Authors: Nancy Thayer
“Perhaps Madaket would like to meet Lei,” Tory suggested one day.
“I can’t imagine why,” Joanna responded. “They have nothing in common.”
“Darling, they have everything in common. They’re both maids. You know, like
Upstairs, Downstairs
.”
“This isn’t Victorian England, and we don’t have a Victorian class system, or at least those of us who are enlightened don’t!” Joanna snapped.
“I’m not trying to insult your little housekeeper,” Tory said in a soothing voice.
“God forbid. I just thought they might enjoy each other’s company.”
“Why? Lei must be twenty years older than Madaket, at least!”
“But they’re both in domestic service, Joanna. I’m serious. Madaket might know things about the best way to cook fish or something. But if you don’t think it’s a good idea, let’s drop it. You really should watch yourself. Getting angry so easily can’t be good for your blood pressure.”
Had Tory always been so irritating, Joanna wondered privately, or was her pregnancy making her irrational? She listened with barely concealed boredom when Tory called to describe her endless rounds of fishing and sailing and golf and tennis, with cocktail parties every night and dinners for sixteen at pricey restaurants. When Joanna was invited along, she always politely refused. Tory’s group was too noisy and boisterous. Joanna needed peace and quiet. She was gestating like a primitive creature, needing only to be.
“I understand how you feel,” Tory said to Joanna one afternoon. They were on Joanna’s screened-in porch. Joanna was lying on her chaise with her feet up, and Tory was seated nearby in a wicker rocker. “Still, it’s not good for you to be cooped up all the time. You need exercise.”
“I do exercise. I walk on the beach every night. And just walking around this huge house, up and down the stairs—Doug said just the other day—”
“That’s another thing.” Tory rose, pulled her chair around to face Joanna, and leaned close to her, almost whispering. “You need to get out of the house more often. If you only could realize how many times you’ve said to me recently: Todd said. Or Doug said. Or Madaket said. Joanna, don’t you know that it’s really not, oh, I don’t know—
appropriate
—for your employees to become your society.”
Joanna laughed. “Oh, come on. I see other people all the time. I had dinner at the Latherns’ the other night. And I was at Pat Hoover’s gallery opening last week. Besides,” she continued, more seriously and defensively, “my main interest at the moment is in my house, and no one knows more about it now than the Snows and Madaket. I’d much rather talk to them than make small talk with people I don’t know at some superficial cocktail party.” Seeing Tory’s expression darken ominously, Joanna confessed frivolously, half joking, wanting to lighten the mood, “Furthermore, I haven’t seen a male anywhere else on the island as sexy as Doug Snow.”
“You think Doug Snow is sexy?”
“Yes. Don’t you think so? He’s got a sort of rough, tough, Rolling Stone, Marlboro Man look about him.”
“I guess I can see what you mean. But—”
It was so pleasurable, talking about Doug, it warmed Joanna all over. “When I told Madaket, she was shocked. She thinks he’s—”
“You told Madaket you think Doug Snow is sexy?” Tory nearly rose out of her chair. “What a stupid thing to do!” Now Tory was really angry.
“What on earth’s the matter?”
“Joanna, don’t be naive. These island people tell each other everything.”
“Tory—”
“Haven’t I told you? Hasn’t everyone told you? It really is them against us on this island. No matter how nice they appear on the surface, the island people hate us for being rich summer folk.”
“I think you’re wrong, Tory, at least about Madaket. She’s—”
“She’s your
help
, Joanna, and that’s all. Don’t make the mistake of treating her like a friend or a companion. And for God’s sake stop talking about Doug Snow being sexy! For one thing, he’s married.”
“Well, I know that, Tory. But a man can be married and still sexy.” Once again Joanna tried to lighten the atmosphere. “I mean, I can look, can’t I?”
“
Can
you? I don’t know. Can you just look? You didn’t just
look
at Carter.”
Joanna felt her face flush as if she’d been slapped. “Tory, give me a break, will you?”
Tory’s mouth tightened to a thin line. For a few moments she sat in silence. When she spoke again, her voice was controlled. “I’m sorry, Joanna. It’s just that I worry about
you so. You’re doing so many erratic things. Going to such extremes. Buying a house, not just a house, but such a big old house that needs so much work. Getting yourself so isolated out here on this island. Running around wearing a wig. Having babies all by yourself. I just don’t feel you’re behaving responsibly.”
