The Whiskey Sea (21 page)

The house and yard were full of people, and yet an emptiness inside the place made Frieda’s body feel hollow. Silver was the only man she was sure had really loved her. The one man who was most needed here was gone. Gone, she had to keep telling herself when she gazed at the places he liked to sit, when she thought she heard his old voice, when she caught the scent of him in the air. Soon even that would be gone.

Behind her, the murmur of voices, the clink of dishes, the distant sounds of a piano. Before her, the sea shimmered in the setting sun, the tide coming in, the currents tracing their ever-eternal paths to and fro.
The sea was a landscape of longing,
she thought,
a landscape of ceaseless change.
No matter how peaceful, it would not last. Change could be only seconds away.

After all was said and done, people started filtering away, and Frieda realized, almost too late, that Hicks was leaving with the rest of them. She followed him down the shell-strung street, the sun lowering into the hills in front of her, nearly blinding her. “Hicks!” she called out, shading her face with the flat of her hand.

He kept walking, and at first Frieda thought he meant to ignore her. But slowly he stopped in his tracks. He turned and came toward her.

A moment alone with someone who’d known Silver as she had. She was able to take her deepest breath of the day, and a tiny sad smile might even have formed on her lips. “Thanks for going for Bea. Thanks for everything.”

His gaze traveled beyond her, to where Charles was waiting on the porch for her return. In his eyes was more pain than the world should be able to hold, and Frieda didn’t know if it was for Silver or because he was having to witness Charles and her together, so obviously together now. She would’ve liked to believe that his suffering came from the loss of Silver, but Hicks had clearly not let go of his weakness for her, as was evident in the way he looked at her, his mouth softening, his eyes filled with a longing she did not feel in return.

“Anything for you,” he finally said.

“Thank you,” she repeated helplessly.

“If there’s anything else you need, you know where to find me.”

She wanted to say something else, something about his steadfastness and his faith in her despite it all. Regardless of all the undercurrents between them and surrounding them, Hicks had stayed on course, unswerving. He had that quality that made one want to join hands with him and go along. She wished she could express that, but she could form no further words. Did he love her even now? And if so, with what kind of love? Funny how death made one reexamine all the things about life. The biggest questions in life. The question of love had never haunted her so.

Her throat was paralyzed, her mind swimming. What was love of any kind, for that matter? Was it the unbridled passion and longing of the sea during a storm? Was it what she felt for Charles? That thrill, that risk? The push and pull of power? Or was it the quiet, soft caress of the sea during a calm? Was it a solid and secure fondness and affection? Was it what she felt for Hicks, his centeredness that held her still?

She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound emerged. Charles was waiting. Hicks flicked his eyes in his direction, and the moment was lost. Hicks tipped his hat, backed up a few steps, turned, and walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

After all the townspeople had gone, Frieda began to wash dishes, and Charles stood beside her to dry and stack the plates.

Bea appeared in the kitchen. She stood with her feet together, holding her hat in front of her, her eyes enhanced with a rimming of kohl but wavering with want of crying, her mouth stained cherry red, wisps of her bob framing her brave face. After glancing at her sister, Frieda turned back to the dishes.

Excusing himself, Charles left the two women alone.

Bea exhaled. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she said softly to Frieda’s back.

Frieda wanted to be angry, but her sister’s presence made her realize how much she’d missed Bea, and all she wanted to do in that moment was hug her. She turned away from the sink and took Bea into her arms.

Bea silently cried into Frieda’s shoulder. “At the end . . . was he in pain?” she asked, swiping at tears on her face as she finally stepped back.

“I don’t think so,” said Frieda.

“I’m sorry you had to go through it alone.”

Frieda looked away. “I wasn’t completely alone. Charles has been wonderful.”

“I’m so happy for you, Frieda. And I’m sorry, truly sorry.”

“Did you get my letters?”

“Yes, but I had been away on a holiday. When I returned and read them, I immediately made plans to come. Then Hicks showed up, and I realized I was too late. I’m so, so sorry, Frieda.”

Everyone was so, so sorry for everything. Charles was sorry for hurting her, Bea was sorry for abandoning her, and the townspeople were sorry that Silver was dead. Finally she said, “I suppose it was just bad timing.”

Bea hugged her sister again.

“Where were you?” Frieda asked.

“Oh, here and there. I’ve been to so many places I can’t wait to tell you about.”

“Because of the man you brought?”

