Nan stood up, bumping the table, the dishes rattling. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Well.’ She began to gather up the spoons, knives, and forks. ‘Young man,’ she said to Andre. ‘It’s nap time. Go get your blanket.’
‘But, Miss Nan, I’m not tired. Do I have to?’
‘We all have to do things we don’t like. That’s the way it is, the good with the bad.’ She gave me a sideways look. I patted my mouth with my napkin, composing myself. She turned back to Andre. ‘Go on, get your blanket. I’ve got laundry to do and it ain’t doing itself, I can tell you that.’
He did as he was told. This was their routine: commands and protests. Everyone here had a routine, doing things that must be done. For years, my life had revolved around music, the hours of practice with the ensemble seeming to pass by as mere minutes. But now, the only thing I had to do today was put dinner on the table and even that would be prepared by Nan. My life stretched before me, one vacant hour after the other.
The comfort of routine, I thought as Nan began to stack the lunch dishes. It was what Oscar turned to, seeming to escape to the barn every chance he had.
I picked up his drinking glass, then Andre’s. ‘I’ll wash the dishes,’ I said to Nan.
Nan and her brothers had left for the day, and I was bent over the open oven door trying to stoke the fire with bellows when Andre ran into the house. ‘Ma’am!’ he shouted. ‘Come see. Daddy said to come get you. Hurry!’
‘Is something wrong?’
He shook his head, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘Come see!’ he said and then he pointed at me. ‘Your face is all red.’ Before I could tell him that it was impolite to point or to tell a woman that she was in a state of disarray, he was off, running out the door.
I closed the oven and went out onto the veranda. At the foot of the steps, the dogs and Andre circled around Oscar. ‘A yacht,’ Oscar said to me, grinning. He pointed to farther down the beach. Near St. Mary’s, a small ship was just past the breakers, closer to the shore than any I had seen before. Black smoke poured from its stack, and it moved so slow that at first glance, it appeared to be stationary.
‘Get your hat,’ Oscar said. ‘We’re going to the beach to get a good look. Hurry. Before it’s gone.’
‘But dinner. I need to heat the oven. And this sun. It’s still so terribly hot.’
‘It’s a yacht, Catherine. When was the last time you saw a yacht?’
‘Daddy,’ Andre said, pulling Oscar’s hand. ‘Can we go? Can we? Now?’
‘Andre, enough,’ Oscar said, his words sharp with impatience and exasperation. And not just because of Andre. His grin was gone as he looked up at me where I stood at the top of the steps. The ship was moving closer, its smoke a black plume against the sky.
‘My hat,’ I said. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’
‘Hurry,’ Oscar said, and I did. I’d heard the surprise in his voice; I saw it in his eyes. I had not pulled away.
The yacht was long but narrow, and the American flag at the back end – the stern, I recalled from my summers at Lake Erie – rippled as the ship steamed toward us. The sails on the three masts were rolled and tied, and toward the bow there was a small cabin with windows. In the middle of the yacht, a canopy shaded part of the deck. Barefoot, Oscar and Andre stood in the tide to get as close to it as possible, Oscar’s trousers rolled to just below his knees. I watched from farther back on the beach where I sat on a long piece of rough driftwood that bowed up a few feet above the soft sand. Oscar and Andre waved to the yacht, their arms raised high and sweeping back and forth, Oscar’s hat in his hand.
‘Hello,’ Andre called, the pitch in his voice high. It went all the higher when three people left the shade of the yacht’s canopy and came to the railing. One was a woman. Her skirt whipped around her legs. They waved, shouting, but their words were lost in the surf and in the rumbling hum of the ship’s engine.
They must be surprised to see us here on this isolated stretch of the island, I thought. We might look as exotic to them as they did to us. A farm family, they might think, the rooftop of the barn visible above the sand hills. To them, I imagined, we were common people with uncomplicated lives and few desires.
The yacht became smaller and smaller, its smoke a dark trail as it steamed up the island toward the city with its paved streets and buildings with wrought-iron balconies. ‘Goodbye,’ Andre called, the word stretched long. ‘Come back again.’
