Authors: M. Ruth Myers
"Well done, then. And of course we'll pay for your ticket." He handed the envelope back. "You're happy in academia then? Your mother worries, you know. Thinks it's odd for a girl to want to study her brains out."
"And Peg swears too much learning will make me sprout hairs on my chin. Coupled with her belief that sailing will give me hands like a scrubwoman, she's quite sure I'll end up a spinster."
"I believe I'd find it intriguing to meet an educated young woman with a callus or two on her hands." Pa's eyes shone.
As usual, they seemed to reach Middle Ground too soon. The sails snapped in the crosswind. They talked of inconsequential things the short distance into Salem Harbor. Pa stepped ashore at 8:15, having shrugged into his jacket and its attendant responsibilities. In ten minutes he would be at his office.
"I'm awfully proud of you, Kate." He started away with a spring in his step, then turned back to wave. "See you tonight. Don't forget me!"
***
Two hours waiting. It was like the damned Army. Joe Santayna stirred restlessly on the steps of the gray stone courthouse as the bells on St. James invited the faithful to noon Mass.
Chances were he was a damned fool to be cooling his heels in hopes of catching a few words with a rich lawyer who might not give him the time of day. He'd tried Oliver Hinshaw's office, but the clerk there said Mr. Hinshaw would be in court all morning and didn't have any appointments open this afternoon. The longer this was up in the air, the longer the aunties would worry. Joe ran a finger under the collar of the tweed jacket he'd put on to make himself presentable and shifted impatiently.
Funny, he didn't recall being restless as a kid. Back then he'd spent hours sitting on the beach and collecting shells, or just looking out to sea while his mind roamed. Something had begun to seep into him the year he had his scholarship at Boston College, and later, in the Army. Now, increasingly, it stirred. When it did, he wanted something beyond the life he'd grown up with, but he wasn't sure what it was.
Not to be a priest, he thought with a grin. He suspected the aunties had set their hearts on that once, long before Father Anthony and Father Andrew had wangled him the scholarship. He'd shattered the prospect the morning he was caught in a cloakroom with the gloriously naked Colleen O'Conner. They'd both been fourteen, but she'd seemed much older when she'd invited him to discover carnal knowledge. If she hadn't kicked Monsignor Murphy when they were discovered, and called the shocked cleric names that would make a stevedore faint, Joe might have found himself in a great deal of trouble, he'd realized many years later.
As it was, there'd been two churches in a stew about his immortal soul, for the aunties' Father Anthony had felt honor bound to tell Father Daniel at the Santaynas' parish. Both priests had given him enough Our Fathers to sink a freighter. Both sets of relatives had lectured. The only one to mention anything about the here-and-now had been Aunt Norah. In a whisper she'd told Aunt Maggie that a girl who behaved like that might have a disease. Joe had thought it was a crazy thing to worry about when Colleen wasn't coughing or anything.
The bells on St. James struck a final warning. Joe let his memories of the ruckus over Colleen linger for a moment, entertaining him. A few swells started to filter out of nearby buildings. Three workmen with lunch buckets appeared and sat on a patch of grass across the way.
Joe felt the impatience again. He was the only one hanging around with nowhere to go. He and a guy on the sidewalk with an overcoat over his arm though the only clouds in the sky looked like ice cream. The guy on the sidewalk had buck-teeth. He seemed to be waiting for someone too.
Joe rehearsed what he wanted to say.
Sir, I read about you helping that girl from the shoe factory...
The doors behind him opened. A group of men came out. When they opened for a second time, Joe was fairly sure the tallish man with a mustache was Oliver Hinshaw.
He was about to step forward when his shoulder blades prickled. He caught the blur of motion behind him. He heard the explosion.
"Send my sister to Danforth, will you?" the man with the overcoat screamed as people shrieked. Two of the men with lunch pails ran across Federal Street to grab the pistol he held and wrestle him to the ground.
Joe was jostled off the steps by people crowding around. Someone shouted to run for a doctor. But Joe had seen enough men die in France to know by the way the body fell that Oliver Hinshaw was dead.
Three
"Damn fine wake." A man who strutted along like a pigeon swirled a short glass of whiskey. He boomed to Uncle Phinneas as if this crush of people in the parlor after the funeral were there for a party.
Kate ground her fingernails into her palms and told herself not to wish it were Uncle Finney who had been lowered into the ground... how long ago? One hour? Two?
"Wanted the best for my brother-in-law," Uncle Finney replied. "Anything to comfort my sister just now, you know. And I don't mind telling you, booze like this cost a pretty penny."
The pigeon nodded. A thick gold watch chain spanned his waistcoat and his cufflinks were shaped like the heads of some sort of animal.
