True Blue (Hubbard's Point)

by Luanne Rice

  “How do you know how to do that?” Quinn asked.

  Rumer glanced at Zeb, and he felt himself redden.

  “Tell her, Zeb,” she said.

  “We learned when we were young,” he said. “So we could talk to each other at night, across the yards, after everyone else was asleep.”

  “From your windows?” Michael asked.

  Zeb nodded, staring at Rumer. Candlelight flickered from an amber hurricane lamp, lighting her blue eyes, warming her pale gold hair; Zeb felt stirred by her beauty and the memory of learning a new language just to be able to talk to her.

  “She's deaf,” Quinn said to Rumer, “and you know how to talk to her. I'm not, but I used to be in a world of my own. You've always known how to talk to me too. When no one else did.”

  “It was easy,” Rumer said. “Talking to you.”

  “Rumer's always been like that,” Zeb heard himself saying.

  “What do you mean?” Michael asked.

  “She cares about everyone around her. It's what makes her a good vet.”

  “You're turning my head,” Rumer joked.

  But she felt that he meant it, and she liked that he knew her so well; Zeb saw the color rise in her cheeks. For so long—since marrying Elizabeth—he had felt like a hermit in a cave. Hidden away, all alone, communicating with higher forces instead of loving the people around him. Yet here he was, surrounded by his family, and he had never felt so right. The thought of leaving, returning to the West Coast, hit him hard, and his gaze went to Rumer. How could he go away from her again?

  “Maybe I'll become a vet,” Quinn was saying. “A vet for birds and animals of the shore. Or a teacher, like Sixtus. A lobstering teacher. Or a teaching lobster-woman.”

  “You'd need college,” Michael said.

  “And graduate school,” Rumer said. “A master's degree… but don't worry. You're on the right track… those A's you got on your progress report are the first step. I'm so proud of you both.”

  “Yes,” Zeb said, focusing on the conversation instead of on Rumer's eyes, looking at Michael. “So am I. What about you, Michael?”

  “Me?”

  “Well, say Quinn does want to be a vet or a teacher… how about you?”

  “I might like to teach,” he said quietly. “Like Grandpa. Or be a lobsterman.”

  “We could lobster along all sorts of different coasts,” Quinn said. “And see the world.”

  “Yeah.” Michael grinned at Quinn, the softness in his eyes going straight to his father's heart. “How far can we get in your boat?”

  “It can handle any weather,” Quinn said, smiling back. “But we need more range—we'll have to add another engine to get very far.”

  “Whoa… are you two planning to run away together?” Zeb asked, exchanging glances with Rumer.

  “If we wanted to,” Michael said, “we wouldn't do it in front of you.”

  “Not for a few years, Mr. Mayhew,” Quinn said. “I think we have to go to college first.”

  “Anywhere she goes, I'm going,” Michael said.

  Zeb turned to smile at his son, but what he saw in Michael's eyes now made his stomach lurch. Michael was dead serious.

  A waitress came over, smiled, and asked if they wanted to hear the evening's specials. Someone must have said yes, because she began to tell them about scallops and lobster sauteed in butter, but Zeb barely heard.

  His son was on his way. The rockets had fired, blastoff had occurred, and Zeb hadn't seen it coming. The waitress was taking orders; when she got to Quinn, Michael held Quinn's hand and said, “She'll have the steak. She likes it rare—extra rare. If you don't cook it, it's okay.”

  “Oh, Michael,” Zeb said under his breath just as the waitress got to him and, pencil poised, flashed her most welcoming Lobsterville smile.

  Zeb was overcome with the fact—for better or worse, wherever it led—his son could know and trust his own mind so well. Rumer sat so close; her presence was so strong. Why hadn't he trusted himself—-and Rumer—enough to know that they had always been meant to be together? That it was only his pride that had been hurt when she'd stood him up that one time, that one night, that had changed the course of their lives.

  He sat there, staring at his child, until Rumer said softly to the waitress, “Will you give us just a minute more?”