Oscar put his hand on the top of Andre’s head, then turned around toward me. I drew in some air, startled. A moment ago, he and Andre had been calling to the yacht. Now, there was something sharp about the way he looked at me. It was as though he was seeing how far back on the beach I sat, how my skirt was tucked around my legs, how tightly I had tied the ribbons of my sun hat. He began to walk toward me, leaving Andre in the ankle-deep tide.
Invite him to sit down, I thought. We can talk about the yacht, about the sweetness of Andre calling to it and the kindness of the passengers who returned his waves.
‘Catherine,’ Oscar said when he reached me. His hat in his hand, the wind blew through his brown hair. The sun was in his eyes and he squinted against it. For a moment, he looked past me as if searching for something. An odd expression, one that I couldn’t read, crossed over his face.
‘It’s been six days,’ he said, his gaze on me now.
‘Pardon?’
‘You’ve been here six days. Since Wednesday. And you haven’t felt the sand. Or the water. Haven’t even said you wanted to.’
The thought had never crossed my mind. ‘I—’
‘No, Catherine.’ He stood over me. The breeze caught at his clothes, and his shirt-sleeves and trousers beat against his skin. ‘You live here now. It’s time. Take off your shoes and stockings.’
‘Oscar.’
He didn’t say anything.
I struggled with the buttons on my shoes, unnerved by his abruptness. He watched as I pushed down first one stocking and then the other, trying to do this without raising my skirt and showing my legs. When I’d finished, I stood. The sand was deep and soft, and hot from the sun. Without saying anything, Oscar turned and headed toward the water. I walked behind him, my feet tender. I had not been barefoot in years.
Sand sprayed up from his heels as I followed him around driftwood, broken pieces of bottles and seashells, and orange seaweed that smelled of fish. Then we were on the hard-packed sand that was cool and wet but solid. He went to the tide line where Andre crouched, studying tiny holes in the sand that bubbled around the edges.
Oscar walked into the tide, the water coursing around his bare ankles. He turned around and faced me.
He was testing me, I understood. I could walk into the water and become part of this place. Or I could stay behind and the silence between us would only deepen.
He stood, waiting, his jaw set. He was prepared for me to turn back, I thought. He expected to be disappointed.
I gathered up my skirt and, bracing myself, I walked into the water. It rushed over my feet. It was warm, almost hot, not like the sharp coldness of Lake Erie. Oscar turned and walked a few more paces into the tide. I followed, the water above my ankles, and stood beside him.
He glanced down at me. The force of the water unbalanced me; my feet sank into the eroding sand. It was gritty against my skin and I curled my toes, gripping. The tide rushed out. I staggered, letting go of my skirt, reaching for Oscar and catching his arm. Lacy spindrift whirled around my legs and dragged my hem. I tightened my hold on his arm.
‘Take a step,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
I did, still holding on to him, the tide rushing in and out, everything off kilter, everything sinking.
‘Oscar,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry. For what happened on Thursday. I’m so very sorry.’
He stared at the horizon. He hadn’t heard, I thought. Or didn’t want to. The tide whirled around us, pulling and pushing. Before I could think twice, I let go of his arm and took his hand. I worked my
fingers between his so that our palms were together. He looked at me, a small smile at the corners of his mouth, and nodded.
A sense of lightness swept over me, a release, a forgiveness. On the other side of Oscar, Andre jumped over a rippling shallow wave, swinging his arms and landing flat-footed.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Pelicans. Four of them.’
They glided just a few feet above the waves and all at once, Oscar laughed. It was deep and hearty, and infectious. I laughed too, something that I had not done in months, something that took me by surprise, both of us stumbling and falling against one another, but now holding on, not letting go as the sand washed out from beneath us.
That evening, I went to the back veranda while Oscar finished his work in the barn. Long streaks of orange, red, and purple lit the wide sunset sky, and the bayou glowed a silvery pink. Seagulls skimmed over the ponds in the pasture, their wings iridescent as the sun sank into the bayou.
It was all so vast, I thought. The sky, the water, and my life that lay before me. As though I were still on the beach, I felt the tide around my ankles, the sand eroding. I gripped the railing and watched Oscar leave the barn and take the path that led to the house. When he saw me, he slowed as if surprised.
I again felt the tide but this time my hand was in Oscar’s. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ I let go of the railing and walked to the top of the veranda stairs. There, I took the first step down.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Crystal Earrings
I played the upright the next morning, the music expressing what words could not.
