by Cheryl Kerr
"Come on," Mom urged her and started down the path. Lea followed her. They rounded the front corner of the cabin and the sea breeze blew strong and fresh, perking Lea up. She stopped to look for a moment but the moon was behind a cloud and it was hard to see. Ahead of her, the set of stairs went up, turning halfway before ending on a deck built on wooden legs.
"Evie?" A voice startled her from above them. It was full of the same Tidewater slowness as Moms. Beyond the pool of light, a chair squeaked.
"Meg, hi. We got here." Mom sounded businesslike. Soft footsteps echoed and a woman came down the steps from a deck and stopped at the small landing. She stood there uncertainly for a moment and then moved to give Mom a quick hug.
"How are you?" She smiled at Mom. "It's been a long time."
"Yes." Mom nodded. "It has. What has it been, three years?" She reached behind to pull Lea into the conversation.
"Lea, how you've grown." The woman moved to stand in front of her. Lea nodded, suddenly shy in front of someone she didn't know well.
She found her voice. "Hi, it's nice to see you."
"Was it a long trip?" Her aunt smiled.
Lea nodded.
"Come on up." Her aunt led the way onto the deck. Deck chairs with fat, overstuffed pillows covered in a bright canvas sat in the corners. A metal stool sat out there, too, in front of a tilted table.
On one of the chairs lay a large notebook with a pencil laying across it.
"We got lost," Mom was apologizing. "I hope we're not too late."
"I was just sketching," Aunt Meg said and folded the cover down over a large tablet of artist paper.
"Would you like a cold drink?"
Both Lea and Mom nodded and soon were sipping iced tea. Lea studied her aunt while the two adults caught up on news about Grandma and Grandpa and what other parts of the family were doing.
Mom and Aunt Meg were about as different as two sisters could be. Aunt Meg was tall and slender. An old white T-shirt was knotted loosely on her right hip and her jeans were rolled ankle-high. She was barefoot. Her hair was short and tousled, a tumble of curls the same color as Lea's. Only her eyes looked like Mom's, big and gray.
Lea had slid lower in the stuffed chair. Aunt Meg looked over at her and said,
"Let's get you settled. You look tired. Come on in." She moved to the side, holding the screen door open, and warm light spilled out across the sand. Lea went to the back of the car and got her duffel bag out of the trunk. She lifted it and came up the steps behind her mother and aunt.
She went inside and stopped, unsure of where to go. The door opened into the main room of the cabin. The kitchen was off to the left. The big part of the room was filled with an old sofa and two chairs that sat grouped to face between the fireplace and a huge picture window that must look out on the Gulf. The far end of the room nearest the window was taken up with a big easel, a table of paints, brushes, canvases, and bags of clay. A potter's wheel sat in the corner.
"My room is through there," Aunt Meg pointed through a doorway off of the kitchen. Behind it, tucked behind a fireplace was a narrow set of stairs.
"Is that all you brought?" Aunt Meg pointed at Lea's duffel bag.
Lea nodded. "I wasn't sure what to bring. I've never been to Texas before." Aunt Meg watched her for a moment before nodding.
Lea had the funny feeling that Aunt Meg could see right into her thoughts, that she probably knew Lea had packed light because she hadn't planned on staying. Lea grabbed her duffel and followed Aunt Meg. They passed through the large downstairs room and wound their way up the staircase.
"I put you upstairs," Aunt Meg told Lea. "I thought you'd like the privacy since I don't go up there most of the time."
They went up the stairs, winding from one side to the other of the fireplace. Lea pictured a crowded dark attic with boxes shoved aside for an old sagging bed and lamp on a rickety table. She sighed. At the top of the stairs was a tiny landing. Aunt Meg glanced behind her to see where Lea was and then turned left, flicking a light switch on as she did.
"These old houses don't always have a lot of floor space," she said. Her voice bounced crazily off the walls around them, sounding louder and hollow. Lea followed her through the doorway and stopped.
Her room to be was an alcove under the eaves. It was furnished with an old bed and a wooden chest set under a pair of high windows. Set in the wall was a small round window in a heavy wooden frame. A bright brass latch shone in the lamplight.
