Tidepool

by Nicole Willson

  There are ladies present were four of Sorrow Hamilton’s least favorite words. All the truly interesting parts of life seemed to happen in the places where ladies weren’t supposed to be.

  Charlie leaned over the table. “Well, now. Perhaps this is a more intriguing place than you thought,” he whispered, grinning.

  “I wouldn’t know,” she replied, putting her chin in her hand. “It seems nobody’s allowed to talk about anything interesting that happens.”

  Outside, the altercation ended without any more punches being thrown, although the older man shouted something else at Silas as their companions led them in opposite directions. Sorrow’s mind spun as she turned back to her food.

  “Well, Sorrow,” Charlie said after they were finished eating. “I’m going to talk with Mayor Conlan this afternoon.”

  “Are you going to ask him about Hal?”

  “Of course I will. That, and other things.”

  “So you’re still serious about wanting to turn this place into Ocean City? Oh, Charlie.”

  “I know these things, old girl. People with money will come here in droves given a bit of work and the right incentives. Do you suppose you can keep yourself out of trouble until dinner tonight?”

  She frowned. “I won’t promise anything.”

  He laughed at that. “At least say you’ll try. And I’ll meet you back here. Around six, is that agreeable?”

  “Of course.”

  He took her hand and kissed it as they parted, and something about that made Sorrow feel warm and silly inside for the first time since Henry had disappeared. She found Charlie’s attitude towards her terribly frustrating at times, and especially now while Hal was still missing. But she couldn’t quite set aside her long infatuation with him.

  But what could she do to keep herself out of trouble until dinner? Lacking any other ideas, she headed back to the boardwalk. She had no further desire to walk by the water, lest some other ghastly thing wash up with the tide, but she sat on a bench and watched the waves, hoping some ideas about tracking Henry down would come to her if only she stared long enough. But she observed nothing other than the same dismal rocks and masses of seaweed that had greeted her that morning.

  Although the day was still cool, the heavy air felt increasingly oppressive, and Sorrow fanned herself with a hand. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there when someone spoke.

  “Why didn’t you leave?” The voice behind her nearly made her fall off the bench. Perhaps she had dozed off.

  She turned around to see Quentin standing over her. His glasses were perched on the top of his head, which made his black hair stick out around his face. The absence of the glasses revealed heavy undereye circles that Sorrow suspected might be a permanent part of Quentin’s features.

  “You saw what happened, Quentin. Charlie won’t let me leave without him, and he’s staying one more night.”

  “Don’t go outside after the sun sets.”

  Sorrow was getting heartily tired of men telling her what she could and couldn’t do in Tidepool. “And why not?”

  “She doesn’t like to go after women, but if she thinks you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have, she’ll do it.”

  “What on earth are you talking about? Who won’t go after women?”

  Quentin hugged his arms around himself, and it occurred to Sorrow that he must be cold in nothing but that thin white shirt and the pants, which looked summery. And then his face crumpled as if he were trying not to cry.

  “Quentin? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m so tired,” he said, sounding as if he were in pain.

  “Why don’t you go home and rest, then?” she said in a gentle tone.

  “Ada didn’t want me hanging around today. She’s busy with Lucy.”

  “Lucy?”

  “Her … her daughter. Lucy doesn’t like me.”

  “Your own niece? Whyever not?”

  Quentin looked at Sorrow through narrowed eyes. “Can’t tell. I’ll get in trouble. But stay in tonight.”

  And with that, he quite literally ran away from her.

  Sorrow watched as he fled up Water Street, her pulse quickening. What was it about him that made her want to listen to him, even if he spoke in near-riddles?

  He seemed lonely. He seemed frightened.

  And he seemed to be the only person willing to confirm to her that yes, something about Tidepool wasn’t right. At all. Charlie had called him an odd duck, and he was. And yet she wanted to corner him and force him to give her answers before he could go tearing off again.

