1929

by M. L. Gardner

  “Like I said, Mr. Garrett. The details are sketchy at present. All we know is that there was an explosion. The Ava-Maura was lost, but luckily there was another boat in the area when it happened. There was one survivor.”

  “One,” he whispered.

  “I am very sorry.”

  Jonathan stared in disbelief as the Sheriff nodded grimly.

  “Which one?” Jonathan asked, blinking, as a lump rose in his throat.

  “I don’t know. He’s being treated at the hospital in Gloucester with minor injuries. Deputy will give him a ride home after he’s released an–”

  “Which one!” Jonathan roared. Everyone in the room startled, including the sheriff despite his training.

  “I told you, sir, I don’t know. I got the message third hand. Everything I have told you is everything that I know. Deputy will bring him by, probably a few hours from now.” The sheriff bowed his head in condolence as he left the silent room and closed the door behind him. Jonathan roused from his daze and followed him out the door.

  “Wait!”

  Sheriff Vincent turned, shielding his face from the driving rain.

  “The other one, we should be looking for him,” Jonathan said desperately.

  “It’s too rough out there, Mr. Garrett. We’ll assemble a search party when the storm passes.”

  Jonathan jumped off the porch and grabbed him from behind. He spun him around and slammed him against his vehicle.

  “No! We need to be out there looking, we can’t just, just leave him!” he yelled over the storm’s wind.

  “Mr. Garrett. I understand your grief, but you need to calm down, and more importantly, take your hands off me before I’m forced to take you in.”

  Jonathan let go of the uniform with a slight shove and glowered at him.

  “I can’t just leave him out there,” he said piteously.

  “I wish there was something I could do. I know every man in the area will volunteer to join in a search once it’s safe enough to go out. I’m afraid that’s all that can be done.”

  Jonathan stared at the ground helplessly, oblivious of the complete saturation of the storm.

  Inside, everyone sat in stunned silence. Arianna and Claire held hands by the stove, supporting each other. They locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity.

  One of them was looking at a widow. Each selfishly, guiltily, prayed it wasn’t herself.

  Jonathan returned, soaked through and avoiding eyes. “Could someone make a pot of coffee? It’s going to be a long night.” He sat down hard and wiped his face dry with some napkins. Ava stood behind him, bracing his shoulders tightly, and they all began the long wait. Jean and Aislin sensed the tension and played quietly in the living room, breathing nothing above a whisper for the next few hours.

  By ten o’clock, the rain had nearly stopped, and the wind had died down to a heavy breeze. The engine rolling up the driveway was easy to hear above the silence of fearful expectation. Jonathan’s head suddenly jerked up. Everyone looked at Arianna, whose breathing had suddenly become loud and erratic, tears streaming down her face.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t go . . . I don’t want to . . . What if?” Patrick and Shannon each supported an arm and guided her as she moved toward the porch to learn her husband’s fate. The older women rocked the babies, sharing looks of fear, doubt, and apprehension.

  “Claire?” Jonathan held out his hand. Her head bobbed slightly as her eyes traveled from the door to Jonathan and back to the door again. She took an unsteady step. He moved quickly to her side and then walked with her slowly, a strong and supportive arm around her. Ava held her other side and her hand.

  They stood together on the porch, and the car seemed to take an eternity to crawl the drive. The deputy parked at an angle, and although they strained, they couldn’t make out who was in the passenger side; the light not sufficient to identify a face. The deputy stepped out and walked around the car.

  Jonathan tried to steel himself. In a moment, everything would change. One of his childhood friends, a brother, was gone, lost to the sea. The anticipation of this was agony and in the last moment, he suddenly didn’t wish to know. It’s better to wonder than to grieve, he thought and he held onto Claire as much for himself as for her. Patrick watched Arianna closely. The deputy opened the passenger door and leaned inside for a moment.

  No one breathed.

  The deputy placed Aryl’s sea bag on top of the vehicle and Arianna let out a ragged, strangled cry.

  Then Caleb’s head slowly rose above the car and turned toward the house.

