Aryl’s mother had begun a habit of ringing a small bell at the top of the stairs before coming down in the night to afford at least a hint of privacy, which embarrassed her. It hadn’t mattered much these last few weeks; the tiny ring only reminded Claire of what his mother wasn’t interrupting. To say there wasn’t hand-wringing frustration building in her would be a laughable lie.
“Oh, I know they do,” Arianna said before taking a breath to blow on her freshly painted nails. “We’ll have to plan on a vacation soon or something.”
Ava and Claire exchanged a look that was both disbelieving and amused.
“Oh, sure, I was thinking about London or maybe Africa–a nice safari,” Claire said in full-blown sarcasm that Arianna missed completely.
“That would be so nice,” she said dreamily.
“I think the first order of business is to get a home of our own again. I don’t know about you two, but I’m getting a little tired of living with Jonathan’s parents.” Ava crossed her legs and arms and blew out her breath.
“Are things not going so well with them?” Arianna asked, sounding genuinely concerned, although she didn’t give Ava a chance to reply. “Because if they aren’t, you really should get pregnant as quickly as possible. They’ll turn sweet to you in no time. It’s working out so well for me that I'm thinking about having five more,” she said with a giggle. Claire couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Arianna turned to her, bewildered at what was so terribly funny. “What?”
Ava smiled. “You know, Arianna, eventually you will have to care for that baby, and that’s no easy job. I’m not so sure you realize–”
“I realize perfectly well how much work a baby is. That’s why . . . we’re not going to move out right away.” She whispered the last part of her sentence, and the smile on her face was devious.
“What do you mean? Don’t you want a home of your own?” Claire sent a strained look to Ava. “And privacy?”
“Amen,” Ava whispered under her breath.
“The way I see it, the longer we stay here, the more money we can save. And the more help I will have. Can you imagine trying to run a house all by myself when I’m tired and achy and as big as a house?” Her friends glanced at her stomach. Her rail-thin frame created the illusion of a distorted, oversized stomach. “And with Caleb gone so much, I don’t want to be alone. So, we’re going to stay here until after the baby is born, and I’m back on my feet.”
“And how does Caleb feel about this?” Ava couldn’t imagine he wanted to spend one day longer than he had to under the strained conditions.
“Well, he doesn’t know just yet. I’m going to tell him this weekend.”
“What if he doesn’t want to stay? What if he wants his own house now?” Arianna looked at Claire, her eyes bewildered as if Claire had spoken in a foreign language she couldn’t understand.
Ava glanced at the sky again, and a chill ran through her. Distracted by her visit, she hadn’t noticed how much the sky had darkened and was suddenly aware that the dry, earthy smell had grown stronger. She traced the storm with her eyes toward the general direction of the sea where it was black as night.
“Aryl will get them home in time,” Claire said, reading her face.
Ava smiled nervously but gratefully. “We’d better get home soon ourselves.”
“Oh, don’t leave!” Arianna cried. “I’ve missed visiting with you so much. It’s just not the same now that we all live so far apart.”
“We’ll come back soon. I promise,” Ava said.
“Why don’t you gather up your husbands and come for Sunday dinner?” Ethel stepped onto the porch, wrapping a shawl around herself with a shiver; the temperature had plummeted in just the last few minutes.
“That would be lovely. Can we bring anything?” Claire asked.
“Just your appetites. We’ll have a nice big Sunday dinner and visit in the parlor afterward.”
“Thank you. That sounds like fun.” Ava’s reserved smile was for manners; inside she was terribly excited for a reason to wear a nice dress, look pretty, be sociable, and spend time with Jonathan. She blushed at the sudden idea of walking with him after dinner to find a place on the farm where they could be alone. Her reddened cheeks gave her away, and Claire smiled knowingly.
After hugging Arianna and promising many times to come back soon, Claire pulled a penny out of her pocket as they walked toward the car. “Flip you for the barn.”
Ava laughed loudly and nudged Claire with her shoulder. “You’re terrible!” she whispered loudly, but quickly called heads with blushing cheeks.
Arianna laughed as she watched Claire attempt to turn the car around in the narrow drive, finally resorting to making a wide circle over the grass. She stuck her arm out the window and waved as she weaved down the driveway.
Arianna raised one hand and smiled. Her eyes traveled from the car to the looming, black clouds in the distance, her smile dropped, and she inhaled deeply, hugging herself above her bulging stomach. “Hurry home, Caleb,” she whispered.
∞∞∞
“Shouldn’t he be home by now?” she asked aloud as the clock on the wall chimed five times. Ava paced the living room floor, glancing out the window every few minutes. She wrapped herself in a shawl and stood on the front porch to watch for Jonathan. She glanced down the street and up at the black sky nervously before vicious gusts of icy rain drove her back inside.
“You’ll drive yourself mad staring out that window,” Margaret called from the kitchen. “Come have a cup of tea with me. It’ll make the time go faster.”
Ava saw her mother-in-law’s hopeful expression, relented, and sat beside her at the table.
“They’ll be home soon,” Margaret said as she gave her a steaming cup of tea. “Try not to worry.”
“Have you not seen that storm?”
