Authors: Noelle Carle
The kitchen door
crashed open suddenly as Ida Gilman rushed in, her round sweaty face an
alarming color of red. Her daughter Louise followed her, sobbing noisily that
Chester was dead. She saw him fall, she cried out to everyone, dead off the
wagon.
Aunt Pearl cleared
her throat and began moving the children outside. “Davey, Allie, Owen. Time
for us to get out of the way. Ida, sit right there by Chester. He is not
dead, as you can see!” She herded the three Granger kids outside, clamping her
hand over Davey’s mouth after he questioned loudly, “Is he gonna drink all our
precious lemonade?”
That afternoon found
Chester safely at home in his bedroom with his sister fanning him and his
mother plying him with all the iced drinks she could lay her hands on. Doctor
Granger worried that Chester may have suffered heat stroke, which could cause
some internal damage. Owen was waiting to return to work, lounging on the
porch steps, listening to Alison read a story to Davey. Remick was a still
figure in the rocking chair, not even moving back and forth as he listened with
his eyes closed. So absorbed were they in Moby Dick that each of them jumped a
little when Bill Gilman stepped around the corner, his hat in his hand.
Owen rose quickly to
his feet. “Hello, Mr. Gilman. Are we going to finish out the afternoon? Is
Chester able to work?”
Bill nodded, his sea
green eyes crinkling in the sun. “Ayuh, we’re gonna finish the field. Chester
ain’t in any shape to work though.” He ran his hand over his whiskery chin,
and then stared at his hat as if he’d never seen it before. “I come to ask
Remick to take his place.” He kept his head down, but his eyes darted up to
look at Remick.
Remick slowly sat up
straighter, his eyes staring at his neighbor in doubt.
Bill raised his head
higher, holding Remick’s look with his own. “You used to work for me, did a
fine job of it.”
Alison weighed in
with the obvious argument; words she immediately regretted. “What about his
arm?”
Remick rose from the
rocking chair, his face tight, and his lips trembling slightly.
The farmer wisely
misunderstood and mildly answered, “I don’t mind if he uses his arm. Prob’ly
need to.”
Remick burst out
laughing and shot Alison a look of triumph. His brothers joined him while Bill
smiled wide enough to show that he had no molars left in the back of his mouth.
Remick went to work
that afternoon and continued to help even after Chester was recovered. His
pallid skin turned brown and his appetite grew. And Alison marked the morning
that Chester collapsed as the day that Remick truly came home again.
“Why shouldn’t a girl
work on a boat like a boy?” Cleo questioned.
“Because,” Esther
insisted, “it’s too hard. It’s not work for a lady.” She lifted the weight of
her damp braid up off her neck as she spoke, for the heat continued unabated.
“I suppose you think
women shouldn’t vote either,” Cleo flung back at her sister, her voice rising
in challenge. “Don’t you want to be like the suffragettes, maybe go to jail?
I think Theresa and Annette Ouellette are brave and strong; obviously strong
enough to take their brother’s place. And…” here she sped up her recitation as
she saw the subtle looked that passed between Alison and Esther. “Their other
sister Celeste is going to France to be an interpreter. I even heard that
there are women working at Bath Iron Works now. Maybe I’ll go up there and get
a job.” Cleo leaned back on her elbows and stared out at the water from the
beach where they had been swimming. “I just wish Daddy would let me help him.”
“You’d have to get
rid of Aubrey first,” Alison remarked. “He’s like one of the family now.”
Cleo’s face lost its
animation and she scooped up a clump of sand, throwing it out into the surf.
“He’ll never be part of this family,” she muttered. Then abruptly she asked,
“Have you heard from Sam lately? We haven’t for ages.”
“Not for a couple of
weeks. He’s still in training. He’s fine,” Alison said, as much for herself
as for his sisters. She missed him, longing to see his slow smile and more,
longing to feel his kisses again. But she knew the danger to him wouldn’t be
realized until he was shipped overseas. He was training in an infantry
division, so would be on the front lines. He seemed nonchalant about the
training and the work, but his letters hinted at a massive movement of troops
overseas soon.
After several moments
of silence in which cicadas buzzed in the trees and the waves splashed lazily,
Esther stirred. “We’d better go get supper ready, Cleo. The tide will soon be
turned. Dad and Aubrey’ll be in shortly.”
Cleo stretched out
her legs and lifted her swim skirt higher. “God bless Mrs. Reid and her annual
summer picnic.” Their teacher and some of the mothers had taken a band of
children to a park in Merrymeeting Bay where a fair was set up and rides were
exchanged for tokens. She had taken Caroline along in a little buggy, with the
twins and the two younger boys. She wanted to give Esther and Cleo a little
free time, who in spite of their differing views on ladylike behavior both
worked hard running the household.
Alison watched as
Cleo reluctantly stood to gather up their things. Her legs below her swim
dress were long and browned by the sun, while her blonde hair was streaked with
lighter shades. Her face was a small triangle, the sharpness relieved by her
large brown eyes. Her nose was freckled, despite a myriad of creams and
cleanses meant to do away with the offending spots.
“You coming, Allie?”
Esther questioned, swiping the sand from her swim clothes. She stood up, then
bent over to shake out her towel, her braid falling over her shoulder and
brushing the ground. In an unconscious gesture she swung it back over her
shoulder and shook her head.
Cleo had gradually
been cutting her own hair, taking an inch or two off her pony tail every week.
She wanted it bobbed, but knew that her father would object. She was counting
on the fact that a gradual change would be less shocking. Her hair was midway
down her back and Reg Eliot had never said a word.
Esther’s hair,
unbounded, went down to her knees. She said a woman’s long hair was her
glory. Alison’s was almost as long, but she felt somewhat like Cleo, that it
was more trouble than glory. How free to be like one of the boys, go in
swimming and just shake your head afterwards.
