Sylvanus Now

by Donna Morrissey

  And as she fitted the rolled-out dough into the pie pans, trimming the edges and pouring into their centres the tart sweet jam of the rhubarb stalks, her heart quivered with the hope she was resurrecting within it, for that’s what she had done by burying God along with her babies, she had buried hope—hope of any precious thing: the bliss of a meadow, the comfort of a kitchen, the love of her man. Like the fantasies of her youth, those things had been, and without hope, they had been dead, all dead, her soul more frozen than the winter soil and weighing like a mantle of rock upon her. And now once again, she felt that greater Hand moulding her, soothing her, for what is hope if not faith?

  Slipping Janie’s pies into the oven, she walked out to her little speckled rock by the brook and sat, watching the sun sink red over Big Arm Head.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING after Sylvanus had left for his fishing grounds, she wrapped her pies and sought out Ambrose, begging a ride back to Ragged Rock. Eva watched through her window at her comings and goings, like a lost soul, thought Adelaide, like her man must look on those nights he comes back and finds no place set for him at his supper table. Guiltily, she laid her pies beside the gatepost and ran up to the door.

  “I got to go back to Ragged Rock,” she said, breathlessly, ducking her head into the kitchen. “Are you resting?”

  Eva pulled back from the window, dabbing at her reddened nose with a bit of balled-up tissue. “Bit late in the fall to be on the water so much,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “Ooh, mind now, you’re scared of a boat ride,” scoffed Adelaide. “Get yourself in bed, crouped up like that. Sure, you can hardly talk. You want me to rub you with Vicks?”

  Eva shook her head. “Go on, you’re going,” she said and looked back out the window.

  Adelaide hesitated. “Is everything all right?”

  Several hooted coughs were her reply, and a scrawny hand waving her on. “I never did like the bloody sea,” Eva croaked, hobbling away from the window to her rocker. “Always darkens the second you leans over it.” She sat back, dabbing at her nose and her rheumy eyes. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she added crossly, as Adelaide stood, ill at ease. “Bit of peace is what I’d like to have.”

  “My, you’re the one, this morning. Worrying, that’s what you’re doing, and I already told you, you’re worrying for nothing. We’re not going nowhere, and who knows, it’s probably just talk yet. Nobody’s been around, telling us for sure.”

  Eva nodded, settling back—more to get rid of her than reassure her, thought Adelaide, and why wouldn’t she worry with all this moving business, and Syllie not getting his fish, and she, Adelaide, running off to Ragged Rock two days in a row, and nothing solid, nowhere, to cast her mind upon? Lost, that’s how Eva looked to her, sitting there in her chair all by herself, lost. Like her drowned man.

  Eva sat forward, pointing a crooked finger at the window. “Is that pies them goats are eating?”

  Adelaide beat it out the door. There was no goat in sight. “Blasted woman,” she uttered, the corners of her mouth hooking on to a grin. Scooping up the pies, she waved goodbye to Eva, who was peering out the window again, her features drawn, tense. She thought to lay down the pies and run back in, assuring her again, but Ambrose was already in the boat, calling out to Suze, who was running down the path with her coat on.

  Damn, she didn’t want that woman’s company today, she thought tiredly. A last worried look at Eva, and drawing a breath of resignation, she walked slowly to the boat.

  Once they putted off from shore, Adelaide settled back, half listening as Suze launched into a running commentary for the next half hour about the coming shutdown of Cooney Arm, and Am’s mother’s bad stomach ever since she heard the news, and the old midwife declaring she’d be dead before they got her out of the arm, and Wessy and his brothers already planning where to build, and Elsie and Jake fighting over where to spend all the money they were going to get. “And you can be sure they’re not the only ones fighting. People never had this much money before, and I dare say there’ll be lots making a mistake—going for the money, and after they gets it spent, wanting to come home agin. Because it’s not working out the way the government thinks, is it, Am? Those ones from Bear Cove, they’re not too pleased, moving all the way to Hampden and finding out everybody already got the good fishing holes staked. Not surprising, seeing’s how they’ve been living there all their lives. And all them jobs that huddling people together was suppose to make, sure that’s not happening at all, not in Hampden, leastways. So I wouldn’t expect it to happen much anywhere else, either. And besides, all them old people—sure they’re all homesick two days after they leaves their houses, and the government got a real job, then, brother, keeping them from climbing in their boats and moving back to their old houses agin—especially since they got their money spent. Well, sir!” Suze broke off, her eyes widening in astonishment.

