The Sea is a Thief

by David Parmelee

  With a broad leap he clasped his hands around Nettle’s neck and flung himself upwards and sideways. He nearly overshot the mark and ended up on the other side, but a sudden grasp on the horse’s mane steadied him. He lunged for the reins and balanced himself, not a moment too soon, as Anna wheeled Willow about and cantered away, the hooves of her mount spraying little tornadoes of sand in her wake. He thought he might have a few minutes to get used to her style of riding, but he was mistaken. He could only follow northwards at her chosen speed, concentrating on staying upright.

  In time, he caught her. Nettle was mild-tempered as promised, yielding easily to the urging of the reins. Sam soon found himself able to use the Indian bridle to direct the horse with gentle pressure. Working without stirrups, he held himself in balance with his knees. He began to think he might survive the ride. Anna’s pony was eager to run; shouting a command, she moved forward slightly on her horse and took off at a gallop. Sam followed at some distance. Anna veered into the surf, her mount carving deep hollows in the wet sand. Tiny crabs scuttled from their path. By turns they climbed up onto the dunes, then back into the shallow water, then at full speed down the hard-packed beach. When she pulled up and spun about the lighthouse was no longer visible on the horizon. She waited some minutes for Sam to join her, her pony’s flanks heaving. He reined in his horse.

  “You might have ridden faster, Mr. Dreher,” she said, “But you’ve done well to stay mounted your first time on a Chincoteague pony.”

  Their horses exercised, they trotted side-by-side. Anna’s skirts were damp with salt spray, and long strands of hair had come loose from the braid at her neck. Sam had pushed his cap far down on his forehead against the wind. The cool air reddened their faces. She pointed to a grove of small evergreens in the distance.

  “There’s a place with some shelter, where we can rest.”

  They reached the little grove at a walk. A dozen short loblolly pines had grown in an almost perfect semicircle, just over the dunes facing the sea. They surrounded a little hollow banked by three huge flat rocks. A ring of smooth stones had been fashioned just in front of them. The ashes of past campfires remained within it. Anna dismounted and Sam followed, taking the reins in hand to tether his horse.

  “No need,” said Anna. “They both know where we are. I come here frequently to draw.” He looked about. It was a fine little place, serene and separate from the surrounding island. Long copper-colored pine needles lay everywhere, cushioning their steps as they walked. They sat on the largest rock as Anna opened her bag.

  “What do you draw when you come here, Anna?” She pulled the cork from a bottle of cider. Setting out two metal cups, she filled them and held one out to Sam. He took it readily. He had not realized how thirsty he was. The tangy sweetness of the cold cider cut the dust and salt from his throat. Anna sipped from her cup, looking towards the sea, then high into the sky above them. He heard a booming sound, like distant thunder. A gun.

  “Are there hunters about?”

  “Surely. It’s early still, but the geese are arriving. Look!” As if on a silent cue, two snow geese crossed the sky above them, headed for the marsh just beyond. Their white plumage glowed against the bright blue sky.

  “I like to draw the snow geese when they gather on the marsh in cold weather,” she said. “They cover the water like a carpet.” Three more geese followed the first pair. “See how black the primary feathers are, contrasting the white. And their bills are so pink.” She turned to her right, gazing towards the marsh where the geese were headed.

  Suddenly something caught her eye. She pointed to the horizon. He saw what she had seen: a large predatory bird, hovering over the marsh, talons extended towards the ground. Its long, tapered wings were striped in chocolate and ivory. It hung nearly motionless in the air, eyes fixed on the grasses below. Without warning it folded its wings and dropped, emerging again with something gripped tightly in its feathered talons. The bird wheeled off towards a cedar tree.

  “A vulture?” asked Sam.

  “A marsh hawk. A hunter. Sometimes I can watch them for hours.”

  Ana reached into the bag and brought out a loaf of bread, breaking it and handing half to Sam. He was glad to eat. The hard crust was dark, almost bitter, but the inside was golden-white and soft as air. From the pocket of her skirt she took a packet of paper and a short pencil. Laying it on the rock beside her, she began to draw an outline: a feather, then another, then a sharply rounded head and a wickedly hooked bill. It was the marsh hawk, hovering on her page just as it had just behind them. She handed Sam the pencil.

