Twice Loved (copy2)

by LaVyrle Spencer

  “You liar!”

  “What’re you so mad about—gosh, I thought you’d like bein’ my cousint!”

  Josh was having a hard time keeping from crying. “It ain’t true, you ... you ... He searched for the worst word he knew. “You liar! Dummy! Poop!”

  “I ain’t no liar. Mr. Dalton, he’s some cousint of my pa’s, and that’s why his name’s even Rye, ’cause it’s our last name, if you don’t believe me!”

  “Liar!” Josh scooped up a handful of sand and threw it in Jimmy’s face, then spun and took off running.

  “I’m gonna tell your ma you called me a poop, Josh Morgan! And anyway, I don’t want to be your dumb old cousint!”

  After the day of the picnic, Laura noticed an unusual reticence in Josh but attributed it to the fact that school had started and he was lost without his best friend, Jimmy. She knew, too, that he missed Dan’s company in the evenings, and though she tried to make up for his absence, her heart was not totally in it, and Josh could not be cheered. He remained withdrawn and distant, at times almost angry. She tried to interest him in helping her with some of his favorite chores, but he showed no enthusiasm. When she finally invited him to go bayberrying and he refused this, too, Laura’s concern grew. She waited for Dan one evening in hopes that he’d be sober enough to discuss the problem and offer some insight.

  Dan was surprised to find her up when he came in. She was dressed in her nightgown and wrapper and came immediately to stand before him, working her hands together, her eyes sad and troubled. Her image grew fuzzy, then cleared, while through an alcoholic haze Dan thought, Why don’t you just tell her she’s free, Morgan? Why don’t you just send her to Rye and be done with it? His eyes found hers and he knew the answer: because he loved her in a way she’d never fathom, and to give her up would be to give up his reason for living.

  “Let me help you.” Laura stepped close and reached to help Dan remove his jacket, but he brushed her hands aside.

  “I c’n do it.”

  “Let me—”

  “Get y’r goddamn hands off me!” he shouted, backing away, almost falling down.

  She stiffened as if he’d slapped her. Her lips dropped open on a surprised breath, and tears glimmered in her eyes while she clutched her hands and backed a step away. “Dan, please—”

  “Don’t say it! Don’t say anything, just leave me alone. I’m drunk. I j’st wanna go to bed. I j’st ...” His knees were stiff as he swayed like a poplar in a summer breeze, staring at the floor between his feet.

  For a horrifying moment Laura thought he was going to start crying, but suddenly he scooped her into his arms and held her tightly, clutching the back of her head while trying to maintain his balance.

  “Oh God, how I love you.” His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His voice was wracked with emotion. “God help me, Laura, I wish Rye had been on that ship when it went down.”

  “Dan, you don’t know what you’re saying.” His hold was unbreakable, and she was forced to remain where she was.

  “I do. I’m drunk, but not so drunk I don’t know what I’ve been thinking for weeks and weeks. Why did he have to come back? Why!”

  But his cry became a maudlin appeal, and she remembered

  Dan turning to Rye at the end of the wharf, seeking his strength and comfort, and she understood his torture at the words he’d just spoken. “Go to bed, Dan. I’ll blow out the candles and be in in a minute.”

  He released her and turned docilely toward the bedroom, deluged with shame at having put voice to such a heathen wish.

  As she did every night, Laura went to peek in at Josh one last time before turning in. When he saw the flickering light approaching through the half-closed doors of his alcove, Josh shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. But when she was gone, he lay in the dark, thinking about what he’d just heard, remembering the day he’d first seen Rye Dalton hugging Mama. Rye had said then that his name was Rye because his mother’s name was Ryerson before she got married, and Jimmy had said the same thing. So could Jimmy be right? Josh remembered Rye hitting Papa ... Rye hugging Mama ... Rye making Mama smile on the hill by Mr. Pond’s mill. He heard again the words his papa had just said. Papa wished Rye was dead! Dead ... like Grampa. He tried to piece things together, but nothing fell into place. All Josh knew was that nothing had been the same since Rye came here. Papa never came home anymore, and Mama was sad all the time, and ... and ...

  Josh could not understand any of it. So he cried himself to sleep.

