Don't Put the Boats Away

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Don't Put the Boats Away Page 13

by Ames Sheldon


  “It’s not the same at all.”

  Her mother flinches. She’s really touchy these days. “You’re so literal, Harriet.”

  “Okay, I guess I can see there are some similarities. Remember those recipes from the bridal shower Betty threw for me? That’s what got me started on cooking. Ron says my coq au vin is the best he’s ever eaten.”

  “Why don’t you invite George and me over for supper? You could try your coq au vin out on us.”

  “I’d be happy to have you over. How about next Saturday?”

  “That would be nice.” Joey starts to wiggle. Rubbing his back, Eleanor says, “I just hope you won’t regret stepping away from your profession, Harriet. It might be difficult to get back into it.”

  “Right now my job is to be the best mother I can. I’ll return to work once the kids are more fully fledged—probably when they start school.” She takes another sip of her drink. “I know Father doesn’t believe women should work once they have children—which is infuriating—but I don’t think I’d go back to Sutton Chemical anyway.”

  “Didn’t you like working for the company?”

  “It was fascinating to get to know Father as a businessman and watch him operate, but at Sutton I discovered that I’m not motivated by making lots of money as much as I am by doing research and learning new things.”

  “George was very proud of the work you did on fungicides, but I know he wasn’t entirely comfortable with your working at the company.”

  “Because of the appearance of nepotism?”

  “It’s the fact that you’re female.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “He never said anything about it, but I’m familiar with his views on what is proper. George is a traditional man with traditional views.”

  “I know.” Harriet turns her attention to her daughter, who is moving the doll’s arms up and down as though she were marching. “You’re a good girl, Retta.” Then she takes another small sip of her drink. “Having children has made me think more about family.” She sighs. “I wish I’d had a chance to know your mother as an adult. I don’t remember her very well.”

  “Her death was such a shock—she was only seventy.” As her mother’s arms tighten around Joey, he starts to cry.

  She takes back her son and soothes him. Once he quiets down, she says, “Do you know anything about my other grandmother—Henri’s mother?”

  “I met Irene once when Henri took me home. After the war I wrote to her but she never replied. I have no idea whether she survived the first world war, much less the second.”

  “Did you want to go back to France to look for her?”

  “I thought about it, but I had you and the boys to raise, and then there was the next war.”

  She says, “I suppose if we wanted to find her, we’d need to go to the town where she lived and start asking questions. Maybe I’ll do that one day when the children are older.”

  “I’m so glad you named Henrietta after your father.”

  “I know, Mother. You tell me that all the time.”

  “Really? Forgive me.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I try so hard to please you, Harriet, but sometimes you’re not easy.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I just thought I was stating a fact. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “I’m just too sensitive these days.”

  That’s true, Harriet thinks.

  Retta stands and starts wandering around the room, touching the knickknacks.

  She rises. “I should get these kids home, Mother. It’s past Retta’s supper time.”

  “George should be here soon.”

  “I’ll see Father on Sunday when we come for lunch. Or maybe Saturday night—I’ll let you know after I talk to Ron.”

  It’s late August at the family’s summer house on the North Shore of Massachusetts when Harriet, her mother, and her aunt Jessica find themselves battling a monstrous storm that started rising early that morning. The radio issued warnings that this could become a full-blown Nor’easter, with heavy rain, gale force winds, and rough seas. Harriet and Jessica are upstairs stuffing towels at the base of the bedroom walls, which run with rain that’s been hurled sideways at the leaky window frames while the wind howls outside. The cotton rag rugs are quickly becoming soaked.

  Jessica says, “I can finish this if you want to check on your children.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Jessie.” Harriet stands, stretches out her back, and then heads downstairs to the living room, which is the only room with a fireplace. Joey is crying in Eleanor’s arms. Retta has covered her ears with her hands. Harriet reaches for Joey. Her mother rises and puts two more logs on the fire.

  Eleanor says, “We need to go bail the sailboat. If we don’t do it soon, it’ll capsize and sink to the bottom.”

