Beloved (38 page)

"
That I will. I
'
ll install
'
em right after I finish flashing the chimney. That
'
s first; we don
'
t get May mornings in April very often.
"

Billy was right; it was a fabulous morning. Mild, seductive air wafted into the room from outside, promising bliss. Jane decided on the spot to rake up the grounds and perk up the cottage
'
s
"
curb appeal,
"
as the realtors so quaintly put it. By the time she changed into her heavy shoes, Billy was up on the roof, pounding away. Jane rummaged through the potting shed and came out with a couple of rakes and some trash bags. Her heart felt light and eager; right now, right here, she was utterly happy.

She began by raking the border in front of the house. The wet leaves were old, rotted, well on their way to being compost. She stuffed them into the bag. Panicking earthworms scrambled in every direction. Flowers
—
surely those green straps were flowers and not weeds popping through the earth
—
flowers were bursting out all over. She raked away more leaves, gently now, and found hundreds of little white pendant bells. And tiny violet crocuses; she recognized those. And blue scilla! She had her own! Jane fell to her knees for a closer look, awed by the very old, very predictable, very astonishing rite of spring.

"
Thank you, Aunt Sylvia,
"
she whispered with her head bowed.
"
I wish you were here to teach me.
"

"
Hey! Jane! Up here!
"

Billy was hailing her from the rooftop. Jane backed away from the house to see him better.

"
Ever see the view from up here?
"
he shouted down to her.
"
Come on up.
"

She eyed the two-story-high roof with its steep pitch.
"
I do
n'
t think so. I
'
m not big on heights. Besides, your wood ladder looks like it
'
s seen better years.
"

"
Don
'
t be silly; you
'
re lighter than I am. Keep to the side of the rungs if you
'
re worried about it. Once you get up here, it
'
s easy. Someone
'
s nailed in toeholds, probably for the chimney sweep.
"
He added the clincher:
"
You
'
ll never know what a great view you have, otherwise.
"

"
I don
'
t know if my insurance policy has a clause for Stupid Homeowner Tricks,
"
she called up with a nervous laugh.

But she ended up giving it a try. The house was a small house, after all, on a low foundation. Climbing the ladder was easy. Getting onto the roof and inching up the wood slats toward the chimney was not. Just because Billy had suction cups for feet didn
'
t mean everyone else was blessed that way. But the prospect of being at the peak was strangely compelling; and besides, she didn
'
t dare turn around to enjoy the view until she had something solid, like bricks, to hold on to.

Billy
'
s steady grip was there for her as she inched her way into an upright position alongside the chimney. Jane had absolutely no desire to look out at the ocean or anywhere else.
How the hell do I get back down?
was the only thing on her mind.

"
Well? What do you think?
"

Jane forced herself to lift her gaze from the bowels of the chimney.
"
Oh.
"

The view was spectacular. From their spot on the hill, the island tumbled gradually to a long white strip of beach that in turn was washed by the no-nonsense blue of
New England
water, as far as the eye could see. She could see the harbor entrance, and the long, low jetty, and Brant Point Light, and fishing trawlers on the distant horizon. The whole scene was washed in brilliant, shimmering sunlight. It took her breath away.

Billy was babbling happily on, pointing out the local landmarks, trying hard to nail down more work.
"
So I
'
m thinking, how about a deck? It don
'
t have to be a big deal. A few steps in the attic and you
'
re
right there."

"
A deck
..
. you mean, a widow
'
s walk?
"
She remembered reading that the wives of whalers used such banistered platforms as lookout posts, to watch for their husbands
'
ships to make landfall. Something lurched in Jane
'
s breast, a sickening sense of unease.

Billy chuckled and said,
"
Well, technically they
'
re
roof
walks, not widows
'
walks. Like they say, the women wouldn
'
t be up there if they were widows.
"

The dream came roaring back, like a river that
'
s burst its dam, overwhelming Jane. The woman in gray, the Quaker:
she was a whaler
'
s wife, watching for her husband
'
s ship from the roof walk of his captain
'
s house. The ship was overdue. A small mail packet from the Vineyard had sailed in with the news that the
Chelsea
had been sighted at sea over forty-eight hours earlier. Oh, God. After three years at sea, the
Chelsea
was overdue.

Everyone knows that Nantucket is the Siren of the Atlantic
..
.
that she wrecks her own ships, and drowns her own men. Humane Houses! What good are they in December? If the
Chelsea
strikes a bar .
.
.
and Ben has to swim ashore ...
he will perish, he will surely perish
..
.
in this, the most joyous of seasons
.
.
.
and my life shall have no meaning. Oh, Go
d,
Thou art a cruel Thin
g,
and
Nantucket
is Thy handmaid in evil.