  She wondered what life with Ada Oliver as a sister would be like, especially if Mrs. Oliver allowed her own daughter to be so disrespectful to her uncle.

  As Quentin vanished from her sight, Sorrow decided that she didn’t care what kind of business Charlie thought he was going to accomplish here. She was leaving tomorrow, with or without him. She’d had more than enough of Tidepool and its odd people and its strange little mysteries.

  One more night, she thought as she stood up. One more night, and that’s it.

  Chapter Eight

  RUTHIE AND LUCY

  Silas Graham

  * * *

  Silas really did feel terrible about Ruthie Swenson. Not so much so that he’d been able to avoid coming back to Tidepool and risking the anger of Ruthie’s father, but bad all the same.

  He’d just wanted to spend the long nights in Tidepool doing something more than drinking himself into a stupor in Balt Cooper’s run-down tavern. He’d never meant for anyone to get hurt. Or worse.

  Ruthie Swenson, a plump and cheerful brunette who worked at her father’s grocery store, had seemed very willing to help him pass the time. He never had to try too hard to sneak her away to quiet areas near the beach or the boat and then talk her out of her dress.

  He thought she’d understood that the time they stole behind the dunes on the beach, or in the hull of Silas’s boat, were just a few hours of fun, and no more. When she moaned that she loved him as he finished thrusting into her one night, he assumed she was just caught up in the moment, as could happen.

  He had never known that in her head, Ruthie was writing a love story and an escape plan, with Silas as her partner.

  Not until he and his fishing partners had returned to Tidepool the previous year. Ruthie strolled up to him one night as he left Cooper’s for his boat.

  “Oh, Silas,” she purred. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Of course, my dear.” He was drunk, and he swayed a bit as he placed an arm around her shoulders. He wasn’t sure what was so wonderful, but she was obviously happy, and a happy Ruthie was generally up for spending a pleasant hour or two with Silas in the hull of his boat or some other private spot.

  And then he noticed that Ruthie kept rubbing her belly, which was a good bit fuller and rounder than he remembered. She seemed quite pleased by that fact. Proud, even. And a pang of sick fear spread through him as he began putting things together.

  “I’ve managed to keep Father from noticing,” she whispered, pulling him close. “But I can’t hold him off much longer. And I won’t need to, now that you’re here.”

  “Ruthie, I—”

  “You’ll take me out of this place with you, right?” She searched his face. “You’ll have to. I won’t raise a child here. I simply won’t do it. She’ll let me go if I have a child.”

  He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was all happening much too fast. He hadn’t been ready for it. And it was hardly fair of her to ambush him with such news.

  And who would let her go? He didn’t understand what she meant by that, but it was the least of his worries at the moment.

  “Ruthie, I have no plans for a wife or a child right now.” Only that wasn’t true at all. Even then, he’d had someone all picked out back home who he wished to marry, even if he’d never seen the point of mentioning that minor detail to Ruthie. His Alma was blonde and quiet and practical. She would never sneak off
with visiting fishermen. She was nothing at all like Ruthie.

  “What do you mean?” She stepped back from him with tears beginning in her light blue eyes.

  “I mean I am very sorry if I gave you the wrong idea about my intentions towards you.”

  “The wrong idea? We were in love.”

  “Now, Ruthie, I never said that.” Of course he hadn’t. Had he? He supposed he might’ve blurted the words out in response to her own during one of their drunken tumbles. But he hadn’t meant them. People got caught up in the moment, especially when the ale had gone to their heads. Had she really not understood that?

  Her fingers tightened on his arm. “But you must marry me and take me away from this place. You can’t just turn your back on your own child. Or me.”

  Silas started to wonder why he didn’t have any say in this situation, and he was getting annoyed by her presumption and her carelessness.

  “Ruthie, I’m sorry you got yourself into trouble, but I leave tomorrow and I’m afraid you’re going to have to get yourself out of this.” Silas backed away from her as he spoke. He could hear some of his companions snickering behind him. “Besides, I know I’m not the first man you’ve been with. How do I even know if that’s mine?”