  Adelaide turned to see what had caught Suze’s attention, and rose, her eyes gaping at a sight that would be forever imprinted on her mind. It was the Trapps from Little Trite, all of them, old and young, crowded into their boats—two skiffs and two motorboats, and each with a punt in tow—all loaded down with tables and chairs and beds and highboys and brooms and dishes and all else it takes to furnish a house, along with rakes and shovels and wheelbarrows and hoes, and never mind the dogs howling over the sides, and two pigs grunting from one of the punts, and two goats neighing in another, and two sheep baaing from the last, and a cat wailing from somewhere in their midst, and the flock of gulls circling, screaming overhead, as though trying to banish this oddity from the seas.

  “Don’t go too close, Am,” Suze warned as one of the Trapp men, upon seeing their boat, stood up and deliberately turned his back toward them. “Cripes, no trusting a Trapp. What’re they doing? What’s they packed up for? Well, sir, they’re not being resettled, are they? Is that what they’re doing, resettling somewhere?”

  Adelaide shook her head, bereft of words. Ambrose simply stared.

  “Well, sir.” Suze clucked her tongue. “Now isn’t that something? Just like the Trapps—resettle and not tell nobody till the day comes. I tell you, they’re sly as conners. Where’s they moving to? Where’d you think they’re moving, Am?”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Don’t ask me about a Trapp.”

  “Well, sir, I knows you’re not sly. And I always thought that of the Trapp women—smile to your face, then wear your guts for garters.” Suze clucked her tongue again, as Ambrose slowly overtook the last of the Trapps’ boats, pulling ahead, leaving them putting slowly behind.

  It was all the talk in Ragged Rock. The Trapps had secretly put in to the government for resettlement from Little Trite the year before and had made a secret deal with Hector Rideout to buy the old house he had abandoned few years back and another falling-down old thing belonging to his father and the wood-house and stages still standing alongside, with not a word, sir; not a word about them getting resettled.

  “Not sly, are they, sneaking in and buying up the houses like that,” said Florry, looking through the window, along with everybody else in Ragged Rock, watching for the Trapps. “This is the third trip they made this morning. How much stuff, in the name of gawd, do they own? Sly, by cripes, they’re sly. And now we got the whole brood living right alongside. I say they’d better keep their noses out on the point, then, because nobody wants mixing with their blood, sir. Robbed poor old Hector blind, they did.”

  “How could they rob him if they outright bought the houses?” asked Adelaide. She had laid the pies on her mother’s table and was looking around for Janie and Ivy.

  “They’re out on the quay by the fish store, watching for the Trapps,” said Florry. “And you knows they robbed him. He could’ve got a lot more money for them buildings if he knew the government was paying, and that all ye from Cooney Arm would be moving as well.”

  “Sounds like the Trapps got him before he got them. When’s the girls getting back? When’s the bake sale?”
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  “Not till two. Did you tell your father you wants the yard? There’s people looking for land, and if you’re not taking it, he might get a price for it.”

  “I don’t allow we’ll want it,” said Adelaide. “Tell Janie—”

  “Where you going to live, then, you don’t want the garden? Is that what Syllie said? Did you tell him your father wants to go partners?”

  Adelaide was shaking her head. “I—oh—I don’t know—just tell him I’ll talk to Syllie tomorrow. And tell Janie I made the pies from medium stalk. Just tell her,” she insisted, as Florry exclaimed anew over the senselessness of such a thing. “Now, I got to go. Am’s at the boat, waiting.”

  “Did you tell him your father wants to share his berth?”

  “His what?”

  “Sir, she don’t know nothing. Fishing spot, maid. You got to have your fishing spot.”

