September Mourn

by Mary Daheim

  Judith lifted her dark, even eyebrows at her cousin. “What is? Arturo?”

  “Huh?” Renie was gazing distractedly around the dining room, where the oval oak table was covered with an Irish linen cloth and already set for breakfast. “Oh, Arturo! Maybe, I’ve only met him once. No,” she continued, now resting her brown eyes on Judith. “This whole idea of staying here. It may be days before we can go back home. What are your bookings for the rest of the week?”

  Judith winced. “I’ve got four rooms filled tomorrow night, three on Thursday, and then we’re full over the weekend. But still, if I’ve saved you the insurance allowance for one night at a motel, you ought to come out okay.”

  Renie sank into the chair at the head of the table, which was the only one of the set with arms. Grandpa Grover had used the chair as his place of honor. The previous spring, Judith had finally replaced Grandma Grover’s original needlepoint covers.

  “I suppose,” Renie said in a small voice. “I think they allow no more than fifty bucks a night. Where can we stay in this town for so little and still get room service? You know what our children are like.”

  Judith had never quite approved of the Jones family’s insistence on never staying at a hotel or motel that didn’t rate at least three stars in the AAA guidebook. The result was that Tom, Anne, and Tony—not to mention Bill and Renie—expected every possible amenity, including a complete menu at three A.M. Judith hoped that the Joneses didn’t expect such elegant treatment at Hillside Manor.

  The front door slammed, indicating that Anne had left with Arturo. Renie looked mildly interested. “I think he’s studying American art,” she murmured. “Or does Anne call him Art?”

  “Call it a day,” urged Joe, who apparently had just descended the back stairs from the family living quarters on the third floor and entered the dining room through the kitchen. “It’s almost ten, and both of you have had a long, destructive day.”

  “It’s too early,” Judith protested. Despite the need to rise at six and make breakfast for her guests, she usually didn’t retire until around eleven.

  “Are you kidding?” Renie asked. In contrast to her husband, she was a veritable night owl, seldom heading for bed until after midnight. “I have to wait up to let Anne in. She has no key.”

  Under the undeniably hideous paisley bathrobe Gertrude had given her son-in-law a couple of Christmases past, Joe shrugged. “Whatever. I’m going to watch TV. Something restful, like a violent cop show. Meanwhile,” he added for Renie as he turned to the swinging door, “tell your sons that the freezer control knobs aren’t edible.”

  “Sorry.” Renie gave Judith a sick little smile. “You know how my kids love to eat, even if they do enjoy weird food groups.”

  Judith also knew how Renie loved to eat. “Did you get any dinner, coz?”

  “No.” Somehow, Renie managed to look as if she hadn’t consumed even the tiniest morsel in days. Her cheeks sank in, her eyes grew hollow, her very skin seemed to turn ashen. “I could use a little meat. And potatoes and maybe a small but earnest vegetable.”

  Judith laughed. “As soon as your boys vacate the kitchen, I’ll whip up some chicken breasts and rice and what’s left of the fresh broccoli.” She paused, hearing the retreat of footsteps from the kitchen. “I think they’re going upstairs now. Shall I turn on the stove?”

  Renie smiled feebly. Five minutes later, the cousins were in the kitchen, listening to the sizzle of skinless chicken breast, the burble of boiling broccoli, and the hiss of steaming rice.

  “What,” Renie asked from her place at the kitchen table, “did Jeanne say when you called?”

  “Jeanne?” Judith blinked. “Oh—you mean Jeanne Clayton Barber.”

  “Right.” Renie rolled her eyes at the high ceiling.

  “I haven’t called yet,” Judith hedged, turning down the rice. “I don’t think Joe wants me to go.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Renie allowed. “It’ll wear you down, just when you should be taking a breather. It’s always harder to shoulder somebody’s else responsibilities than your own.”

  “It’s not that…exactly.” Judith busied herself with the chicken breast.

  Renie didn’t coax. Instead, she spread a paper napkin on her lap and gazed expectantly at the stove. “Cluck, cluck,” said Renie.

  “Actually,” Judith admitted, “Joe doesn’t care. That’s what bothers me.” She gave Renie an anxious look.

  “Huh?” Renie’s expression was blank.

  “Herself.” Judith savagely speared the chicken breast to lift it from the pan.