  “You draw the tail.” He protested. “I couldn’t begin to make such a drawing, Anna. I would ruin your work!” She laughed. His concern charmed her.

  “It is nothing, Sam. I make so many of them. Try to draw the tail.” She watched him hesitate, then put the pencil to paper and make a cautious line. In his mind’s eye he saw the bird’s wide tail, mottled with dark stripes. He drew six feathers, then another, and joined the tail to the body Anna had created.

  “There is no resemblance!” he shouted, frustrated.

  “Good enough, Sam Dreher,” she clucked. “For a first try at least. This is the first drawing we have made together.” She gazed on it for a few long moments and folded it carefully in two. Reaching for him, she held his tunic open at the neck, and gently slid the drawing inside the fabric.

  How easily she might have let go of his tunic and gone back to her meal, but she did not. Instead, she pulled him gently closer with both hands, as she might pull a cape about herself when she felt rain begin to fall. He yielded willingly to her grip, and in the softness of his eyes she saw what she longed to see. Their lips met in an inevitable kiss, his hands brushing the wayward strands of her hair away from her face and cradling her shoulders as her neck arched backwards. Their kiss lasted an eternity, their lips parting, then meeting again, drawn together as if they could find breath only in each other. She felt his kisses on her cheeks and her neck, and she held his head against her. His cap had fallen away, forgotten, and the sun cast showers of light onto his hair. She sank her fingers into it and kissed him again. This time, no tears or remorse drew a veil between them; the bittersweetness of his near loss had faded, replaced with a joy so great that she did not know its name.

  Neither could measure the time they held each other. It was not enough, but both knew it was too long. Duty awaited both Sam and Anna; their sweet, stolen time had an end, and they had reached it. Without a word they rose to their feet and remounted their horses, their silence that of parishioners exiting an hour of devotion, unwilling to profane the air. In silence they rode, as slowly as the impatient ponies would permit, until the lighthouse emerged unwelcome onto the horizon again. The smoke from a cooking fire rose behind it; Elizabeth would be waiting for them.

  “Will Elizabeth disapprove of us having been here together?” Sam asked.

  “If Elizabeth has found your heart to be true,” she said, “you need not fear her disapproval in anything.”

  Sam Dreher was mightily consoled when the medicine woman welcomed them back, embraced them, and gave them more food for their return to Chincoteague. She offered Sam her compliments on the work he had done on the skiff, then bid them be off, lest they arrive later than they should. As Sam rowed away from the bank by the lighthouse Anna saw that Elizabeth had already lain down for a nap.

  The gulls circling overhead seemed to mock them as they entered the channel and Assateague receded. The gulls could remain; they could not. Anna tried to focus her mind on the time that was left to them before Sam’s oars took them back to her home, where they must separate. She could not. Imminent pain steals from current pleasure, as gulls steal scraps from one another, squabbling in the air over a crumb. Her heart sank lower as the creeks led by turns to the town of Chincoteague.

  The sun was fiery in the west as they bid each other farewell, Sam pledging to return quickly, Anna urging him to be cautious and assuring him of her patien
ce. Inside, her greatest desire was to hold him and beg him to keep his word. Yes, return quickly, as quickly as you can, Sam Dreher.

  Sam met up with Ethan in front of the Atlantic Hotel.

  “A couple of the lads went in for an ale, Sam,” he explained. “I was glad they did, else you’d be here havin’ to explain where you were all day. We’ve been ready to shove off for a while now.” Sam could only thank him, as before, but with a depth of gratitude he could not have felt just a few days ago. Ethan cut him off.

  “I told you I had you covered,” he said. “No need to slobber about it.”

  “You are my friend, Ethan,” he said.

  “Indeed I am,” said Ethan. “Now go get in the boat.”

