The Seasons Hereafter (37 page)

“She's been sleeping most of the day. Tonight I went up and took a look, and she was out like a light. But she gets these spells. Always has and always will, I figger.” He was blithely authoritative, shrugging off somebody's officiousness with the expert's nonchalance.

“You sure she doesn't need a doctor?” Kathy said. “Dr. Torrey can fly out and land in Owen's field.”

“Nope. She'll sleep it off and be fine. You see, Kathy”—he became earnestly instructive—“she's what you might call high strung. She has these kind of cycles, see? Well, you're a woman, you understand,” he said modestly. “Lordie, on Water Street, she had spells when she wouldn't speak for a week, and I just waited on her when she wanted something, brought her little things to tempt her appetite, kind of, and never fussed at her.”

You're the goddammedest liar that ever feet hung on and was called a man, Van thought.

“You're awfully sympathetic, Barry,” Kathy told him. “A lot of men wouldn't know what to do when a woman feels that way.”

“Well, it's easy for me,” said Barry. “You see, she's my wife. And I love her. It's as simple as that, Kathy. I love her.”

Oh shit, Van thought.

“And it doesn't matter what,” said Barry. “I understand her and I'll always be right here when she needs me. And I can darn a sock and dump a slop pail and cook a meal of vittles as good as any woman.” He chuckled at that. Kathy's laugh was preoccupied.

“I'll bet you can, but don't turn your nose up at this lobster chowder. Put the bowl in the refrigerator and it'll do you for dinner tomorrow. And put this loaf of bread in your breadbox.”

“I thank you kindly. Terence is a damn lucky son of a sea cook.”

Kathy laughed again and said, “I'll bob in tomorrow and see if there's anything I can do. It's sewing circle tonight, and it's cleared off so nice. I wish Van felt better.”

“She will, tomorrow.” He went out with Kathy.

Yes, she will, thought Vanessa. Tomorrow the aspirin. And I'll be doing Barry the biggest favor anyone did him. For the rest of his life he'll be the brave, sensitive man who waited hand and foot on a nutty wife.

Outside, men's voices called back and forth across the dooryard. “Some pretty out now, ain't it?”

“Ayeh, but it'll come off to blow like a man, wait and see.”

Barry didn't come back in. Comfortably insulated from all pain, her past and her future cut off so that she was weightless, she thought of the morning; smiled; and slept.

“W
ake up, will ye? Hey, wake up!” Barry was shaking her, slapping her, dragging at her. “Christ, woman, the island's on fire! Come on!” She stood naked and shivering in the cold room. A queer light-and-shadow play danced on the shade. He pulled it up and fire filled the window, until she realized it was halfway around the harbor, and the water was reflecting the flames.

“Get dressed,” Barry commanded. “Where's your clothes?” He threw things at her. The sight of the fire had cleared her head. She began to dress, saying, “Go pack up your clothes. It's a good thing we haven't got much. Where is it, anyway?”

“Willy's place, and with this wind the whole place can go!” He slammed into the other room. She spread a blanket on the floor and began piling her books and clothes onto it.

“Anyway, the boats are safe!” she called to him. She looked out and saw little figures running around the fire. It seemed as if she could hear the roar even through the closed window, though she knew it was really the wind blowing in the spruces and the run on the shore. The night was illuminated in red-gold; sparks showed through the sky like the trains of meteors.

“You all right?” Barry charged in again. “I'll take this stuff downstairs and out on the wharf, then I have to go over and help. They're wetting down every building they can, but Kee-rist, if it gets into the woods—”

“Why don't we just drop things out the side window?” She took out the adjustable screen. “I'll do it, and you go and help.”

“You're sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine. Go on now.”

“Kathy's out on their wharf with the kids. You can stay with her.” He ran down the stairs. She pushed things out the window facing the point, where they'd fall free of the sun-parlor roof. Then she went downstairs and gathered her own dishes from the window shelf, and the tin box from the desk in the sitting room. As an afterthought she took down Barry's rifle from the wall. The rest of Owen's twine was in the sun parlor, with the heads Barry had been knitting. She left it all there. She wondered remotely if the fire would make a clean sweep of the island over to Hillside.