  It was a mellow day in mid-September when Laura invited Josh to join her in measuring and mixing the ingredients for potpourri, which the two of them had been carefully gathering and drying all summer.

  Though he wistfully eyed the rose petals, citrus rinds, and spices, he jammed his hands into his pockets and hung his head. “Don’t wanna.”

  Oh, Josh, Josh, what is it, darling?

  “But you helped me last year, and we had such fun.”

  “Gonna go outside and play.”

  “But if you don’t help me, the moths will eat holes in our things this winter.” But Laura’s effort at cajolery fell flat, for Josh only shrugged and reached for the latch.

  Laura stared at the door a long time after he’d left, wondering how to bring him out of this uncharacteristic standoffishness. Her eyes wandered back to the fragrant collection on the table and the rose petals seemed to swim before her eyes. Leaning her forehead on her knuckles, she battled tears. As they often did at times like this, her thoughts turned to Rye, and she wished she could talk to him about Josh. The sight of the curled bits of orange and lemon rind and the perfume of the pungent collection mingled to remind her that each year at this time she was in the habit of walking down to the cooperage to fetch a bag of fragrant cedar chips to add to her potpourri, but this year she’d have to do without it.

  Outside, Josh hunkered in the sun, poking listlessly at the scallop shells, wanting to go back in and join his mother, because mixing was the most fun—way more fun than scraping rind and plucking petals and all the hard stuff they’d done all summer. He looked toward the bay and his boyish lips tightened. Down there somewhere was Rye, and if it hadn’t been for Rye, Josh would be inside right now doing one of his favorite things with his mother.

  ***

  Rye was teaching his cousin, the apprentice, how to make the slats of a pail uniform when a small figure stopped in the doorway of the cooperage. Josh! Rye turned back to the task at hand, assuming Laura would appear next. But a full minute went by, and nobody joined the boy. He remained in the doorway, studying the interior of the cooperage and, more specifically, Rye himself. The cooper could feel the lad’s eyes following each motion he made. Glancing up, he saw Josh’s mouth drawn tight and a belligerent expression around his blue eyes.

  “Hello, Josh,” Rye greeted at last. When no reply came, he asked, “Y’ down here all alone?”

  Josh neither answered nor moved, but stood as before, antagonism written on every muscle of his face. Rye ambled toward the doorway, nonchalantly lifting two staves and comparing them. As he neared Josh, the boy defiantly stepped back. Outside, Rye glanced in both directions, but Laura was not in sight.

  “Y’r mother know y’re down here all alone?”

  “She don’t care.”

  “Aw, lad, y’re wrong there. Y’d better get back up home. She’ll be worried about y’.”

  Josh’s small chin grew even more defiant. “You can’t tell me what to do. You ... you ain’t my papa.” Before Rye could move, Josh rushed him, tears on his cheeks now. He hit Rye with his boyish fists, crying, “You ain’t neither my papa! You ain’t! My papa is my papa, not you!” And before Rye could recover from his stunned surprise, Josh wheeled and ran off up the street.

  “Joshua!” Rye called after him, but the child was gone. “Damn!” Rye stalked back into the cooperage and flung the pair of staves down with a clatter. His heart pounded and a film of perspiration sprang to his palms as he stood before the tool ben
ch pondering what to do. Josh had been so angry, so hurt. He must have just found out, but if Laura was the one who’d told him, Rye was certain she’d have explained in a way that wouldn’t have set the boy off this way. Suppose he didn’t return home? He was disillusioned and upset right now, and Laura should know about it. But the last place on the island Rye should go was up to the house. Suddenly he spun around. “Chad, I want y’ to run an errand for me.”

  “Yessir.”

  Rye glanced around for paper, found none, and instead grabbed the first thing he could find: a flat clean scrap of cedar from the pail he’d been working. With a chunk of charcoal, he wrote, “Josh knows,” and signed it simply, “R.”

  “Y’ know the house where Dan Morgan lives, up on Crooked Record Lane?” Chad nodded. “I want y’ to run this up there and give it t’ Mrs. Morgan. Nobody else, y’ understand?” Rye scowled.

  “Yessir,” Chad replied smartly.

  “Good. Now be off with y’.”