  Driving out of Lunenburg, Sixtus asked Zee to take him by Blue Rocks. It was a ghostly spit of land with just a few fishing shacks standing on stilts above the tide. Rich brown sargassum weed covered the rocks, its distinctive smell filled with salt and decay. No matter how clear the day was, a thin vapor always held on here, softening the contours of the boulders.

  “My brother and I used to go fishing here,” Sixtus said. “When our mother was working.”

  “But I thought you lived in Halifax.”

  “We did.”

  “That's miles away from here!”

  “I know. But work was hard to get… she had to take the jobs she could find. We'd come out with her, spend the night so we didn't have to be alone.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She cleaned houses for rich people… that led to her taking care of them when they got sick… from there, she met a doctor, and he hired her to look after newborn babies, sort of like a nurse's aide.”

  “In people's homes?”

  “No, darling. Not in their homes.” Weary again, perhaps from the pounding his body had taken on the long blue-water sail, Sixtus looked at Elizabeth. She was a true beauty, with the wide-spaced brown eyes and glamorous square smile of her mother. Her straight brown hair fell in a chin-length bob, and her high cheekbones were sharply shadowed. How blessed his children were: intelligent, beautiful, loved.

  This was the chance for Zee to change the subject. Menial labor wasn't something she knew or cared anything about; Sixtus was surprised she'd stayed on it this long.

  “Dad?”

  “I'll take you there, sweetheart. I'll show you where your grandmother used to work, if you'd like to see. It's in East Laurelton, just down the road from the town where your movie's set.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I'm game. Climb in.” He did, with difficulty. Perhaps it was visiting the land of his youth that made him feel so old.

  They drove east along the coastal road. Glimpses of small bays and pristine coves filled Sixtus with nostalgia. Some of the houses looked familiar, and he wondered whether any of the old employees’ families had descendants still living in the neighborhood. Whitewashed Victorian houses, tall and sturdy, built to withstand the strong sea wind, lined the streets.

  “Slowly, now,” he said when they drew closer. He recognized so many things: the post office, the enormous pine—even taller now—that he and his brother used to climb, an old toolshed where they had played hide-and-seek.

  “What's that place?” she asked, noticing his stare.

  “That's where the Cuthberts lived.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Jean and Richard Cuthbert. They ran the place where my mother worked; the Cuthbert Children's Home.”

  “Oh… a home for unwed mothers?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth. It was.”

  “What did your mother do there?”

  “Well, like a lot of the Irish girls who came over, she was a domestic—a cleaning lady and nanny. She loved children—she was a wonderful mother to us, and she tried her best to mother those girls who came here to have their babies. Some of them weren't much more than children themselves.”

  He paused, glancing over to see how his daughter was taking this. Elizabeth looked uncomfortable, still staring at the house.

  “She was there to sweep the floors and scrub the toilets, but she wound up ministering to a lot of those girls. She got a lot of midwife training over the years; she was present at a good many births.”

  “Sounds like a lot of hard work,” Zee said.

  “She liked her job.”

  “I don't see how.”

  “Well, she liked hel
ping… it gave her a lot of satisfaction.”

  “Must be who Rumer inherited her saintliness from.”

  “Well, she was a saint,” Sixtus said with a lump in his throat. “That's true enough.”

  Sixtus leaned back in the comfortable leather seat, his gnarled hand gripping the door handle. The sports car was small, compact, barely big enough for two bodies to fit in. He had never imagined having this conversation with Elizabeth—Rumer, maybe, but not Zee.

  “She was only one person,” he said. “As loving as she tried to be, she couldn't do enough for all those babies.”

  “No?” Her expression was wide open, reflecting her curiosity in the story, but when she saw her father's face, she darkened.

  “Many babies were born here,” Sixtus said as if she hadn't spoken. “Their bassinets were arranged in rows, like food shelves in a grocery store. I remember walking through the aisles with my brother, looking at the infants… our mother would sneak us in when the weather was too inclement to go fishing at Blue Rocks.”

