Diann Ducharme

by The Outer Banks House (v5)

  “Have you got a name for her yet?” he asked casually.

  I was so disoriented, it took me a moment to figure out who he was talking about.

  “No, not yet,” I choked, my heart pounding. “I’ve never named a horse before. Usually my uncle did that—he had a real knack for it. But I can’t seem to think of anything grand.”

  He sat down on the squat barrel and rocked back and forth. “I suppose you rich folks have your ways when it comes to naming animals. Have yourselves a big christening ceremony and whatnot. But around these parts we just come up with something simple, like Salty or Moonbeam, and that’s that. Maybe you’d fancy naming her after a character in one of your books! I’ve taken a fancy to Robinson, myself!”

  “You’re making sport of me, Benjamin Whimble!”

  He laughed good-naturedly. “Naw, Abby, I wouldn’t reckon you’d do it any differently.”

  Just as I was about to ask about the fireworks, a young woman in a tattered homespun shirtwaist and skirt came striding up to us through the sand.

  Ben said, “Hey now, Eliza? This here is Abigail Sinclair, my teacher. And Abby, this is Eliza Dickens. She’s my girl.”

  “Evening, Eliza, how do you do?” I said evenly.

  She snickered at me. “‘I do’ just awful, Abigail. And how do you do, cutting up with my feller?”

  Ben made a choking noise. “Aw, now, Eliza, whatever is puckering you, you don’t need to take it out on Abigail here. You act nice, you hear?”

  “Well, it looks to me like she came out here ’specially to see you, Benjamin Whimble, and I just want her to know that you’re spoken for. I’m not blind, like my ol’ granny. I can see why she’s here tonight.”

  “She already knew I had a gal, I told her from the get-go! Eliza, you’re beside yourself tonight! I’m cutting you off.”

  Her rough face looked gutted in the light of the fire. “Playing teacher is one thing, but coming out here to parade yourself around like the queen of Nags Head, looking for my feller, just won’t do. You keep to your teaching, whatever that may be, and that’s that.” She stalked back over to the quiet group of young men and women. I heard one of them give a low whistle.

  “I do apologize about her. She has a temper on her sometimes, ’specially when she’s had a couple drafts of beer.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And you don’t have to worry none, Abby. I know you’d never have nothing to do with the likes of me.”

  Mortification set in, suddenly. “Of course I wouldn’t! That would be … wrong.”

  We had somehow crossed the line of friendship, and I wanted to go back, safe behind the teacher-student line again.

  My eyes took in his old button-down shirt, its sleeves long ago dismembered from the body. His cutoff trousers with the strings dancing along the edges were as frayed as Winnie’s dust rags.

  “I think you should know that I’m being seriously courted by Hector Newman. He’s a doctor’s son from Edenton, attends a prestigious medical college in the Northeast. He’s coming to visit me next weekend, as a matter of fact! And he’s very handsome!” I rambled loudly. I felt several sets of eyes turned toward us in the darkness, the fish-haul story not nearly as captivating as our conversation. “Make sure you tell Eliza that I’m only interested in teaching you how to read and write, nothing more!”

  And I walked quickly down the beach toward the cottage, hoping the darkness would swallow me up in one gulp. Mercy, I wasn’t thinking clearly tonight. The long day in the sun and the horse and the fireworks had mixed me up somehow.

  Benjamin was a friend, a student. I shouldn’t have let my anxieties propel me into this unfamiliar terrain.

  I groaned, thinking of myself, a young unmarried woman, sitting alone with a young unmarried man, on the porch of an isolated house in Nags Head. It was highly unusual, from anybody’s perspective.

  And it was hard to believe my own parents had encouraged me in it. The noble excuse of education went only so far in explaining the social stumbling. Folks were likely discussing the issue this very minute, curled up in their beds.

  But as strange as the situation was, I enjoyed teaching. It made me feel useful, and good.

  Even so, I was teaching someone in particular. I was teaching Ben. And there it was, an understanding like light trailing after a firecracker. I was glad that it was me teaching him.

