The cabinet was more like a hodgepodge of knickknacks with some mismatched china dishes and serving bowls, nothing close to a complete set. I opened the glass doors and removed a decorative piedish and held it to my chest with relief. The Chocolate Cherry Fluff Pie could go on. A medium-sized bowl, similar to one we had at home, with delicate blue painted daisies forming a chain around a matching lid, would be ideal to serve the fish, I thought. I looked for matching bowls, but we’d have to make do with the dishes on the drying rack downstairs.
I pressed the chocolate wafer and butter mixture into the piedish to form a crust, melted the chocolate in a pan, drizzled it over the crust, then put the whole thing in the icebox to chill for a few minutes while I worked on the filling—marshmallows melted in milk, Jell-O and cream whisked in, chopped cherries added—which I poured into the pie crust and put on ice to set. When I was done I sat down relieved for a second that I’d succeeded with the dessert—but I still had to make the fish. I was sweating down there in the basement and had a terrible feeling that I’d have nothing to serve but Chocolate Cherry Fluff Pie.
I quickly chopped up the ingredients for the sauce and left it on the stovetop to simmer while I ran upstairs to set the table, pouring two glasses of wine while I was there. I considered drinking one down quickly to calm my nerves but decided against it when I heard Thomas’s slow and careful footsteps upstairs, where he was probably changing out of his uniform.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” I tried to sing up the stairs as breezily as possible, feeling at once domesticated and womanly and at the same time ridiculously fake. Who was I to run around acting as if cooking and nursing came naturally to me?
“Ten or fifteen minutes,” I added in case he thought I was suggesting that dinner was imminent; then I bolted back down to the basement. The sauce was boiling angrily, not simmering at all, so I quickly removed it. It looked more like a thick spread that was stuck to the bottom of the pan than a smooth, silky sauce as the recipe had described, so I added some water from the pump and stirred.
In a separate pan, I managed to cook the fish in butter without burning it; then I placed it in the bowl with the lid, poured the sauce on top and hoped for the best. I had just placed it in the center of the table when I heard Thomas approach the top of the stairs.
“I’m all right,” he said as I hurried to the bottom of the stairs to help. I went up anyway and he put one arm around my shoulder, the other on the banister.
“It’s why I’m here,” I insisted, wondering if he’d feel the perspiration on my skin from all the running around in the kitchen.
Once at the bottom of the stairs he began to make his way around to the basement.
“Oh, it’s all ready,” I said, stopping at the dining room and indicating that the table was set for dinner. He looked in, then looked to me, quite puzzled. Then back to the dining room. And then he burst out laughing—quickly stopping himself and holding his ribs.
“What on earth is all this?” he said, still chuckling. “You’ve got my mother’s soup tureen out. Why aren’t we eating in the kitchen?”
“Oh.” I felt the blood rush to my cheeks—a soup tureen? “Well, you shouldn’t be going up and down all these stairs for one thing. And your mother would be quite offended I’m sure, as mine would, if you let her good china do nothing more than collect dust.” I walked briskly into the dining room and pulled out his chair. “Now would you please sit down before it gets cold?”
He sat down still smiling. I took the lid off the fish.
“That’s not soup,” he said.
“No, it’s fresh striped bass from Jean, the fishmonger in town,” I said, spilling some of the sauce on the table as I served it onto his plate.
“You paid good money for striper?” He shook his head. “I can catch that out back for you anytime you want.”
“Well, not when you’re injured you can’t.” I finished serving Thomas, then served myself, glancing back at him. “Why are you still smirking?” I asked, exasperated.
“I’m smiling, not smirking,” he said, looking serious for a moment, then smiling again. “This is all very kind of you. Very fancy but very kind.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He raised his glass. “Cheers.”
It occurred to me, the minute the fish touched my lips, that I hadn’t even tasted it. “It needs salt,” I said quickly. I had completely forgotten to salt. I stood up.
“It’s delicious,” he said.
“I’ll get the salt.” I flew down to the kitchen, grabbed the salt, took a minute to dab my forehead and smooth my hair, then walked in a more ladylike fashion back up the stairs.
He salted. I salted, and then I stared at the fish on my plate.
“I forgot to even buy rice; I think this dish is supposed to be served with rice.” I looked up and a small, very kind and sweet grin was beginning to form on Thomas’s lips. He looked as if he was trying not to laugh. And then I couldn’t help it; I started laughing myself and couldn’t stop.
“I don’t know why I did all this,” I said between gasps. “I’m not much of a cook. I spent about two hours just figuring out where things were down there and trying to guess how and where you eat dinner.” I shook my head. “I suppose I should have just asked.”
He started laughing, too. All of a sudden everything about the last few hours seemed hilarious and ridiculous. “I even made a Chocolate Cherry Fluff Pie!” We began laughing hysterically.
“I haven’t had a Chocolate Cherry Fluff Pie for years,” he said. “Did you really make it?”