  Rye watched the boy head away, and a frown deepened between his eyebrows. He thought of the day he’d met Laura and Josh coming from the hill. I like you, the boyish voice came back. Rye stared into space, hearing the words again as he rubbed his stomach where Josh’s fist had struck out against the truth. Rye’s head dropped forward and a long sigh escaped. Would life ever be simple again? He wanted so little. The wife he loved, the son he’d lost out on, the home on the hill. He wanted only what was his.

  Josiah watched his son’s forlorn pose, then moved up behind Rye and clapped a hearty hand on his shoulder. “Boy’s not yet five years old. Too young t’ reason things out. When he can, he’ll judge y’ for y’rself, not as the man who stole his father. Been a bit of a shock to him, I’d say. Give the lad some time.”

  Though Rye seldom burdened Josiah with his cares, he now found himself somewhat shaken and very depressed. Still facing the door, still with his hand on his stomach, he said, “There’re days when I wish I’d never’ve been put off the Massachusetts."

  Josiah squeezed Rye’s sturdy shoulder. “Naw, son, don’t say that.”

  Rye looked back at his father and shrugged away his apathy. “Y’re right. I’m sorry, old man. Forget I said it.” Then he turned back to work, forcing a cheerfulness he didn’t feel.

  When Josh burst into the house, Laura was unaware that he’d been gone from the yard. She straightened in surprise as the door slammed and Josh barreled across the room to fling himself, belly down, on his bed. Immediately, Laura was on her feet, scattering airy rose petals as she crossed to sit on the edge of the bed and smooth Josh’s hair.

  “Darling, what is it?”

  But he only burrowed deeper into the pillow, weeping harder. When she attempted to turn him over, the boy pulled away. “Josh, is it something I’ve done? Please tell Mama what’s made you so unhappy.”

  A muffled response came from the pillow while Josh’s shoulders jerked pitifully.

  Laura leaned low over him. “You what? Josh, come, darling, turn around here.”

  He lifted his head and sobbed, “I h ... hate Jimmy!”

  “But he’s your best friend.”

  “I hate h ... him anyway. He s ... said all kind of st ... stuff that ain’t true!”

  “Tell me what Ji—”

  Just then Chad’s knock interrupted, and Laura frowned in the direction of the door, brushed a staying hand across her son’s shoulders, and went to answer. No sooner had she opened the door than Chad spit out, “Your little boy, he was down at th’ cooperage, ma’am. Mr. Dalton, he says to give you this.” Before Laura could say thank you, Chad had thrust the cedar scrap into her hand and was gone. She quickly read the message on the thin band of wood, then pressed it to her heart, glancing back at Josh, still crying on his bed. Oh, Josh, so this is what’s been troubling you. Again she read the message, then, as tears burned her eyes, she pressed her nose against the pungent piece of cedar, searching for the right words. She closed her eyes, gathering composure. The piece of wood smelled like Rye, the clean, woodsy aroma that always clung to him. It seemed to drift to Laura now in a message of support while her heart throbbed with uncertainty.

  Our son, she thought, swallowing the lump of love in her throat. Slowly, she moved to sit again beside the child, whose muffled sobs filled the alcove.

  “Joshua—” She smoothed the blond locks on the back of his head, wondering what had taken place at the cooperage, wishing more than ever that Rye were here at this moment. “Darling, I’m so sorry. Please ...” She forcibly turned the narrow shoulders over, and though Josh struggled to remain on his stomach, once she’d managed to get him turned, he flung his arms around her and clung. She pressed him close, resting her chin on his head. “Oh, Josh, don’t cry.”

  “B ... but Jimmy says Papa ain’t m ... my real papa.”

  “We’ll talk about it, dear. Is that why you’ve been so quiet and upset with me lately?”

  Josh’s only answer was his continued sobbing, for he no longer knew who he should be angry at.

  Laura sifted her fingers through Josh’s angel-fine hair. “Your papa ... Dan loves you very much. You know that, don’t you?”

  “B ... but, Jimmy says R ... Rye is my real papa, and he ain’t! He ain’t!” Josh sat back and tried to look defiant, though his chin quivered and tears streamed everywhere.

