"Like one of our own, you are," Nora exclaimed one breezy Saturday morning as Clair squatted down besides her and Beth on the beach, pipping a bucket of squid.
"Not like some others we knows," said Beth, with a peevish look towards Willamena's house. Catching a warning look from Nora, she chanced a sideways glance at Clair, and fell to muttering, "Well, she knows we're going up the Basin this evening; you'd think she'd help us try and get a head start on the day."
"The smell of squid makes her sick," said Nora. "My, the youngsters loves school this year. You must be making for a grand teacher, Clair—and what's they doing with all the writing? And in secret, too? Sir, I never seen Frannie so quiet before as when she goes in her room with her pencil and scribbler."
Ignoring Nora's questioning look, Clair glanced down the beach to where Marty and Roddy hung over the edge of the stagehead, jigging torn cods, and Frannie and some other girls were scampering around the beach, collecting white rocks. "They're pretty imaginative," she replied with a smile, then turned her attention to the slippery cone-shaped fish near slipping out of her hands, and tried to keep her fingers away from the mass of tentacles dangling from where a mouth ought to be.
"Here, like this, look," said Beth. And taking the squid out of Clair's hand, she slipped her thumb between its head and the jelly-like flesh of its body, then broke the three dots of gum-like sinew connecting them. A good yank on the tentacles, and the head and entrails slid out, neatly detached from the now hollowed body.
"And mind you don't break the sacs," she warned, tossing the pip out over the water to the gulls shrieking and flapping over the bounty, "because there's nothing like squid shit to stain a garment black. Should tell that to the merchant, Saul. He might use it to tone down his halo, because it's shining awful bright them days now, with the vote almost here."
Nora tutted.
"Well, what's wrong with talking to her about him?" argued Beth. "I'm just curious, that's all," she said to Clair, "about what the people up the Basin is saying. One thing to be grumbling agin Saul all the time—we'd do that no matter who the storekeeper is—but are they going to vote for him, that's what I'd like to know; or are they scared of getting cut off the same as we if we don't vote for him and he wins?"
"I don't think Saul would cut anybody off—" began Nora.
"Oh, yes he would," said Clair. "I—heard Mommy talk about it once," she added as both sisters looked at her with surprise.
"What did she say?" asked Beth.
"Well, that this one family had to move to Bonne Bay once, because the merchant wouldn't give him no more work and cut off his store bill."
Both sisters continued to stare at her, their squid lying limp in their hands.
"And they moved?" asked Nora.
"Yup," said Clair.
Nora gazed past Clair towards where Frannie and the other girls were now squatting down by the water's edge, giggling over the smooth white rocks they had found, and were now using gulls' feathers to paint them with water; and to young Roddy and Marty arguing excitedly over a torn cod Roddy was hauling in; and Prude hollering out her warnings to the little ones scampering to and fro the water's edge, their shrieks mingled with the gulls swooping over their heads. "Sure, how can you just move from a home?" she asked quietly of no one. "And what about all your family—your sisters and their youngsters—and your old mother—how can anybody leave their old mother?" She shook her head, turning back to Clair, "I could no more leave here than I could walk out in that water and drown," she half whispered.
And indeed, why should she ever have to leave, thought Clair, for it's how she herself would feel, could she ever find her way back in Cat Arm again, with her mother chattering around the stove as she fried up pork scrunchions, and her father carving the liver out of a moose, and Missy supping back onion strips, giggling over his silly sayings. For it was, as her father had said, perfectly fine to claim one's own small corner and make it a sacrament of God. "If everybody voted against him, there'd be no fear of getting cut off," she said, turning to Nora. "He's got to have some customers, don't he?"
"Ahh, now you're sounding like Luke," said Nora, "but how do you get people rallied together—especially when everybody lives so far apart?"
"And you don't know who to be talking to up the Basin," said Beth. "Some of them's up the merchant's arse, and them who aren't don't bother talking with we most times. If it wouldn't for the bit of news Luke brings home—he goes up the hill high enough to get radio—then we wouldn't know the half of anything, would we, Aunt Char," she added loudly as the scrawny old woman appeared on the bank, her long black skirts rustling around her legs as she bustled down besides them.