Working sure-footedly, sometimes in the dark and sometimes in the light from the fire, she gathered up the laundry basket and some cardboard cartons, and packed into them the things she had thrown out from upstairs. As she knelt by the side of the house, the wind was surprisingly mild in spite of its strength, and here it smelled of spruce and growing grass. The stars were very bright. Tranquilly she stowed things away, wrapping the amber hen and the other dishes in shirts and underwear. When everything was done she went down onto the Cam-pion wharf. Kathy and the children sat on blankets against the side of the fish house, the smaller children huddled under her arms like chicks under a hen's wings. Van sat down beside Cindy and took out her cigarettes.

“How's everybody?” she asked.

“Good now,” said Kathy. “We were all pretty scared at first, but now that Daddy's over there he'll save the day. The state provided us with those pumps last year.”

“What time is it, anyway?” Van asked. “I was asleep when Barry dragged me out of bed.”

“It's a little past midnight. I was reading in bed. Johnny wanted a drink, and that's when I saw it, out his window. I got Terence up without any wild screeching, thank goodness, and he took off. Looks as if either Willy or Gina was smoking in bed and fell asleep and dropped a cigarette.”

“I'm never going to smoke,” said Cindy sternly.

“Excuse me, Madam,” said Vanessa, throwing her cigarette overboard. Cindy giggled.

“Of course that house is old and it's tinder-dry. And Cindy, don't you go to school tomorrow and yelp that I said somebody was smoking in bed. It mightn't have been that at all.”

“We mightn't have a school,” said Cindy. “We mightn't have a house. We might have to take to the boats.”

The middle child sniffled loudly. “And we might have to whale the tar out of Cindy,” said Kathy. “Why can't you be one of the silent Campions, like your father?”

“How was the meeting?” Van asked. From here you couldn't tell if the fire was working out in back, spreading across toward the Sorensens', or up toward the Percy and Webster houses and thence into the woods that almost enfolded the Fennell house. She neither hoped nor despaired; she felt indifferent as to the course of the fire.

“Oh, it was good, it always is because they're a good bunch. Not a lot of backbiting going on, but fun in our simple way. We missed you.” Van didn't comment, and Kathy went on. “Oh, and you know what? Maggie brought Gina along! Nobody knows how she managed it. And she can
knit!
She made a pair of baby's mittens tonight. Never said a word all evening, just knit away like mad. Everybody praised her and she never cracked a smile. She was probably embarrassed.”

Or thought she'd burst out laughing, Van reflected. If anybody knits, she's saved. Or sews patchwork with a neat stitch, or knows how to turn a heel. Or reads. It shows she's One of Us. What a nasty fate, to be One of Us, whoever Us turns out to be. I just hope Gina doesn't get to like being praised for knitting baby mittens. No, I don't hope. I don't care.

“Gee, I wonder what Tammie and Diane are doing,” said Cindy.

“And Tiger,” said the six-year-old boy. “Is he burned up?”

“Of course not!” Cindy cried angrily. “They wouldn't let him be!”

“They're probably all over at Uncle Mark's,” said Kathy. “Or even at Uncle Owen's. They've got plenty of extra beds at Hillside.” She said to Van, “I guess they had a lovely weekend, from what Laurie said. She was just like a kid, telling about it. She didn't look old enough to have a girl in high school.” She didn't need Van to answer, but went back to talking about the meeting. Van could reassure herself that time was passing only by tipping back her head and seeing that Orion had moved. The house across the harbor became a skeleton bathed in gold, and then only the central chimney and a few uprights remained black in the midst of glory.

“I think they've got it,” Kathy said, rather quietly for her. “Kept it in one place . . . so far, anyway.”

“Somebody's coming,” Cindy said. They heard feet running on the boardwalk.

“That's not Terence,” said Kathy. “I don't know what would ever make him run. The last trumpet, maybe.” The two women sat listening to the drumming footsteps. Van tensed in spite of herself. Then Richard bounded among them and sprawled against a pile of traps, panting dramatically.

“Everybody's all right,” he gasped. “They told me to say that the first thing. And—and—”

“Sit down before you die,” Kathy said.

