The Sea is a Thief (5 page)

Stepping down from the chopping block with all the grace he could muster, he took the nails from between his teeth and tossed them to the ground.  He removed his cap.  “My name is Sam Dreher,” was all he could manage to say.  

“I am Anna Daisey,” she replied.

Later Anna would claim that it was his uniform she noticed first: the jaunty flat cap with its elaborate gold embroidery, the smart blue tunic and trousers, and the perfectly shined boots.  It made for a good beginning to the story, for Sam did cut a fine figure in his uniform, but it was not the truth.  What really caught her eye was the young man himself, just a little older than her sixteen years, strong and handsome, so humbly and cheerfully working to repair a home that was not his for the benefit of people he did not know.  It was a sight that she had seldom seen before, and would not commonly see again.

The pause after their introductions was long and awkward for both. “This must be your home,” Sam volunteered.

“Yes,” Anna answered, a little amused; it was so obvious, after all.  

“'Tis a—a fine home indeed,” added Sam, not entirely sincere, but eager to compliment her.  

“'Tis much improved now,” Anna replied, examining the work he had done to the clapboards.  She understood all too well the reasons for the cottage's state of disrepair.  

“I've spoken with your mother,” Sam began to explain. Words were not forthcoming, so he used the Captain's words again, hoping for a moment's reprieve for his brain.  “I am the ship's carpenter, and it is my pleasure to assist you and your family on behalf of the USS
Louisiana
and the United States Navy.”   The young woman smiled.  
Such a tidy speech!
 

“You have my deep gratitude, and that of my mother and my brother,” she replied.  

“Perhaps not your brother, Miss Daisey,” Sam added wryly.  Her face fell.  “A temporary misunderstanding,” he added hastily.  She was relieved.  This Union sailor must be different from all other Yankees if he had made peace with her brother Beau already.

“Please excuse me while I go to see my mother, Mr. Dreher,” she said, adding a small curtsy.  “No doubt you must want to complete your work.”  

“Thank you, ma'am,” nodded Sam, and replaced his cap.  She turned towards the door of the house and left him, a small trail of pink petals fluttering to the ground after her.

He did want to complete his work, but for a time after she had gone he stood as if in a trance, hammer useless in his grip.  The scent of the wildflowers underfoot was intoxicating, and the heat of the sun overwhelmed him.  

Eventually, he stooped to retrieve the nails that he had dropped.  With the slowness of a man just roused from bed, he climbed back up on the log and began to work again.  He felt differently about the task before him.  This was Anna Daisey's home now.

 

Just before sundown, Ethan came to retrieve Sam.  His work so far had not been too taxing.  Reverend Carter had sent him to see an elderly widow called Lovey Copes.  How old she was exactly, the Reverend had not revealed, but she was very, very old.  She did not mind telling everyone, including him.  “She has some recollections of the Revolution,” Ethan began, as they walked back to the wharf.  “She remembers the day that the new U.S. Constitution circulated through Virginia.  The way she tells the story, it was brought to the Accomack County Courthouse, so that everyone around here could see it.  The delegate who was carrying it was about to leave for another county when someone asked if he had been to Chincoteague.  He hadn't, so he rowed the Constitution over here in a boat, rolled up in an oilcloth, and Lovey saw it with her own eyes!”  That, Ethan reckoned, was old.  

“What did she want you to do?” asked Sam.

“Well, she's kept pigs and chickens all her life, but her arthritis is so troubling to her, and her eyesight is so poor, that it's too difficult now.  The neighbors send children to her house from time to time to help with feeding and so forth, but the chicken coops and pigpen are in very poor condition.  She was happy that the Captain sent us.”  Ethan went on to describe the henhouse and the pigpen, the latter built around a row of holly bushes that the pigs had begun to uproot.  “Those pigs would have been running wild all over the town soon,” said Ethan.  “I patched it up today, and I'm going to put in some cedar posts for a proper fence with split railings.  It's no trouble to find cedar on this island, Sam.”  Sam nodded.  “The henhouses are going to be a lot more work, though,” Ethan concluded. “They're about to collapse.  I can't fathom why they were built the way they were.”  