  Claire screamed and collapsed to her knees. Jonathan buckled beside her, his hard face shattered. He held Claire’s shoulders tightly. She was momentarily silenced by shock, eyes wide in disbelief, her arms bound to herself tightly. When she found her voice, a gut wrenching and primal scream shook her whole body. She grabbed Jonathan and tore at his shirt as another scream doubled her over. He went over with her, his own muffled sobs joining hers.

  Arianna looked down at her, briefly felt agonizing guilt for her own relief, and then rushed down the stairs to Caleb. She crashed into him, nearly knocking him over, his bandaged arm cradled in a sling wedged between them. Her hold around his neck nearly choked him, and she sobbed unevenly. Caleb could barely make out through his tear-filled eyes Claire’s crumpled body on the porch, as she shook her head violently in defiance of reality, still grabbing at Jonathan, crying “No! No! No!” woefully.

  Caleb withdrew his gaze, lowering his head to Arianna’s neck as Claire began to beg Jonathan. She pleaded for him to tell her it wasn't true, and when he couldn't, she scrambled suddenly to her feet, trying to push Jonathan off the porch.

  “Go get him, Jonathan! Please! There’s still time! He’s out there! You can go get him! You can save him! Please!” Jonathan shook his head in regret. She screamed at him so strongly her voice cracked.

  “He saved you! You have to save him!”

  Jonathan felt his heart rip out of his chest and he lowered his head, shaking it. “I can’t, Claire. I’m so sorry. There’s no chance . . . .”

  Her outraged face blurred, and he choked back another sob. “If I could, Claire, I would have already been out there.”

  She started beating him on the chest and shoulders with fists, screaming. He grabbed her wrists, and she writhed against him with grunts and cries then went limp with a long wail and disintegrated into a brokenhearted mound on the porch, weakly attempting to beat the wooden planks. He knelt again and hovered over her, letting her cry and curse him. Ethel had moved past Claire quietly and hurried to hug her son.

  Michael and Kathleen had retreated into the living room at the first sight of Caleb. They sat together; crying, grieving for their son.

  ∞∞∞

  In the early hours of the morning, the doctor came down the stairs, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “She’s sleeping. She should be out for several hours.” He placed a wrinkled hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “It’s anyone’s guess whether she’ll lose the baby. But it’s best to keep her as calm as possible.” He set an amber bottle on the table in front of Jonathan. After taking a hard look at him, he moved it in front of Ethel. “Give her two teaspoons of this every few hours when she wakes up. There’s enough for several days. Try to keep her sedated through the funeral.”

  “All right,” Ethel agreed and nodded her head toward Jonathan, who sat with beard stubble and vacant, swollen eyes.

  “Why don’t you let me give you something for rest, too, Jon?” he offered. Jonathan shook his head and downed the last of his coffee.

  “No. It’ll be light soon. We’ll be heading out . . . to look.” The doctor relented with a sigh and ambled toward the door.

  “I’ll be back in a day or two. Send for me if you need me.” He bestowed a look of sympathy to all in the room and left quietly.

  ∞∞∞

  “No!” Arianna demanded, pulling at his shirt. “You can’t go! I won’t let you!” Just befo
re dawn, Caleb had spent several minutes trying to calm Arianna, who refused to let him go.

  “Ahna, I have to. I have to try to help.” He cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes against fresh tears. “He’s out there,” he whispered. “And we have to find him.” A loud and pitiful cry came from upstairs and he looked painfully toward the stairs. “If it had been me–” he began and Arianna shook her head violently.

  “Don’t say that, don’t ever say that.”

  “But if it had been, Ahna, wouldn’t you want them to bring me home?”

  “Thank God it wasn’t you,” she said and hugged him tightly.

  June 26th 1930

  Morning’s first light found three dozen men volunteering their time and boats to search for one of their own. There was little hope of a recovery, but no one would say that out loud. And so they did what they would want done if it had been one of them; at least look.

  Jonathan laid out a chart on the hood of Caleb’s truck and assigned each man a different area to search. Caleb pointed out his best guess of the area where the explosion took place. Jonathan ordered two boats to that location and another two vessels were to scout the shoreline twenty miles in each direction. Everyone else was assigned an area extending from the shore to the accident site. Then Caleb and Jonathan boarded the harbormaster’s vessel.