"What's ye harping about, now?" she asked in a tone already fixed on arguing as she settled herself on the end of the log besides Beth, reaching into the squid bucket.
"The vote," called out Prude from down the beach. "That's what they's always talking about when they got their heads together, whispering."
"My Lord," groaned Nora, "she don't miss a word."
"Foolishness, that's what ye's be getting on with, foolishness," grumbled Aunt Char, flinging a pip to the gulls, its juices spattering Clair's face as it sailed by but an inch from her nose. "The old ways worked for we, it can work for ye. Sure, ye's getting as grand as the merchants with your want of fancy tablecloths and the like."
"Having a tablecloth don't make for grand ways," said Nora, in the resigned air of one who's been through this argument a dozen times before.
"When it got to match the curtains, it do," said Aunt Char. "Putting yourselves in the hole just to have something nice for the youngsters to spit on."
"Well, sir," said Beth, taking a keen look at the old aunt, "what kind of youngsters did you have, that went around spitting on curtains?"
"What I can't figure," said Nora, "is that they'd get all of our wages, anyway—and then more, if we starts getting money for youngsters and the old and so forth—why wouldn't they be wanting us to have more money?"
"It's not just our wages they're fighting to keep," said Beth, "it's what Luke says—they gets triple for a cord of wood over what they pays us. And if the big companies moves in paying wages, and the men all goes working for them, then they starts losing their fortunes."
"And what's a fartune but something to sit on," said Aunt Char. "We'd still be sitting here, I tell ye, whether it was a money bag or a cantal of fish cushioning your arse. Better the fish, I says; you can eat that when all else is gone."
"Ohh, I gets so mad at Frankie," said Nora. "He's the one out amongst them. He's the one who knows the best way."
"Frankie knows the best way for himself, and he makes no bones about that," said Beth. "But I allows he paid dear for some things," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper as Willamena dodged onto the bank, peering curiously at their bowed heads.
"Ain't that what I been telling ye," said Aunt Char, sitting back, peering at Beth, "that your fartune's what you already got at home, not what you goes out and drags in."
"Shush, now," cautioned Nora. "Some morning," she called up to Willamena.
"A busy one by the looks of ye," said Willamena.
"Bring yourself over and busy yourself, if you've a mind," said Aunt Char.
"Watch out now," said Willamena, taking hold of her nose with an exaggerated pinch. "I told Frankie I couldn't bide here if there was squidding all year round."
"It's not bothering the young teacher none," said Aunt Char, patting Clair's knee with a squid-inked hand.
Nora groaned, brushing at the stain left on Clair's skirt. "Oh, Lord," she groaned louder as Clair punctured the pip she was ripping out of a squid, spurting more of the black, shiny liquid over her lap.
"Ugh." Clair grimaced, then looked up as Beth let out a whoop and leaping off the log, tore off down the beach, singing out, "Luukkeee! Luukee!" Clair stared after her, running and dodging youngsters and gulls, down the beach towards the fair-haired young man strolling out besides the sta
gehead, fishing rod and pack bag slung over one shoulder, his dog yapping at his heels.
"Going off agin, is he?" commented Willamena, "My, you must do some worrying with him," she added, glancing at Nora, "always going off by himself like that."
"I worries more for we," said Nora, watching as he laid his rod and bag inside a punt pulled up on shore, "that he'd rather his own company to ours." Suddenly she hollered, "Roddy! Here, Roddy!"
Her eldest, upon sight of his uncle, was leaping off the stagehead, the water nearing the top of his boots as he lunged towards his uncle, calling out, "Uncle Luke, Uncle Luke, can I come, can I come?"
"Well, sir, I'll kill him if he got his feet wet," cried Nora. "Here, you young bugger," she yelled, but her cry was lost amidst a chorus of hails as Frankie strolled out from behind the same woodshed as Luke, and then Nate alongside of him. But it was onto Luke Clair's eyes were fastened as Beth grabbed him by the ear, bringing him to his knees with a painful yelp. Always there was Luke, or glimpses of him, vanishing up into the woods each morning with his bucksaw tossed upon his shoulder, or strolling up alongshore Sunday mornings with his dog trotting at his heels, or shoving off his boat, on his way to Chouse.