The two men had nearly reached their destination.  Four of their fellow sailors were already waiting on the wharf.  Two more leaned against the railing of the Atlantic Hotel, in a jolly mood.  The tavern keeper stepped outside his door to say goodbye.  As they turned towards the launch, a group of women bade them a good evening.  An oysterman, securing his boat for the night, nodded and greeted them.  They heaved off from the wharf and made for the
Louisiana
, Sam and Ethan side-by-side at their oars.  

As they rowed, each man had a tale to tell of the islanders he had met and the good he had done.

“And what sort of work did you manage today?” asked Ethan.  Sam hesitated.  It would be easy to tell Ethan about the work; he was not certain he wanted to share the rest.  Ethan was like a brother.  Each man had rescued the other from many a tight spot.  For once, though, Sam could not trust anyone, even Ethan, with his thoughts.  

“The owner of the home is a widow, too,” he answered, pulling at his oar.  “Just as the pastor told us.  Much younger than your widow, though.  There's a son and a daughter about our age.”  

“Did you meet them?”  Ethan asked.  He was curious.

“I did,” Sam replied.  “The house is in bad repair.”  To Sam's surprise and relief, Ethan didn't question his evasion.  Perhaps he was too tired from his work for the Widow Copes.  

The launch was hauled aboard ship by a waiting crew supervised by Benjamin Harvey, who scrutinized each man as he disembarked.  They all must have looked sufficiently tired and dirty, for the boatswain seemed pleased.  Even the two sailors who had visited the tavern at the Atlantic Hotel passed muster.  

“The meal's waitin',” Harvey growled, and they trudged off to the mess.  “Dreher, the Captain wants to see you.”   Sam stood for a moment, surprised.  Harvey jabbed his thumb in the direction of the Captain's quarters.

Sharpe's cabin was in the stern, just below the upper deck.  It was a place best avoided by an ordinary seaman.  Nothing good could come of a visit with Captain Dull; he always found something out of place, or a violation of the Navy Operations Manual.  Sam ran his fingers through his hair and adjusted his uniform as he walked.  He was hardly ready for an inspection.  Descending the ladder, he found the door open and the Captain seated at his desk, reading.  

“Come in, Dreher,” he beckoned, turning in his chair and laying his spectacles on his book.  Sam stood at attention just inside the doorway.  “At ease.”  Sam waited for the usual critique.  “I would be interested in your observations about the island,” Sharpe began.  “Any and all observations.”   

Sam was relieved.  He described the meetings with the pastors, the work they had done, and the gratitude of the families, paying particular attention to Ethan's reception by Lovey Copes.  The Captain hung on every detail.  

“You would say, then, that your visit was successful?  That you made a positive impression upon the citizens of the island?”  

“Aye, sir, without a doubt, sir,” Sam responded.  Sharpe nodded, reaching for his tobacco pouch and filling his pipe.  

“That's very good news.  Excellent news.”  He rose to his feet, gazing out the starboard porthole towards the village, now settling into darkness.  The final glow of the sun setting over the mainland filled the cabin with coppery light.  Carefully lighting his lamp, then his pipe, he waved Sam away.  “Well done, Dreher.  We shall continue this routine tomorrow, beginning early in the day.”  

Dismissed from the cabin, Sam strode back to the mess, eager to relate the news to Ethan.  Tomorrow, then!  He could see Anna Daisey again.  This time, he resolved, would be different.  He would be quicker with his words, and hold a proper conversation with the young lady.

 

Sam lay awake in his hammock, the time creeping by as slowly as the stars in their tracks.  He almost always slept well onboard ship, for the darkness in the hold was nearly complete, but no darkness could quiet his mind that night.  One berth over, Ethan turned in his hammock.  

“Ethan,” hissed Sam.  “You awake?”  Ethan was.

Sam paused before he spoke.  “The house I'm working on?  The widow?”  

Ethan was impatient. “Yes?”   

“I had a fine conversation with her daughter.”

“Well, then? What are you tryin' to tell me?”  

“She's a lovely girl, that's all I'm tryin' to tell you.”  Sam could picture Ethan's smile, even in the dark.  

“I met some lovely ones myself.  They passed by quite regular while I was working.  Made it look like they were just happening past, but I could tell they came that way on purpose.  You just tip your cap and they come right over to chat.  Some right pretty lasses.”  