  This is a task the men usually handle, but Ron and George and Uncle Drew went back to their respective jobs two days ago. Calling up the staircase, she shouts, “Aunt Jessie, can you come down and keep an eye on my kids for a few minutes?”

  Once they’re outside, Harriet and Eleanor hurry to the edge of the rocks. Her mother quickly pulls the thrashing skiff in from its mooring and steps into it. Harriet follows, untying the painter rope as soon as her mother gets the oars in place. Gingerly stepping by her mother on the middle seat, she takes the back, facing forward. The waves heave the boat perilously close to the rocks, but Eleanor turns the skiff out into Ipswich Bay. The force of the huge surging waves is frightening.

  Thinking about the line “those in peril on the sea,” she sings “Eternal Father Strong to Save” under her breath while she places her hands on the oars to help her mother pull. This song she learned at school calms her a little as the wind whips the hood off her rain jacket and her hair is immediately soaked. She blinks rapidly to keep the water out of her eyes so she can see the way. So long as the sailboat doesn’t take on too much water, it should be able to ride out the storm. But as they get close, the sailboat is bucking with the waves. They steer next to the stern, and then her mother leans to tie up the skiff while Harriet stows the oars under the seats. One after another, they move in a crouch, legs wide apart, carefully timing their jumps into the sailboat. The water is just over the floorboards. Eleanor pulls up one section and reaches in with the small bucket she brought with her. Harriet raises another and starts to bail out the boat. The wind subsides for a few minutes.

  When they finish bailing, they move back into the skiff and untie it. Harriet sits down and places the oars back into the locks while her mother takes the middle seat again. The skiff rocks up and down and the wind rises again. She feels a shiver of excitement to be in the midst of all this unleashed power, but she’s also scared enough to be very cautious as they row back toward shore. She’s grateful her mother is so calm and capable! This is what Mother is really like.

  Once they get close to land, Eleanor turns the skiff so that it’s parallel to a huge chunk of granite they can step onto. Harriet watches her mother stand just as a wave breaks over the left side of the skiff and jolts the right side down to the edge of the water. Eleanor stares at the heaving gap between the boat and the rock and Harriet sees that her mother could easily slip into the gap and drown right here. Her mother pauses, watching the crests of water crash against the rocks—what is she thinking right now?

  “Be careful, Mother!”

  Slowly, taking the painter in one hand, Eleanor lowers her center of gravity as the skiff rocks back and forth, and then she leaps, aiming for solid ground. She barely makes it. She holds the boat while Harriet steps out. Then Eleanor ties the painter onto the running mooring and quickly pulls the skiff away from the rocks. Breathing hard, they head up the hill to the house.

  Once they reach the open three-sided porch that overlooks the bay, Eleanor says, “That was exciting!”

  “Scary too,” Harriet agrees. “We’d better get some dry clothing on. It must have dropped twenty degrees in the last hour.”

  They hurry upstairs to
their rooms. Harriet turns on a light, which flickers, and then the power goes off. Wriggling out of her wet clothing, she digs in the drawers for dry underwear and wool pants and sweater. A few minutes later, she feels her way down the stairs. Opening the door to the living room, she finds Joey on Aunt Jessie’s lap.

  “Mama!” Retta hugs Harriet’s legs.

  Eleanor appears with flashlights and candles.

  Harriet disentangles herself from Retta so she can feed another log into the fireplace.

  Eleanor says, “Isn’t this fun, Retta? We’re safe and warm. The storm can’t get us in here, but we can watch it.”

  Retta nods her head in assent, but she looks dubious as she gazes at her grandmother.

  Eleanor picks up Retta and holds her close. Then she moves to the window. Pointing, she says, “See our sailboat out there? It’s bouncing up and down on the waves.”

  Retta slithers out of Eleanor’s arms and leans against the window to look, her curiosity piqued.

  The door bangs open to reveal Drew in a very wet raincoat and battered hat.