I played concerto after concerto, believing that Oscar could hear each note while he worked in the barn. Andre was with him, and Nan was in the kitchen at the ironing board, one iron heating on the stove while the other one thumped as she pressed bed linens and shirts inch by inch. Yesterday it had been unimaginable to play the upright while she labored. Today, I was driven to do so, hearing the music as I had not heard it before.
It stayed with me after I’d closed the lid over the keys and sat on the front veranda, mesmerized by the gulf and by the rain showers that came in quick bursts, drumming on the roof, then stopping as suddenly as they had started. When Oscar and Andre came to the house for dinner – as Oscar called it – I went to him, our hands meeting for the briefest of moments, both of us understanding the need to maintain a façade of formality in the presence of Nan and Andre.
In the afternoon, the rain was dense and heavy, and the gulf had turned the color of pewter. I was on the veranda, an unopened book on my lap, and Andre was sprawled near my feet, napping on the blanket, when lightning splintered the sky. He bolted awake, his eyes wide with fright. ‘Andre,’ I said, reaching for him. Thunder boomed. He ran into the house and flung himself at Nan where she stood at the ironing board.
‘Don’t you start up crying,’ she said. I was in the doorway. Andre was wrapped around Nan’s legs, but her face was set and she held herself rigid, the iron in her hand. ‘Ain’t nothing but a little storm,’ she said. ‘Now you let go of me.’
Lightning cracked the air. Andre clutched Nan tighter and pressed his face into her skirt. ‘A storm,’ she said. ‘That’s all. Be a man.’ She put the iron down and gave him a little push. ‘I’ve got work to do.’
‘Miss Nan,’ he pleaded.
She shook her head. He edged away from her, his chin down, and she returned to her work, her iron thumping over the small shirt spread out on the board. Something was wrong with Nan, I thought. This coldness toward Andre wasn’t like her. There were shadows under her eyes, and she was pale as if she were ill. I went into the kitchen and put my hand out to Andre. ‘Come with me,’ I said. ‘I have a treat for you.’
‘You do?’ he said.
‘Most certainly.’ I glanced at Nan as Andre took my hand, and if she appreciated my help, she hid it well. Her attention was fixed on her work as if I were not in the room. ‘How about a piano lesson?’ I said to Andre.
‘Daddy said I couldn’t touch it. He said it’s not a toy.’
‘And he’s right. But this will be a lesson and that’s different.’
‘Like school?’
‘Like school. Except the upright is our desk. Now. Let’s give it a try.’
That evening Oscar and I lay together and talked, our voices low. ‘You’ll get used to it here,’ he said. ‘Just give it time. It took me a while, the heat and all. But then again maybe it was different for me. I hadn’t figured on staying. I came by accident, you might say.’ My head was on his shoulder and beneath the palm of my hand, I felt the beat of his heart.
‘By accident?’ I said.
‘Hadn’t meant to come here. I was on my way to south Texas, looking to hire on at a ranch down there. Had two winters up in the Panhandle and that was enough.’
The slight drawl in his voice was smooth, and the mosquito netting rippled, the night air cooling us. The rain had stopped hours ago. ‘Took the train over to Dallas and then on down to Houston,’ he said. ‘Met all kinds of folks along the way. One fellow talked about Galveston, about the cotton exchange, and how ships came here from all over the world. I’d never seen an ocean, couldn’t even get an angle on it. When I got to Houston, I figured I’d come to Galveston just for the doing of it.’
‘And then you stayed.’
‘Didn’t mean to, but it was the gulf, how it was never the same. I wanted to see what it would do next. In the morning it might be flat, but by mid-afternoon, the waves could be riding high and coming in a slant, other times face on. Just one more day, I told myself. Then I’d head on down to south Texas. But I got to studying the night sky. I took to watching the moon and the tide. I wanted to see how high it’d come and how far back it’d fall.’
My fingers skimmed his collarbone, then the hollow at the base of his throat. The gulf must have been a wondrous thing to a man who once drove a slow-moving wagon heavy with coal through narrow alleys lined with carriage houses. The scrape of his shovel, the tumbling of coal down chutes, and the air thick with black dust must have felt far away when he first saw the wide, flat beach, the curling waves, and the curve of the horizon.