“Yes!” I couldn’t stop laughing. I actually felt tears of laughter drop down my cheeks at the thought of introducing it as Cherry and Chocolate Delight or Choc-Cherry Supreme. I covered my face with my hands, but I just kept on uncontrollably. He pulled one hand away from my face and held it in his until I was finally able to take a breath.
“Oh God, this is all just so silly.”
“It’s lovely.” He didn’t let go of my hand. “Thank you.”
Though I was the one supposedly helping, it was as if he had just given me an enormous gift. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much at myself or otherwise. It was lovely. I felt lucky to be there.
“And yes,” he said, letting my hand go and gently placing it on the table. “I’m sure my mother would be very proud. Although I don’t think she ever used this tureen herself. I remember always seeing it sit in the cabinet on display.”
“Well, at least we’re putting it to good use now.”
“Cheers to that.” He raised his glass again.
I tried a few bites of the fish and was relieved that it wasn’t terrible, which helped me relax into conversation. He told me about his family—both his parents had passed and he hadn’t any siblings.
“Were you lonely growing up then?” I asked, wondering if being a single child had steered him into a solitary career.
“Not at all,” he said. “The boys in my neighborhood were like one big family. How about your family, your parents?” he asked. “How are they holding up?”
“They’re fine,” I said, squinting at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, nothing, I didn’t mean anything.…”
I hadn’t meant to be rude or accusatory. This obviously wasn’t an everyday occurrence for him, dining with a married woman and using his mother’s soup tureen. He probably wasn’t as familiar with socializing and conversing. It had taken me months to be able to converse in a way that Harry approved of at his social gatherings.
“No, no,” he continued. “Just that it must be hard for their daughter to leave the town where the family is.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, a lot of people do stay; most do, actually. I was only one of three girls from my high school who went to college. Most were married and in the family way by seventeen. I always wanted to see more than my hometown and experience new things.”
After dinner we had dessert, which, I realized when I bro
ught it to the table, was large enough to serve ten guests and gave us another chuckle. We finished the bottle of wine.
“Well, I’ll clear this off and get you situated for the evening,” I said, looking out the window. “I’ll tidy the kitchen and then I’d better head back to the Manor before it gets dark.” For a second I thought I sensed a hint of disappointment in his face.
“Would you like to stay for a snuff of brandy?”
Yes. I wanted to stay longer. Not one part of me wanted to leave so soon. I was enjoying his company and conversation and feeling brazen and warm from the wine, but I knew I should go. If the sun went down I wouldn’t be able to see to get back. There was no lighting on the road back to the Manor. And I needed to remember my duty to Harry. It wouldn’t be right to stay up here again, even if I was helping. “I’ve got to ride that old bike back,” I said, reluctantly, “but at least it’s downhill.”
He nodded. “I appreciate you doing this,” he said. “But you shouldn’t ride at night. It’s dangerous.”
“It’s fine, really. I’ll head out before the sun goes down. What time does your shift start tomorrow?” I asked.
“I can manage in the morning,” he said. “But climbing the light is going to be a challenge tomorrow evening.”
“Okay. I’ll be back for you then.”
20
Tennis mornings at the Manor courts were always well-attended and classy affairs. I arrived right on time decked out in my green tennis dress, white lace-up shoes and matching green visor.
Dolly was stretching on the lawn. She had a mean serve and was one of the most aggressive female players I’d seen. Not the best by a long shot, but she gave her all to smack the ball to her opponent.
“Hello, Dolly,” I called. “Ready to play?”
“Always. You’re glowing. You must have had a good night’s sleep.”
“I did,” I said. “I’m pleased it’s such good weather for tennis; a nice breeze, that’s what we need so we don’t drop dead out here in the heat.”
“Sweets, I’m heading into the city early next week; I need to go to the factory. Care to join me?”
I wanted to; I really did. Being around Dolly made me feel that my feet were planted firmly on the ground; she had a stabilizing quality to her, a commonsense attitude toward life that I wanted to absorb and emulate. But I’d committed to helping Thomas out for at least another two weeks until his injuries healed. “In a few weeks I probably can, I’d love to in fact, but I’m a little busy next week, I’m afraid.”
She gave me a skeptical glare. “The fundraiser?”
I nodded to the party committee sitting on the bleachers. “They’ve got me roped in,” I said. I’d managed to avoid Jeanie since my outburst at the beach, but I sensed she’d been giving me the cold shoulder, too.
“Well, it’s Monday or Tuesday that I have to go, need to select the final pieces for the trunk show. And don’t forget you agreed to help.”
“Of course.”
A waiter walked past with a tray of lemonades and I took one for me and one for Dolly; then I grabbed one more. At the other end of the court Jeanie was in a cloud of commotion with her kids and her nanny. One was clinging to her leg screaming as Jeanie tried to break free and the older child was stamping her feet and swinging her arms so much that Jeanie reached over and slapped her on the rear end, which sent her running off toward the Manor. The nanny pried the crying child from Jeanie’s leg, easing his hands apart, and hurried back in the direction of the Manor with the child screaming in her arms. It was a perfect time to approach.
“Good morning, Jeanie,” I said, walking over to her. “How lovely to see the children. How are they?” I handed her the extra lemonade and she gulped it down in a most unladylike fashion.