“No, I’m going home
soon.” Alison listened to them as they moved off with Brute following them,
panting in the heat and grunting with the effort of climbing the path. Cleo
continued her attempts at persuading Esther to think about the issue of
equality for women. She heard Esther’s patient but negative responses fading
as they went. Then all was quiet. They were in a tiny back cove, reached via a
steep path through the Eliot’s back woods. It was part of their property,
secluded with a miniscule strip of sand, and bounded on either side by a tumble
of boulders. No one came here but the Eliot’s and their friends. So when she
heard footsteps coming down the path, Alison sat up and peered into the
shadowed woods. Her brothers pushed through, peeling off their sweaty shirts,
undoing their pants and pushing them down to reveal their swimming clothes.
“Hi, Allie,” they both rumbled as they hastened toward the water. Remick would
only swim here now, feeling the weight of stares at the public beach. He
groaned as he came up out of the water and smiled as he swam back in.
Owen swam around like
an otter, diving then turning to float on his back. “Hey, guess what!” he
shouted to his sister.
“What?” she
questioned, shading her eyes against the sparkle of the sun on the water.
“The Spencer’s are
getting an automobile! And - the Coopers are getting a telephone. Once they
have the lines coming down into Little Cove, everyone can get a telephone!” He
grinned at her with water streaming down his face.
“Oh…good.” Alison
found it hard to muster up enthusiasm over modern amenities. “Who will you
call, Owen?”
Only momentarily
deflated, he thought, and then shrugged. “Maybe President Wilson!” He fell
backwards, swimming over to grab Remick to wrestle him under. They tussled
awhile, laughing, yelling and splashing. Alison watched them with a smile. Every
time she saw Remick react in such a normal way, she felt more and more
comfortable with his return. He was taking to heart the Interior Secretary’s
directive regarding eating less and growing more. He worked daily in the
garden. He had expanded their small patch to a huge plot, in which was growing
corn, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, peas, and potatoes. He even brought
home a few packets of flower seeds, planting one end of the garden with
flowers.
So absorbed was she
in watching her brothers that Alison didn’t notice who else had come down the
path. Aubrey Newell approached her from the side, carrying two buckets on a
clamming rake across his shoulders. He lowered them gently and flexed his
shoulders. He was flushed in the heat and his sweaty shirt stuck to him. He
looked longingly at the water, but sat down by Alison instead. “Would the
Granger family like some clams?”
Alison
peered into one of the buckets. It was covered with wet seaweed, almost
three-quarters full.
“I got them this
morning before the tide turned. Mr. Cooper put ‘em in his ice house for me.”
“We’d love them.
Thanks,” Alison said, her mouth already watering at the thought of Aunt Pearl’s
clam cakes.
Aubrey rested his
forearms across his raised knees. His skin was deeply tanned and his hair
needed a clipping. He seemed thinner than when he’d first arrived at Little
Cove, but solidly muscled. He watched her brothers in the water.
Alison glanced at
him. “I was just leaving. Why don’t you go for a swim?”
He was still for an
uncomfortably long time. Alison was aware of a deep sense of loneliness in him
and had a sense for the first time how it must feel to be an outsider. His
room at the Eliot’s wasn’t really his; he’d brought little with him and gained
little since. He didn’t seem to have a particular friend among the village
boys his age, nor any attachment to any of the girls. He was friendly,
although sometimes over eager, but he mixed well when they had their youth
league and other events. However, he was offensive at times, pretending a
familiarity that did not exist; yet withdrawing from normal overtures. Alison
remembered his attempt at flirtation on that miserable day that Olivia Eliot
had died. Nothing but pity stirred her heart as she considered it now, for he
seemed such a lonely person. Even Cleo, who had once professed a great
attraction to him, now scorned him. Alison attributed it to Cleo’s fickle
nature, but felt sorry for Aubrey nonetheless.
Finally he replied,
“Naw. I’ve got to take these clams up to the house. They’ll be waiting.” His
glance flickered over her way. “I’m leaving soon as the season closes.”
“Oh. Where will you
go now?” she questioned idly.
“Over to Brunswick.
They have a cannery there where I can get work…for – for a few months. Just
till I’m old enough to sign up.”
“I thought you were eighteen,”
Alison said. “You still wouldn’t be old enough.”
He bent his head, and
then watched her brothers as they made their way to shore. “I lied, “he said
softly. A flush crept up his neck as he explained. “I know. I know I was
wrong to. But seeing what other people are willing to do for the cause,
well…it shamed me.” He met her eyes then, and blinked hard.
“Don’t mistake my
brother’s enlistment as a strong sense of patriotism,” she said even more
softly. “Not that he’s unpatriotic. But he had something to prove to my
father and thought that was the best way.”
“Well, not just your
brother. There’s others too, aye?” His Canadian accent had softened but he
still ended his sentences quite often with the questioning “aye”.
She nodded and bit
her lip as the boys approached them, grinning and soaked. “Well,” she
hesitated. What she wanted to say was, if Sam had to go then you should too.
But then she felt pity for him, as well as the others, and wished it were all
done with. “Thanks for the clams,” she offered as she stood with her
brothers.
“Sure,” he answered.
Alison felt his eyes as they headed for home. Turning to look back, her gaze
met his. He smiled; a quick, rueful smile that didn’t reach his eyes and in no
way indicated a merry heart, then he turned away.
Chapter Eight
Exercising a Patience and
Forbearance
“Mary, I’ve made a
decision,” Reg Eliot said, not looking at her, gazing too intently into his
coffee cup. He was biting his lip nervously, a gesture she found odd in one
usually so confident. Mary’s own heart started a faster beat in her chest; at
first hopeful, but as he continued in silence she felt her hopes sink.