The Keeper's Son

by Homer Hickam

  When she walked on the beach, gulls wheeled overhead and squadrons of pelicans raced down the coast. Little sandpipers played their endless game of tag with the surf, never quite allowing it to touch their feet. What happened, Dosie wondered, to a sandpiper who was ill or simply having a bad day? If the surf touched its feet, was it so mortified that it slunk off to die? One morning, watching the little birds, she had the sudden epiphany that she should write a book about what it was like to live on Killakeet. There were enough interesting characters to fill a book, that was for certain. Josh Thurlow, of course, was one of them. Why, she could interview him and hear all about his adventures up in the Bering Sea and maybe she would even learn more about his Eskimo wife. Dosie realized what she was doing. It was all an excuse to see Josh. She gave up on the book and decided maybe she would take up sculpture.

  As December crept on, the wind became a little more insistent at night, rattling the windowpanes of her house, and the rain pattered harder on the roof, and the grumble of the sea seemed a little louder. Though the daytime weather was mostly fair, and unseasonably so according to Herman, cold weather could be all but smelled in the air. Dosie often found the beach enshrouded with a cool fog in the mornings, and she wore a wool, plaid windbreaker to keep the chill away. Strange shapes would sometimes loom up in the fog as she walked along. One day, she found the skeleton of an old wreck. It hadn’t been there the day before, yet here it was, exposed by some shift in the current and the removal of tons of sand. It was a testament to the end of someone’s dream. She hoped the person had found another dream, or at least survived the old one.

  When Christmas approached, she was determined to chase her loneliness away by somehow being useful to somebody, somehow. She baked cookies and took them to Queenie O’Neal, who made her stay to chat over tea. They’d had a fine time of it and Dosie learned more gossip about Killakeeters than she imagined was possible.

  She stopped by to see Keeper Jack, bringing him a big wreath she had made herself out of juniper boughs, seashells, and gull feathers. They hung it on the lighthouse door and Keeper Jack got a little teary-eyed over it, saying he hadn’t decorated for Christmas since his Trudelle had died. Herman cut her a little cedar tree and she placed it in the parlor and decorated it with shells and beach glass and put presents under it, wrapped in gaily decorated store-bought paper from Mallory’s.

  On Christmas Eve, she gave Herman his present, a white Coast Guard tub hat, just like the Maudie Janes wore, procured for fifty cents from Chief Glendale. Herman was thrilled. She gave sugar cubes and carrots to Genie, who nickered her pleasure. There was also a present for Josh, a white silk scarf, but, of course, it remained unopened. There was a letter for Josh, too, that said Dosie would never see him again, that she had to find herself first and she wasn’t yet sure where she was hiding. She sent the letter and the present to Josh via Herman. Herman told her he would leave it in Josh’s room for when he returned. Dosie cried herself to sleep. She spent Christmas Day all alone, except for Genie and the gulls and the sandpipers.

  Queenie showed up the day after Christmas with some johnnycake, and a welcome bundle of packages and letters that had come in by ferry. The packages contained a cashmere sweater from her mother, and leather riding gloves from her father. Her brother Bart had sent along the latest book by John Steinbeck, titled The Log from the Sea of Cortez, and brother Randy had sent powder and lipstick that she knew his wife had picked out. Her horn blower had sent along a letter, which she threw in the trash, then dug it out and read it. It made her mad and sad, both at the same time. He was doing well, he said, though he missed her sometimes. He was seeing the hatcheck girl at the Woodbury Hotel and she was quite the dish. Dosie threw the letter in the trash again. The next morning, she dug it out and burned it in a little ceremony in the sand, and then went for a walk.

  She hadn’t gone far before something big moved in the fog. Dosie was astonished to see it was Star, the king stallion of the wild horses. The stallion dropped his head, one ear forward, the other back, and stamped his hooves. Dosie took a tentative step toward him, with her hands open so the stallion could see them as Josh had done. Star drew back his head with a snort and regally walked away until he had disappeared into the mist. Seeing him naturally made her think of Josh, even though she didn’t want to.