“Hello, Beatrice,” she said sharply; clearly she had not forgotten my behavior. “The kids are fine.”
“Gosh, I wanted to say I’m so sorry for my outburst last week,” I said, knowing that I didn’t need any extra attention from Jeanie or the other women while riding up to the lighthouse every day. “I think I’d had too much sun; it just seemed to send me into a tizzy. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Yes, well,” she said, an air of snobbery emanating from her highly coiffed hair all the way down to her pleated white long shorts and polished shoes. “We were all rather shocked. But I suppose it was a particularly hot day, and the heat can turn any one of us into a nasty piece of work, can’t it?”
I squeezed my lips together into a long, thin smile, not allowing myself a chance to snarl back at her. “It can,” I said, nodding. “Well, good luck in your game; I’m sure you’ll be great.” I reached over and patted her arm and then took a seat on the bleachers near the other women. I’d be heading to the lighthouse around four o’clock to give myself enough time to ride the rusty bicycle up the hill before dinner and help Thomas start his shift at 6:00 p.m., so I wanted to make sure I was seen at the tennis match and that I’d made my presence known.
“Oh, and Beatrice,” Jeanie called out, tapping her racket against her hand, “don’t forget to stay after the match. We’re having a meeting for the fundraiser and we need all hands on deck!”
“Great,” I said, nice and loudly, “count me in.”
* * *
The staircase was too small for Thomas and me to climb up side by side so I could provide support, so I followed closely behind him. Each step narrowed where it joined the center pole that ran all the way from top to bottom. A single handrail spiraled up the wall of the tower. He went first, one painful step at a time, each movement seeming to hurt a different part of his body. The moment he stepped off with the left foot he winced from the pain in the right ankle, so he put his body weight on the handrail to relieve the ankle, then cringed from the broken rib.
“Honestly, Thomas, I don’t know how much I help—if you lost your balance we’d both go flying down the stairs.”
“Even so,” he said, “I feel better with you here. At least I won’t go down alone.” He attempted to laugh.
It took close to half an hour to climb all 137 steps. He, on the one hand, didn’t say much once we got going, just flinched and made quiet groans and the occasional one-word response to let me know he was listening, or trying, but I could tell he was remaining stoic through the pain. Me, on the other hand, I talked the whole way up. I’d done the same with my parents when I went back home to visit. They’d go about the house silently, the way they’d become accustomed without my brother there, the way they’d learned to silence their pain, and I went in there chatting about anything and everything that entered my mind: my teachers, my assignments, stories about the other girls at school even though I’d grown distant from them. I just talked and talked, thinking I was some kind of cheerleader.
“This is not my first experience with a lighthouse, you know,” I started up around step forty after I’d told him all about my morning of tennis and complained about the ridiculous things some of the women at the Manor did. “I climbed my first lighthouse when I was seven or eight, in New Jersey. I begged my dad to let me go inside. We climbed all the way to the top, I remember complaining the whole way that my legs hurt, and when we finally reached the top I was too terrified to step out onto the balcony.”
“And now look at you,” he said, with some effort between deep exhales. “You’re just about running the place.”
“Yes,” I said. “Put my name down in case one of the keepers pops off, or if someone suddenly falls down a trench. I’ll be the first female lighthouse keeper.”
“Ha,” he said. “So what happened at the top of the light?”
“Daddy loved it up there, I remember the wind sending his hair in all directions, even though it hadn’t seemed windy at the bottom, but I burst out crying when I realized just how high up we were and that there was no easy way to get down.”
A tiny window in the wall of the stairwell let in some light; the wall was three feet thick. Thomas stood for a minute or two and lean
ed on the windowsill, as if he were taking in the view, but I knew he’d seen that view a thousand times before. This was taking everything he had just to get this far. I put my hand gently on his back.
“You all right there, Tom?” I asked, walking around him, standing a few steps ahead so I could see his face. He looked ashen. “You’ve lost your color,” I said. “Do you want to sit for a minute?” He shook his head and paused another minute, then turned back toward the stairs, one hand still on the windowsill; the other hand he reached over and placed on my hip.
“I’m all right,” he said, and I wondered if he realized where his hand was, or if he was too exhausted from this climb to notice. I pretended it was the most normal thing in the world for his hand to be resting there, that it didn’t send warm shivers down my legs and make my heart race.
“So you’re afraid of heights? Is that what you’re telling me?” he asked, dropping his hand and taking another step.
“No, no.” I tried to remember what story I’d been telling, but all I could think about was the touch of his hand. I could still feel where it had been as though it had scorched an imprint through my clothes. “I’d been so consumed with whining about my tired legs that I’d forgotten how far we were from the ground, and from my mother down below.”
When we reached the small circular room at the top Thomas sat on the floor for several minutes, his back against the wall, catching his breath. It had taken all of his energy to get there. I tried not to draw attention to his discomfort. I looked around the small room and set a flask and a notebook on the small desk he had pushed against the rounded wall. The corners of the desk were shaved off so it would fit flush.
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