  As he rowed the launch back to the Louisiana, Sam felt Anna’s drawing inside his tunic, close against his heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Interloper

  If necessity is the mother if invention, then love is the source of cleverness, especially for young men. Fueled by the fire of newfound love, a calm, careful man is transformed into a creature with the resourcefulness and guile of a ravenous fox. No power, even that of the United States Navy, is strong enough to keep him from his love. When the man is as smart as Sam Dreher, the transformation is both dramatic and lightning fast. His feelings for Anna Daisey had been growing since the moment they met. After the day they spent on Assateague, he reached that perilous place where all other things ceased to matter. He had to be with her, come what may, and he needed a scheme that would ensure it.

  He began to devise a plan while rowing towards the Louisiana that evening. As he attached the launch to the lines that would haul it aboard, he found himself staring at the sleeve of his uniform. Its color was dark in the fading light. He noticed the repair that Mary Daisey had made during his first visit to Anna’s home. He had not thought of it since. The work was so fine that it defied detection. Captain Sharpe had never made mention of it, and he was notorious for fault-finding. Each morning, as he reviewed the rows of sailors, Captain Dull took personal offense at the state of many of the uniforms—and these were the best the crew could muster up, not the sorry spare tunics and trousers they had stowed below deck. Each small incident that damaged a uniform required a sailor to spend precious leisure time sewing it up as best he could. Few could do a first-rate job. Most drew Sharpe’s wrath the next morning.

  Why not bring the work to Mary Daisey? The sailors were paid regularly, and Chincoteague offered a man few opportunities to spend his money. They could easily afford whatever Mary Daisey’s handiwork would cost them. The best part of it was that Mary was Sam’s personal secret. He would deliver and retrieve the uniforms himself. While Mary was busy at her sewing, he and Anna would be together.

  He presented his idea to Ethan as they finished their meal. Ethan considered it carefully, eyes fixed straight ahead as they usually were when he was deep in thought.

  “It’s good,” he said, finally. “You’re a quick one, Sam. You always were. To a degree, I mean.”

  Sam leaned back on his bench. “High praise. But where are the problems with it?”

  Ethan frowned, shaking his head. “No, no difficulties. This is good for everyone. First, the crew passes inspection each morning. That puts the Captain in a better frame of mind. Second, it helps the islanders, as the Captain is dead-set on doing. As for you, that goes without saying. And as for me, I don’t have to invent some yarn every day that explains where you have gotten to. I believe that’s what I like best about it. You know, that Bagwell girl came around looking for you.”

  Sam winced. Nancy Bagwell was the last problem he needed.

  “I didn’t give her any cause to look for me. What was her reason?”

  “She didn’t say. Not be concerned, though, Sam. I told her you wouldn’t be back for a while, and she left quickly. I don’t believe anything will come of it.” Sam dropped his head into his hands. “It cannot. If she keeps me from Anna another day…” His voice trailed off into silence.

  “When,” Ethan asked, “do I find myself a girl such as this, who inspires you so?”

  Sam flashed a wry smile. “There’s a girl foolish enough for you somewhere, Ethan. You haven’t looked hard enough yet, is all.” He finished the last of his coffee. “Now I need only to find some raggedy uniforms.”

  “You can start with mine. I’ll give them to you in the morning,” Ethan offered. “Just take a few things at a time. Tell them your seamstress is so careful that she can’t go very fast. Then you’ll have a reason to visit every day.”

  “That’s good,” Sam reflected. “When did you start thinking ahead of me?”

  “I always have,” Ethan replied. “You’re just too slow to know it.”

  Ethan’s prediction was right; Sam had no difficulty finding work for Mary Daisey. Benjamin Harvey gave his blessing and was the first officer to toss a torn garment into Sam’s bag. Word spread fast. Within hours Sam’s shipmates were seeking him out with tattered trousers and tunics in need of attention. It occurred to him that he had no guarantee Mary could even handle what he might bring her; then he recalled how diligent Anna had told him she was, laboring into the night whenever there was work. Mary would come through, as long as he didn’t drown her in navy-blue broadcloth. He set a limit of five pieces a day. Looking at the pile of crumpled uniforms, he could already account for many trips to the Daisey household. It made him smile.