"Mother, leave him alone, for God's sake," Nora was yelling as Prude tried to haul Roddy away from the boat by the back of his shirt. "Sir, she don't let up on the youngsters for a minute; I allows she'd drive them mental if they paid heed at all. Luukeee! Luukkeee! You going to take him?"
"What's all the bawling out about?" said Nate, striding towards them. "I say you're going to have sore wrists in the morning, young miss, you don't get them cleaned up," he added as Clair punctured another pip and a wash of ink spread over her hands, running up her sleeves.
"Squid hands—that's what she's going to have then, squid hands, if she's not more careful," said Aunt Char.
"It's—it's nothing," mumbled Clair, wiping her wrists on her skirt.
"Be something when you got to start pissing on them to stop the smarting," said Aunt Char, "because that's the only thing to stop squid hands from smarting, piss—and most times not your own, either."
"Better go wash them," said Nora, nodding sympathetically as Clair turned an alarmed face her way. "That's why poor old mother's not pipping besides us—squid hands. Nate, go get young Roddy out of Luke's boat, because he's going up the Basin with us whether he wants to or not. Clair, you coming, too?"
Squatting by the water's edge, her sleeves rolled up, Clair quieted, feeling the water numbing her skin. "Clair?" said Nora, approaching her from behind. "You haven't gone home for a visit since you come."
"I—perhaps I will," she replied with a tight smile to Nora. "Yes, I think I will." Rising, she walked back to her rock, flicking the water off her hands, and reached into the bucket for another squid.
A great fear fanned itself in her belly as Clair stood on the wharf, looking up at the great white house on the top of the hill, and her foot grew leaden. Trembling, she reached out to a grunt to steady herself, thinking at first she might be ill.
"Are you all right?" asked Nora, appearing besides her. Raising her eyes, Clair nodded weakly, unable to speak. Sensing her distress, Nora sent Nate after Missy and, giving Clair a quick hug, left her alone and went into the store. Clair sat on the grunt, her chest constricting, and clutched her hand to her heart as it started pounding wildly, stifling her breath as if she were breathing through the thick of a pillow. A quick breeze brushed her cheeks and she scarcely felt its coolness, thinking of her father and understanding a little of how he must've felt those times sitting on the stairs, or hiding in his room, choking for breath. A hawk screeched overhead and she startled towards it, watching as it swooped in an arc over her head, then glided towards her house. The hawk screeched again, then dropped from sight, leaving her with her father's screams as he had fought his way through the nights. She was still sitting on the grunt when Nate returned and, assured that she was fine, just a little seasick, he went into the store, leaving her be. He was back and forth to his boat several times, storing boxes of supplies into the cuddy before Missy finally appeared, walking slowly down over the hill, her hair its usual mass of curly abandon, and her figure slight. Mommy's right, she never grows an inch, thought Clair. The tall, reedy shape of the uncle appeared besides Missy, reaching for her hand as might a father to his child at the brink of danger. As quiet as a shadow was Missy as she kept stride besides him, and Clair saw that she had grown after all, surely an inch; but her mouth was as petulant as ever, and her final steps towards Clair were slow, guarded, as were the uncle's as he neared, staring intently through eyes barely discernible beneath the peak of his cap. With a sinking heart Clair saw too that Missy's eyes were guarded, and that she, Clair, was being beheld as a threat by this younger sister, for she had fettered herself to the uncle the way in which an abandoned barnyard kitten suckles the first teat left open to it.
"Let's go for a walk, Missy," she said, reaching for her sister's hand, but was deterred by the uncle as he straightened to his full height, taking Clair back to that last day in her father's house when, once the neighbours had gone, he had lorded it over her. And as then, her distaste grew.
"You'll speak with me here," he said.
"You've no more say over me," she replied.
"And you've no say over her."
"I've a right to talk to her alone. She's my sister."
"You'll not tell her your lies—I'll see to that."
"Lies! You talk to me about lies?" snapped Clair.