“Yes,” Bea said firmly. “I’m happy for you and Charles. And so . . . I hope you’ll be equally happy for me. I have wonderful news.” Bea produced her left hand, where a diamond glinted on her ring finger. “I’m engaged.”

Frieda couldn’t squelch the gasp that escaped from her lips.

“That’s right,” Bea said, and smiled brilliantly. “His name is August Freeman. I met him at the fan club for
Mrs Dalloway
, and you won’t believe this part of the story: he’s a professor at NYU. An English professor. Isn’t that amazing? We started to date, and it soon became evident that we were meant for each other. We love the same books and authors, we love the city, and we want to travel the world together. He’s madly in love with me, I assure you. Oh Frieda, I never imagined being this happy. Please say you’re happy for me. Once you get to know him, you will be.”

Frieda tried to control a rising sense of panic that tasted of acid in her throat. She became aware of every bone and muscle in her body and the way Bea expertly carried herself, a young woman in love. Bea was radiant, transcendent.

“You scarcely know him.”

Bea’s face lit up with a natural glowing charm. “I knew you would say that, but I’ve seen him almost daily since we met. He’s on break from the university, and after I finish my day at the drugstore he takes me out. We’ve been all over the city and up to Long Island and out to Nantucket. We peruse used-book stores and frequent little coffeehouses, reading alongside each other. It’s so perfect, Frieda. Fate brought us together. If I hadn’t met him this summer, I probably would’ve been enrolled in one of his classes during the school year. I might have been just any other student, although he assures me I would’ve stood out”—she smiled coyly—“but I think fate intervened and allowed us to meet before the school year began.”

Frieda tried to interpret what Bea was saying. “You can date your professor. No law against that.”

Bea’s face fell. “I’m not going to date my professor, Frieda. I’m going to marry him in just a matter of weeks. I’m going to be his wife, not his student.”

“Wait a minute. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m not going to enroll in classes. I’m going to be a wife . . . and maybe a mother, too.”

Bea’s words yanked Frieda’s heart out of her chest. “You can’t mean that. You’re giving up school? You can get married, although I think this is much too fast of an engagement, but even if you insist on getting married, surely you can still go to school.”

“I no longer want to go to college.”

Frieda’s body opened up, and all its contents blew away. “Bea, no school? It’s what you’ve always wanted. What Silver and I both have worked toward for so long.”

“I knew you would say that.” Bea took in a huge breath and let it out slowly. “I didn’t know what it was like to fall in love. I didn’t know how it would change me.”

“You always wanted to be a teacher! Always!”

Bea lifted her arms to her sides and then let them fall. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Has he talked you into giving up on your dreams?”

“Please don’t do this. Please don’t paint him as some sort of villain. He loves me; I love him. That’s all there is to it. We want to go forward together, as man and wife. I hope that someday I’ll have a house full of children to teach—my own children. You know I’ve always been more traditional in my wishes than you.”

“Yes, I figured you’d eventually get married and have children, but not now. You’re eighteen, for Christ sakes.”

Bea held still, and eyes that had been misty became sharp with determination. “I’ve made my decision. I would love it if you could be happy for me, but I’ve made my decision. Look on the bright side—I don’t need all that money you’ve been socking away for school. And with Silver gone, it’s all yours.”

“I don’t want the money for me. It was always for you! So you could better yourself, so you could always take care of yourself. I wanted you to be a new breed of woman, a woman who can stand up on her own.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but this is me now. This is what I want. And no one is going to talk me out of it. Please don’t try.” Bea was the picture of promise and purpose, and Frieda wondered if her sister had rehearsed this moment, whereas Frieda was caught completely off guard. But why hadn’t she imagined such a possibility? Bea was exactly the kind of girl who could be swept off her feet by a whirlwind romance. Even Frieda herself had succumbed to one. And still Frieda was stunned. She couldn’t help restating her words of protest.

“I have to! I’ve known you my entire life. I’ve listened to all your dreams and plans. Never once did you say you wanted to get married right out of high school and settle down. What about all your dreams?”

“Well, I have August now.” She waited while Frieda tried to sort this through in her mind. Not Bea. She couldn’t lose her plans for Bea, on top of losing Silver. Bea said softly, “And apparently you have Charles.”

Frieda raked her hands through her hair. Of course Bea would’ve been lonely in the city. Pretty as she was, of course she would meet men. But Frieda couldn’t grasp this no matter how hard she tried. “This is not the way everything was supposed to happen.”