The window stood open. In the small round surface, Lea could see a little tiny her and Aunt Meg with Mom just behind her. From the open window came the sound of waves. It wasn't big but it was pretty and clean. She went and looked out.
"We're at the very top of the house. This is the funny little window I saw when we first got here." She turned to her mother, pleased. "I like it," she said immediately. Aunt Meg smiled and Mom looked relieved.
"I wasn't sure you would, it's kind of far up here and all," Aunt Meg said. "You have your own bathroom." She moved back and opened a narrow door off the other side of the landing. Inside, a tiny shower stall was tucked into a corner behind a sink and toilet. Lea smiled; not having to wait or share with a messy brother. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all. She remembered her promise to herself; no complaining if she could help it.
"My room at home is upstairs," Lea said. "I like to be up high." She yawned suddenly, a huge jaw-creaking yawn that made her eyes water.
"Why don't you go to bed?" Mom suggested. "You've been through a lot the last few days."
Lea nodded; she felt too tired to argue. Mom and Aunt Meg murmured goodnights and left Lea to ready herself for bed. She brushed her teeth and changed into a big old t-shirt of Dad's before lying down on the bed. Then she got up and got something out of her duffel bag. Unpacking could wait until tomorrow but she wanted Mr. Bear. She was glad she had her own place so no one could see that she still wanted to sleep with a teddy bear.
The sound of the waves was different than in Virginia. More frequent, not as deep or hard. Lea fell asleep listening to them, thinking of how they reminded her of home.
Lea woke into a hot dawn. She laid in bed and listened. No sound came up from the floor below. She got up and found a pair of comfortable cotton shorts and a T-shirt with a horse galloping across the front. She loved to ride. The Everts had always had horses and she and Laura had spent many an early morning running their horses through the surf. She took her clothes and went into the tiny bathroom. There wasn't much space, she thought. It was a good thing she hadn't brought a lot with her. There was room for her toothbrush and hairbrush. A set of wicker shelves held two towels, washcloths, and a basket where she could put anything else she had brought. She showered in the tiny shower and stepped out to get dressed. Going back into her bedroom she heard voices outside and headed downstairs. She pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. Whap! The slam of the screen door rolled sharply over the dunes to meet the waves lapping the beach. Aunt Meg turned and, even from the porch, Lea could tell she was frowning.
Lea shaded her eyes and stared at the flat Gulf of Mexico. She'd never been anywhere like this before. Just days ago she'd been at home. Virginia mornings were blue and slow to start with the sun rising over the eastern expanse of the sea long before you saw it.
She sighed. The sun was already high and hot here. Under its glare, the Gulf lay before them, a broad spread of bronze-colored water that looked more like liquid metal than water. Underfoot the porch boards had weathered to a smooth soft silver that felt soft to walk on.
Mom and Aunt Meg were lifting her bike down from the roof of the car. She walked down the stairs and over to where they stood next to the car.
"I'm out pretty far," Aunt Meg was saying. "The road runs past here to the end of this bit of land. People do come by, it’s not always this empty, but there isn't a lot of traffic. Lea should be okay riding her bike out here."
"Good," Mom said and turned to look at Lea. "Did you sle
ep well?"
Lea nodded.
"I guess I'm ready to go," she said. Lea looked at Mom. She didn't sound ready to go. Her mother's eyes were dark with worry. She felt her own eyes prickle with the tears she had promised herself last night that she wouldn't cry. This was going to be hard, no matter how cool she tried to be. She hugged Mom tightly, not wanting her to see that she, Lea, was going to cry.
"Are you going to be okay?" Mom whispered in her ear. Lea nodded but didn't let go.
"I'll try, Mom," Lea said.
"We'll be fine." Aunt Meg moved to stand next to Mom in the sand. Mom held Lea at arm's length. Lea looked from one to the other and giggled suddenly. Both of them stood looking at her wearing what Lea called the Frown of Concern. She thought about what Laura said, They don't know what you're going to do, but they know it's going to be something. Wearing the frown, suddenly Mom and Aunt Meg looked exactly alike.
