Storm Tide (37 page)

It had been such a quiet note, and it had sounded so much the way Nils always sounded, that for a few minutes its actual meaning didn't get through to her. And then, all at once, she thought:
He's still angry with me. That's really why he's staying away from the Island and his own work
.

On those last few days he must have found it hard to be civil to her. And he wasn't a Bennett; he couldn't take it out in noise and swearing, and a fight to raise the roof. No, he would stay away until he could bear the sight of her again; and it made her cold to think of the extent his feeling must have reached.

She put the potatoes on to cook. There was nothing to do but wait for him to come home again. Perhaps they needed a change from each other. She'd write him a letter next boatday, telling him the trap-stuff had arrived safely—if next boatday didn't see him arrive on the
Aurora
. He couldn't stay away from the Island long, she thought confidently. And meanwhile he could get over his sulk in Uncle Eric's barn, working on the boat. . . . She was Bennett enough to believe that anyone who didn't take out his general displeasure and discontent in noise was sulking. She was glad Nils didn't do it very often.

When it was time for the boys to come home for dinner, she remembered the note tucked behind the clock, and burned it. Stevie came home first, and looked around expectantly.

“Where's Nils? He come today?”

She shook her head. “No. His engine isn't ready yet. But he sent out plenty of trap-stuff. . . . Did you get a good haul?”

“Averaged two to a trap. That's not bad, at fifty cents.” He flipped several bills across the table at her. “There's my board money, and some extra. How about sending off to Monkey Ward for another one of those plaid shirts for me?”

“Sure thing, Stevie,” she said absently. She took the money into the sitting room and put it in the desk. While she was there Owen came in. He was whistling loudly, which meant he was in a good mood.

“Hi, son,” he saluted Stevie. “Nils home yet?”

“Nope. Engine not ready. How'd you do today?”

“Finest kind,” said Owen expansively. “Engine, huh? Hell, he's more likely having himself a fling!”

“Who,
Nils
?” said Stevie, and laughed.

The clatter of the washbasin and the splashing of water meant that Owen was at the sink. He spoke again, through the towel. “You can't tell about those Swedes, boy. Those fellows like Nils. I've met plenty of 'em, and once they kick over the traces they stay kicked.”

“Who—the Swedes?” said Stevie. Joanna, standing in the next room, knew by his tone that he was laughing at Owen. Stevie wouldn't think anything of Nils' staying, no matter what Owen said; but she was wishing, fervently, that Owen would mind his own business. She almost wished that he hadn't come home to the Island at all.

Then she crushed the thought, as she'd crush a spider, and went out into the kitchen to put dinner on the table.

In the afternoon she went out. There was the whole of the western end woods to rove in, but not today. Her mind was restless as well as her body. . . . She walked down to the Whitcomb place hoping Nora would be at home.

Bosun met Joanna at the gate that opened into the woods, his small round body frantic with joy; he raced in wide circles around her over the dead brown grass as she walked toward the house. He was at the top of the steps before her, panting, his brown eyes sparkling under the black bang, tongue hanging.

“You're a love,” Joanna said, dropping to her knees to hug the firm little body hard against her. That was what she wanted—a dog. She ought to have a dog.

Nora heard her voice and came to the door. She looked harassed and her cheeks were red. But she smiled when she saw Joanna, and her wide mouth was meant for smiling.

“Gosh, I'm glad to see you!” she said fervently. “Come on in—no, you stay out, Bosun, or you'll be in trouble again.” She scratched the floppy black ears hastily, and then led the way into the house.

She was in the midst of ironing, the kitchen was hot with the brisk fire and the steamy smell of damp, just-ironed, clothes. “Sit down,” she invited. “Anywhere. I'm darned glad you came, but do you mind if I keep on ironing?”

“No, go ahead. Maybe it won't seem so much of a job if you've got someone to talk to.”

Nora looked grateful. She had an apron tied on over her dark blue slacks and white blouse, and had caught her chestnut-glossy hair back at the nape of her neck with a ribbon. She sighed heavily. “I've been at this forever, it seems like,” she said, picking up a flatiron and testing it with a wet finger. “I'm not very good at ironing. You see, all the time Matthew was lobstering on shares for Clyde Sparrow, he lived down on Sparrow Island, and he wouldn't let me stay with him—it wasn't fit for a woman, for an old one like Gram, anyway. So—”

The iron was too hot, she looked ruefully at a brown mark on the pillowcase. “Oh, damn! Excuse me, please. . . So we had a flat in Limerock, and Gram puttered around and kept house, and I worked in the supermarket.”