"
Whoa there,
miss
!
"
Billy
'
s voice was alarmed as he grabbed Jane by her arm to steady her.
"
You got a touch of vertigo, it looks like. Just stand still a moment. Focus on something that
'
s off in the distance. It
'
ll pass.
"

Jane held on to the chimney for dear life, trembling from the shock of her experience. The woman in gray
... the Quaker ... Judith ..
. whoever it was, was here
—
here,
in full possession of J
ane, as she stood on this roof-
walk-to-be. Testing the view had triggered the dream, and triggering the dream had somehow called the Quaker woman forth.

Oh God, this is new misery,
Jane thought.
What will I do? What will I do?

"
You okay now?
"

"
I
'm ..
. not sure.
"

How could I know all those things? That a ship was named
Chelsea
;
that it was overdue?

"
Billy,
"
she said in a faint and tremulous voice.
"
What
'
s a
'
Humane House
'
?
"

"Geez, I dunno," he said, startled by the question. "An animal shelter, maybe?"

"
No ..
. no, that can't be it," Jane said distractedly. "Billy
—
I can't do it. I can't climb down. I can't."

"Sure you can," he said nervously. "You got to. I can't throw you over my shoulder like a bundle of roof shingles. You ain't
that
light," he said, trying to make a joke of it all. "Just take it one step at a time."

But like a swimmer frozen on the high dive, Jane just stood there, clutching the chimney. Was it mere coincidence that she was up here, on a roof, the morning after the dream? She'd never been on a roof in her life.

In her dream she'd been standing on the edge of a
roof walk;
not the edge of a precipice. How had she not known? When the banister gave way in her dream, she'd saved herself by waking herself up. But there was no banister now, and Jane could hardly be more fully awake. What if the dream was a premonition? Worse, what if she herself was some sort of instrument
—
if some hideous fate had to be played out every so often, and she just happened to be the one caught in the wrong place at the wrong time?

She'd been looking out at the sea, at the straight blue horizon, struggling to calm her turmoil. Apparently Billy had been making small talk. She hadn't heard a word of it. The impulse to hysteria had passed, but the immobility remained.

"Pray for a high tide, Billy," she said with an edgy laugh. "Maybe I can swim off."

"Y'see, your problem is you're
thinking
too much about it. You have to think about something else
—"

"Ahoy up there!
Is that a private party, or can anyone join in?"

It was Mac, standing on the front lawn, hands on his hips. Even from the rooftop she could see that he was amused. More than amused; he actually looked impressed. How could he know that she was clinging to the chimney like a barn swallow?

"Good morning," she called down in a falsely casual voice. "I was just coming down. You don't have to come up."

Even if you
can
leap over tall buildings,
she thought.

She took a deep breath and began assessing the best way down. Maybe she'd fall on her head and maybe she wouldn't. One thing she knew: If she didn't go down now, she'd have to be airlifted by helicopter. The damnable sea breeze had started to pick up and the air felt thirty degrees colder. Her hands were already white-knuckled; she didn't need frostbite to boot.

She waved away Billy's offer to assist. Very, very gingerly she lowered herself into a totally undignified squatting position and began picking her way backward down the roof. Each little toehold comprised a new and separate battle in her war of nerves. All she could think of
—
besides the fact that Mac was judging her both on style and technical merit —
was that she was there to reenact some horrible, ghostly event.

She paused at the gutter to plan her next move and was dismayed to see that Mac was at the foot of the ladder, steadying it. No doubt it was the neighborly thing to do, but it had the effect of rattling what was left of Jane's nerves. She completely forgot Billy's advice to step on the outside of the rungs, and came down the centers instead.

The ladder held her fine
—
until she slipped on a rung about two-thirds of the way down, then lost her footing and came down hard on the next rung, which broke, sending her flying backward through midair and knocking Mac to the ground underneath her.

She ended up in a sitting position across his midsection. "Thank you," she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

"My pleasure," he drawled, propping himself on his forearms. "Any broken bones?"

"I'm afraid not. Sorry."

They were very, very close. Close enough so that she could see brown flecks in the rich hazel of his eyes. Close enough so that she could see that his lashes were thick and brown, and that he had three small freckles on the side of his temple. Close enough so that she could feel him stir beneath her, could feel the heat.

She scrambled to her feet, scalded by his nearness once again. Maybe she was overreacting, but if so, it was his fault. He could have had the decency to be embarrassed.

"Yo, Jane!" It was Billy on the roof, looking relieved. "I guess you were right about the ladder!"

Only now, as she stared up the formidable height of the ladder, did it occur to Jane that she might've broken her neck. She might've been the perfect ritual victim, if it hadn't been for Mac. Apparently she owed him; she found the notion ironic.