"I'll not stand here and argue," he cut in, making to leave, tugging Missy's hand to follow.
"Wait! Wait," said Clair as Missy wrenched her eyes onto her. "I—I just want to tell you something," she pleaded to Missy. "Here, we'll just sit here," and taking a step backwards, she perched on the grunt, as if her sitting might show the uncle she wasn't about to nip his precious pet by the neck and drag her to another roost. The uncle hesitated, then reluctantly allowed Missy to pull her hand from his, and stood watching with both ears perked as she came to stand besides Clair.
"Are you? Are you coming home?" asked Missy.
"Missy, you'd like it where I am," Clair whispered, leaning into the familiarity of her sister's candied scent, mingled with the garden smells of her mother and the spicy smell of her father's pipe. "You must come," she whispered feverishly. "There's a real nice girl—her name's Frannie—and she wants to meet you—"
"No, you must come home," cried Missy, pulling away. "You said you would and then you never."
"That's because I'm teaching—and I'm trying to figure things," said Clair. "Missy, wait—" but Missy was already pulling away.
"Leave her be," the uncle ordered.
"Leave us alone," shouted Clair, coming off the grunt and storming the uncle, but Missy was snatching hold of his hand, half hiding behind him.
"You said you was coming home, Clair!" she cried. "You said!"
"But I'm teaching—"
"There's loonies there!"
"Loonies?" said Clair.
Her mouth dropped as Missy cried out, "Yes there is, Clair, and they lives in the woods and comes out nighttime making up strange songs."
"Who told you such a thing?" she asked incredulously, and immediately cast her eyes upon the uncle.
"There's more than one to think that," he returned. "And you'll not take her amongst the low-minded—she had her fill of that with her father."
"You!" Clair gasped. "You'd say that—when it was you who brought on his screaming—you and your stealing?"
"You was always the liar," replied the uncle, finger pointing, "but there's no one to listen to them now—and you'll not put foot inside my door with your lies."
"Daddy's door, you bastard!" she hissed as he turned, starting back up the hill with Missy stumbling over his ankles. And she would've been onto his back like the cat if not for Nate who'd been standing quietly to one side, listening, suddenly darting forward and grabbing hold of her.
"Bastard!" s
he gasped, throat raw with spite, eyes clawing after the uncle's back and unseeing of Nora, who'd stepped outside the store upon hearing their voices. "Bastard!"
Nora ran to her, whispering, "Oh, my dear, oh, my dear."
"ANYWAYS," SAID RODDY, several mornings later, "Henry was pretty surprised to see the gun lying underneath the young fellow. He asked, 'What's your name?'
"'Sammy,' said the fellow.
"'How come you got a gun?' asked Henry.
"'Me father was going to shoot me, so I took his gun and runned,' said Sammy.
"Well, sir, Henry looked right mad at that. What kind of father would want to shoot his boy?
"But Conner, now, he was seeing his chance. Perhaps if he got Sammy walking along with them, he might help change Henry's mind about going back to live in his mother's house. So he says, 'I suppose, Henry, he can come with us, can't he—although he looks awful weak for walking.'
"First Henry didn't like the idea, because he didn't fussy the chance of running into Sammy's father and perhaps getting shot along with Sammy; but then he felt right bad, seeing how tired Sammy looked. And he was such a sight, with his eyes all drooping like he was half asleep, and he had awfullest hair—striped yellow and brown and frizzed off his head like a haystack. Then Conner seen this scar—like a scab—on Sammy's gut, and put his fingers on it and then screws up his mouth like he was going to throw up.
"'Yuck, squishy. Like a dog's tits after she haves pups,' he says, and then tries to get Henry to feel it; but Henry was seeing how shamefaced Sammy was looking at his scar, so he wouldn't touch it, and he never screwed up his mouth, either, like Sammy. And he was going to walk away, but Conner kept on after him to let Conner come, till he finally said yes. Then all three of them was walking up the shore, and Sammy stuck his hand in his pocket and hauled out a ten-cent piece, and handed it to Henry. Well, sir, Henry and Conner stared at that for a minute—a ten-cent piece—and Henry said, 'Where'd you get it?'
Downhill Chance Page 19