“I'm all right too. They said . . . Barry and Terence said . . . for you to—” He hauled in a whooping breath. “Go to bed. They're gonna take turns standing watch the rest of the night. All the men. Aunt Liza and Aunt Jo have got gallons of coffee. My gorry, is this
fun!
” He left at the full gallop.

“Gee, I wish I could go over there,” Cindy said. “If it's so much fun.”

“You're going to bed, and I'll bet Richard'll be in his bed shortly, too. Come on.” Johnny was sleeping and she hoisted him up so that he hung over her shoulder. “Davey, take Van's hand so you won't walk off the edge of the wharf, you're so groggy. Cindy, be careful now. I'll make cocoa for us when we go in.”

“Oh, boy!”

“Have some with us, Van,” said Kathy.

“No, thanks. I'd better get in all my belongings that I threw out the windows.”

Kathy laughed. “All our gear is on the front porch.”

“Good night,” Van said, letting go Davey's hand at the front steps. A drowsy chorus followed her. She went in and put the teakettle on, then brought in the things and piled them all in the sitting room. Barry had eaten up Kathy's lobster chowder but had left some meatloaf. She made herself a thick sandwich of it and some coffee, and found something to read. She read the first page over and over, eating and drinking steadily.

At half-past two Barry came in, half-swaggering, half-staggering. “You still up, Beautiful?” He leaned against the dresser to get his boots off, scraping one heel over the toe of the other. His words slurred as if he were drunk. He had washed, but he was still sooty in places. “Got any more of that coffee and grub?”

“Sit down, I'll fix something,” she said. He sagged into a chair.

“God, I was scared shitless, and I wasn't the only one. Well, the wind's dropping down now, and we'll be getting the dew too. They sent Terence and me home, there's enough of 'em that live around there . . .” He yawned enormously. “Well, that little bitch really did it up brown tonight. She roasted the goose up proper, she did.” He was much amused. “The goose that laid the golden egg. It's now a gone goose. Get it?”

“What little bitch?” She set food before him.

“Gina!” He slapped his palm down on the table. “She did it! Told everybody she did it. Set it on purpose with papers and kerosene, and bawled like a teething kid because it didn't take half the island in a clean sweep.”

She sat down opposite him. “Where is she now?”

“Jo and Willy pinned her down after a while. She's up at Sorensens', in bed, knocked out with about three rum toddies. They didn't have anything else to give her. Kee-rist, she was some wild, running around while we were passing buckets and pumping away, and screeching, ‘I did it!' Poor Willy. He was really crying, and no mistake. He kept saying ‘She don't mean it, she's sick.' Anybody could take time to say a word, said sure, she was just upset.”

“She must hate being in a Bennett house,” Van said.

“She ought to, after trying to burn 'em out. Her conscience ought to be giving her conniptions, if she's got one, which I doubt.”

“Her big gesture collapsed, and everybody else wins out after all,” said Vanessa dreamily.

“What the hell, you sound sorry for her!” He was outraged.

“Somebody ought to.”

“Well, sure, if you want to figger she's off her head. But in that case she ought to be locked up. How about another sandwich?”

She made it for him, and then went up to bed.

K
athy came over as soon as the children went to school. For once her blue eyes were somber. “She might have burned us all out!”

“Maybe that's what she intended to do.”

“She couldn't have thought it would go as far as it did! I mean, nobody sets fires to destroy property and maybe lives unless they're crazy or drunk. . . . Or crazy-drunk, and I've seen some of that,” she admitted. “Only my father used to throw his ax at anybody that got in his way, not set the house afire. No, she must have been good and mad, and started the fire to scare Willy, and she expected him to put it right out, but something happened. It got away from them.”

Van shrugged. “You could be right. What difference does it make? She's made her point.”

“That she's a vicious little brat?”

“Oh, it's simple,” said Van. “She doesn't like where she is. Maybe Willy'll be fired now, because of having such an unpredictable and dangerous wife.”

Kathy was pale. “Whatever it is, she gave me nightmares. I woke up hollering and Terence was trying to shut me up. . . . She must be wishing for a knothole to crawl into this morning. She must be some ashamed of herself, with everybody being so nice and making believe she was just hysterical with fear when she was screeching around last night.”