“The kind of wife she would have been for you,” Arianna said when she could talk again. He remained silent. She felt resentful toward Rachael, who was shorter than Caleb, soft and quiet, blended in politely and blushed with any attention paid to her; humble. What bothered her most were the glances she had witnessed from her toward Caleb. No doubt there was still something there. She still adored, if not loved, him. If not for a cruel twist of fate, she would be his wife now, several children running underfoot, and lovingly greeting Caleb as he came in from a long day on his farm. Arianna seethed, boiled and hated. Rachael was the standard Caleb held for a good wife. She is what he wanted originally and what he likely thought about every time she let him down. And then, quite suddenly, she decided she would not, under any circumstance, be out done. She wouldn’t allow it. Not from this pale-faced humble any more than from the most skilled and exotic whores in Paris. She looked Caleb in the eye for the first time since the fight began.
“I love you more,” she said with conviction.
“It’s not a contest, Arianna. Rachael has moved on and so have I. I don’t love her anymore,” he reassured.
“I’ll show you.” She clenched his hands, almost frantic. “I’ll show you every day. I love you more and I will be the wife you want. I will, I promise.” Her eyes were pleading and brimming with tears. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Don’t stop loving me.” He sighed and gathered her in as close as he could, her stomach intruding slightly.
“I’m not leaving you, Ahna. And stop loving you? Never. I couldn’t.”
∞∞∞
“Impressive.” Victor leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. He stared hatefully at the picture. “Posing as a journalist. Brilliant.” He pulled from his drawer a thick roll of bills and tossed it across the desk. “Did they let you on the boat?” he asked, even though he thought that would be too much good luck in one sitting.
“Let me walk all over and ask questions. Even poked around the sleeping berth.”
“And you’re sure of the address?”
“I was before he willingly gave it to me. I can see why you’d be inclined to clear the path. She’s a looker,” he said, slightly overstepping his bounds. Victor snorted. “I don’t care about her. Not the way you’re thinking anyway.” He studied the boat carefully. “What do you know of explosives?” Now armed with the information he needed, Victor cultivated his plan with more detail.
“Enough. What do you need?”
“Knowledge. I won’t be asking you to make any further trips. You’ve provided me with more than I hoped for. I can handle the rest. My vengeance runs long and deep. This is something I must . . . want to do myself. But I will pay you handsomely for the knowledge.”
“A little unorthodox, but all right, let me know when, where.”
“Why wait? My house. Tonight.” He handed over another wad of bills. “This should cover your time and supplies.”
∞∞∞
That evening, Victor was high on evil anticipation and he glided into the parlor, smiling for the first time in weeks. He kissed Ruth on the cheek.
“I need to talk to you,” she said hesitantly, wary of his jovial appearance.
“About what?”
“Sit down,” she invited politely.
“Whatever it is, just buy it or fire them or sell it.” He held out his arms wide. “Makes no difference to me.” He causally turned to leave her in the parlor.
“It’s about Jonathan,” Ruth blurted out awkwardly and he halted and slowly turned toward her. It scared her, the look in his eyes; although no longer distant and loathing, something worse now replaced it.
“What about Jonathan?” he asked. Instantly, he wondered if his new employee’s services would be needed again. If Ruth would be one of those tragic loose ends he would be forced to clip and he grinned wide. Makes no difference to me, he reminded himself.
“I need to know where he is,” she said feebly.
“Miss him, my dear?” Victor sat down slowly, watching her distrustfully.
“Of course not. I love . . . you, Victor,” she said and smiled sweetly to cover her fear.
“Then why on earth would you need to know where he is?” he said and smiled sweetly to cover his rage. He was faking his suspicion–he knew she wanted to warn him, like she had before he left. She was lucky to be alive right now. The thought had crossed his mind to have her neck broken when he discovered Jonathan had, most likely as a result of her last secret visit, abandoned the apartment and ruined his first set of plans. But her best friend’s husband had suffered considerable losses recently, and anyone could be bought. There had been scarcely a moment of any day, especially when Jonathan had lived near, that Victor did not know exactly where Ruth was, had been or planned to go. And Ruth had no idea the vast number of eyes that watched her daily.
She held out two letters. Slightly trembling hands betrayed her relaxed expression. He leaned back and began reading them. Short letters of swirly handwriting; the first an introduction simply requesting information, the second begged for information and explained in detail why it was needed. Victor’s solid face ruptured into a smile as he read. He chuckled dryly once, and then roars of delight followed hard laughter.
Minutes later, he scooped the letters from the floor, wiped his eyes, and apologized politely. “Oh! I'm sorry, but this is simply too good to be true.” He broke into hilarity again as he handed the letters back.
“I didn’t think it funny in the least. It’s tragic really.” She felt disgust at how he always found humor in the misfortune of others. His eyes and mouth dropped into anger again, and his eyes targeted her ruthlessly.
“To me, it’s hilarious. And justified. Now what to do about it, though?” he deliberated aloud as he paced. “I’ll have to postpone my plans, of course, but it will be worth it to sit back and enjoy the calamity. Just for a while until it bores me.” He shrugged.