Joanna said softly, “Where is Gram—I mean Mrs. Fennell?”

“She's just this minute gone up to lie down, after she saw that I got Matthew's shirts right,” said Nora, without malice. “Now I s'pose Bosun will start barking at a gull or something. But if I bring him in he gets acting up and racing around.” She wiped a wisp of hair away from her damp forehead. “Gram wants me to have kids right off, but I bet they'd make her just as nervous as Bosun does . . . poor little feller.”

“Why don't you sit down for a minute,” Joanna suggested, “and let me iron for a while?”

Nora looked shocked. “Oh, I
couldn't
!” Then, with a sudden shininess in her eyes, and a rapid blinking of her lashes, she muttered, “You'd just get started and Gram would come down.”

Joanna wanted to laugh, and at the same time, to comfort the girl as she'd comfort Ellen. “I'll iron the pillow cases, and you keep an eye out, and the minute you hear her we'll change places.”

Nora giggled. She folded into the rocking chair like a schoolgirl, all legs, rolled her eyes skyward, and sighed blissfully. “Oh, glorious! You're wonderful, Joanna. Did anybody ever tell you?”

Oh, yes, a lot of people think I'm wonderful
, Joanna thought dryly. She began to iron pillowcases with swift efficiency, while Nora watched and chattered softly.

“I love this place, don't you? I'd like to be out tearing around in the open air this afternoon, like Bosun, instead of working. . . . Only Monday's washday, and Tuesday you iron, and if you don't, the sky will fall or there'll be a tidal wave or something. . . .” She stiffened suddenly, the sparkle dying away. “Oh, golly, she's coming downstairs!” she hissed, and leaped toward the ironing board like a young gazelle.

When Gram appeared in the doorway Nora was hanging the last of the pillowcases on the rack, and Joanna sat in the rocking chair. She stood up quickly. “Hello, Mrs. Fennell, how are you today?”

“I'm all right.” The old lady marched into the kitchen and examined the clothes on the rack with her sunken but brilliant eyes. Nora watched her nervously, but Gram merely said, “Mmm,” and went to sit down in the rocker Joanna had just vacated.

“And how are you today, young woman?” she asked. “And how's that man of yours?” A smile tugged at her grim old lips. “He ain't been in for a long time—I miss him.”

“He's gone to the mainland, Mrs. Fennell.”

“And you let him go
alone
? A handsome one like him, with all the women there are who've got their eye out for just such a one, quiet and polite and hardworking?” Gram shook her head vigorously. “I never let my Jeffrey go 'way from home alone, even when it meant leaving the hired girl with the children.” She chuckled. “Never left my Jeffrey alone with the hired girl, either.”

Joanna caught at a straw and said, “Jeffrey's a nice name. I have a cousin Jeffrey.”

“And you got a good husband, my girl. You'd ought to take better care of him.”

Nora said breathlessly, “Gram, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Tea?” said Gram fiercely. “What do I want with tea? Just had my dinner, didn't I? You leaving us, Joanna Sorensen?”

Joanna smiled at her. “Yes, I'm making the rounds this afternoon. Fifteen minutes in each place. You know—like Emily Post.” She winked at Nora, and let herself out. Bosun met her with a wild
woof
of hysterical pleasure, and as she shut the door she heard the old lady begin again.

“Nora, that dog's a pure nuisance. Listen to him now—anybody'd think he was ugly—”

Joanna shut the door quickly, and went down the steps, with Bosun dancing around her. He escorted her along the path to the front gate, opening on the lane. She slipped out, keeping him back with her foot. The gate safely latched, she looked over it at his eager black face and glowing eyes. “If it gets too tough for you up there,” she told him, “you can come and live with me . . . and my handsome husband.”

She went down by the clubhouse, boarded-up and lonesome among the spruces with only Gunnar Sorensen's overgrown fields to look at. There'd be a time when the clubhouse was open again, with Saturday night dances and monthly suppers; perhaps by next summer they could manage something, start off with a supper for the Seacoast Mission. That would bring out a crowd from Brigport. . . . Brigport reminded her of Fowler.