Joanna responded heatedly. “Tory, not everyone can have the perfect family the perfect way. Not everyone can afford a house on Nantucket just for the summer. Not everyone gets to marry the person she loves. Not everyone would consider owning a house, writing two books, and having babies instead of aborting them irresponsible.”
“I
never
suggested you should have an abortion!” Tory snapped.
“Then you can’t criticize me for ‘having them all by myself.’ In fact, Tory, I don’t think you have the right to criticize me at all!”
“I never approved of your affair with Carter.”
“I know you didn’t. And if it makes you feel better, I’m not having it with him anymore!” Joanna smiled at her own wit, but Tory only looked exasperated.
“I’ll say it again, Joanna. I’m just worried about you. I know you’re happy about these babies, and so I’ll try to be happy for you. And you know I’ll always be ready to help you at any time. But in the meantime, will you please try to be more—circumspect? Stop talking about carpenters being sexy. Stop confiding in your cleaning lady.”
“Madaket’s more than my cleaning lady.”
“Are you sure she should be?”
“Whyever shouldn’t she be? Are there rules about this sort of thing?”
“Don’t be so cavalier, Joanna. You really shouldn’t trust the natives. They certainly don’t trust you.”
“Look, Tory, I suppose I should be grateful for your concern. Obviously, you’ve been connected to this island longer than I have. And I will agree to stop talking about Doug being sexy. I suppose being so fat and pregnant makes me think I can say silly things and get away with them. I mean, it’s not like I intend to act on my feelings. But as far as Madaket goes—I really like her. I like her about as much as anyone I’ve ever met. I trust her. I enjoy being with her. And I’m not going to weaken that by any kind of suspicion. Besides, as I said, she doesn’t like Doug Snow. She wouldn’t tell him anything.”
“Yes, but she might tell someone else who would tell him.”
“From what I hear, she wouldn’t. She’s a loner.”
“Well, I’d find that worrisome if I were you. Why doesn’t she have any friends?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tory!” Joanna exploded. “If she has friends, you think she’s a gossip, and if she doesn’t, you think she’s odd.”
“I’ve had so many maids and nannies over the years, and so many difficult experiences. I’m just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection. I just want your friendship. Come on, Tory. At least trust me. I’m an intelligent person.”
Tory just glared at Joanna from her pale blue icy eyes. “Just say you’ll keep what I’ve said in mind.”
“All right. I will. Now, can we talk about something pleasant?”
Tory let out a loud, exasperated breath. “Okay. Truce. What shall we talk about?”
“How about the treasures I’ve been finding at the dump?” Joanna suggested mischievously.
“The dump.” Tory groaned and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s to become of you.”
Two days later Joanna woke to discover the temperature had fallen radically. The sky hung low and gray and the wind whipped the delicate bushes into a frantic dance. Far out, ocean waves surged and sank in great agitation, hurrying to dash themselves upon the shore.
Dressed in a sweater and thick socks for warmth, she worked on the porch all day. The Snows were painting the walls and woodwork in the large upstairs room, and she told them she had to avoid it because the smells of paint and turpentine could be dangerous to her pregnancy. And she was glad to keep away. Her conversation with Tory had left her feeling foolish every time she saw Doug.
At five the Snowmen left for the day, pounding down the stairs, bringing with them the scent of sawdust and turpentine. As they ran out to the truck, it was just beginning to sprinkle. Joanna found Madaket in the kitchen, tossing a huge salad with a garlic dressing. A pot of stew simmered on the stove and a pan of homemade corn bread cooled on a trivet.
“God, this smells good!” Joanna cried. “Madaket, you’re a genius! This is the perfect thing to eat on a day like today.”
“I made a fresh apple pie, too, and brought out vanilla Häagen-Dazs,” Madaket
told her, smiling shyly.
Joanna leaned over the stove, greedily inhaling. “Look,” she said. “You’ve made far too much for one person. Stay and eat dinner with me.”
“Oh, I can’t,” Madaket began, but just then, with a tearing sound, the sky broke open, spilling its burden of rain out. It fell in torrents against the windows with an incessant pounding sound.
“Now you have to,” Joanna said. “You can’t possibly ride a bike in this weather.”