Bea stepped forward and took her sister’s hand. “I didn’t expect it, either. But this is what I want. It’s my life, you know. Please be happy for me. I want you to be at the wedding. It will be a simple affair in the city. Please let me introduce you to August. You’ll like him; you’ll understand once you get to know him.”

Frieda doubted that, and all her protestations had changed nothing.

True to Bea’s word, August Freeman was indeed a likable sort. After Frieda and Charles had spent the rest of the evening with the newly engaged couple, saying useless things, surrounded by Silver’s ghostly presence, Frieda could see how much August was trying. He was intelligent and well educated but didn’t flaunt it. He was soft-spoken and deferential to others. He didn’t seem shocked by the conditions in which Bea had been raised, and he did truly seem to adore Bea. He had snared a beautiful, young, blue-eyed bird just set free from her cage—why wouldn’t he adore her? Bea was her usual polite self, but it wasn’t long until she seemed anxious to go, as if she didn’t like the taste of the air there any longer.

Frieda, try as she might, couldn’t find anything specific to oppose about the man Bea had chosen to marry, only that he had snatched the buds of her sister’s dreams and crushed them in his hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

After Bea and August left, Charles took Frieda back to his summer house, freeing her from the brutal bevy of her memories, both of Silver and Bea, which held her in their grip inside the house where the three of them had lived for so long. And there she would stay with him for almost two weeks until rumrunning duty would call them back to business. There above the town and the sea he cooked for her, surprising her with big breakfasts of eggs and ham, and dinners of sautéed fish, roast beef, salads, and fresh vegetables. He walked to the market daily for groceries and also brought bottles of wine, for which he’d developed a taste while in Europe and about which he sought to educate her over nightly candlelit dinners on the veranda.

Overcome by his kindness, Frieda allowed herself to be babied. How sweet it was to escape from the rest of the world within the walls and crystal-knobbed, heavy doors of this house. Inside she listened to the sighing of silk draperies, walked the solid, polished plank flooring in bare feet, and experienced nights of love.

Each morning the passion of the previous night cooling, Frieda returned—at least in part—to the outside world, her thoughts invariably drifting to her sister.

“I’m afraid that with Silver gone, there’s no cord that binds Bea and me together anymore.” The day was crystalline with blinding early sunlight shearing off the far ocean. Still in underclothes, they had wandered onto the veranda to watch the sun rise. Fishing boats and runners streamed flat scars across the bay and headed out for a day’s work.

Charles sighed. “She’s in the early throes of love. And in my experience, love is the grand excuse so many people employ for absurd behavior. It may pass. Give her time,” he said as he donned his robe and sashed it around his waist.

Frieda turned to him. “So you agree she should go to school?”

“Of course. What do you know of this new chap of hers? It might not last, after all, and then where would your dear sister be?”

“What a cynic you are when it comes to love, to matters of the heart.”

He waved a hand through the air. “Quite. Love is a shabby subject.”

Love a shabby subject? Love had changed her life. Her uncertain future rushed toward her, made ever the shakier because of Charles’s refusal to discuss it. She envied Bea her clear plans and dreams, her engagement and belief that life now unrolled before her like a shimmering carpet.

“Once Bea sets her mind to something, she won’t let go without a fight, and now all she wants is to be a wife.”

“Write to her. Keep in touch. Force yourself upon her if you have to.”

“I doubt she wants to hear from me. I wasn’t very gracious.”

“Do it anyway. Write her today.”

“Today?”

“Why not? What else is there pressing for you to do?”

The corners of her lips lifted in a soft smile. “Nothing. You’ve taken care of everything. Who would’ve thought you’d turn out to be such a fine nursemaid?”

He shrugged. “I have my good moments. But back to you. Write your sister today. And if we must talk of love, then here’s what I think: She thinks she’s in love with the professor, but the person who means the most to her is you. I saw it in her face. She loves you; she loves her family.”

Frieda’s mouth dried. It was time to ask. “And you, Charles; who and what do you love?”

He gave her a devilish smile and patted his stomach. “At the moment I love the idea of breakfast.”

A slow smile crept across her face despite herself, despite him successfully dodging the question.

Frieda walked to the railing. “I’ll think about it.”

“Today.”

She spun around. “But she’s gone; I know it.”

He reached for her hands and cradled them in his. His had become reddened and chapped by work on the boat and domestic chores, much like hers. Dried by salt water, baked by relentless sun, scoured and scrubbed with strong soap too often, they mirrored life here. He smelled of smoke and sea, of the salt in the air, of this house, of domestic bliss and sex, of everything she loved. He had been here for her when she’d most needed him, and she would never forget it. She had to tamp down the urge to hold him, to wrap her arms around him and make him stay with her.