  “I knows that. I just never heard it called anything before. Don’t forget to tell Janie.”

  “I can’t see Syllie passing up a chance to get a good berth. He knows the good ones are all took. You sure you told him?”

  Adelaide nodded, trying to close the door. Her mother kept it open, following her out in the yard. “That’s the problem with everybody moving here—there’s no berths for them. Everybody that lives here already got the spots—unless they goes off in a skiff or liner somewhere. Be sure and tell Syllie. Like your father says, there’s more and more people going fishing all the time. It don’t make sense to he, herding people together when they should be spreading them out, finding different berths and different fish. Sure way to clean out a fishing ground, everybody anchoring over the same spot. Anyway, that’s what your father’s arguing about these days.”

  Adelaide let herself out the gate. “I’ll tell him. See you now.”

  “But he’s willing to share with Syllie. He don’t like being by his self on the water. Makes him nervous, that far out in a small boat. His nerves is gone, your father’s nerves is. That’s why he’d take Syllie on with him. Mind you tells Syllie, that. My gawd, here comes the Trapps. Not the sight, are they?”

  Sight, indeed, agreed Adelaide, joining Ambrose and Suze amongst a knot of people on the quay by the fish store, watching as the Trapps motored shoreward, looking like a bastardized version of Noah’s ark with their boats in line, two by two, and two heads to a seat, and the couplings of pigs and goats and sheep taking up the punts in the rear.

  But that wasn’t the last sight that would keep her awake that night, and nor would it be the everlasting one. They were motoring near the bend beyond which Little Trite sat, when the first grey billows of smoke rose above the trees. Rounding the point, all three started in alarm as black smoke coiled out over the water beyond which flamed Little Trite, its houses, sheds, and wharves, all convulsing into an orange wall of fire.

  “Oh, my gawd, get clear, Am,” cried Suze as the acrid smoke curled toward them, shedding black ashes onto the water. Ambrose swerved shoreward, motoring along the outer edge of the smoke, taking them closer to the fire.

  “What’s you doing?” yelled Suze. “Don’t take us no closer, Am!”

  “Sit down. I’m trying to see who’s that,” said Ambrose. Adelaide, her eyes watering from the greyish haze enveloping them, saw, as Ambrose did, a boat pulled upon the beach and several men milling about.

  “Figures,” said Ambrose hotly. “Goddamn government men. Suze, sit down.”

  “I can’t breathe in this,” cried Suze. “Get us clear. Don’t go no closer.”

  “Just a second,” said Adelaide, patting Suze’s shoulder to calm her. “What government people?” she asked Ambrose, her eyes torn between the men, the fire, and what used to be Little Trite.

  “They goes in burning houses after the people leaves,” said Ambrose, “so they won’t go back. I heard tell of them doing it few years back out Trinity way. Never saw them around here before. Jake heard something, though,” he said as an afterthought. “He was saying something to his mother about it this morning.”

  “To Eva?” Adelaide asked, startled. “About the houses being burned?”

  “I never got it all …” He faltered as the roof of one of the houses collapsed, silencing them with a roar of flames shooting upward, burnishing the heavens and sending a heat wave rolling over their faces. Adelaide gripped Suze’s shoulder, her awe of the fire overtaken by the image of Eva’s face, and that of her man’s, shooting out of every blazing window left in Little Trite.

  No wonder she was all bothered this morning, thought Adelaide. Full of fear that her house was going to be burnt, and no place for either her or her man to come home to. Well, that’s not going to happen, she thought calmly. Eva’s house would remain standing. She had promised her that, and that promise now felt like the one good thing she had ever done. And like that good daughter, Ruth, she turned her attention back to Ragged Rock, pointing not to where her mother’s yard might be, despite its being so generously offered, but to the fish store out on the quay.

  “Go back,” she said with a quiet determination to Ambrose. “To the fish store. I-I forgot something.”

  “It’s getting on, Addie,” said Suze, her voice tremulous from the fire, “and we’re almost home.”