  She turned toward the muttering sea and looked out to where the foaming waves disappeared into the shroud of gray. Josh was out there somewhere and she could feel a connection to him, and she found herself wishing and hoping for things with him she had no right to wish and hope for. Then she remembered she had written him the letter and she wasn’t ever going to see him again. Suddenly feeling completely useless, she wrapped her arms around herself. “You are a tragic girl,” she lamented, and turned back toward the house she increasingly thought of as home.

  21

  The Maudie Jane returned to Killakeet the day after Christmas, ending a frustrating patrol. None of the freighters and tankers Josh had tried to escort had paid any attention whatsoever. The merchies not only refused to zigzag, they didn’t respond to any amount of light-flashing or flag-waving or even cursing over Stobs’s home-brew radio.

  As soon as the patrol boat tied up at the dock, the wives and mothers of the crew went aboard to help their boys clean up. The fathers and brothers waited on the dock and talked about fishing and their future plans, which were mostly more fishing. It was believed the war might spur an interest in canned fish and they intended to be ready.

  When Etta Padgett, Jimmy’s mother, discovered her son had been put aboard a cutter, she went after Josh. “What right did you have to send my boy off?” she cried. Then her lower lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes. “I should pop you one. If your mother was alive, she’d do it for me.”

  Josh was respectful of Mrs. Padgett. He could have said that Jimmy was being paid to be a sonar machine operator and should therefore actually know how to operate one. He could have but he didn’t. Etta Padgett didn’t want or need to understand the real reason and he knew it. “I expect him home in just a few days, Mrs. Padgett,” he said to reassure her. “And if he isn’t, I’ll go get him myself.”

  Etta wasn’t much reassured. “If he gets himself drownded out there with those cutter boys, or if he comes home with the Norfolk clap, it’s on your head, Josh,” she said, and then fully burst into tears.

  “Now, now, Etta,” Pump Padgett called over, then went back to talking about a big marlin he’d caught the other day but had slipped the hook before he could gaff her.

  Josh went below to hide but he couldn’t get away from the women down there, either. Millie’s mother was in the galley, scrubbing the stove. “Don’t you be sending my Millie off for no training, Josh,” Mrs. Thompson warned.

  “No, ma’am, Millie already knows how to cook,” he said, and fled to the engine room. There he found Big Midgette’s mom polishing the brass works. She stopped what she was doing and gave him the evil eye. Josh retreated to the closet that he called his cabin and pulled the curtain shut.

  After an hour, Josh came out of hiding, made a fast round of inspections, and then released the crew for a day-late Christmas dinner. The boys were gathered up by their families and escorted home, the women giving Josh a final set of dirty looks over their shoulders. Josh waited until they were well gone. He had half hoped that maybe Dosie might make an appearance. When she didn’t, he came off the boat, determined to make an impression on a fresh bottle of Mount Gay, a much anticipated Christmas present to himself.

  In his room, Josh discovered a package from Dosie, with a letter propped up on it. He opened the package and found a white silk scarf with a cheery Christmas wish of good tidings. It made Josh feel bad that he hadn’t gotten her anything. Then he read her letter and, still clutching it, sat down on his bed. He read it again, then let it flutter to the floor. He gazed longingly at the Mount Gay rum sitting on his dresser, then put the bottle in a drawer just to see if he could keep from drinking it. It r
emained untouched. It made Josh feel better about himself, even while he felt miserable.

  The next morning, Queenie served Josh a big breakfast of a half dozen eggs, over easy, a full basket of biscuits, a slab of fatback, and a mess of tuna hash, all washed down with fresh-percolated coffee. Then she sat down at the table with him. “Now, Josh, talk to me for a little while, won’t you?”

  “Got to get on down to the boat, Mrs. O’Neal,” Josh replied. “There’s a war on, you know.”

  “Well, there sure is, Josh,” she retorted. “My gosh, look at me dodging bullets even as we speak.”

  Queenie had him there. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “How are you and that Crossan girl getting along?” she asked, even though she very well knew the answer, mainly because she had steamed open Dosie’s letter.