  July 5, 1868

  Dear Hector,

  Thank you most kindly for your previous letter. I enjoy receiving correspondence here, for it gives me a chance to ride to the docks during the day, to see for myself the Nags Head resort life.

  The hotel is bustling from morning until night every day, so I’m afraid that you won’t get much sleep during your stay. I hear the crashing of the pins at the ten-pin alley at the hotel directly after breakfast. And hundreds of people carry on at the beach from morning until evening. All I ever hear is how “healthy” the ocean water is. Even women take the water, covered from neck to ankles in the ugliest bathing costumes you’ve ever seen.

  But in spite of that, everything is so much slower here. We don’t do much except set on the porch and watch vacationers stroll by. It’s a beautiful island, and the ocean is really something to see.

  I am pleased that you will be meeting us for dinner on the evening of July 10. My parents are excited to show you around a bit, and I, too, look forward to seeing you.

  Most sincerely,

  Abigail Sinclair

  The morning arrived hot and overcast, and I was plagued by such an awful feeling of humiliation that I wrote a letter to Hector in my best penmanship, sealed it with wax, and instructed Hannah to walk it to the hotel for immediate sending. I wanted to do something that felt normal today, and writing a letter to a beau felt like something I should be doing.

  But Ben was as good-natured as ever, and every thought of Hector evaporated into the thick air. All grins and dirt, he was carrying a long, clinking shell contraption of some kind, which he unfurled and held out at arm’s length.

  He stood erectly and said, as if giving a practiced speech, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about my girl acting up yesterday night. She’s been surly like that since infancy. Takes a while for her to warm up. So, to make amends, I made this here wind chime. You all can dangle it from the porch roof in the wind and it’ll bring the most pleasing ocean sound to your ears.”

  The chime was an old basket turned upside down, with long strings of shells attached to its edges. My heart squeezed as I thought how long it must have taken him to collect all those shells, each a different shade, size, and kind, and to thread and knot the string through the shells one by one.

  In spite of its rough quality, it was hands down the most beautiful present I have ever received. “Apology accepted. I like it very much,” I said, fingering the shells gently. “But you don’t have to apologize for her. It was my fault, for coming down there.”

  He looked down at his dirty feet and spoke so softly I could hardly hear him over the noise of the beach. “I’m glad you did. Come down there.”

  I smiled, not daring to look directly at him. “I shouldn’t have. I lied to my daddy about where I would be. And I took you all by surprise. It’s not like me to act so … devil-may-care.”

  “How do you act, then?” he asked, a little smile playing on his lips.

  That was a good question. When I was a young girl, I pretty much ran wild. But the older I got, the more rigid I became. Life pinched me so tightly now. Yet here in Nags Head, I couldn’t deny that I was loosening. In truth, I could feel my whole family unspooling.

  “I’m not sure anymore,” I said.

  Ben gazed at me curiously, as if he were looking at something etched on my forehead. I forced my eyes to the curling waves.

  I asked tentatively, “Say, is Eliza still angry?”

  He snorted. “She’s always angry. She takes after her mama’s sour nature.”

  I wondered what Ben saw in her, if she was always so unpleasant. “Sh
e can’t like the thought of you coming out here. Sitting with me …” I said.

  “Ain’t that the truth. She’s jealous as a she-cat. But the heart of the matter is, she don’t like the idea of me learning. She wants me to stay ignorant forever.”

  “You’d think she’d want you to learn, for the opportunities it could bring. If you were to marry, she’d benefit, too.”

  He nodded sadly. “She don’t see it that way a-tall. She’s happy doing what she’s doing. Don’t want nothing to change. She wants everything out here to stay the same.”

  Even I knew that nothing on such a slender land of sand and wind could possibly stay the same.

  Before he left the session, Ben hung the chime from the roof overhang with a hammer and a hook that he had brought along. The chime stirred a little in the light breeze, its long extensions of shells barely touching one another as they swayed.