"I'll try, Mom," she said again, and with a last hug and worried "I love you," Mom and Aunt Meg moved toward the car. Moments later Mom drove away, only a faint cloud of sand-dust marking the drive back toward town.
"Stuck," Lea whispered to herself and sighed again. The summer stretched before her as brown and unchanging as the beach in front of the cabin.
Lea went up the steps and inside. She stood and looked around. Last night she had been so tired that she had not really noticed a lot of the things in the cabin. The cabin was furnished in rough wood and woven cushions. The picture window looked out on the Gulf. The only curtains were an odd open weave that looked for all the world like fishing net. When Lea saw the glass weights woven into the edges, she knew she was right. More net was used in the kitchen to hold apples and onions hung from the arched hooks of an anchor on the wall. Odd, old-fashioned objects stood around the room on tabletops and in the wide window ledge on the north end of the room.
"The only reason I'm here is so Mom could go to Europe," Lea murmured to herself and sank onto the bench of the bay window. It wasn't hard to feel miserable and out of place.
"Want to go for a walk, Lea?" Aunt Meg's voice cut into her thoughts from just behind her, making Lea jump as though she'd been stung.
Lea nodded. "Okay. I didn't hear you come in," Lea said. "Can I get myself some breakfast first?"
"Surely," Aunt Meg nodded and moved briskly to the kitchen. "Come on in here and find out where everything is. That way you'll be able to find what you want when you are hungry."
Lea did as she was asked. Aunt Meg expected her to take care of herself. One thing she'd bet on was that neither Aunt Meg nor Mom would put up with the "me sorries". She surveyed the open pine shelves bracketed to the walls. The dishes were all patterns of blue and purple, the same shades caught over and over again in a variety of patterns. She took down a bowl and looked at what to put in it. Several cereals were stored in big glass jars with cork stoppers. She settle for cornflakes with a banana sliced on top and a glass of orange juice. She carried it to the breakfast bar and slid onto a stool. Her aunt moved to the easel and stood looking at the picture.
"I thought you just did pottery,” Lea said into the silence.
Aunt Meg turned and smiled. "No, that's what I'm known for but I do other kinds of art, too."
Lea finished her breakfast and put her dishes in the sink. "I always get hungry walking, even if I've just eaten," Aunt Meg said and snagged two apples as she went by. She stuck them in a net bag she took down from a nail on the wall by the door.
Their feet echoed on the pine stairs as they went down to the front door. She followed Aunt Meg to the start of a faint trail that ran toward the beach. Lea liked the way the waves met the beach in small, friendly twos and threes. The sand was powdery underfoot. Wiry grass grew in clumps along the tiny sheltered valleys between the dunes.
"Shelling's best in the morning." Aunt Meg bent and picked up a conch shell and stuck it into a net bag she carried. "You can find all kinds of things along the tide line.”
The beach was littered with shells, and odd items; a single shoe, a life preserver. Aunt Meg pointed to a strange, reddish lump on the sand.
"That's rust, inside that is something metal."
"How do you know what to look for?" Lea asked.
"Anything that catches your eye." Aunt Meg smiled at her. "I've found lots of my ideas on the beach. What washes up can come from anywhere, right?"
Lea nodded. "I've walked a lot on the beach at home but I don't remember finding that much."
"No, that's right. There the tide flows south without stopping in many places. And the ocean floor drops off a lot more steeply than here. The Gulf is shallow a long way out. And it's bowl-shaped. Land surrounds it on three sides. If something doesn't wash up here the first time then it may float toward Florida. Then the waves may bounce off that coast and send it back this way again. Sometimes things take a long time to wash up," Aunt Meg said. "Either because they've laid for so long in shallow water or because they were caught in a wave pattern." She smiled at Lea. "It's kind of like getting a second chance to find things.
“Beachcombing is an art. Do you know the difference between flotsam and jetsam?"
Lea halfway nodded her head. They had covered that in her Social Studies class but she couldn't quite remember. She gave up and shook her head.