“Yes, but we get those frequently round here. Didn’t think these spring-like days would last forever, did you? Probably wake up to snow in the morning.” Ava looked nervously over her shoulder toward the door. “Ava, listen to me. As long as Jon is insistent on living this life, you will have to get used to this. Storms come up fast around here. Sometimes they beat them home and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they just work right through them. But you’re going to worry yourself to an ulcer–”
“Work right through them?” Ava interrupted.
“Yes. Some do unless it gets bad enough, then they head in.”
Ava fidgeted, sighed, and fixed her eyes on a door that refused to open and produce her husband.
“Jon tells me you’re starting a family,” Margaret said casually, pulling Ava from her staring contest with the door.
“He said that?” she asked, not at all amused.
“He did. He’s extremely excited about it, actually.”
“Well, I know he wants to because he’s been hounding me about it for two months, but right now, there’s just no way–”
“Well, of course, there’s a way. Me and Mr. Garrett have been meaning to go out. We could go to Boston and see some friends, which will leave you and Jon the house for the weekend,” she said and grinned as a pink hue engulfed Ava’s face.
“Oh, that’s not what I mean, that’s not the problem.” As soon as she said the words, her face burned with what they had insinuated. “What I mean is,” she continued quickly, “without a home of our own, savings, furniture, that kind of thing. I mean, honestly, no one tries to have a baby when they don’t even have the basic necessities for themselves. Jonathan has this romantic idea about the whole thing, I think. He’s not thinking practically.”
Ava flew across the room scarcely before the knocking on the front door had stopped. She tore it open to see someone who was clearly not Jonathan standing with a clipboard and a bouquet of flowers. How silly she scolded herself. Jonathan wouldn’t knock on his own door.
“Delivery for a Mrs. Ava Garrett.” The man wore a blue shirt with his coat open despite the freezing rain, which was coming
down heavier now. The name Steve was sewn on the top left pocket, and he spoke with a heavy, New York accent.
“That’s me.”
“I’ll need you to sign for these,” he said and held out a clipboard. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said and tipped his hat, yet something about his smile sent chills up Ava’s spine. She watched him as he walked away and thought it strange that he would be making deliveries on foot in such a storm.
“Who sent you those? Maybe Jonathan,” Margaret suggested, answering her own question. “I know he feels badly that he can’t spend as much time with you as he’d like.”
Ava looked over the beautiful, long stem, red roses for a card, but found none. “I wonder?” She walked to the kitchen as Margaret filled a vase with water. She doubted that Jonathan had had time to arrange a flower delivery. In addition, it was highly unlikely that he would spend the money on a frivolity like this, knowing how badly they both wanted a home of their own. It isn’t my birthday or our anniversary, but who else could they be from? she wondered. She pondered on this for several minutes, which distracted her until she heard Jonathan come through the door.
Ava’s shoulders relaxed in relief and she sighed. He was soaked through and shivering, but to Ava’s surprise, he was smiling. She went to him and helped peel off layers of soaked wool.
“Sorry I’m late. Aryl wanted to show us how to maneuver in high winds and rain. And his mother was right,” he paused as a shiver ran through his body, “it does feel like work when it’s freezing and raining sideways.”
“Why on earth would Aryl intentionally keep you out in this?” Ava asked angrily, exchanging dripping shirts with Margaret for a large towel. She wrapped it around his bare shoulders and turned him toward the stairs before he could answer.
Inside their room, Ava opened the trunk and pulled out flannel long johns and a wool shirt while he shed his sopping pants. She threw the dry clothes on the bed, pulled the towel from Jonathan’s hands, and rubbed his reddened arms and neck hard, as if she were trying to scrub off layers of grime.
“Ow!” He recoiled and stared at her. “Did you have a bad day or something?” He took the towel and finished drying himself, one eyebrow raised in question. She crossed her arms and stared at the floor.
“I was trying to warm your arms. And my day was fine, except for worrying about you. It was foolish and irresponsible for Aryl to keep you out in this.”
“Ava, we have to learn how to work in this. I’d rather ride out a small storm with Aryl there to guide us than learn the hard way when I’m out there alone.”
“I just don’t know about this, Jon? I don’t know if I am the kind of wife that can deal with this life. Watching the storms roll in, knowing you’re out there, waiting for you to come home. I mean what if–” She heard the icy rain chinking against the glass outside the darkened window.
He toweled his hair quickly, stuck his arms inside the wool shirt, and took her by the shoulders. “Ava. Nothing is going to happen. I am extremely careful. Aryl is an excellent teacher. I wish you could see him out there. He’s a natural. You can’t worry yourself sick like this. I promise you, everything will be fine. Okay?” Raising her eyes to meet his, she relented with a slight nod. “C’mon. Let’s go eat. You can tell me about your day.”
Downstairs, Jonathan Sr. was preparing two plates as the storm produced the first flash of lightning and a distant, low, rumble of thunder. “Your mom and I are going to eat in our room. You two help yourselves, she made enough to feed an army. You know how she gets when it storms.”
At that moment, power was lost and the entire house went black and eerily quiet. “Better eat fast, it won’t stay warm long now.”