  Josh knew whatever he said was going to be reported to every lady in Whalebone City within the hour. He rubbed the back of his neck and thought what he might say, then decided to fall back on the truth. “Well, we’re not getting along at all. She’s got to find herself.”

  Queenie managed an expression of astonishment. “I never heard of anybody who couldn’t find themself. Yourself is kind of hard to lose.”

  “That’s what she said, Mrs. O’Neal. That’s all I know.”

  Queenie shook her head. “I’m mommicked on this one. It sounds like foolishness.”

  “Modern women, I guess,” Josh replied, then grabbed his cap and made his escape.

  Buckets was just getting up, coming down the stairs, tugging on his suspenders as Josh closed the door. “What’s for breakfast, woman?” he demanded.

  “Whatever you can fix,” Queenie snarled, getting up and going into the parlor.

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “See if you’re laughing at an empty table.”

  Buckets watched Queenie sit in her rocker by the fireplace. He knew she was thinking and it peeved him because he didn’t know what she was thinking about. He came and stood in front of her. “New Year’s Eve is coming up,” he said. “Are we having a party this year?”

  Queenie snapped Buckets a look, then clapped her hands. “The very thing!” she cried. “Aren’t you smart!” She jumped up and hugged him.

  Buckets grinned from her hug. He guessed he was smart though he wasn’t sure how. “Does this mean you’ll fix me breakfast?” he asked.

  It did.

  The New Year’s Eve dinner party at the Hammerhead was a small one, made deliberately so. Doc Folsom was there and so was Keeper Jack and Preacher. Josh was there, of course, him being a resident of the Hammerhead and all. Buckets and Queenie had a cheery fire in the fireplace and a nice spread on the table with fresh duck, cranberries, flounder, clams, oysters, and at least a ton of hush puppies.

  The men sat in the parlor and sipped shots of whiskey, courtesy of Keeper Jack, who’d brought a mean supply, while the women bustled in and out of the kitchen and the dining room. Josh heard the jeep outside, and then, to his astonishment and confusion, Dosie Crossan opened the front door and came into the parlor. Taking the opportunity, Purdy the pelican waddled in behind her and took a position in front of the fire.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” Dosie said. She was dressed in a white frock with blue trim and her hair was up. Josh realized it was the first time he’d seen her in a dress. She looked like a million dollars.

  Queenie came hurtling through the parlor. “Oh, how pretty you are!” she exclaimed. “I’m glad Chief Glendale was able to go after you.”

  “My hair must look a mess,” Dosie said. “The chief drives pretty fast.”

  “Nonsense. Have you men ever seen such a pretty girl in all your life?”

  The men all said indeed they never had, except Josh, who was speechless. Dosie glanced at him, then followed the women to the kitchen. Soon, there were peals of laughter. Chief and Sarah Glendale came inside soon afterward. Glendale sat down with the other men and a glass of whiskey, while Sarah went back to the kitchen. There was more laughter.

  “What is it women laugh about when we’re not around?” Buckets wondered.

  “You just answered your own question,” Doc said, then laughed and slapped his knee. By the fire, Purdy turned around on his web feet, then tucked in his head to take a nap.

  “Do you reckon that pelican thinks he’s human?” Chief Glendale wondered.

  “If he don’t stop stealing fish out of the kitchen,” Buckets said, “he’s going to think he’s dinner.”

  “Purdy’s surely old,” Keeper Jack said. “I remember him hanging around the house when Trudelle had her little bird hospital. Of course, back then, he brought his wife. She was a pretty little thing. Don’t know what happened to her, exactly, but I guess her passing broke old Purdy’s heart. Wonder if he remembers her?”

  “ ‘Lost Angel of a ruined paradise,’ ” Doc said, toasting Purdy. “ ‘She faded like a cloud which had out-wept the rain.’ Percy Shelley, thank you.”

  Chief Glendale pondered his whiskey. “A couple more of these, Doc, and I guess I’ll know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  Josh helped seat Dosie at the table, then took a chair across from her. Nobody had much to say at first until finally Buckets, who was a retired surfman and also feeling little pain thanks to the whiskey, began to tell stories of rescues on stormy nights.