  “You must,” implored Adelaide. She leaned against the side of the boat as though she’d jump overboard and start swimming if they didn’t listen. “I knows it’s a nuisance, but really I’ve got to go back. I’ve got to.”

  Ambrose nodded. Turning the tiller, he steered them around and started them back the way they’d just come. Clenching the thwart beneath her, Adelaide ignored their questioning eyes till they arrived back in Ragged Rock.

  “A gill net,” she said to Ambrose after they had motored past the plant, past her mother’s house, and were now tied up at the quay in front of the fish store. “Would you go in and get me a gill net? Please.”

  “A gill net?” He stared at her blankly. “I don’t think—”

  “You won’t get Syllie using a gill net, Addie,” Suze cut in, “if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s all out against them, hey, Am?”

  “Just go get me one,” said Adelaide, her eyes fixed onto Ambrose. “That’s all you have to do—go get me one.”

  “He’ll—uh, he’ll think I said something.”

  “Syllie wouldn’t think that of you.”

  Ambrose shifted uncomfortably, then raised his brow in acceptance. “If that’s what you wants,” he said. With a beseeching look at Suze, he climbed out on the quay, a disquieted look ruffling his smooth features as he went inside the fish store.

  “I got nothing to say,” said Adelaide firmly as the door closed behind Ambrose, and Suze, fair busting with curiosity, turned to her.

  “Not much to say, is there?” said Suze. “You got in mind to stay in Cooney Arm. You’re the case, Ad—I always said that about you.” She grinned. “I always liked that about you, too. I allows Syllie got some answering to do when you gets back. My Lord, I wish I had your nerve. I might’ve stood up more to Am if I did, back when he was buying the longliner. I knew he was making a mistake, buying that big thing. Now we’re so far in the hole we’ll never see the light of day agin.”

  “Quit, then,” said Adelaide, and looked as surprised as Suze as the words left her mouth.

  “Quit what? Fishing?”

  Adelaide shrugged. “I don’t mean quit, quit! Just—I don’t know, find other ways of making more money, is all. We don’t have to go overseas to sell a bit of fish. Or be stuck doing what we don’t want to.”

  “For sure it’s not what Syllie wants, then, dropping drift nets into the water.”

  Adelaide fell quiet. For sure it isn’t, she thought. A tinge of discomfort dampened the growing sense of purpose in her breast—along with a tinge of fear as Ambrose came out of the store shortly after, dragging what looked to be two gill nets.

  “He’ll need two,” he said. “Ties them together to make them big enough.”

  Adelaide shifted aside
her feet as Ambrose toppled the netting into the boat. She stared, the bulk of the netting bringing reality to the enormity of what she was doing— stepping over Sylvanus’s word, and about something she was mostly ignorant of.

  Well, it’s done now, she thought as Ambrose unlooped the painter from the grump and started them off to sea. And her relief was as great as Eva’s would be, for it was as she had once said: she had grown into the soil of Cooney Arm and was now rooted in its garden, in Syllie, in Eva. She smiled. For the first time, since swinging her legs on a church pew, she felt a fit with those things around her, and with it came a buoyancy that near lifted her off her seat. Freed. This settling of her fate freed her from that darkened corner where she had sought refuge those past years. And she hadn’t even noticed at what point she’d started walking above ground again. We’re like time, she thought, clenching her hands urgently in her lap, too busy coming and going to take notice of the present. And was not time a thing of the earth—seeding a thought one day, then returning it some days, weeks, months later, bearing no resemblance to what it once was?

  Undoubtedly, a thing forever blooming is the soul, no matter how barren the soil. And only through that frightening abyss of the unknown self does the mind root out the light upon which it nourishes.

  She clung to her thwart as they motored past Little Trite, no more than a smoking ruin, a blackening scar against the cornsilk yellow of the autumn grass. Worry you not, Eva, she thought. You’ll always have your seat in the window, you and your man. And you, Syllie, put aside your false comforts, for that’s all your offerings are, false comforts so’s to please me and your mother. In the end they’ll please nobody, most definitely not you. And I’m not allowing you to do that.