Aunt Meg explained. "Well, flotsam is what comes from a ship that was wrecked or sunk. It was part of the ship itself, things like oars or the ship's wheel. Jetsam is the articles that might have been thrown into the sea, maybe to lighten the ship; cargo that was abandoned. Teacups and coins and jewels."
Lea stopped short. "Really? What do you do with it?"
"Some of it I keep, some I use, but mostly I just look at it."
"What do you see?" Lea's voice was soft.
"I imagine where it might've come from, or what this beach looked like one hundred years ago." Aunt Meg brushed her hair back from her face.
"Empty, I bet," Lea said.
"I guess I see the way things used to be," Aunt Meg said.
Lea sighed; she knew how that felt. The way it used to be; she wished for that, too.
"Nothing stays the same, you know," Aunt Meg said behind her. Lea's scalp jumped. It was eerie the way Aunt Meg almost seemed to know what she was thinking. She waited. "This coast changes all the time, with tides and storm. It's an interesting place." She turned and looked at Lea.
"I'm only here because Mom needed a place for me to stay," Lea said and looked at her aunt.
"Yep, you're right about why you're here." Aunt Meg nodded. She walked for a moment and then turned to ask Lea, "And you don't know what I expect of you?" Aunt Meg cocked her head to one side. Lea nodded.
"That's honest. Let's be honest with each other. I don't know a lot about kids so I won't talk to you like one. I live alone. Solitude is good for art."
"Mom says you move around every few years," Lea said.
"Yes." Her aunt looked out to sea. After a moment she asked Lea. "Do you know how my best work comes about?"
Lea shook her head. She was curious though.
Aunt Meg went on. "I walk the beach. I look. And whatever I find goes into my work. I don't decide first that I have to find a certain thing. I wait, sometimes it takes a while. If I were you, that's what I'd do with this summer. You're already here."
Lea sat. Aunt Meg paused. "Here is what you can expect from me. I work in the mornings and again in the afternoons. Lunch at twelve sharp. That'll be your check-in time. If you don't show up, I'll call the beach patrol unless I know not to expect you. OK?"
Lea nodded.
"I'm going to work now." Aunt Meg moved a couple of steps.
"You have your bike and the beach. Town is about two miles in." She pointed north along the curve of the shore. "There's only one road so you can't get lost."
Lea nodded. She started to speak and then stopped. Evidently, from what Aunt Meg was saying, she, Lea, was going to get to go alone. She felt a tingle of nerves run through her all the way to her toes
. Mom had always made her tell her wherever she went. Now she was to have big scoops of time all to herself.
Aunt Meg moved off. Lea watched her, then she turned and looked back at the cabin. It squatted among the dunes as though it had grown there. What had this place looked like one hundred years ago? There wouldn't have been many people here, there weren't any now. That's why Aunt Meg had wanted this cabin.
"I think I'll walk along the beach some more," Lea called after her. Her aunt waved that she had heard but didn't turn around, as if her mind were already on something else.
Lea went back to the cabin, climbing the twisted stairs to her room to get her own net bag off of the window seat where she had left it.
Back on the beach, she turned in the opposite direction from Aunt Meg. As she walked, she wondered if anyone knew where she was.
It was a funny feeling.
Shipboard days fell quickly into a routine. Each morning Greta woke and slipped from her hammock bed to use the necessary in the back of the hold. When Papa and Mama rose, she dressed and they went to the galley for their breakfast. Weak tea and bread were the usual. For the first days, they had some fruit but that was quickly eaten up. The ocean that had so delighted her stretched in every direction. She sighed. Home had been crowded, but not so noisy. She had at least been able to get some time to herself.
"Hello," a voice said behind her. Greta started and whirled around. A boy about her own age leaned on the rail. He was thin and his blond hair was full of streaks from the sun.
"I am Nicholas," he said and smiled. "There aren't many young people on this ship."
"There aren't." From her town the people had mostly been her parents’ age, needing the promise of a new place to raise a family and find a job.
"I’m a cabin boy," he said. "Do you need anything?"