  “We got tossed over by that ol’ wave and our boat was filled with water and the boat cap’n, he kept saying, ‘Pull, boys, that there ship is sinking fast!’ And I said, ‘But, Cap’n, we’ve beat her to it. We’re already sunk!’ And the cap’n looked around, saw all of us with water up to our necks, and roared, ‘Well, hurry up and bail, boys, afore we’re seen! It ain’t in the reggylations for us to be sunk!’ ”

  Keeper Jack got into the swing of things, too, telling a story of the dolphin named Killakeet Sue that had befriended the fishermen of the island. “I saw her many times from the lighthouse,” he said. “She’d come up and just watch me with that big grin on her face. She used to chase the mullet toward the shore during the season, too, and wind them all up in a ball. Once Pump Padgett fell off his boat and she came up and let him hang on to her, took him right into shore. Oh, that was quite a fish, Killakeet Sue was.”

  “Sue wasn’t a fish, Keeper,” Doc tut-tutted. “She was a mammal, like you and me.”

  “She warn’t like you or me, Doc!” Keeper Jack exploded. “She was better!”

  “You have me there,” Doc acknowledged.

  “What happened to her?” Dosie asked.

  Keeper Jack sorrowfully shook his head. “Nobody knows, Dosie. One day, she just left.”

  “I hope she found a mate,” Dosie said, “and started a family.”

  “We all hope that, dear,” Queenie simpered.

  During the stories, Josh allowed himself a furtive glance at Dosie now and again and she caught him at it, which meant she was stealing glances at him, too. While Buckets was drawing a breath, Queenie brought her into the conversation, asking her how she was doing all alone down there on the beach. “I’ve fallen in love with Killakeet,” she said.

  “Well, have you found yourself yet?” Queenie asked.

  Dosie eyed Josh, then said, “I think a lot, I sleep, I walk, and I imagine what all the possibilities are.”

  “And what are they?” Queenie asked politely.

  “That life pretty much is what you make it,” Dosie said.

  “Hear, hear,” Keeper Jack said, and tossed back another glass of Tennessee’s finest.

  “Well said, indeed, Dosie,” Doc mused. “I believe, young lady, that by surrounding yourself with the rawness of our island, you are learning that the rules of life are what some call the laws of nature.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way, Doctor,” Dosie answered. “But I believe you may be correct.”

  Preacher put in his two cents’ worth: “The laws of nature are those written by God,” he said. “So perhaps you are actually learning His pla
ns for you, Miss Crossan.”

  “God has no plan for us,” Doc stated flatly. “We have free will, Preacher, or have you forgotten?”

  Preacher had managed to swallow a good amount of Keeper Jack’s whiskey, too. “I haven’t forgotten, by thunder!” he roared. “And I don’t need a broken-down old evolutionist like you to remind me.”

  Doc laughed. He’d gotten the reaction he was after.

  Queenie worked to get the conversation back to where she wanted it. “How about you, Josh?” she asked, startling him at the mention of his name. He had been wondering if he should just go over to Morehead City and demand depth charges from Captain Potts. When he looked blank, Queenie asked, “What’s your opinion of Miss Crossan’s quest to discover the meaning of life?”

  “I haven’t had much time to think on it,” he said, tucking into his duck with knife and fork. “There’s a war on,” he added.

  Queenie rolled her eyes.

  Keeper Jack found himself strangely affected by being at the same table with Josh and Doc and Queenie. With the whiskey nudging him along, he remembered another time when they were all together, when Jacob had been born.

  Nineteen years ago and yet he could recall it so clearly. Doc had come down the stairs, his arms bloody to the armpits. “The baby’s stuck sideways, Jack,” he said. “And Trudelle’s bleeding inside.”

  Keeper Jack slugged back another whiskey and wiped his mouth, remembering how he had just stood there, helpless, unable to say anything. Then Doc had turned and gone back up the stairs. Presently, there was a smack and a thin wail. The baby had been born. It continued to cry but there were no other sounds from the bedroom. Finally, Queenie, who’d been assisting Doc, came down the stairs and collapsed on the rug in front of the fireplace. “Trudelle’s left us, Jack,” she said, then began to sob.