“Why do you hate him so much?” The second she spoke, she regretted it as his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her throat.
“You know why,” he sneered. “You want me to repeat it? You want to hear the whole story again?” he snarled just inches from her face. “You enjoy it, don’t you?” Eyes bulging, she tried to deny it, to shake her head, struggling to breathe. In a crazed trance, Victor went on, “How he won the apprenticeship with his ass-kissing attitude and then had me thrown out, condemning me from proper society to rule over slums, prolific as that may have turned out to be.”
The drastic change in tone to upbeat with his last sentence sent cold through Ruth’s chest, convinced now that he had gone mad. His smolder continued to burn.
“Then to walk out with Ava from that dinner party, after she humiliated me in front of the last group of decent society that would receive me.” He skimmed her over, repulsed. “Stuck with his leavings!” he growled and suddenly thrust her away from him. She gasped for breath, staggered backward and found the sofa behind her. “Now.” He sat down on the sofa as though nothing had happened. “Listen very carefully, Ruth. Here is what we’re going to do about this.”
March 15th 1930
“I think I see them!” Arianna called. The girls waited with lunch baskets on the pier for the boats to come back mid-day. Arianna squinted against the bright sunlight sparkling on the ocean.
“Even if you do, it will be a while before they pull in,” Claire said. “Anybody have any good gossip?”
“Gossip? Around here? Not likely. Unless it’s about one of us,” Ava said.
Claire chose that moment to share her news. “We started trying. For a baby, I mean.”
Ava smiled at her. “So did we.”
“You’re kidding.”
Ava shook her head. “Jon finally talked me into it.”
“Aryl figures we’ll be in our own place before I would have any exciting news, and then we’ll have the full nine months to get things ready.”
Ava narrowed her eyes and tapped her foot. �
��They’ve been collaborating. Those are the same things Jon said to me. It’s a race, that’s what it is. Neither of them wants his son to be the youngest.” She gave a tsk-tsk, shaking her head.
Arianna yawned and stretched.
“Tired? Not too much longer now,” Claire said.
“Yes, I’m tired and yes, it’s a while yet. Three full months still.” She poked back at a tiny foot digging into her ribs. “Yeah, I’m crowded, too!” she complained in return. “I’ve been getting up early to have breakfast with Caleb,” she said after another long yawn.
“He gets up at what? Three am?”
“Four. I talked to his father in secret and got him to let Caleb use the truck, so he could get home quicker. His father has been grumbling about all the preparations needed for planting season, and I pointed out that if Caleb used the truck then he could help more.”
“Are things any better with them? It must be awfully uncomfortable,” Ava said, while spreading out a blanket on the sand.
“It’s better. Hubert is still a stubborn, old fart. Caleb is the one who has changed. He goes right up to his father, bold as brass, and says what he needs to or asks something outright. At first, his father tried to pretend he couldn’t hear him, so he could keep up the silent treatment. But Ethel fixed that. Bopped him on the head every time he tried it and now he answers when he’s spoken to.”
Ava giggled at the thought and asked, “And things with you two? Better?”
Arianna smiled mischievously. “Much better. I don’t think he realizes this, but the more I dote on him, the more he dotes on me. So, when I want more attention or a foot rub or anything, all I have to do is pay more attention to him. Works every time. But don’t say anything. That stays between us girls. Don’t want to spoil a good thing.” She squinted out again over the open water. “I’m going to rest till they get here. I’m beat.” She struggled to lie down and kicked off her shoes, letting the sun warm her face and legs.
Arianna was close to dozing when a shadow cast over her face and she opened her eyes. Glancing over her, Caleb grinned.
“If you say beached whale, I’ll kick you where it counts, and Junior here, will be an only child.” She pulled up on one elbow, smiling through her threat. Sparing her the embarrassment of rolling ungracefully, he bent down, slipped an arm behind her, and pulled her to a sitting position. She tucked her skirt around herself modestly as he sat down beside her.
“I’m glad you came,” he said and smiled while rifling through the basket. “I’m starving.” Before she could raise one eyebrow and purse her lips, he slipped a hand behind her head and kissed her. “And I’ve missed you since the minute I left.” That satisfied her well enough, and she began handing out the picnic lunch. “How’s your day been?” he asked quickly before taking a large bite of sandwich made with thick wedges of homemade bread.
“We set a stew on for dinner and made bread. I finished sewing another four diapers, and I got your shirts ironed.”
Caleb nodded as she ticked off her list of productivity. “You didn’t leave nasty creases in the front like last time, did you?”
“Oh, no, they’re perfect, darling.” She kissed him on the cheek, leaving a hand on his thigh as she continued about her morning and plans for the evening.
Jonathan sat with Ava, mouth hanging open with a large bite of sandwich threatening to fall into his lap. Ava suppressed a giggle, touched under his chin and he closed his mouth to chew.
“Caleb said she was more docile, but . . . .”