As if he’d read her mind he said, “Abandonment is a common theme for you, isn’t it?”

A tiny gasp escaped her lips. Frieda shook her head, but what he’d just said was far too close for comfort, too true. How could Charles be both brilliant and intuitive at times and then at other times so oblivious? “That’s not the point.”

Now Charles was the one shaking his head. “You’re both so headstrong.”

“We are not.”

“Of course you are,” Charles said, and stroked her cheek before turning back toward the sea.

They were washing and drying the breakfast dishes side by side when the outside world came calling. Urgent pounding on the front door startled them. Quickly glancing at each other, they left their chore. Charles grabbed a hand towel and headed toward the door, with Frieda close on his heels, snatching up a sweater to cover herself. No one had bothered them during their time of respite, and a band of tension wrapped around Frieda’s chest.

Dutch, smelling of sweat and gasoline, stood on the front porch. Though Charles invited him inside, he declined.

Skipping all niceties, Dutch said, “A boat from Atlantic Highlands has gone missing. No sign of the crew. Must have been bumped off.”

It was the first time something like that had happened in their area.

“While you two have been up here, things have happened. Haven’t you talked to anyone?” Without waiting for an answer, Dutch continued: “The boat went out during the day three days ago. Hasn’t been seen since. And it was a fierce boat, too, almost the same as ours.” Dutch scratched his white-blond thatch.

Charles said, “You mean a running boat?”

Clearly irritated, Dutch shifted his weight. “Of course I mean a running boat. What do you think I’m here for? Sorry to intrude on your love nest, but you ought to know what’s happening outside these nice walls.”

“Is anyone looking for the crew?”

“Other runners from the area been looking, coast guard, too, but there ain’t no sign of hide nor hair. They been asking at the big boats; seems they never made it out there to deal that day. Probably got ambushed on their way out when they were holding all the cash on board. The crew are surely stiffs by now, probably shot down in the deep by the devil go-throughs, who then surely stole the boat or burnt it to leave no evidence behind.”

Charles carried on with more questions, while something tugged at Frieda’s memories, a feeling she couldn’t describe. She almost knew what was coming. And yet she hoped . . .

Charles said, “Did you know them?”

“I knew them. Not well, though. Big fella by the name of Whitey ran the boat. His crew were Atlantic Highlands locals, too—though not as well-known. Whitey was a lifelong boatman, had a wife and a bunch of kids. Even went to church.”

Frieda’s heart fell into her stomach. The sounds of the town waking up and working fell away, and the floor heaved so much that Frieda had to fight for balance. A moment earlier her problems had seemed huge; now they curled small compared to this.

Big fella by the name of Whitey ran the boat.

Frieda’s hand flew to her pale face, the words sinking in, and she wrapped her arms about herself while Charles and Dutch conversed, unaware of how the news had pummeled her. She had only spoken to Whitey that one time, wanting to hate him but coming away liking him more than she’d thought possible. He was Bea’s blood father, and in that way he seemed almost a blood relation of hers. It was an odd connection, but blood linked them to the same person, a person Frieda dearly loved and one whom Whitey might have been allowed to love in another lifetime. And what of all those white-headed children? She shuddered.

Sights and sounds returned in a rush, and she asked, “Was his oldest son on the boat, too?”

Dutch peered at her appraisingly, one eyebrow lowering. “No. Didn’t know you were acquainted with Whitey, Frieda.” He clearly had also figured out Bea’s parentage.

She didn’t care. “I met him once.”

“Nice guy, huh?”

She didn’t answer, just waited.

“That’s the only good luck. Whitey’s boy usually runs with them, but he’d taken the day off.”

At least Whitey’s wife hadn’t lost one of her children, too. Small consolation, she guessed, but something.

“That’s why I’m here,” Dutch said, bringing her back to the present. “No more time off. I understand you been needing to pay some respects to Silver, but we have to get back to work. Boat’s just sitting in the water, and I got bills to pay. It’s obvious what we’re up against now—bastards out to steal and to kill rumrunners with no price to pay after. They got away with it clean. Some runners are putting armor plating on the hulls, but that ain’t going to work; it’s going to slow them down. We got to find ways to move the boat faster, Frieda. I need you back. That other engine man wasn’t worth a damn. Our only chance is to outrun them. I need you to make us the fastest boat on the water.”