  That evening Daddy said his farewells for the week and departed on the packet schooner back to Edenton. It being Sunday, the hotel wasn’t open for meals, so Winnie prepared a scrumptious fried chicken and sweet potato dinner. We ate on the porch, now our preferred dining room.

  Mama didn’t eat much of the fine fare, though. And when the tired and whining Charlie and Martha were shepherded to bed by Hannah, Mama started to cry. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her cry a single tear. The pitiful sobbing sounded as if it were coming from some foreign animal, lurking wounded under the cottage.

  I hurried over to her chair. “Mama, what on Earth is the matter? Don’t cry, please,” I soothed, searching for a handkerchief in my reticule.

  Her pale face was mottled with pink splotches, and her robin’s egg blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy. She couldn’t look at me, and even tried to shake off my awkward caresses.

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” She dabbed at her cheeks with my handkerchief.

  “No, Mama. Figured out what? Are you ill?”

  She laughed heartily at the question, a harsh sound after her display of sadness. “You could say that, I suppose. Yes, I’m ill, Abigail. I’m ill with child. I’m to be a mother again.”

  I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out earlier, except for the fact that it was believed by everyone that Mama couldn’t get pregnant again, after a near fatal complication following Charlie’s birth six years ago.

  “Have you confirmed this with Doc Newman yet? Are you very sure?”

  “I think I know my own symptoms. If you recall, I am somewhat of an expert on the matter.”

  If I had the count correct, Mama had been pregnant nine times before. She had given birth to five babies, but only Charlie, Martha, and I had survived past infancy. Little Ned and Lucy, both born between me and Martha, had died within two months of their births.

  Four of Mama’s pregnancies had resulted in frightening early and midterm miscarriages. Mama suffered pitifully following two of the miscarriages, and after the birth of Charlie, she stayed in bed for nearly two years recovering from searing abdominal pain and debilitating weakness. Doc Newman believed flat-out that Mama would never become pregnant again, due to the trauma her insides had endured during her childbearing years. And for six years, he had been right.

  I forced myself to smile. “Why are you sad, Mama? It’s a miracle that you’ve conceived again!”

  She turned to me with blank eyes. “Oh, it’s quite a miracle, divinely ordered. God wants me dead, and I’m afraid He’ll get his wish this time. I can’t endure another pregnancy, and I certainly can’t endure another birth. This baby will kill me.”

  “You don’t know that, Mama. You’re strong. You could pull through it like you did with all the other pregnancies. And then you’ll have another little child!”

  Mama’s face appeared to age ten years before my eyes. Moisture dampened her vocal cords, making them creak like tired wagon wheels. “I don’t want another child, don’t you understand that? I never wanted children. I wish to God that I had been born a man.”

  “But you have a family! We aren’t so bad, are we?” I grabbed for her cold hand. My voice squeaked when I said, “You do love us, don’t you?”

  She sighed deeply. “But I never wanted you, Abigail. Nor Charlie, Martha, Ned, or Lucy. Not really. God is punishing me for my lack of motherly love.”

  And she dropped my hand, got up from the chair, and walked back into the house. The screen door slammed shut behind her, its harsh bang like a blow to my back.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Abigail Sinclair

  July 10, 1868

  One day about noon, going towards my boat, I was exceedingly surprised with the print of a man’s naked foot on the shore, which was very plain to be seen in the sand.

  —ROBINSON CRUSOE

  THE CARVED WALNUT MIRROR THAT HUNG ON THE RAW WOOD OF THE BEDROOM threw off so much light from the nearby windows that it hurt my eyes to look into it.

  But I could guess what I looked like. I imagined that my red hair glowed and my freckles popped appealingly next to the sage silk of my dress, just like Mama and the dressmaker had planned.

  Mama had stayed in her bedroom for the entire day, but a supper with Hector was not to be missed. With Winnie’s help, Mama was washed and dressed before Hannah had even tied my corset.

  When I finally made my way out to the porch in my ballooning skirts, Mama’s pale face creased itself into a starched smile, and Daddy whistled.

  Mama declared, “Hector won’t be able to resist you. As long as you don’t start running down the boardwalk, a marriage proposal is inevitable.”