  “That doesn't sound so bad.”

  “She couldn't do it every day. We were young ourselves; we wanted our mother. But we needed the money… she took all the hours she could get. The more she worked, the more she'd get attached to the babies.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, we took care of ourselves the best we could. We played at the shore, on the rocks; my brother skipped a lot of school. Got in trouble more than I did—I did my best to steer him in the right direction, but he wanted to get her attention.”

  “Your mother's?” Elizabeth asked, stiffening. Was she thinking of herself and Sixtus? Or, perhaps, herself and Michael?

  “Yes. She'd come home exhausted—from trying to do so much. The kids were all ages. Infants, toddlers… not to mention the young mothers.”

  “So your mother did it all.”

  “Like I said, she needed the money. And she had a huge heart.”

  “Sad,” Zee said, her lips tight. Sixtus looked across the seats. He sensed her closing down hard and fast. This was too sensitive for her. She began to shift into drive, but Sixtus put his hand over hers.

  “Wait,” he said. “There's more.”

  “It's crummy, Dad,” she said. “I know it happened— I've always known you had a hard childhood, and I'm sorry.”

  “No excuses, honey. I turned into a shutdown father all by myself. I passed my own pain onto you, and that's something I live with now.”

  “Don't worry about it.”

  “You can say that, but I do worry. I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. I wasn't available enough when you were a little girl, and I know it—”

  Elizabeth blinked hard, as if she could drive the memories away.

  “My mother started to drink after work here,” he said. “Just a little sherry before bed at first—to help her relax and go to sleep. She used to cry, telling us about the infants who were sick, premature… those were the worst, the ones she most wanted to help.”

  “Michael was premature,” she said, trailing off into memory.

  Sixtus nodded. He remembered when Elizabeth had gone into labor seven weeks early. They had whisked Michael straight from the delivery room into the neonatal ICU, and he'd stayed there for several weeks. During that time, not a day went by without Sixtus thinking of his mother's charges, the other babies, the ones who didn't make it; praying for his brand-new grandson, he had also prayed for them.

  “Drinking stole her soul,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “The way it stole mine.”

  “I think I pushed you into it,” Sixtus said, his eyes tearing as he fumbled for her hand. “All the trouble you've had—I think my neglect made you start…”

  “No one can ‘make’ someone drink,” she said, her mouth set, driving faster. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I wanted you to know, Zee,” Sixtus said, picturing his oldest daughter, standing on the rocky headland at home, reaching out her arms as if she could pull her father back from sailing out to sea. “Our family has something we need to put back together. This is the summer for it.”

  “What do we need to ‘put back together’?”

  “There've been rifts between you and me, you and Rumer. I'm getting old, Elizabeth. I want to see my daughters getting along. And I want to know that you and I can forgive and forget.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Elizabeth said dangerously. “Although I'm not sure Rumer would agree. She blames me for everything.”

  “She's working it out,” Sixtus said. “Isn't that what life's all about? Making peace with the past, trying to get along happily in the present?”

  “Your trip… is that it? Making peace with the past?”

  “Partly,” Sixtus said, flexing his hands. “And partly, it's just a big adventure. I've always wanted to sail home—to Canada.”

  “And what about Ireland?”

  Sixtus laughed. “Maybe once I get there, I'll throw myself on the mercy of the Irish Brothers, or some other order. Get them to take care of me in my old age instead of your sister. One thing I don't want is to be a burden to her.”

  “I'm sure she wouldn't see it that way,” Elizabeth said quietly.

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “But I do.”

  “What did you mean before, when you said Rumer's ‘working it out’?”

  “Well, with Zeb and Michael,” Sixtus said, smiling. But catching the look in his older daughter's eyes, he could see he'd stepped into—or set—a booby trap.

  “What's she doing with them?”

  Sixtus took a deep breath. “She has a relationship with them, Elizabeth. As long-lasting as your own.”