  Laura searched his watery blue eyes, groping through her mind for the least painful way to make Josh understand and believe the truth. “Did you go to the cooperage to ask him?”

  “N ... no.”

  “Then why?”

  Josh’s chin dropped and he shrugged.

  Laura searched into her apron pocket, leaving the cedar piece in it, coming up with a handkerchief to dry her son’s streaming eyes. “I’ll tell you why Jimmy told you that, but you must promise to remember that I love you, and Dan does, too. Promise?” She tipped up his quivering chin.

  After an uncertain nod, Josh let himself be gathered back against his mother while her voice went on comfortingly.

  “Do you remember the first day you saw Rye? When you came home for dinner and found him kissing me? Well, that was ... I don’t even know how to tell you how important that moment was for me. You see, I had thought for a long time that Rye was dead, and because he was my ... my friend since I was a child not much older than you are now, I was so, so happy to find him alive. You already know that all three of us were friends when we were little, your papa and Rye and me. We went to school together and pretty soon we were just like ... oh, like three children playing follow the leader. Everywhere one of us went, the other two followed. Like you and Jimmy.”

  Laura pulled back to give her son a brief smile of reassurance, then tucked him where he’d been before. “Well, I was about fifteen years old when I discovered that I liked Rye in a different way than I liked Dan. And by the time I was sixteen, I understood that I loved Rye and he felt the same way about me. We got married as soon as we were old enough, and not long after that, Rye decided to go out whaling. I ... I was very sad when he went, but he did it to earn money for both of us, and we planned that when he came back home, he’d never have to sail away again. But then the ship that Rye sailed on was sunk, and the news came back to Nantucket, and we all believed he’d drowned with the other men on the ship.”

  Josh pulled back and gazed up at his mother with wide, glistening eyes. “Drowned? You mean like ... like Grampa?” Laura nodded solemnly. “Yes, except we thought Rye was buried in the sea. We were very sad, Dan and I, because we both ... well, we missed Rye very much.”

  Josh now centered his rapt attention on each word his mother said as she went on quietly.

  “It was after I thought Rye was dead that I learned I was going to have a baby—that was you, of course.” Laura held Josh’s hand, gently rubbing the backs of his fingers. She looked directly into his blue eyes, which were so very much like Rye’s. “Yes, darling, Rye is your real papa. But he went away not knowing you were going to be born, because you were
still inside my stomach then. I felt sad when I thought he was dead, because he would never know about you, and you would never get to know him.” Josh stared at her, showing no reaction for the moment. She pressed his hand between both of hers, continuing to caress it lovingly.

  “Jimmy told you the truth. Rye is your real papa, but he’s only one of them, because Dan was always there, taking care of you and me from the time you were born. He chose to be your papa, Josh, and you must always remember that. He knew you’d need one, and ... and Rye wasn’t here to take care of you and me, so we were ... we were very lucky to have Dan, don’t you think?” Laura tipped her head aside and touched Josh’s cheek, but he dropped his eyes in confusion. “Nothing can ever change how much Dan loves you, do you understand, dear? That’s the important thing. He was the only father you had until that day when Rye came back, and we found out he wasn’t dead after all. But we all knew you would be confused and hurt if we told you, so we decided not to for a while. I ... I’m sorry now that I put it off. It should have been me telling you, not Jimmy. And, darling, you mustn’t blame Jimmy for any of this.”

  Josh looked up guiltily. “I ... I called Jimmy a liar and a ... a poop.”

  Laura stopped a tremulous smile before it could form. “You must have been very upset with him. But you must be sure to tell Jimmy you’re sorry. It’s not nice to call others bad names.”

  “So I ... I got two papas?” Josh asked, trying to puzzle it out.

  “I’d say so. And they both love you, too.”

  Josh seemed to digest that novel idea for a moment while staring at his knee. Then he looked up. “Do they love you, too?” he asked.

  It was all Laura could do to keep her voice from trembling. “Yes, Josh, they do.”

  “Then are you married to both of ’em?”

  “No, just to Dan.” From her apron pocket, the scent of cedar drifted to Laura’s nostrils as she battled emotions the story had managed to arouse within her.

  “Oh.” Again Josh seemed to mull, and soon he asked, “Did Rye know Papa helped me and you while he was gone?”