“We’re already fast—”

“Are you with me or not? You coming back or not?”

She and Charles glanced at each other. Frieda said, “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’m doing myself much good lying around and thinking about Silver. I want to come back.”

“That’s great news.” He pointed a thick, chapped finger right at her face. “But if you come back, it’s your job to make the boat impossible to catch. We have to be able to escape them, because if they get near us, they gonna kill us, you hear?” He waited for a response. She could still picture Whitey so clearly in her mind.

“Frieda, you hear me? Find out some way for us to power out on even more speed. Do it.” He turned his glare on Charles. “Are you weaseling out now, Princeton?”

Charles stuck his hands into his robe pockets. “No, I never said that.”

“I gotta know who I can count on and who I can’t.”

“Tell us what to do.”

“All you have to do is show up and do what you’ve always done. Frieda here—well, she’s got some extra fiddling to do. Do what you have to do, Frieda, and I don’t care how much it costs. See you on the docks?” he asked.

Frieda nodded glumly.

Dutch looked around the empty porch and front lawn. “And by the way, no more day runs. Only at night, with no moon. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and they won’t never find us.”

It took a couple of hours before Frieda could shake images of death out of her mind and chills out of her body, but recent events had wiped away the kind of restraint she usually imposed on herself. She managed to tell Charles about Whitey, so suddenly and brutally
gone
, to explain that he had fathered Bea, and along the way to reveal that their mother had been the town whore. It was time to find out if Charles could accept it.

“Did you know?” she asked.

“That detail was never mentioned to me,” Charles answered, and looked her straight in the eyes, his beautiful face showing no distaste. An early-afternoon rainstorm had blown in, and wind lashed against the windows. She and Charles were seated in the parlor, a room they rarely used. Even with its nautically themed decor, the room felt stiff and formal. Quite the odd place to hold a conversation such as this one.

Frieda hadn’t realized how high she’d been holding her shoulders until she let them fall. Amazing that no one had told Charles about her mother. Perhaps she had judged the townspeople too harshly. She stared down at her hands. “I-I thought at least one person would be unable to resist telling you such a juicy piece of gossip.”

“It
is
quite the story, Frieda. Pretty serious stuff.”

“Sorry. My life is serious.”

“I mean no offense.”

“I’m not offended.” She looked up. “But are you offended by my past?”

“You had no choice in it.”

“You aren’t answering.”

He glanced away for a moment, pensive, as if his mind hadn’t fully registered all the pictures forming in his mind. Slowly he looked back. “I’m not as flimsy as you think.”

“I’d never call you flimsy.”

He ran a hand through his tousled hair. Neither one of them had yet groomed themselves for the day ahead. Dutch’s news and demands had set the day on a very different course. Before he’d shown up, they’d planned to picnic on the Hook. Now, in response to Dutch’s demands, Frieda had turned her thoughts instead to going down to the docks and working on the boat. But the weather had interfered with that, too.

Charles grimaced, then his face went flat. “Maybe we should stop going out with Dutch.”

Frieda blinked. “That’s not what you just said to him. You said you were still going.”

“A man has a right to change his mind.”

“A woman, too?”

“Of course. You don’t owe Dutch anything. And now with your sister getting married and Silver . . .”

“Passed, I know,” Frieda finished for him. “I guess I don’t have to make all this money anymore, but . . .” She clasped her hands together and gazed up at Charles. “I’m still hoping Bea changes her mind and goes to school.”

“Then her husband should pay for her classes.”

“She might change her mind about getting married, too.”

“It’s possible, but she gave away her shot at your money in my opinion,” Charles said.

“I was there when Silver had his stroke. I know that life can change in an instant. The only safety net I have is the money. No family besides Silver and Bea. No one with money. No connections. How much is enough? It’s hard for you to . . . understand.”

“What good is that money if you’re dead at the bottom of the sea?”

Frieda gulped. Whitey’s demise had made that all too real. And so close by . . . Bea might have had a chance to know her father, but now it was too late. Should Frieda have told Bea about him? Would Bea have been interested? There would be no point in ever telling her now. Why tell someone their blood father had been decent and then died in a horrible way?

Charles took her hand and led her onto the veranda. They stood under the roof and stared out at the rain. Raindrops bounced on the hard summer soil and roofs and ran in rivulets down the town streets. Clouds hung around them like an impenetrable curtain, but in between passing mists they could briefly see the chop of high seas in the bay.