Madaket stood still in the middle of the kitchen, looking out the window. She was wearing her usual outfit: work boots and a loose flowered cotton dress; today she’d pulled over it a fisherman’s knit sweater against the cold. Her heavy braid gleamed like carved ebony, lustrous against the creamy woven wool.
“Come on,” Joanna cajoled. “I’d really enjoy your company, Madaket. It makes me melancholy, eating alone night after night. Especially on a night like this.”
Madaket contemplated the night. Rain streamed down.
“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll stay.” She looked down at her hands, as if wondering where to put them.
“Great!” Joanna said. “I know what we’ll do. Let’s eat in the dining room, by candlelight! I haven’t eaten in there yet. It’s too big for one person.”
“The dining room is awfully—” Madaket hesitated, searching for the correct word.
“Formal? I know. But one thing I’ve learned doing my show is that there is no
one
way to use any room. Just because it’s furnished with expensive antiques doesn’t mean it should never be used. Just the opposite, I think. I mean, what is beauty for? I’ll set the table, you bring in the food.”
Keeping up a running line of chatter to put Madaket at her ease, Joanna went into the dining room and took a snowy white damask cloth and two napkins from the sideboard, the silver from the rosewood box, the china from the corner cupboard. She lit white tapers on either side of a vase of peonies and phlox, then the tall, dark green candles twisting up from the silver candlesticks on either side of the fireplace mantel. Between them stood an antique clock with the sun, moon, and stars smiling from its silvered face. It didn’t run—it was one of Joanna’s treasures from the dump—but it looked as if it belonged in the dining room, as if it had stood in this particular spot for decades. On the spur of the moment, Joanna turned off the electric light in the chandelier
and wall sconces.
“Isn’t it romantic!” she said to Madaket as the girl came into the room. “My first meal in my own dining room! Isn’t my china beautiful?”
Madaket set the stew in its tureen on the table. “Yes,” she agreed wistfully. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful table.”
Joanna saw how hesitant the young woman was in her movements. She sat at the table almost paralyzed until Joanna put her napkin in her lap; then Makadet did the same. “Shall I?” Joanna said, gesturing to the stew, and she served everything, the salad on the salad plate, the stew in the bowl. “I’ve heard that in England when a group of adults meet each other for tea, the person who decides to pour asks, ‘Shall I be Mother?’ I wonder if they really do that. I wonder if someone says that when the group is entirely male.” She spoke lightly, with a smile. Madaket smiled in return and waited until Joanna had taken the first bite until she lifted her fork to eat.
In her work, Joanna had learned to draw people out by asking about their strengths and their loves, and so as they ate, she asked Madaket about her cooking skills. Madaket talked about the island’s bounty—mussels on the jetties, berries on the moors, bluefish at Surfside—and by the time she cut into the warm apple pie, she spoke more easily about her grandmother, who’d taught her to cook.
“You’re lucky you had your grandmother to teach you things,” Joanna said. “I never knew my grandparents. God, I hardly knew my parents.” She felt Madaket’s eyes on her, waiting, reluctant to pry. “My parents were divorced very early in my life. I grew up sort of on the road with my mother. I was mostly an encumbrance when she was visiting her friends. Or I was shoved onto one of my father’s girlfriends, who as you can imagine were not prepared for a child in the house.”
“Really?” Madaket was fascinated right out of her shyness. She leaned forward. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Why?”
Madaket shrugged, drew back into herself, embarrassed to have made such a personal remark.
“No, really, Madaket, tell me. I’m curious. You can’t hurt my feelings. Lord, think about what I just said—it would take more than your remark to hurt my tough old feelings!”
Joanna felt the young woman’s eyes on her, judging.
“It’s just that you seem like one of the ones who … belong,” Madaket confessed.
Joanna nodded. “I know what you mean. But it’s an act. I’ve really led a rather makeshift life. Always envying those with a home and a family … which is undoubtedly why my show is called
Fabulous Homes
. To me, all homes are fabulous.”
As she talked, Joanna felt the other woman’s keen interest like a scent in the air. She could see how still Madaket was keeping herself, as if trying not to disturb Joanna’s mood. Madaket was not resting back in the chair, arms crossed, or leaning on her elbows on the table in the posture of a listener relaxing into a long tale, but rather she was leaning forward from the waist, as if she expected something to come toward her at any moment, and she wanted to be prepared to hear it clearly.