  “Oh, Jeez!” Renie clapped a hand to her head. “You aren’t worrying about Joe and Herself, are you? Come on, coz!”

  Dishing up rice and broccoli, Judith sighed. “I know, it’s stupid. I don’t think Joe’s seen Herself more than six times since she moved into the neighborhood last January. But they were married for almost twenty-five years, and they had a daughter together. Sometimes I feel as if I were an interloper in Joe’s life.”

  Renie was evincing disgust even as she lavishly buttered her rice. “That’s silly. Herself was the interloper, coming between the two of you, and almost ruining your lives.”

  Renie was right, of course. As Judith ran water into the kettle that had held the rice, she made up her mind. “I’ll call Jeanne now and tell her I’m coming.”

  “Fine,” Renie said with her mouth full. “Tell her I’m coming with you.”

  Renie’s rationale was simple: She couldn’t live at home until the repair work on the kitchen was done, the kids would be off to college in three more days, and Bill would be tied up at the university during the week. It might be possible for him to get a motel room for under fifty dollars.

  “He doesn’t use much room service,” Renie explained.

  Judith dialed Jeanne Barber’s number on Chavez Island. The ringing in Judith’s ear had a strange, hollow sound. “I feel like I’m calling Land’s End,” Judith murmured.

  Jeanne was effusive, elated, grateful. “I was so afraid you’d say no! When can you get here?”

  “Monday morning?” Judith offered. “I’ll have a full house over the weekend, so I’d rather wait. I also need to ask my neighbors to fill in.”

  “What a good friend you are!” Jeanne enthused in her strident voice. “Even after all these years! Now here’s how you get to Chavez Island…”

  Somehow, Judith had assumed that she need only drive some seventy-five miles north to the terminal where the ferryboats sailed off to the Santa Lucia Islands chain, and arrive an hour or so later at her destination. But Chavez Island was too small for a scheduled ferry stop, Jeanne told Judith.

  “You’ll have to leave your car on the mainland,” Jeanne said a trifle apologetically. “You won’t need it once you get here—the island is only a little over one square mile. Walk off the ferry at Laurel Harbor on Perez, the big island, and then Rafe will bring you to Chavez Cove in his cruiser.”

  “Rafe?” Judith frowned into the phone.

  “Rafe St. Jacques,” Jeanne answered promptly, then giggled. “He plays many parts. One of them is to provide transportation between Chavez and the other islands. There’s a nine-thirty ferry that’ll put you into Laurel Harbor at ten-forty-five. It’s an outgoing tide, but Rafe should get you to the B & B by eleven-fifteen.”

  “Okay,” Judith said dubiously. She shot Renie a quick glance, but her cousin was absorbed in her food. It wouldn’t do to mention the early departure time just yet. Renie wasn’t a morning person. “See you Monday,” Judith said to Jeanne, then listened to the other woman rattle off more thank-yous before hanging up.

  “Well,” Judith remarked, sitting down across from Renie, “that’s settled.”

  Renie nodded. “It should be kind of nice. The islands are beautiful, especially this time of year.”

  “Coz,” Judith began, gazing earnestly at Renie, “I really appreciate having you come along. Besides the pleasure of your company, it’ll cut down on my resp
onsibilities and lighten the workload…”

  Gobbling up the last morsel of chicken, Renie pushed her chair away from the table and stretched. “Who,” she yawned, “said I was going to work?”

  Judith merely smiled. It didn’t matter whether Renie helped or loafed. The cousins would be together on an outing to Chavez Island. For a week, they could put their troubles behind them. Jeanne Barber’s invitation began to take on the aura of an adventure rather than an obligation.

  Judith kept smiling.

  By Monday morning, Judith’s car had been declared a disaster. The cost of fixing the blue compact was so close to the low blue book value that the insurance company had advised her to take the money and buy a new used car. Judith wasn’t pleased at the prospect, but Joe pointed out that they didn’t have much choice. His MG couldn’t keep going forever, and it was inevitable that sooner or later, one of them would have to get another car. Sooner apparently was now.

  Since the Joneses were a one-car family, and Renie couldn’t leave Bill without the Chev, Joe suggested that Judith figure out what kind of a car she’d like to try out and rent one to take as far as the ferry dock. Upon their return to the mainland, she could test-drive a different model on the way home.