  Her midsection was tightly corseted. Mama was thinner than ever now.

  The little red horse pulled us through the sand with just about as much difficulty as Mungo had, but I knew it wasn’t the unfamiliarity of the sand that vexed her. Justus had been hitching the cart to her every day for practice, but she still hadn’t taken to it. With a sense of dread, I watched her hindquarters stretch and her neck strain all the way to the hotel.

  Hector, with not a wrinkle in his black dress suit, stood when he saw us enter the dining room. He strutted over to Daddy to offer a white-gloved hand, then bowed to Mama and me, hat in hand, and held our chairs for us to sit down.

  It had been several months since I’d seen him, but I hadn’t forgotten how nice he was to look on. His eyes were his best attribute—deeply brown and bordered by thick dark eyebrows and long eyelashes. His nose was imposing yet finely sloped, and his jawbone was strong and chiseled. His black hair wasn’t too long, nor too short, but thick and well coiffed. It was parted cleanly down the middle.

  But tonight I noticed that there was a feminine quality about his lips. They were too pink, too full, for his masculine face. I couldn’t stop looking at them.

  Daddy joked, “I can’t believe I’m dining with a man who goes to a Yankee college! What’s it like up there, all coal dust and immigrants?”

  Hector smiled. “It’s an excellent medical school. But home will always be North Carolina.”

  “Good to hear it,” said Daddy, settling himself into his chair.

  Over her glass of sugar-laden lemonade, Mama said, “Tell us how you’ve been spending your summer hiatus, Hector.”

  I could see that she had applied the tiniest bit of powder and rouge to cover her pale, yellow complexion.

  “It has been entirely restful. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that I’ve been sleeping so late into the mornings that I’ve found I’ve long missed breakfast and quite nearly come upon the midday meal!” he said with a flourish. He sat stiffly upright, a one-dimensional board propped in a chair. “I must admit, though, that I have a hard time tearing myself away from Daddy’s library. I do so enjoy the field of medicine. I’m still looking for ideas for my medical thesis. It’s due at the end of the term next January, and I can’t wait to get started on it.”

  “Going to follow in your old man’s footsteps, then?” Daddy asked.

  “He has indicated to me that he would like me to continue in the family busi
ness, so to speak, so that he can have a rest in his old age. Although I don’t think he’s willing to cease the practice of medicine anytime soon.”

  “Oh, I should hope not,” Mama interjected, her eyes round. “I would hate to see Dr. Newman retire. You never know when you’re going to need a skilled doctor, and they are so rare around these parts.”

  I already knew that Mama, thinking of the baby growing inside her, was anxious to procure the services of Doc Newman, who had attended all of her previous births and miscarriages.

  “Why, Mrs. Sinclair, you look the absolute picture of health, a rare eagle of a woman perched firmly in the prime of her life. Such a woman should not be requiring many medical services, of that I am sure!”

  Mama blushed at the compliment, and Hector looked over at me in the ensuing silence with a self-satisfied smile. He brushed a stiff-cuffed hand over his hair and winked at me, just barely. But I could only stare at his perfect orderliness, my mind suddenly picturing the marked crease between Ben’s freshly washed hands and his still-grimy forearms.

  Daddy picked up his whiskey and took a long drink. I wondered if he knew of Mama’s condition, and whether he’d be pleased. One more mouth to feed, one more body to clothe.

  Mama said, “If your father does have to retire, perhaps you would consider taking us on in his place. I have known you since you were a small boy, you know, when you came around with your father on his calls.” She paused to smile coquettishly at him. “But I do think it would be much more convenient to have a doctor already in the family.”

  I breathed in sharply, causing my glass to almost slip out of my hands. If Hector had the slightest inclination of proposing marriage to me one day, she had probably just sent him running directly for the sand hills.

  Yet Hector just smiled and nodded his head, as if she had just commented on the pleasantly warm weather Nags Head was experiencing. He then filled the rest of the meal with elaborations of his days at Yale, his father’s medical endeavors, and his own successes.