“Never mind,” said Sam.  

Ethan chuckled softly.  “I was wondering when you were going to tell me what was up.”

“Am I that plain?”

“Yes.  You surely are.”

 

CHAPTER THREE

Father was a Market Gunner

 

So eager was Sam Dreher to return to Chincoteague Island that he rose early to cook breakfast even though it wasn't his turn for three days.  After the meal the boatswain called the roll of sailors who would go ashore.  Accounts of the previous day had travelled around the ship; Benjamin Harvey had the full attention of every seaman when he read his list.  Dreher and Platt were first again.  In minutes, gear was assembled and the launch was dropped into the channel.

Squinting against the light, the men put their backs into their oars, and the boat flew across the water.  

“Ethan,” Sam asked, “Do you plan ahead what you'll say in a conversation with a girl?”  

“No,” Ethan replied. “I don't believe you do.”  Sam scowled.  “Sorry,” said Ethan.  “If it makes it any easier for you, I don't believe you've ever cared what you said to a girl.”  They rowed in silence, Sam rehearsing his talk with Anna Daisey.

On the steps of the Atlantic Hotel, the party divided up their assignments.  Ethan recruited men for the heavy work of splitting rails and setting fence posts for Lovey Copes' pigpen.  Sam set off for the Daisey home, citing the difficult carpentry it required.  He promised to rejoin them by midday.

The closer he got to the house, the more loudly his heart pounded in his chest. All was quiet when he arrived; Beau was sleeping, and Mary Daisey was in the kitchen.  She answered Sam's knock with a broad smile.  

“Mr. Dreher!” she greeted him. “Are we blessed with another visit today?  Please come in.”  He stepped inside the door, his nervousness all too evident.   “We are so grateful for your excellent work yesterday, Mr. Dreher.  Are we not, Anna?”  Sam caught his breath.  Anna appeared in the kitchen doorway, a mixing bowl cradled in the crook of her arm.  

“We are, Mr. Dreher.”  

Mary pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  “I'd like to get to work on your shutters today,” Sam suggested.  Several of the shutters were on their last legs.  Mary was pleased.  

“That would relieve my mind greatly,” she said.  “We should always be prepared for storms.”

“Yes, ma'am,” was the best Sam could offer.  No more words came.  “Perhaps I should be getting underway.”  He lingered a moment too long before he left, disappointed with himself.  He had hoped to do better.  

The shutters had been made with care by some carpenter years ago, but time and the damp air had taken its toll.  The kitchen window was the worst; the frame behind the shutter was soft with rot.  Sam pried the ruined wood away from the siding with an iron bar.  Underneath, things looked better.  After he replaced that section the window would hold for a while.  He set out to look for some suitable lumber in the shed that Mary had pointed out the day before.  

The building stood behind the cottage, not far from a creek that drained slowly into the marsh. Several small white egrets perched in a nearby willow tree.  Another stood in the creek, feeding.  His approach startled it, and it lifted off, yellow feet dangling from thin black legs.  It settled into the tree near the others, where they watched him with their round eyes.

Two doors, latched in the center, secured the shed.  He threw them open, their rusty hinges creaking, and the long, narrow space flooded with sunlight. The building wasn't large, but it was full; it appeared to be was a workshop of some kind.  Along one side ran a workbench, covered with tins, jars, and tools. A high wooden stool was tucked underneath.  Plank shelves above it held more tools, and long, canvas-wrapped bundles.  In the rafters hung wooden duck decoys, dozens upon dozens of them, the rings on their undersides joined by endless coils of slender line.  Their eyes, some glass and some painted, surveyed him.  Most displayed the dark-red heads of canvasbacks or the green and black of mallards and bluebills.  A group of larger ones were made in the shape of geese, and a few with long, graceful necks mimicked white swans.  

Overturned on two wooden horses in the center of the room lay a boat.

In so small a place, the boat seemed larger than it actually was.  It was no more than four feet across at its widest, and perhaps twelve feet long, a tight fit in the little workshop.  Sam approached it, fascinated.  This was something altogether different from the boats that worked the canal in Port Clinton.  He ran his hand over the upended shape, taking the measure of it.