  Thus it was that Monday morning Judith had gotten up at her usual early hour to make breakfast for her guests, but had left almost immediately upon serving them so that Joe could take her to the nearest car-rental agency. Half an hour later she was back at Hillside Manor with a dark blue Subaru Legacy.

  “What do you think?” she asked of Renie, who had just been dropped off by Bill on his way to the university campus.

  “S’acar,” Renie shrugged in her usual morning fog. “S’blue.”

  Gently but firmly, Judith steered Renie toward the back door. “Go have a cup of coffee. I’ve got to make sure Mother is okay before we leave.”

  “S’amother,” Renie mumbled, staggering in the general direction of the porch.

  Gertrude was up but not yet dressed. She sat in her favorite chair, swathed in a bright orange bathrobe. “I hate this bacon,” she declared, pointing a gnarled finger at her plate. “It tastes like mole.”

  “It’s low sodium,” Judith said. “The doctor says it’s good for you.”

  “How old’s the doctor?” Gertrude demanded.

  Judith considered. “Forty, forty-five. Why?”

  Gertrude snorted. “Half my age. What can he know? I’ve been eating real bacon and real ham and real little pigs for twice that long. What do you bet that when the doctor’s my age, he’ll have been dead for twenty years?”

  The point was unarguable, nor did Judith want to wrangle with her mother just before leaving town. “I’ve left a shopping list for Arlene. I’ll make sure she gets you regular bacon. Is there anything else you need before Renie and I leave?”

  Gertrude hunched down inside her orange bathrobe. “Hunh! You bet, kiddo!” Her eyes narrowed as she gazed up at her daughter. “A few internal organs that aren’t on the skids, some arms and legs that don’t creak, eyes that can see farther than my fingers, and ears that’ll hear something quieter than an atom bomb. Well?”

  The requests were as familiar as they were impossible to fill. Judith gave Gertrude a wry smile. “In other words, you’re okay—all things considered.”

  “What things?” Gertrude stared at her hands.

  Before Judith could think of a suitable reply, there was a knock at the door to the toolshed. “Mrs. G!” called the husky voice. “Mrs. G-G! Are you decent?”

  “Herself,” Judith muttered, covering the short distance to the door.

  “Decent?” Gertrude echoed. “As in ‘decent’ what?”

  Vivian Flynn looked as if she’d stepped out of the Arabian Nights. Or, Judith thought less charitably, a bad harem movie. Billowing purple pants were topped with an equally billowing magenta blouse and a gold-brocade vest. A dozen small coins dangled from each ear, and her feet were encased with embroidered slippers that turned up at the toes. It didn’t seem possible to Judith that Herself could have completed the elaborate toilette at such an early hour; it was more likely that she had never gone to bed.

  “How’s my favorite neighbor?” Herself gushed, all but ignoring Judith as she made her way to Gertrude’s chair.

  “Finer than frog hair,” Gertrude replied, stiffly accepting a big wet smack on the cheek. For reasons that eluded Judith, her mother had taken a liking to the first Mrs. Flynn. Perhaps it was sheer perversity on Gertrude’s part, or maybe she genuinely enjoyed Herself’s brassy manner. “How come you’re all duded up like a circus freak?” Gertrude demanded.

  Herself’s laugh was loud and jangling. “Oh, Mrs. G-G, aren’t you the one! This is my lounging costume. I wear it when I just want to loll around and do nothing except watch TV or read.” Capturing some of the flowing purple fabric in one hand, Herself sat down on the arm of Gertrude’s chair. “I hear your daughter is abandoning you.” She darted Judith a sly look. “I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, I’m available.”

  “That’s swell of you,” Gertrude responded with a small smile. “It isn’t easy for an old lady when her daughter goes off gallivanting to Shabby Island or whatever it’s called.”

  “Now Mother,” Judith began before the significance of Herself’s words dawned on her. “Hey,” she said, turning to the other woman, “how did you know I was leaving town?”

  Herself’s heavily penciled eyebrows arched in exaggerated innocence. “How? Why, I heard it through the grapevine, that’s how. Isn’t that what happens in a cozy neighborhood like this?”