  She looked as if he’d struck her across the face.

  “You bastard,” she hissed. “You hateful, cruel bastard.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said as he hurried back to the beach. And he really did mean it. He’d never had any intention of marrying a grocer’s daughter in a tiny hole of a town like Tidepool, but he hadn’t wanted anyone to get hurt either. He’d just wanted a nice way to spend the long nights here. Nothing more.

  He had skipped the next trip to Tidepool with his friends and fellow fishermen, claiming illness. He didn’t want to risk another encounter with Ruthie, especially if she now had a child—their child?—in tow.

  But his friends had brought back awful news: Soon after Silas’s last visit, Ruthie Swenson filled the pockets of her dress with heavy stones and walked straight into the ocean. Her corpse had washed up the following week, barely recognizable, and the child inside her was as dead as its mother.

  He threw up after hearing that. He truly hadn’t meant for any of it to happen.

  And after that, Silas had never wanted to come back to this place.

  But as sparse and uninspiring as Tidepool was to visit, the flounder and bass were always most abundant near its shores, no matter what the fishing was like elsewhere along the coast. And the weather conditions in Tidepool always tended towards the favorable; the tiny town never appeared disturbed by the storms and occasional hurricanes that disrupted the other ports and towns that lined the Eastern Shore. Storms that tossed their boat around would quiet as Tidepool pulled into view. The fishermen couldn’t understand it, but they needed Tidepool’s marine bounty, and so they didn’t question their luck.

  If he wanted to start a new life with his Alma, he would need all the fish that he could catch from Tidepool’s beach.

  And so he returned that October. Perhaps people there had forgotten about the whole mess. Perhaps they hadn’t even known who was responsible for Ruthie’s condition at the time she took her life.

  Silas had had no plans to venture into the tavern on this trip, but he began craving something besides the fishy cheese and salami he’d brought with him on the boat. He worried that he spent so much time around fish that the odor had become a part of him; he was sure he could smell it on himself even after he’d bathed. And the salty reek seemed particularly heavy and unpleasant in Tidepool.

  The tavern never seemed too busy in the middle of the day, he reasoned. Perhaps a quick lunch would be safe.

  But Al Swenson, Ruthie’s father, appeared just as Silas was approaching Cooper’s Inn with a few of the other fishermen. Al’s long, wrinkled face was twisted in anger, and he knocked Silas down on the street in front of his friends and everyone.

  Silas got up and swung at him, but the other fishermen held him back as Al’s companions hauled him away. Silas’s heart pounded. He felt the blood rushing to his face. He hated being a spectacle.

  Faces appeared in nearby shop windows, and even the patrons in Cooper’s Tavern were gawking out the window at him.

  His appetite gone, Silas returned to his work. He had no intention of going into the town again, but around six, his friends started nagging him.

  “Come now, Sy. A pint or two of ale will dispel the hard feelings.” George Hershey wouldn’t leave Silas be.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You have to eat sometime.”

  “I have food here.” He didn’t think he could stand another mouthful of salami or cheese, but at this point he’d eat sand and pieces of rotting driftwood if it meant not going back into that hellhole of a town.

  “Look, just a quick pint or two and some dinner. That’s it. We don’t even need to talk to anyone.”

  George wouldn’t let up, and Silas was quite hungry. He’d missed out on lunch after the scene Al Swenson had caused out on the street, and while the humiliation had robbed him of his appetite at the time, hunger gnawed at his insides now.

  And really, what right did those people have to judge him, or try to keep him out? He’d spent plenty of money in this shabby town, which looked like it needed all the cash it could get. And he hadn’t deliberately harmed Ruthie. She’d made her own choices and had expected Silas to go along with them, without any thought given to the idea that Silas might have a life outside of Tidepool. The sad consequences of her actions were on her head. He had done nothing to deserve such treatment from the locals.