  “Sweetheart, thank God you’re safe!” Jessica cries, jumping to her feet.

  “Oh good, reinforcements!” Eleanor remarks.

  Once he closes the door and enters the room, Drew says, “I got here as soon as I could. Branches are falling all over the place. The roads are a mess.”

  Harriet says, “We may have lost power but we still have gas. I’ll go heat up some soup.” She feels energized by her encounter with the elements.

  “I’ll do it, Harriet,” her mother says. “You’ve got your children to see to.” She exits.

  Aunt Jessie hands Joey to Harriet.

  “Are the boats secure?” asks Drew.

  Harriet replies, “I think so. Mother and I just finished bailing out the sailboat.”

  “Good for you.”

  She smiles. “If the storm keeps up, maybe you could go out later this afternoon.”

  “Will do.” He sits down in an armchair facing his wife. “Everyone all right?”

  Aunt Jessie says, “The children are a little frightened, but everything’s fine.”

  After lunch Eleanor teaches Retta to play Go Fish. Harriet is really pleased to see her mother behave in such a grandmotherly way. She knows that her mother loves being at Sea View more than anywhere else in the world. For her entire life, except during the war years, Eleanor has spent every summer here with her own mother until she died, and her sister and their families.

  Harriet has spent most of her summers here too. This ramshackle house, built in 1880, feels like home. It’s not fancy at all, and they get to wear their most comfortable old clothes here. Swimming and sailing, playing tennis at the yacht club, digging in the sand and building sand castles, picking blueberries, taking naps and reading, and assembling simple meals make up their summer world. She knows she is lucky.

  Around midnight the wind and rain die down. The power is restored soon thereafter.

  It’s their last night before she and Eleanor head south to New Jersey with the children. After putting Retta and Joey to bed, Harriet joins her mother and aunt on the porch, where they watch the sunset together. The older women wear plain cotton dresses with cardigan sweaters, short socks, and leather loafers, while Harriet has on trousers and a sweatshirt. Cousin Susan and some of her friends play a raucous game of Monopoly in the living room.

  They sit in companionable silence, watching the colors of the clouds change from pink and salmon and gold to gray as the light fades.

  Her mother says, “I’m sad Nat couldn’t join us here this summer. But that jazz band he’s in plays at a supper club in Minneapolis every weekend. And he likes this group, plus he needs the money.”

  “Good for him,” Aunt Jessie replies. “I know that’s his dream.”

  “I’m just glad he’s going to school as well. I challenged him to a race to see who finishes college first, though I’m really in no rush to obtain my degree. I just wanted to motivate him to finish up.”

  “I admire you for going back to school, Ellie. It can’t have been easy to sit in a classroom with students as young as your children.”

  “I had to. I was having trouble finding a sense of purpose in my life.”

  “Has college given you that?”

  “Not exactly. I feel a bit like a sailboat without a rudder, swinging every which way in the breeze. I’m still looking for my direction.”

  Harriet keeps her mouth shut. She’s never heard her mother and aunt speak so candidly with each other while she was present.

  Aunt Jessie cocks her head to the side. “How are you and George getting on?”

  “You saw us over the Fourth. We’re all right.”

  “You seemed very cautious with each other.”

  “I’m still furious at George for sending Eddie off to war. He says I’m obsessed with Eddie. It would help if I could talk about him, but George can’t bear it when I do.”

  Harriet says, “I’d love to talk about Eddie with you, Mother.”

  “It’s too late tonight.”

  “Anytime,” Harriet reiterates.

  Eleanor says, “I just can’t find my way out of all this grief and anger and regret over the past.”

  “You’ve got to forgive George,” Aunt Jessie says. “This is eating you up. You must forgive yourself too.”

  Eleanor’s face crumples. “I don’t know how!” After a long pause, she rises to her feet, swaying a little. “Back in a flash,” she says, slurring the last word.

  When Eleanor returns to the porch, she sits and raises her drink to her mouth. She says, “You could be a psychologist, Jessie.”