"I've got a shipment of Scotch whiskey stuck in Canada," he confided lowering his voice. "A thousand cases. First rate stuff. Boat that was to bring it in for me blew a boiler and I can't find anyone else willing to make the run. Easy money, almost no risk if they're smart about it — but here I sit with money tied up and nothing to do but wait. Damned frustrating."
"That's the problem with those Micks and Eyetalians. Don't want to work and can't tell 'em what's what when they do."
Kate turned away angrily. Talking business, for God's sake.
Aggie gripped her arm from behind with such force that Kate winced. "I can't bear it!"
Aggie's sparkle had vanished. Her black dress with its small white collar was almost as long as Kate's and she showed no interest in the liquor flowing around them. Her set jaw trembled.
"Mrs. Teal and Mrs. Harrington are discussing hemlines!
Hemlines!
Can you believe it?"
Kate hooked her arm through Aggie's and they moved off together. She'd found more comfort in Aggie's presence these last few days than in anyone else's, and Aggie had seemed to need her too. They could sit in mute misery, not making the strained conversation that everyone else deemed proper. The explosion of their world had thrown them together again like the old days, and though Kate suspected differences would eventually drive them apart again, for the moment they provided each other a refuge of sorts amidst numbness.
Almost as staggering as the loss of their father was how her family unraveled without him. Aggie and Rosalie had been in tears because the car was broken. Kate had guessed at once they'd let it run out of gas. Last night a fuse had blown and Kate had been the only one with even rudimentary knowledge of how to replace it. She'd half expected to be electrocuted.
"I never even stuck my head around to say good-by to him that morning," Aggie said, tears welling.
Pa's death had nothing to do with his work for the unions. It came because he'd uncovered an embezzling scheme while defending a wealthy client. All the same, Kate was glad the others knew nothing about the man who'd come to the house the night of Rosalie's party.
"Here comes Mama," she cautioned.
Aggie wiped her cheeks hastily as their mother made her way toward the corner where they'd taken refuge.
"Girls, I need you to come upstairs now. To — to your father's study. Mr. Garrison needs to read us the will. He's in the midst of a trial and has to be back in court in the morning. As soon as it's over, he really must join his family at their summer place. They've been vacationing two weeks without him already...." She pressed the heel of her hand to the base of her carefully done pompadour as if all this detail, all this effort of moving ahead was too much. "I — need you all with me," she faltered. "Except Woody, of course. He's so young. It would only upset him. Peg's putting him down for a nap...."
"Of course, Mama." Kate took her arm gently before she could waste more energy on speech. Her mother was dainty like Rosalie, and wondrously pretty with her honey colored hair and perfect features. Lines had appeared on her face these past few days. Though she moved and spoke, she seemed bewildered.
"Helène and Mrs. Drury will see to everyone while we're gone," she chattered.
"
Mama!
" Aggie said in exasperation.
Their mother blinked, not understanding its source.
"It's okay," Aggie muttered taking her other arm. "We're glad enough to get out of this crush."
They made their way into the hallway and up the broadloom of the front staircase. Kate's heart squeezed at the sight of sad, thin-haired Paul Garrison behind her father's desk. It seemed wrong for anyone else to sit there. Her father's law partner seemed to think so too. He fidgeted with the papers spread before him. His eyes were somber behind the glasses which, along with his vanishing hair, made him look almost her father's age though he was some fifteen years younger.
"What's Uncle Finney doing here?" she hissed as her gaze took in the room's other occupants.
Her mother seemed unaware of the dislike coloring her daughter's voice. She smiled tremulously.
"Why, I asked him, of course. We'll depend on him to look after our finances now that your father is gone."
"But
why?
" Kate could tell as the words burst from her that they startled her mother.
Before she could argue, Rosalie, whose dark hair was in a pompadour much like Mama's except for tendrils escaping around her oval face, came over and guided Mama to a chair. Their older sister attempted a smile at Kate and Aggie, but she looked exhausted. It was Rosalie who was comforting Mama, staying beside her, making deft, soft suggestions while they made clumsy attempts and then fled their own awkwardness. As she stepped behind the chair and rested a hand on Mama's shoulder, the small diamond on her left hand scattered dots of brightness which seemed out of place.
Aggie nudged Kate and they moved toward a sofa. The only other one present was Theo, his golden hair shining and his tall form braced by his cane. His eyes had come alive at sight of Kate. He seemed on the verge of joining them, but when Kate averted her gaze he settled back into place beside his father. Kate felt the small, sharp gnaw of guilt.
Paul Garrison cleared his throat.
"This is never a pleasant occasion, especially with friends. There is some..."
Kate could almost see the word "comfort" form on his lips to be discarded.
"...wisdom in finishing what must be finished, however. It's difficult to think at a time like this. Knowing the status of Oliver's estate will help you plan for the future. Not right away, perhaps, but — at some point."
Kate frowned as his hand darted under his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. Surely he had performed this thankless task hundreds of times. Why did his words seem to halt so awkwardly?