  Mary Daisey was used to Sam’s presence at her home, though she would have been astonished to learn just how many days he had spent with her daughter, beneath her notice. Both Sam and Anna knew full well that their growing love would please no one but themselves: certainly not Mary, nor Beau, nor any of Sam’s superiors on the gunboat Louisiana. That left them almost entirely alone. They built a fortress of two, with only Ethan Platt to stand watch. Their secret was safe as long as it belonged only to them. They took the greatest care their hearts would allow.

  Sam arrived at Mary Daisey’s door on a cool, clear morning, burdened with a basket of Navy mending. Mary’s face lit up with happiness. Her empty sewing table told Sam that she needed work. She held the well-worn garments to the light, frowning at the damage.

  “What manner of things must you sailors do to your clothing, Mr. Dreher?” she clucked, shaking her head. “Some of this is difficult. There’s re-weaving to be done. It’s no wonder they didn’t want to attempt it themselves!” She counted the items quickly. “What am I to be paid?”

  “I told them only that it would be reasonable, ma’am, and I’m certain it will be. Charge what you usually do, then a bit more.”

  Mary smiled, “I told you when you first arrived that you were like an angel sent to this home. Just when all the curtains are completed, and nothing else on the horizon…” her voice trailed off. “You shall have these for your return tonight. Do you still return to your ship each evening?” He nodded. “Then tonight it shall be, as God gives me speed to finish them. And are there more for tomorrow?” He described the small mountain of uniforms that lay beside his bunk. He could see tension drop from her shoulders as she lifted up her face as if to heaven. “I will begin straightaway,” she said, and with that retreated to her workroom. She paused momentarily, capturing his gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Dreher.”

  Within hours, he and Anna were on Assateague.

  Anna’s worst fear was that Sam would not love Assateague as she did. It was unfounded. He took delight in the place. They traveled there at every opportunity. What mattered most to both of them was being together; the time they passed in each other’s company was like time spent aloft in clouds. She could see that the island held a special appeal for him, too—in his eyes, his stance on horseback, and the ease in his body as he lay on his back, face raised to the autumn sky. Assateague was working its charms on Sam Dreher.

  Sam had passed Elizabeth’s test early on. She adopted him as a mother cat might take in a stray kitten that had wandered away from its brothers. Her home became his home, as it w
as for Anna. In her tent they cooked their meals: fish and oysters, garden vegetables, and wild plants that were altogether new to Sam. He found it all good. Elizabeth served him raw oysters, prying the shells apart with her knife to reveal the pearly flesh in its bath of fresh brine. He ate them cautiously at first, then with gusto, learning to complement their salty tang with spoonfuls of ground horseradish that brought tears to his eyes.

  They made stew and smoked fish filets over the fire. They drank tea and cider. On one occasion Elizabeth brought Sam a dram from a very dusty old bottle of amber whiskey. It had cured the vapors, or so a prosperous mainland Virginia woman once claimed, after all other cures had failed.

  The fire warmed them and the breezes cooled their faces. The music of the surf was constant, deep like a kettle drum when the wind was sharp, soft like the breath of a sleeping child when it was calm. They rode the length of the beach to the limits of their horses' endurance, the surf tearing at their ankles, birds wheeling overheard like miniature angels. The sharp scent of the ocean cleansed their minds of all concern, hurling it seawards towards England, or Africa, as the current carried it.

  When they were alone, they held each other, their bodies speaking when their mouths could not. They held each other as they would hold onto life.

  Each day they returned, lifted up, but mourning the end of the time that God had given them on their island. Assateague had granted liberty to their souls, two in tandem. This is what they brought back, to glow for a while, lighting the dark places around them.

  Perhaps the most useful aspect of Nancy Bagwell's character was the inability to perceive the effect she had on others. Had she been able to see herself as others did, she might have been discouraged in her pursuit of the young men of Chincoteague. As it was, she was mystified when one of them spurned her advances. She tended to blame her failures on a lack of effort on her part. The opposite was true. The harder Nancy chased, the faster boys fled. Having no insight into their feelings, her instinct was to intensify her assault. At some point, the object of her affection would abandon tact and resort to a more effective bluntness, letting Nancy know he wanted nothing more to do with her. Even after that, she normally remained hopeful—at least for a while—that everything might still work out.