  “They're not her family.”

  “How can you say that? Michael's her nephew. Zeb is her oldest friend.”

  “They're my family, Dad.”

  Sixtus rubbed his eyes wearily. “How did you ever get the idea that there's not enough to go around? They can be yours, but they can be hers too. She's been hurt over the years—when you wouldn't let her see Michael. She has strong feelings about this, Elizabeth. Whether you like it or not.”

  “Bight,” Elizabeth said. “I cause pain and then drink to forget it; Rumer's the saint.”

  “No one's a saint, Zee.”

  “Oh, come on. She's such a saint, you have to sail to fucking Ireland so she won't feel obliged to take care of you.”

  “That's not it…”

  “Fine, Dad.”

  Elizabeth's mouth was a thin line. She wanted him out of the car, Sixtus could tell. He thought of his two daughters, one who had a boundless ability to give and heal, this other girl, who'd been shut down so long ago.

  “I have to get back to the set,” she said.

  “Elizabeth…”

  “How much longer will you be here?”

  “Just a few days,” he said. “The summer's passing by so quickly; I have to leave soon to make it to Ireland before the fall storms start.” But even as he spoke, pain gripped his knuckles, as if the cold north sea air were seeping into them.

  “Hmmm.”

  “And you? How long are you filming here?”

  “Not long. A day or two at most. We wrap very soon, and then I'm taking a few weeks off. You know, I hope I can see you again, but I'm not sure. I'm really in demand most of the time, Dad—Zeb could tell you. When I'm on set, everyone wants me. This day off has really been an aberration.”

  “I didn't mean to upset you,” Sixtus said, watching her eyes.

  “It's not your fault,” Elizabeth said. “I'm keyed up. This is a really challenging production, and I hate the fucking director. And then, thinking of Saint Rumer down there, wooing back my husband and son, taking my place…”

  “She's not wooing anyone.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I love you, Zee.”

  “You too, Dad.”

  “Can you come back later? Or tomorrow maybe?”

  “If I can.”

  But somehow he knew he wouldn't see her again on this
trip. Oh, the mysteries of being parents, of being children. Sixtus, in his seventh decade, had just begun to feel it unravel, just started to figure it out.

  When she dropped him off at the dock, he limped slowly back to the boat. He thought of sailing across the sea, how much smoother a passage it was. His heart ached, and his throat was full. Turning to wave goodbye to his oldest girl, he saw her car speeding away. He raised his hand, squinting into the bright sun. She couldn't possibly see him, but he stood there anyway.

  THE SUMMER DAYS lasted so long. Sunlight reflected off the last high clouds and lingered in the sky, captured in tree branches and weathered shingles, until the evening star appeared in the west and seemed to dangle from the boughs.

  Heading home after dinner at Lobsterville, everyone felt full and happy. Driving under the trestle to enter the Point, Rumer felt a sense of enclosure: the ultimate feeling of safety and home.

  Familiar old trees arched above the winding road, branches interlocking to form a canopy overhead. Zeb dropped the kids off at Quinn's house—having celebrated their excellent interim grades, tonight they had more studying to do. Rumer waved good night and said she'd see them tomorrow.

  “There go the future college students,” she said when she and Zeb were alone in the car. Their eyes met, and her heart sped up.

  “Can you believe it?” Zeb asked, not looking away. “From dropouts to kids with a mission in one summer.”

  “Never underestimate my nephew—or Quinn,” Rumer said, trying to have a conversation while her mind went crazy wondering what was going to happen next. Zeb's hand slid across the seat to take hers.

  Zeb pulled up to the stone wall at the bottom of her hill. Rumer turned—to thank him for the wonderful evening or invite him up to the house, she wasn't sure, when she caught Zeb looking past her, over her shoulder, his mouth wide open with shock.

  “Rumer…” he said.

  “What is it?” she asked, turning.

  “The trees,” he said.

  “Oh, Zeb,” Rumer breathed, touching her heart.