“Jonathan!” Margaret called from upstairs, sounding slightly panicked.
“Coming!” he yelled back and fumbled around for the counter to set the plates down on. He felt for the cabinet he wanted and opened it to get a box of matches. He struck one and the light allowed him to find two oil lamps and set them alight.
“Jonathan!” the faltering voice called again.
He gave his son a helpless look. “You know how she gets . . . .” He set the plates and the oil lamp on the breakfast tray and said goodnight as he hurried upstairs.
Ava made their plates, and they sat down to eat with the oil lamp in the center of the table.
“Well, this is nice,” Jonathan said softly. “Romantic dinner by lamplight. It should storm more often,” he said with a teasing grin.
“No, it shouldn’t,” Ava said firmly. “What did your father mean when he said you know how she gets? She was fine earlier and trying to console me, actually.”
“My mother doesn’t do well when it storms. At night, especially.”
“Well, this is the wrong place to live then. She said they happen often around here. If she hates storms so much, why didn’t they ever move?”
Jonathan sat searching for the right words. Finally, he relented to tell her the truth, although it wouldn’t ease her worries one bit. “Remember that I told you both my grandfathers have passed?” Ava watched his face intently, which was serious, somewhat in conflict and utterly beautiful in the amber glow. “My mother’s father was a fisherman, as his father was and his father before him. Her mother didn’t love the life, but she did love my grandfather and accepted everything that came with him. My mother was sixteen when her father was lost at sea. It was a beautiful, spring morning when he set out, but a nasty storm swept up out of nowhere by afternoon, and . . . he never came home,” he finished grimly and checked Ava’s horrified face. When she spoke, she was clearly angry.
“That is the single worst thing you could possibly tell me, after what I went through this afternoon, Jonathan!”
“Not a little storm like this, Ava, it was much worse. But the caliber of the storm doesn’t matter to my mother. She still gets nervous and scared. It’s all my father can do to keep her calm and distracted.”
“How does he do that?” Ava asked.
“He talks to her, sings, and tells her stories. As well as other things that, as their son, I prefer not to think about.” He laughed gently.
“I’m surprised at how well she took the news of you deciding to fish for a living, under the circumstances. Your father was the one who made all the fuss.”
“Who says she took it well?” He took another bite. “She’s come to me three times begging me to change my mind. She puts up a tough exterior, but it worries her greatly. I don’t suppose she’ll ever stop pestering me to quit. And my father has his own reasons for hating this.”
“He wants you to make back the money he lost,” she assumed, cynicism in her voice.
“Yes, he does, but it's not only that. His father was lost at sea, too. Not in the traditional way, mind you, but he died on the ocean none the less.”
Ava threw her napkin on the table and crossed her arms. “I don’t believe this!” She looked at him in astonishment. “You mean to tell me that you lost both your grandfathers at sea, yet you expect me to. . . to . . . just–”
“It wasn’t a storm with him, Ava, not in the beginning. He slipped on some bait and hit his head. He was alone and must have floated adrift for hours, and then a storm pushed his boat to shore. My father was on the dock waiting for him to return, pacing in the rain, and worried sick. He finally saw the boat, pushed by waves toward the shore. He found his father on the deck.”
“How awful!” Ava gasped. “To be the one to find him.” Gruesome images of her own parents dying of the flu flashed through her mind. She quickly pushed them away, refusing to revisit them.
“That’s how my parents met, you know. At his father’s funeral.”
“How romantic,” Ava said flatly.
“It was, in a way. The tragedy they had in common created a bond, and they comforted each other through the ordeal. Comforted each other to the point where wedding plans were hastily thrown together the following spring. Before my mother started showing with me,” he admitted.
; “No!” Ava gasped.
“Yes. It was just as well, they were perfect for each other. She swore she would never marry a sailor or fisherman, and he swore he would never become one.” He smiled. “And they lived happily ever after.” He paused to butter a roll, noticed her unsettled expression, and decided to change the subject. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and just as he took a breath to ask about her day, he caught sight of the roses across the room. He thought perhaps his father brought them for his mother as a sweet romantic diversion from the storm.
“Where’d those come from?”
“I was hoping you’d know. They were delivered today, but there was no card.” Ava’s midsection grumbled, reminding her that despite the stressful afternoon and unnerving stories of storms and men lost at sea, she was indeed starving and began to eat. Jonathan continued eating, head down with a sly grin spread across his face, and said, “Maybe my mother has a secret admirer.”
“No, I had to sign for them. They were for me.”
“For you? Who from?” he demanded, mouth full of food. It was fine to joke of his mother having a secret admirer but not funny in the least that Ava might have one.
“I assumed you. Who else would it be?”
He pushed his chair back and she watched him dig through the flowers, looking for a card. “I take it they aren’t from you.”
He returned to the table a moment later, and he was not at all amused. “Who in hell would be sending my wife flowers?” he grumbled, staring at them fiercely.
“Maybe it was a mistake?” Ava offered, picking at her cold food.
“No. Someone in this town is sweet on you. And I’m going to find out who it is–set him straight. I'm gone twelve hours a day, six days a week, but that doesn’t leave an open invitation for other men to move in on what’s mine!”
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