‘Watching the tides put a hole in my pocket,’ Oscar said. ‘So I found a job here at the dairy. The wages were low, but the work came with a bed and meals, and I got so I liked it. When Old Man Tarver died, he left the dairy to his daughter over in Houston. She didn’t want the life, said ten cows were ten too many for her. She set a fair price and I bought it from her.’ He paused. ‘Cleared my debt three years ago.’
A point of pride, I thought. ‘You’re a self-made man.’
‘That’s the shined-up version of stubborn.’
I laughed.
He said, ‘But you, a college woman.’ He played with my hair, running strands of it between his fingers. ‘What was it like, college?’
‘There’s little to tell,’ I said, forcing my voice to be light. I felt Oscar’s question leading to others about Philadelphia, about the ensemble, and about my return to Dayton. ‘If I wasn’t at the piano, I was in the classroom or studying in the library,’ I said. I kissed him then, distracting him, bringing us back to the present where there was only the two of us, a place I wanted to stay.
Such a thing was not possible. There were the constant demands of the dairy, Oscar’s concern for the cow with the swollen leg, and the rustic conditions at the small plain house on stilts. There was Andre, a little boy who needed his shirt tucked into his short pants, his grammar corrected, and piano lessons. And there was Nan Ogden.
Wednesday was cleaning day. Nan’s face was pinched as she worked with a fierce determination, scouring the tub and the basin in the washroom, scrubbing the floors and washing the kitchen walls. Outside it rained off and on, but instead of cooling the house as it had yesterday, the air was so thick and oppressive that I was forced to loosen the stays in my corset and to open the top buttons on my high collar.
The few times Nan did speak, her words snapped. ‘T
hem building blocks of yours are scattered every which way in the hall,’ she said to Andre after his nap. ‘You put them back where they belong. Right now.’ She glared at her brothers, Frank T. and Wiley, when they returned from their milk deliveries and came to the veranda where I sat with a book, Wiley carrying the block ice for the icebox, and Frank T. holding the newspapers.
‘For pity’s sake,’ Nan said. ‘Never known it to take two grown men to carry in a bitty block of ice. And don’t you track mud all over my floors.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Frank T. said. ‘You’ve been scratchy all week. Somebody’s got to carry in Oscar’s newspapers, don’t they? Wiley can’t do it all.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Someone certainly must.’ I smiled at Frank T. and took the papers from him. Frank T. grinned and that caused Nan to mutter something that I couldn’t hear. I thanked her for her hard work, and finally they left, evening just a few hours away.
That night, Oscar sprinkled water on the bed linens to keep us cool. The sky had cleared and the room was silver in the moonlight. ‘Moon’s working its way to full,’ Oscar said later. On our sides, we faced one another, his hand resting on my hip. ‘Let’s you and me go have a look.’
‘Now?’ I said. ‘But we’re not dressed.’
‘No one’ll see.’
‘But—’
He got up, put on his trousers, and pulled his braces over his bare shoulders. He found my hands and lifted me to my feet. Wearing only my nightdress and leaving my slippers behind, I went with him past Andre’s room and on through the parlor to the front veranda. Beyond the sand hills, whitecaps glimmered in the moon’s light as they crested. We left the veranda, the breeze ruffling my nightdress against my bare skin. The dirt was wet from the rain, and I walked slowly, the soil much rougher than the beach had been.
‘We won’t go far,’ Oscar said. ‘Just enough to clear the house. That way we can see the stars better.’
Wagging tails thumped against my legs, startling me. The dogs had come out from under the veranda. Oscar backed them off, and then he pointed up at the night sky with its thin wispy clouds. ‘She’s a beaut,’ he said about the moon. ‘And over there, that’s the North Star.’ He crouched down a little and had me put my cheek beside his raised arm so I could follow his finger. ‘It’s the one that’s fixed; it guides the sailors. It’s part of the Little Dipper. Now, over here, follow my aim. That’s the Great Bear. Those three stars, they make the tail. They form the handle of the Big Dipper, too. Once those clouds pass, we’ll see the body of the bear.’ We waited, the clouds drifting, the moon’s light dimming, then brightening. Beneath the sky’s vastness, I felt free, all restraints gone. ‘There,’ Oscar said. ‘Right there. That’s the Great Bear, plain as day.’
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