  It could be true. Hillside Manor was located at the end of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by longtime residents—except, of course, for Herself. Arlene Rankers was particularly generous in dispensing neighborhood news. Indeed, Judith often referred to her friend’s limitless source of gossip as ABS—Arlene’s Broadcasting System.

  On the other hand, maybe it was better not to know. “I’ve got to get going,” Judith said, summoning up a feeble smile. “I’ll call you, Mother.”

  “You’ll call me something,” Gertrude muttered, but did her best to put her arthritic arms around her daughter. “You be careful and don’t stick any nickels up your nose.”

  Herself flipped her platinum blond mane and laughed again. “Oh, Mrs. G-G! You’re such a kick! While your daughter’s off making pancakes for grumpy guests, let’s party!”

  “I’ll bring the Tums,” Gertrude said.

  Herself laughed again, even louder. “Tums! Did you know that’s smut spelled backwards?” She laughed some more. Judith left.

  Two hours later, Judith and Renie boarded the superferry, which would take them to Laurel Harbor on Perez Island. The second Monday of September was golden, with the sun sparkling on the rippling waters, a few wispy white clouds drifting across the deep blue sky, and the wooded coastline rising up on the mainland to meet the mountains. As the ferry glided out of its slip and picked up speed in the open water, the cousins sat on the deck, feeling the brisk breeze ruffle their hair, sniffing the salt air, listening to the gulls and the waves and the thrum of the vessel’s big engines.

  “I haven’t been to the Santa Lucias for years,” Renie commented as a tourist family clicked pictures from the rail. “Bill and I came up with some other SOTS when one of our ex-pastors had the church on the main island, but that was at least ten years ago.”

  “We had a librarians’ retreat at the big resort in 1971,” Judith said, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Believe it or not, that’s the only time I was ever on any of the islands. Isn’t it weird how you can have such a tourist magnet in your own backyard and yet never visit it? Talk about taking things for granted!”

  Renie nodded. “And putting things off. Bill and I are always saying how we should spend a few days in the islands—‘they’re so beautiful, they’re so peaceful, they’re so off the beaten track.’ Except they aren’t, at least not in the summer, when everybody from everywhere storms th
e whole archipelago. This year, I heard that it wasn’t at all uncommon to have to wait overnight in your car to get on the ferry.”

  “It’s like living a mile away from Niagara Falls and never going to visit.” Judith smiled as three small children chased each other around in circles near the lifeboats. “We get spoiled in the Pacific Northwest. We may complain about all the growth, but even in the city, we’re still pretty close to nature. If the weather’s clear, you can hardly go anywhere without seeing two mountain ranges, a couple of lakes, and the Sound.”

  In silence, the cousins ruminated on their blessings. A few minutes later, they had visited the coffee shop, where they purchased doughnuts and hot chocolate. Since the ferry was now out in the open strait, where the winds blew harder and the currents ran stronger, they opted to have their snack inside. There were no empty tables; the ferry was filled to capacity, despite the lateness of the season. Upon boarding, they had noticed the dozens of bicycles, canoes, and kayaks which were being hauled onto the lower deck. Apparently their owners had all worked up an appetite. After standing in the cafeteria-style line for almost ten minutes, Judith and Renie finally found two empty spaces. They sat down next to a young, attractive self-absorbed couple, and across from a heavyset middle-aged man in a business suit who was partially hidden behind the morning paper.

  “The Barber house is supposed to be pretty snazzy,” Judith said as the ferry dipped from side to side in the heavy current. “Jeanne and Duane built it about ten years ago on the site of the original homestead.”

  “How many cabins?” Renie inquired. “Three?”

  Judith nodded. “During the summer, Jeanne charges two hundred a night. Between Labor Day and Memorial Day, the rate drops to a hundred and fifty.”

  The young couple had wandered off, but the man across the table suddenly slapped his newspaper down on the Formica and let out a small yelp. “Are you talking about Chavez Cove?” he demanded.

  Startled, Judith pushed back on the bench. “Why—yes. Do you know it?”

  The man, whose graying hair was cropped close to a big skull with jutting ears and a large, irregular nose, narrowed his pale blue eyes. “You bet. I’m heading there now. But I’m paying two hundred, and it’s after Labor Day. I’d better talk to the manager. She’s going to hear what H. Burrell Hodge does to people who try to cheat him. And I promise, she won’t like it one bit!”