She broke off a green, scented twig from a young spruce branch and pulled it to bits as she walked along. Grant's point was safe, and forever. So what did one storm matter?

She turned in at the clamshell walk that led to Marion Gray's back door. Not only Marion was there, but Vinnie, and they received her gladly.

“Another pair of hands,” Marion said briskly. “Sit down to the kitchen table there, Jo, and help cut out quilt blocks. There's the pattern, and here's a pair of scissors.”

Joanna cut and snipped with concentration, until she realized Vinnie's amber eyes were on her profile. She looked up, surprised, and Vinnie said candidly, “I was just sayin' to Marion before you come in—you must be at loose ends today, with Nils gone so long.”

“Oh, I know he'll be back as soon as he can get here,” Joanna answered.
As soon as he gets over being mad with me
, she thought.

“You know,” said Vinnie, nodding her head wisely, “sometimes I think it's good for husbands to get away once in a while. Then the wives can have a chance to do things, like readin' in bed as long as they want to.”

“Land o' love, I should say so!” agreed Marion. “I'd of tunked Jud over the head plenty of times if he'd been around under my feet too much. . . . And that's more truth than po'try. That man can make me the maddest—” She took a long breath, and then her eyes began to twinkle behind her glasses. “But that's not sayin' I'd want to live with any other man but Jud. He knows my ways and I know his, and that's that.” She settled comfortably into her chair—as comfortably as she'd settled into her marriage, Joanna thought, remembering Marion and Jud from her childhood when they were just Tim's and Pete's mother and father, but comical and nice just the same.

“Caleb's good, too,” said Vinnie, “but he's such a silent soul.”

“That reminds me,” said Marion, “speakin' of husbands bein' away—Jud was sayin' just at dinner he hoped Nils wouldn't stay long, because there was somethin' he wanted to talk to him about.”

“What was it?” Joanna asked.

“I can't remember. So I guess it wasn't very important. How about some coffee? I made a frosted spice cake this morning, too.” She pushed back her chair and got up.

“Over across they're rationin' sugar,” said Vinnie. “You s'pose they'll ration food here if we have a war? Caleb says it's the only fair way. Only I hope—” Her words trailed off, and she shuddered.

“I guess everybody feels the same about war,” Joanna said hastily. She watched Marion's chunky figure working around the stove. “Marion, can't you remember anything about it?”

“About what? Oh, what Jud said? Blessed be, it was jest some little thing! I never bother with the men's business. Jud says for me to keep my nose to home, so I do!” Laughing, she began to take the cups from the cupboard.

When the cake and coffee were finished, and she had cut out a dozen more quilt blocks, Joanna left. She didn't want to wait for Vinnie; she wanted to walk alone through the empty village in the last cold light that fell across the harbor and shone redly on the rock walls of Eastern Harbor Point. And she wanted to see Jud. Whatever he meant to ask Nils, perhaps she could give him the answer.

As she reached the boatshop and the old wharf—which was almost a new wharf now—she saw him coming up over the side of the wharf from the car, through with his work for the day. Mark's boat was just tying up at her winter mooring, out beyond the
Donna
.

“Hi, fair one!” Jud saluted her. “Don't you look handsome tonight! Too handsome for a sorrowin' gal whose husband is afar!”

Does everybody have to mention that?
she thought with a grating of anger. But she grinned back at Jud. “No time for sorrowing, Jud. I have to look out for my husband's affairs, and that keeps me busy.”

“What kind of affairs?” said Jud.

“Strictly business,” Joanna retorted. “Look, Jud, Marion told me there was something you wanted to talk to Nils about. Now I don't know how soon he'll be back—he's helping Eric with his boat while waiting for the engine. So why don't you tell me what you want to know, and maybe I—”

Jud shook his head. “Nope! T'ain't nothin' but won't keep, Joanna, so don't you bother your pretty head about it! It's too much to expect a woman to do her own work and her husband's too, so you take it easy and don't worry!” He nodded his head hard at her, grinned again, and was stumping off. “Now I'm goin' home and raise a little hell teasin' Vinnie and the old lady!”