Awhile later, he glanced over to see Arianna on her knees behind Caleb, kneading the muscles of his shoulders. Caleb let his head fall forward in relaxation. When he rolled it to the side for Arianna to work on his neck, he gave Jonathan a wicked look of triumph. Jonathan had to turn away or give away Caleb’s expression.
Claire and Aryl were sitting ahead of them, the three couples forming a triangle of blankets on the beach. He held a sandwich in one hand and a chart in the other, showing Claire where they had been and where they would go this afternoon.
“I think we’ll be out for a few days next week. I want to try this area over here.” The spot on the chart he pointed to held no significance to Claire. “That might be a good time to have Arianna’s shower, or you gals could go into town. Pass the time while we’re gone.”
“How long will you be?”
“Three, maybe four days, this first trip anyway.” He continued to study the chart as she nestled in closer.
“I don’t want you gone that long,” she said quietly but firmly. He kissed her head without taking his eyes from the map.
“If you girls stay busy, we’ll be back before you know it.” He dismissed her worry and hadn’t looked up to see the distress in her eyes.
“I don’t like you being out there at night,” she said, breaking his concentration.
“It’ll be fine,” he insisted. “We’ve got everything we need to be comfortable below.” He smiled and ran his eyes down her torso and back up again. “Well, almost everything.” He folded the chart and pulled her up. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
They walked between the blankets. On one side, Ava sat between Jonathan’s knees, leaning against him, looking out at the ocean. He locked his arms around her and rested his head on hers. On the other, Arianna was on her side, with Caleb lovingly working out the strained muscles of her lower back.
“I’m going to show Claire the boat,” Aryl said. Caleb gave an exaggerated wink. Aryl rolled his eyes but the thought of an impromptu rendezvous had crossed his mind. Twice.
It was cozy underneath with barely enough room for two people to move around. It held a double bunk scarcely wide or long enough to hold a man, a table, and a cook stove. There was a storage area under the bottom bunk and a handmade shelf to the side of the stove, with thin wooden slats on each of the three tiers to keep objects from flying off in rough seas.
“There are only two beds,” she said. “Who’s staying home?”
“No one. We’ll sleep in shifts.”
“I just don’t like the idea of you going out for that long,” she said, her eyes full of concern and her mouth pulled into a pout.
“It'll be fine. I promise. We’ll be back before you know it.” He pulled her close in a tight hug and then nuzzled her neck. “You know, we probably have time to–”
“Aryl!” Jonathan bellowed from the pier. “Let’s get a move on. Sooner we finish, sooner we can get home.” Aryl dropped his head with a sigh. “Maybe next time,” he whispered and kissed her quickly.
They stood on the pier, baskets in hand and watched as the boat pulled away. Ava couldn’t help but think Jonathan looked perfectly natural, standing tall and proud at the wheel, heading out to sea. The thick, wool sweater accentuated his broad shoulders and arms that, despite the hard work at the shipping dock, seemed to have gained even more substance since he began work on the boat. Glancing over the rest of him, she made a mental note to buy a length of wool for another pair of pants. His current and only pair of work pants strained at the seams from added bulk in the thighs and rear as a result of vigorous work combined with better eating. One good joke from Aryl and she was afraid they’d split right up the back. She shamelessly lingered on his rear; tight, gray material where his muscles contracted on either side as his weight shifted with the slight roll of the boat. She giggled slightly as her eyes passed over the large, floppy boots, which gave the appearance of a small boy going out to play in the mud. Just before she could no longer make out the details of him, he turned and smiled, the sun glinting off his black hair, and held up his hand to throw an exaggerated kiss ashore. She pretended to catch it and waved back.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she said aloud.
“What’s amazing?” Claire asked, her eyes still fixed on the boat.
“How great things turned out. In spite of everything we’ve been through during those awful first few months, here we are. Our lives are completely different. We’re broke and living on c
harity, but,” she said, shrugging, “we’re happy. Strange as it sounds, life seems real now.”
Claire thought about it as Arianna spoke up.
“It is real now. And it’s better,” she said and smiled.
March 22nd 1930
The next week, they left on a Tuesday, as Aryl had planned, and returned on Saturday morning. Ava was helping his mother in the garden when she heard the swing of the gate. She scrambled to her feet, crashed into Jonathan, and covered his bearded face with kisses. He fully looked the part now; a black sea bag thrown over his shoulder, a thick, wool sweater dirty and turned up at the neck, a black knit cap pulled low, the cut of his jaw obscured by four days worth of beard.
He whispered in Ava’s ear as he held her close. “You didn’t happen to make that other pair of pants, did you?”
He pulled away and turned around to reveal the poorest patch job ever attempted to a split seam. She doubled over in laughter at the still-gaping hole, which revealed gray undergarments between the rough zigzags of poorly made stitches.
“You poor thing,” she said between bursts of giggles. “I have them upstairs. C’mon.” She led him away and he waved to his mother as he passed the garden patch, her shoulders and face slumped in obvious relief at the sight of him.
1929 Page 43