  Caleb sat against the side of the boat, his head in his hands. He swayed slightly as the boat rocked and kept his head low as he choked randomly and cleared his throat hard several times. Jonathan sat beside him and looked briefly at the sky, prepared now to know.

  “What happened?” he asked numbly. Caleb shook his head, still cradled in his hands.

  “It happened so fast,” he started, having to clear his throat again.

  “Start at the beginning. How did you end up in my boat?” Jonathan’s bloodshot eyes focused on the side of Caleb’s bent head, and he tugged at his sleeve. “Talk to me.” Caleb took a deep breath and recounted the day. Jonathan stopped him several times, having him repeat accounts of the explosion and then the shredded sails.

  “Shredded? But they were fine–”

  “I can’t figure it out. I think there was a second explosion . . .” he stared blankly ahead as he spoke. “There was a wave so big. I’ve never seen one so big . . . next thing I know, I’m underwater not knowing which way was up. When I finally found the surface, I saw the bow of the Ava-Maura just before it went under. It was so hard to stay afloat with the waves and the wind, it was hard to see . . . but I saw Aryl. I know he came back up at least . . . for a moment. He was maybe ten yards from me. He was pointing at a smaller fishing boat headed our way. I bobbed as high as I could so they would see us and screamed as loud as I could. There were pieces of the boat floating all around. I hung onto one until they got close. When I looked back . . . he was gone. He had lost a good amount of blood, Jon.” Caleb was nodding firmly. “He probably didn’t have the strength–”

  “Lost blood?”

  “The first explosion threw him across the deck,” Caleb said, painfully remembering. “The back of his shirt was bloody.”

  “That changes things,” Jonathan said grimly.

  “I know.” He took a ragged breath and gave into the grief. “We’re not going to find him, are we, Jon?” His voice was frayed.

  “No. I don’t think so.” He put an arm around Caleb’s shoulder; they gave up hiding tears from each other as the harbormaster guided his boat over every square inch of the assigned search area.

  ∞∞∞

  “Anything?” Ava rose quickly from Hubert’s chair with anxious eyes, shifting Samuel on her shoulder. Jonathan dropped his eyes and shook his head. Caleb’s newly inherited farmhouse had become the gathering spot for family and friends, except for Aryl’s parents, who chose to be alone to mourn privately.

  “How’s Claire?” he asked as he glanced at the stairs.

  “Not good. The medicine makes her sleep. But she wakes up screaming every few hours. She won’t eat.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled as she laid Samuel in his floor pen and then hugged Jonathan tightly around the neck. “How are you?” she asked. Her tears had been for Aryl, even more for Claire. But some had been shed in relief that Jonathan hadn’t been on the boat; that he had gone to pick up Patrick, that her recurring dream had not been a premonition.

  “They’re going back out tomorrow, even though everyone knows . . . I’m not going with them, though. I’m going to the Sullivan’s to help arrange the funeral. Claire isn’t up to it.” She pulled back with a dire expression.

  “You’re giving up?”

  His eyes were dull, lifeless, and his voice broke when he spoke. “He’s gone, Ava,” he whispered as a single tear spilled. She pulled him close again and held him while he racked with strangled sobs of grief and exhaustion.

  Jean walked in quietly, wrapped his arms around Jonathan’s leg and rested his head against his hip. Ava placed one hand on his head and stroked his hair while he looked up at her, somewhat fearful of Jonathan’s breakdown. The few other inhabitants of the house tactfully avoided the room.

  June 27th 1930

  At the end of the day, when all of the boats had returned, the search was officially called off. Ava was sitting in the living room holding Jean on her lap when Jonathan returned from the Sullivan’s. His face wore the hollow, red, and swollen eyes of mourning. Ava and Jean hugged him in turn, and then Ava took Jean upstairs to put him to bed.

  Downstairs, she found Jonathan in the kitchen sitting sloppily, as if he were a rag-doll thrown into a chair.

