

  The weight of the gun is in her hand even now. She shudders and her stomach clenches. I gotta let go. I had hoped that Gator’s would be a way to put that night behind me, but no such luck. That would be too easy. I don’t know how to fix it, but somehow I gotta make it right with you, Mickey.

  Edith opens her eyes when the screen door slams. Leroy holds a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “I don’t know how to make a martini, but this should help.”

  “Leroy, I think I’m going to go to church this morning. I feel like I need some forgiveness and, apparently, that’s a good place to start. Or so I’ve been told. Do you want to come?”

  Leroy steps back. “No, ma’am. Cassie never had much regard for churching. I guess I don’t either. Besides, I don’t like the preacher fella. He’s weird and scary.”

  “He’s a strange one, all right, but the people in Coconut Grove go to his church. There must be something in him we don’t see. Besides, going to church isn’t about the preacher, it’s about what happens in your heart.”

  “All the same, if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll make my heart happy and go fishing instead.”

  “I’ve heard that fishing is just another kind of churching.”

  “Except if I’m lucky—or the fish aren’t—we get dinner out of it.”

  “I’ll see you at supper, Leroy. Enjoy the day.”

  * * * *

  Like any good soldier going into battle, Edith is wearing armor. She’s slipped on an elegant day dress of sprigged cotton embroidered with tiny rosebuds. It will be cool to wear in the church. A pink belt, a pink flower in her hat, a small fan tucked into her handbag, a delicate pair of crocheted gloves, and she’s ready to step into enemy territory.

  Murmurs and whispers swirl as Edith makes her way down the aisle. She begins to slide into an empty spot, halfway down the small church, when an older, heavy-set woman further along the bench leans over and whispers loudly, “I’m sorry, but these seats are spoken for.”

  “Oh, excuse me.”

  It’s a pattern that is repeated with every place Edith pauses. People scoot and spread to fill the empty spaces.

  A head shake. A frown. Finally, she goes to the last pew which is empty but for a stack of hymnals and bibles. She plants herself on the hard wood, her expression challenging anyone to come and ask her to move.

  Edith’s initial impressions of the church are colored by the reception. So much for the sign out front: ‘there are no strangers here, just friends you haven’t met’. The necks in front of her are stiff with disapproval. The petty coldness of the congregation is a mockery of the warmth and compassion of a beautiful stained-glass window of Madonna and Child.

  The heavy cross on the wall behind the pulpit looms over the congregation. Edith shifts uneasily. This seems to be a church of censure, not forgiveness.

  The last time I was in church was Mickey’s funeral, unless I can count the synagogue for Sadie and Henry’s wedding. Aren’t all of God’s houses equal? Edith thinks of the stony disapproval triggered by her arrival. Maybe not this one.

  From her vantage point, Edith smirks as women, and a few men, try to find a reason to look over their shoulders. There is a definite buzz of whispers behind fans or hands. There’s not much happening in this little burg if me going to church gets folks stirred up.

  Brother Silas appears from the side and strides to the pulpit. His black robe billows around him. The congregation settles.

  He’s black and white. There’s no color to the man at all. No flesh on him either; nothing but hard edges. Judgemental maybe, but he doesn’t look so scary from back here.

  Until she looks in his eyes.

  As Brother Silas gazes over his flock, his welcome smile turns to a frown as those eyes lock on Edith. He opens his bible. Even from this far back, Edith can see Brother Silas’ long finger running down the page. He finds the passage and looks out, directly at her. A few heads turn to follow his stare. Edith sits straighter in the hard pew.

  “I would like to start the sermon today from the First Book of Timothy, verse two.” There’s a rustle as people open bibles. Those that glance at the passage share a nervous look.

  Brother Silas must be a good preacher. Everyone seems attentive.

  “Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve; and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. Yet, she will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control.”

  Her cheeks burning, Edith is furious. How dare he speak that way to me? In a church. Saved through childbearing? The pompous, self-righteous—this town is full of crazies. The Wharf Rats; them I can understand. But the preacher?

  It seems like the back of every head has eyes staring straight at her. I figured he was bad news when I saw him at the café. Now I know. If this is a man of God, what are the rest of the people in this town like?

  Edith loses track of the rest of the sermon. Who is this angry, vengeful God? I’m not much of a churchgoer, but isn’t God supposed to be a little softer and kinder, someone surrounded by children and lambs? The god Brother Silas preaches about seems surrounded by the flames of hell.

  The next thing she knows, the choir stands, as does the congregation, to begin the closing hymn. As they sing, Brother Silas leads, walking the aisle from altar to entrance. Starting from the first row, a procession of people files out behind.

  Edith stands with the others, then takes deep even breaths as each passing person seems to judge, even smirk, on the way out. Eventually, she’s the only remaining person in the church and the ordeal of the processional over. With perfect posture, shoulders back and head held high, she exits into the harsh sunlight.

  As she makes her way along the sidewalk, Edith slows to the chatter of a woman nattering to her friends about Brother Silas. Eyebrows are raised as they speculate why his housekeeper has suddenly left, and generalize over his apparent poor luck at keeping domestics. Conversation is suddenly broken off as Edith walks past. Their hea
ds follow her progress and then they resume talking as she walks to her truck.

  * * * *

  “And just who is that?” Mavis Saunders whispers to her friend.

  “That, my dear, is the woman that’s bought Gator Joe’s.”

  “Really? Oh, my. I’ve heard about her, Agnes, and none of it’s good.”

  “What do you expect? A woman running a saloon. On her own.”

  “Not entirely on her own. She has that boy with her.” When Agnes doesn’t respond, Mavis leans in. “And who might he belong to?”

  Agnes gasps, looking scandalized. “You’re not suggesting… and her with no husband.”

  “She claims to be a widow, but she doesn’t act like any widow I know,” Mavis says with a knowing look.

  “That’s just too much,” Agnes says, leaning closer. “You think the boy is hers?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I never gossip, especially on a Sunday.” Mavis’ smile is smug as she adjusts her hat.

  “And that’s a good thing too, sisters. Wagging tongues doing the Devil’s work,” says Brother Silas from behind them.

  “Oh my goodness, Brother Silas. You startled me,” Mavis says, her hand to her generous bosom.

  “My apologies, Sister Mavis, Sister Agnes. I’ll see you at choir practice on Wednesday?”

  “Of course, Brother Silas. Lt. Commander Saunders is at sea for the next two weeks, so I have a lot of time on my hands.”

  “Time spent raising your voices to the glory of God is not just busy work, Sister,” Brother Silas says gravely, one foot already moving away from the women.

  “Before you go, Brother Silas. I have a stamp for you. From Australia.”

  Brother Silas turns. If cold eyes could thaw and sparkle, his have. An eager smile transforms his face.

  “Wonderful, Sister, and my thanks.” He gently accepts the proffered envelope. “A red two pence of Sidney Harbour Bridge. Marvelous.” He gazes at the prize tenderly. “You are most fortunate to have a brother-in-law that keeps such regular correspondence.” The trio chats easily about travel and Australia.