  His rising anger—and his hunger—overruled his caution.

  He lurked behind George as they entered the tavern. Balt Cooper raised an eyebrow when they walked in, but greeted them all the same. The black woman Cooper called his “wife” appeared to be making a great effort to be at the opposite end of the bar from where Silas sat, but he didn’t much care if people avoided him. It was far better than the alternatives of being struck and threatened.

  If Al Swenson or any of his friends were around, Silas didn’t see them.

  After the first pint of ale, the tension in Silas’s body began to ease up. Maybe he’d be able to leave here without getting into any more fights.

  He glanced around at the other people in the increasingly crowded tavern. Most of them looked like the same drab Tidepool residents he always saw in Cooper’s, but three of them stood out.

  Mrs. Ada Oliver sat with two people Silas knew weren’t from Tidepool, or anywhere like Tidepool. They were both young. Clean. And dressed in bright, expensive clothes, the likes of which he’d never seen on anyone in this town. The strawberry-blonde girl, who made Silas think of his Alma back home, didn’t look happy at all; she scanned the room with an expression that shifted between boredom and fear. She looked even less pleased to be in Tidepool than Silas was, if that were possible.

  Her eyes stopped briefly on Silas as she stared around the tavern. He nodded to her. She gave him a short, unfriendly nod in return and then glanced away.

  Had she seen what had happened to him that afternoon? Perhaps she’d heard the gossipy locals talking about it.

  He doubted very much that she’d come back to his boat with him, even if he were to drink enough ale to summon the courage to ask her.

  The young blond man she sat with looked much happier to be there. He wore a green suit finer than anything Silas had ever seen up close. And he was talking away at Mrs. Oliver, waving his hands around and laughing, although Mrs. Oliver herself still sported her usual grim expression.

  Silas had seen the widow before, of course. She was difficult to miss in her fine black dresses as she sat at that table by the fireplace, and he had asked Balt Cooper about her. Silas couldn’t tell what effect the young man’s words might be having on the woman, who Silas had rarely seen speak with anyone. But at one point, Mrs. Oliver glanced around and caught Silas’s eye.

  And her dark
, pitiless stare chilled whatever warmth the ale had sparked inside of him. Her eyes appeared as if they’d been carved from black ice; there was no soul in them. He wanted to leave Tidepool again. Right now, in fact.

  “Say, George,” he said over the din. “Think I might call it an evening.”

  “What? You’ve barely touched your food.” George pointed to Silas’s nearly uneaten salmon.

  “It’s not agreeing with me tonight. I’ll be back on the boat.”

  “Best to leave the local girls alone. Or watch out for angry fathers.” George found that remark incredibly funny. Silas did not.

  “Whoa there.” George held his grubby hands in the air when he saw Silas’s face. “Just a joke.”

  “It’s always just a joke with you,” Silas grumbled. He put down some money on the bar, his face burning.

  The beach was deserted, as it often was after dark. Silas needed to relieve himself and did so in the ocean, as nobody was there to see him.

  The moon glinted off the black water, and Silas sighed as he finished up. The night air chilled him and he rubbed his hands over his arms, hoping the friction would warm him.

  “Oh, Ruthie,” he whispered. He really was sorry.

  Faint footsteps sounded nearby, and Silas swore quietly. He hoped against hope that the person hadn’t seen him pissing in the water. Although he was sure far worse had probably been dumped into the Atlantic, he knew few citizens of Tidepool were inclined to look too kindly on him at the moment.

  He turned around and saw a woman approaching him.

  Although it was hard to tell in the darkness, she appeared to be clad in a large hat and bundled up in a heavy dress that looked like something the widow Oliver might favor.

  But—and here was the odd part—her face was almost completely covered. She’d wrapped a scarf around her head, leaving only a space for her eyes.

  The usual stench of dead fish on the beach grew stronger and more unpleasant as he stared at the approaching woman. He wondered if the pint of ale on an empty stomach had been a wise decision. His head swam.