  Aunt Jessie crosses her arms against her chest. Gently but firmly, she says, “I’m worried about you, Ellie. You’re drinking way too much. Some mornings you don’t even remember what we talked about the night before.”

  This is Harriet’s opening. “I’m worried about you too, Mummy. I wish you’d stop drinking.”

  Eleanor closes her eyes. “It’s not my fault that drinking is the only thing that makes me feel better. I’ve been trying and trying to find something else—what do you think the courses in psychology are all about? I’m looking for answers!”

  “How can I help?” asks Aunt Jessica.

  Eleanor shakes her head. “You’re right, you’re both right. I’ll stop drinking for a week.” She smiles tremulously. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.” She gets to her feet and walks carefully into the house.

  Harriet looks at her aunt. “Do you think we were too hard on her?”

  “No, I don’t,” says Aunt Jessie. “I’ve been worried for years.”

  “Me too,” replies Harriet.

  “I don’t know what it’s going to take for my sister to feel better.”

  October 1951

  Nat is in his natural element, eyes closed as he blows poignant notes on his tenor saxophone behind the band’s new vocalist, who is singing “In My Solitude” so soulfully that tears gather under his lids. This is one of his favorite tunes; he’s been playing it for years. When the crowd applauds, he opens his eyes. Her name is Dorie something. Wearing a short orange gown and lipstick the same color as her dress, she raises her arms to the audience, welcoming their acclaim. This is the third song in the band’s first performance with her at the Key Club near Seven Corners. The first two numbers were louder, faster swing tunes with an undercurrent of Dixieland, which always pleases the patrons here.

  Dorie turns and looks intently at him. What? He glances down to see if his tie is askew. He doesn’t think anything’s amiss in his appearance. His suit coat isn’t buttoned but it’s easier for him to play his sax when he isn’t constrained. He looks back at her and smiles slightly. Is she flirting with him? He has known so few girls of any kind that he really doesn’t know. She nods slowly as her lips curve in subtle acknowledgment. She must have liked the solo he played. Then she lowers her gaze, suggesting she’s shy, though he doesn’t think that’s
true. She watched him closely during their rehearsals last week but kept her distance. She’s so beautiful she scares him a little.

  He examines his reed, scrutinizes along the length of his sax, and fingers his pads, preparing for the next song. After Ralph says “Four up front” and taps out a rhythm on his snare drum, they launch into “Blue Skies.” Nat relaxes into the music, though at the same time his nerves hum with exquisite awareness of Dorie, who is moving with the music, swinging her hips briskly from side to side and then backward and forward. Mr. Snake starts to rise. Not now! Nat leans over a bit and positions his tenor in such a way that it hides the action in his trousers. For the rest of the set, he keeps his eyes away from Dorie, but he plays to her voice.

  At the break, he puts his horn into its case. When he straightens up, she’s right in front of him. He blinks a couple of times and steps back a pace.

  She moves forward. “Nice blow, Mr. Sax-man. You were really cooking!”

  Grateful for her opening, he says, “You have a fabulous voice. I loved the way you sang ‘Memories of You.’” Then he’s embarrassed that he’d just used the word love, so he looks at his feet. At least he doesn’t have to worry about making small talk with her. They have music in common.

  “Thank you. The crowd certainly seemed to enjoy that song. Can I call you Nathaniel?”

  In his mind he hears his mother insist, “May I, not can I.” He doesn’t care about that. Raising his chin, he replies, “Nathaniel, Nat, whatever you like. Just don’t call me Mr. Sutton—that’s my father’s name.” Is he flirting with her now?

  “Have you been at this for long?”

  “I’ve played with the Aces since June when the Key Club opened, and from time to time I’ve been a sideman at some other clubs.”

  “I meant have you played professionally for long? You’re awfully good.” Her eyes are the color of melted chocolate.

  He feels himself blush. “Well, thanks. I only started making some regular money when I joined these cats. Most of the time I’m a student at the U—nights I wait tables at the Flame Room.”

 

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