  “Sunday,” he said wearily. “We’re going to have a service on Sunday. That’s what Michael and Kathleen want.” She slid into the seat next to him and took his hand. “We’re going to have a box. Just a small one, so people can put,” he paused, looking upward, blowing out his breath and blinking fast, “put in things that are special.” He shifted in his seat. “Michael sent me into town with a list of family and friends to send telegrams to. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through that service, Ava.” He stared ahead with a clenched jaw. “Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve lost . . . .” He clutched a handful of his shirt, right over his heart. “It was nothing compared to this,” he whispered.

  They heard a small noise and turned to the doorway.

  “Dadee?” Jonathan straightened in his chair and sniffled, wiping his face.

  “Yes, Jean. What is it?” Jean walked to Jonathan’s side and curled his little arm around his back. He seemed to struggle for words, and then his face relaxed.

  “Here. I don’t have nightmares anymore,” Jean said as he placed Maura’s cross on the table in front of Jonathan. He scurried back up the stairs.

  Jonathan stared at it for a long time. He was out of tears, but his eyes burned as he held it for a moment and then slipped it into his pocket.

  After a long silence, there was a soft knock at the door. Ava opened it to a disheveled and intoxicated Caleb.

  “Is Jon here?” he asked woozily.

  “He is. Come in, Caleb.”

  He walked into the kitchen and dropped into a chair without acknowledging Jonathan, and the knapsack he put on the table made clinking sounds as it settled. Ava leaned over Jonathan, kissing the top of his head.

  “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

  He looked up with grateful eyes.

  “I love you.”

  She touched his face, smiled compassionately, and left the two to whatever distraction Caleb had smuggled in.

  “Compliments of the local law,” he said as he pulled out two bottles of whiskey from the bag.

  “The sheriff?” Jonathan asked incredulously.

  “He gave them to me, to us . . . in not so many words,” he explained as he pushed one bottle toward Jonathan.

  “How many words did he use?” Jonathan asked suspiciously.

  “He confiscated these yesterday from a runner. He stopped by this afternoon to give his condolences.�
� He paused to tilt the bottle up for several seconds and whistled at the burn. “Said he had some business to take care of on the other end of town, asked me if I’d do him a favor and dispose of it properly, since he didn’t have time.” One corner of his mouth twisted but his eyes remained heavy. “I assured him that I would.” He held up the bottle and swigged heartily again.

  They sat quietly, avoiding each other's eyes, listening to the crickets’ songs through the open window.

  “It’s hot,” Caleb said, glancing at the back door. “I’m going outside.” Jonathan knew Caleb was most likely on the verge of tears again and preferred them hidden by the dark. He grabbed his bottle and knapsack and pushed open the screen door. Jonathan followed.

  They sat on the bench against the house with two feet of space between them; the spot where Aryl belonged.

  The missing element was overwhelming and neither could bear to look at the gap.

  June 29th 1930

  Claire sat by the window, staring through it with blank eyes as Ava changed her bed sheets. The doctor suggested they talk to her about random things, and so she did. The roses blooming outside and the weather, how lovely the quilt was, what the quilter might have been thinking when she created the design. Claire didn’t answer or give any indication that she had even heard her. After making the bed, she sat in front of her friend with a tray of food.

  “You need to eat something, Claire,” she pleaded and held a spoon to her lips. Claire remained motionless. “It’s been three days, Claire. Please eat something.” She touched the spoon to her closed lips and sighed in frustration at her catatonic state. Ava wiped Claire’s mouth. “Stand up, honey. We need to get you dressed.” She pulled on both arms, and Claire stood limply, swaying, staring past her. Ava pulled the gown over her head and replaced it with a black dress, high in the neck with dozens of small satin buttons lining the bodice. She straightened it around her waist, and reached around to tie the high waist back. She shook out the skirt around her calves and lastly, she bent and pulled off her house slippers and replaced them with low heels. She guided her back down in the chair and Claire’s arms hung limply at her side. Ava moved behind her and brushed her dirty hair, smoothing tangles. She placed a newly purchased cloche hat low around her ears, so only the curls of the ends of her golden blonde hair showed. Ava was grateful that the hat covered most of her matted hair. She walked around and stooped to eye-level with Claire.