Sweet Mercy (20 page)

T
he stars shimmied and winked over the Little Miami. Uncle Cy had booked a band from Cincinnati to play the final Friday night of July, and even though he wasn't there, the band kept the date. Orson Albright and his musicians had played the island before, and they knew Uncle Cy was good for the money.

At a little after nine o'clock, their buoyant music enticed me from the lodge and drew me down to the pavilion. I stood in the shadows off to the side of the dance floor, watching, listening, drinking in the joy of couples dancing to “Happy Days Are Here Again.” The song was popular just then because our country needed it; while it played, whenever it played, for those three minutes people could pretend that the days really were happy, in spite of everything. How I would miss that about the island, the live music rising up in the open air, spreading delight, reaching so far as to leave even the stars dancing overhead, their jubilance mirrored on the water.

I stood tapping my foot, my hands behind my back. I didn't want to leave the island to go back to St. Paul, but
neither did I want to stay. All I knew for sure was there wasn't a place in the world that matched my dreams. For as long as I lived I would never stop pining for Paradise, but the gates had been shut and bolted long before I was born. I knew that now. The heartsickness of life outside of Eden was everyone's lot, including mine.

But it will be all right,
I told myself.
We'll go back to St. Paul, and I'll make the best of it.
Ariel, at least, would be glad I was there. I'd return to school in another month as though I'd never been gone, and I would graduate next spring with the classmates I'd known since grade school. Yes, everything would be all right.

As I stood there consoling myself, someone tapped my shoulder and spoke quietly in my ear. “Want to dance?”

Marcus!
I thought. But it wasn't Marcus; it was Link. Link towering over me, his smile vaguely apparent in the dim light.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Same as you. Enjoying the music. So do you care to dance or not?”

The band was playing a swinging rendition of “Nobody's Sweetheart,” which seemed somehow appropriate. I looked over the bobbing hands of the dancers to where Orson Albright waved his wand at his men, pulling the music out of them as though by magic. I turned back to Link. He stood expectantly, his thumbs hanging idly from his suspenders.

Don't do it,
I told myself.
Lie. Tell him you're needed back at the lodge. Anything. Just don't spend the evening dancing with Link.

And then I smiled at Link and said, “Sure. Why not?”

He let go of the suspenders and grabbed my hand. He
pulled me out of the shadows and, with his usual vitality, began to spirit me around the dance floor. I couldn't help but laugh. For an hour we forgot the world, though somehow the joy of the music and the dancing and of each other seemed more real than anything the world had to offer. When the band took a break, I was sorry for the interruption, but I invited Link to follow me to the Eatery. My cousin Earl, Uncle Luther's oldest son, was working the stand, and with a nod and a wink, he gave us a couple of tall cold glasses of lemonade free of charge.

We chose a table in the breezeway where we could sit and enjoy our drinks. The welcome iciness of the lemonade moistened my throat and sent shivers down my spine and out my arms.

“So when's your sister coming?” Link asked. He pushed his unruly curls out of his eyes. He remained sorely in need of a haircut.

“Tomorrow. They should arrive sometime toward evening.”

“Well, I hope you all have a nice visit together.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Don't bother getting your hopes up too high. My sister and I aren't exactly the best of friends. On top of that, we have a funeral right in the middle of their visit.”

“A funeral?”

“Yeah. Haven't you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“My Aunt Cora died. Uncle Cy's wife. He's in New York right now, bringing her back so she can be buried here.”

Link shook his head. His expression became serious. “I hadn't heard. I'm sorry for your loss.”

I shrugged. “I didn't know Cora, really. I met her only once, at the wedding about five years ago.”

“Well, it's a terrible loss for your uncle.”

“Yes, I guess it is. It's the second wife he's buried. The first one died of the Spanish flu and now Cora's died of tuberculosis.”

Link gave out a low whistle. “Some people have it rough, don't they?”

I nodded but didn't say anything.

Link asked, “So when is the funeral?”

“Daddy and Uncle Luther have been making plans. Last I heard it's supposed to be held on Thursday.”

“Will it be at a church here in town?”

I shook my head. “Aunt Cora was Catholic. It'll be up in Lebanon at the Basilica of St. Matthew.”

Link nodded, dropped his eyes, became intent on his lemonade. No one wants to interrupt laughter to acknowledge death. Certainly I didn't. I finished my drink, feigning interest in the people milling about us, wishing I hadn't mentioned Aunt Cora's funeral.

At last the band returned from break. When we heard the opening notes of “On the Sunny Side of the Street,” Link looked at me expectantly. Visions of Aunt Cora and the funeral drifted off and disappeared. Link and I were animated again, living in the buffer zone of youth, eager simply to be alive.

“Ready for another go-round?” he asked.

“Ready.” I smiled.

For another hour, maybe more, we danced ourselves into a sweat, danced until our feet hurt, danced until our lungs ached for air and our hearts burst with happiness. And then . . . then the band eased into “After You've Gone,” a slower song that called for dancing cheek to cheek. I couldn't
reach Link's cheek, he was so tall, but he held me closer than before—a gesture that broke the spell I'd been under all evening. I didn't belong here—not in Mercy, not on the island, not in Link's arms. I'd be gone soon and it wasn't likely I'd ever come back.

I struggled in Link's grip, just slightly, just as though I were seeking cooler air, but he held on tight.

“Say, Eve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh.” He seemed to think about that a moment. Then he said, “When will you be eighteen?”

“September.”

“September what?”

“Twenty-first. Why?”

“I'm just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking about when it might be appropriate to ask your father if I can call on you.”

I gasped. My feet were suddenly rooted to the floor. Link stumbled, righted himself. “What's the matter, Eve?” he asked. At last, he loosened his grip. He frowned at me. The band began to play “Let Me Sing and I'm Happy.”

“Link, I can't—”

“I know I'm not working a steady job right now, Eve, but—”

“You don't understand. I . . .”

I never should have accepted the first dance. I should have known better,
did
know better and hadn't heeded my own warning.

“Listen, Eve, I just want the chance to spend some time with you, get to know you.”

“I can't. It won't work. It won't—”

“But why not? Whatever you're afraid of—”

I wiggled out of his arms, bumping into the couple dancing behind us. The man glared at me a moment before whisking his partner away. I started to cry.

Link reached for me. “Eve!”

“I'm sorry, Link. I'm just . . . I'm sorry.”

I fled the dance floor and stumbled back to the lodge. To my relief, Link didn't try to follow.

I
didn't sleep much that night for thinking about Link. Two months at Marryat Island—two broken hearts. Things seemed not to be working out in my favor.

Maybe I should have explained. Maybe I should have told Link we were leaving, but he'd want to know why, and I couldn't tell him. Besides, I wasn't supposed to know myself that we were leaving. Daddy planned to sit down with Mother, Warren, Cassandra, and me sometime in the next few days to announce his decision to return to St. Paul. I was to act as surprised as the others.

Just before dawn I slipped out of bed and sat by the open window. The view was of the side yard and the wall where Link took his meals when he came. I wondered now whether I would ever see him again. I decided it didn't matter. Another few days and I'd be heading back to St. Paul, and that would be it.

The world outside was gray shadows. In some unseen place, the sun was just beginning to rise. As light seeped in, trees, shrubs, the wall where Link sat became more distinct,
their edges defined. Colors, once only suggestions, began to bloom. The morning air drifting in through the open window was cool and sweet. It chilled the tears on my cheeks and made me shiver.

I leaned my elbows on the windowsill, listening. I could almost hear the rush of the Little Miami. The trees were choir lofts of birdsong. And down below, somewhere toward the back of the lodge, came the sound of gravel crunching as someone walked the unpaved drive leading to the road. I pressed my nose to the screen and waited to see who it was. Probably Morris Tweed on an early morning errand to who-knew-where.

When at length the figure came into view, I saw it wasn't Morris but someone else. I couldn't see the face, but I knew the hat. The safari hat that Jones wore out in the sun. He had his hands stuffed deep in his pants pockets, and his shoulders were drooped as he walked. He was headed in the direction of town. I'd never known Jones to go into town, or even to leave the grounds of the lodge at all, except when he was out on the river.

I wondered what his destination was at this early hour.

I watched him, small and lonely, until he'd crossed the road and disappeared from sight.

Mother sang hymns of joy in the bath that morning. I heard her as I stood at the dresser braiding my hair. Cassandra and her family would arrive by nightfall. I didn't consider that anything to sing about, especially since their coming signaled my leaving. My eyes were still red and puffy from a night of crying, though I'd washed my face twice
in cold water and soothed it with lotion warmed between my palms.

I dragged myself downstairs to breakfast. Mother's excitement was salt on a wound, and I was glad to finish eating and go to the kitchen to help Annie. Uncle Luther had sent Earl and Jason to cover at the Eatery while Uncle Cy was away, which freed me up to do other things. Working with Annie was what I preferred over all the other tasks I did at the lodge.

All morning I was drawn to the window that looked out over the side yard and the wall. In between cooking and cleaning and washing dishes, I stood there wondering whether Link might come for lunch with some of the other men of the camp.

I wondered too how anyone could want and not want something so desperately at the same time.

No matter what I wanted, he didn't show. The day hobbled along on wounded feet. At dusk a car pulled up to the lodge with Minnesota plates. Cassandra and her family had arrived.

Mother and Daddy rushed out to meet them while I trailed behind. I walked solemnly across the graveled lot toward the laughter, the hugging and handshaking, the cries of “Grammy! Grandpa!” from my nieces.

When Effie and Grace saw me, they squealed loudly, “Aunt Eve!” They ran to me and I kneeled down on the hard gravel and took them both in my arms. They were hot and sweaty and sticky and oh-so-sweet as first one then the other pressed her cheek to mine and filled the air with kisses. Only then did I realize how much I'd missed them.

Grace clung to my neck until Warren came and gently pried her away. “You have all week to be with Aunt Eve, so
give her room to breathe,” he said with a laugh. “Hello, Eve, by the way. It's good to see you.”

I rose from my kneeling position and stretched my legs. “Hello, Warren. Have a good trip?”

“Tolerable,” he answered. “I suspect it'll be an early night for all of us. It's a long way from Minnesota.”

I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my sister reaching in through the open car window to retrieve her pocketbook. At the same time she was talking animatedly with Mother.

“Your room's all ready for you,” I assured him. “Soon as you have some supper, you can fall right into bed.”

“Lovely place here,” he said, looking around. “Should be quite a nice week.”

“Yeah.” I nodded again, even as I imagined the tunnel that ran under our feet to the gas station across the road. “No better place to take a vacation.”

I hardly realized I was looking at the station until Warren followed my gaze. “Well, that's convenient,” he said. “A place to gas up and get the car washed. It's filthy after the drive down. I assume you know the fellow who owns the station.”

“Oh sure,” I said. “Calvin Fludd. Go on over tomorrow and he'll get you all fixed up.”

“All right. Looks like Drew's ready to haul in the luggage. Guess I'll go help him.”

The girls were gathering pebbles at my feet. As Warren went to help Daddy with the suitcases, Cassandra and Mother left the car and casually moved toward me. I told myself to smile.

While they were yet several steps away, Cassandra raised her arms. “Eve!” she said. “I've missed you something awful!”

In the next moment, I was being squeezed in her embrace. I tried to breathe. When she let go, I scrambled to remember how to speak.

“I-I've missed you too,” I stuttered.

She wrapped her arm through mine, locking elbows. “We have so much catching up to do,” she said as she pulled me toward the lodge. “Even a week is hardly going to be enough time. Oh, isn't it wonderful to be here! I want you to tell me everything about your summer. . . .”

As we strolled arm in arm, Cassandra chattered like a magpie. At one point, I stole a glance over my shoulder at Mother. Her expression was one of quiet victory, as if the day she had long been waiting for had finally arrived.