Bright Island

by Mabel L. Robinson

  The Curtis family had perforce made little of gifts at Christmas. A few small hand-fashioned gifts when they had a shoal of children about, often now a quiet day with only Thankful left of them all. The question of a gift for Robert had troubled Thankful until she forgot to enjoy the thought of the pipe and thistled handkerchiefs, her first bought presents. But her mother had brought out sheepswool slippers, fashioned and sewed for her. “They’ll fit Robbie,” she said. “He’s small.” Thankful had flinched at small, and she wanted the slippers herself. Somehow one didn’t seem to have unmixed emotions in connection with Robert.

  But when he put them on and leaped like a tawny-footed faun around the room, with flying blue ends of a knitted scarf meant for her, her eyes stung with shy delight in him. Her father took his pipe and left the room, a stiff embarrassed back. Her mother laughed at him, and tucked her handkerchief in her belt where the thistles would show. Robert had hung a large white card in place of the angel, he said, an elaborate promissory note for the delivery of a radio. “He acts as pleased,” Jonathan muttered, “as if he’d given us one.”

  The island had to furnish its own Christmas dinner, and it came out of Mary Curtis’s plentiful cellar. Chickens could not be spared for roasting when their eggs would be all too scanty for the long winter. But months ago she had provisioned against this need. She brought up tall mason jars filled with the tender meat of the August brood, and a jar with peas, small and green behind the glass. Thankful found the whitest onions in the bin, and the smoothest potatoes. She uncovered turnips and carrots, and wished for a turkey such as Selina had shared. But there would be plum pudding with burning brandy as her mother knew it in Scotland. And the girls always brought over a box of candy for Christmas. Those girls! She could hear Robert’s light mocking laughter of them, and felt down there in the cellar rooting about in the vegetable bin a sudden strong loyalty for her own people. The girls might annoy her, but let Robert beware!

  But Robert approached them with nothing but admiration for them in his dark eyes. Thankful marveled again at him. He anticipated their every need, and she could see their significant glances at the boys. Husbands never endowed them with such grace. Robert made these great island men ponderous and ill at ease. But the women fluttered and fussed even more than they had for Selina. Yet they still had an eye for Thankful’s bright wool and knew well that they had not bought it for her. She enjoyed that! But the rest was too anxious, too strange. She, herself, hardly knew Robert in this guise.

  She felt the aura of his charm move outward to include Pete. The other men he ignored completely, but Pete he treated as another man of the world. And Pete, dapper in his store clothes, preened himself. He was, Thankful noticed, nearer Robert’s size.

  “Jed’s bringing up a box that was left at my store for you,” Pete told Thankful. Jed staggered up the path, and Pete flung the door wide. “Want it opened up?” And while he and Robert looked on, the other boys opened the big wooden box.

  Out of the excelsior they drew a small gleaming radio with Selina’s card attached. “This is for your mother but you may listen to it.” Mary Curtis was pleased and put the card in her apron pocket. Thankful ached for Robert. His lovely idea taken from him. She had no place even for Selina’s generosity.

  “Well,” said Robert lightly, “she got ahead of me, didn’t she?” and he removed the white angel card from the tree.

  “Let’s see,” said Ethel, and they all oohed and aahed at his disappointment. Only Jonathan still looked skeptical.

  With the mail was a letter from Selina which Thankful took into the kitchen to read to her mother. The boys with Robert directing were setting up the radio. Selina was business-like as usual.

  I thought your mother might enjoy listening to a radio when it got too cold to go out much. I got Robert to help me select it because he has one on his boat. Hope it works all right.

  Love, Selina

  She had read the sentence about Robert before she saw its implication. She stared at her mother, astounded. Mary Curtis continued to pour the gravy out in a smooth brown stream. When she spoke her voice was gentle.

  “Dinna fash yoursel’, my lass. Robbie meant well. He gets so used to his own fine words.” She chuckled. “But it was terribly handless of him not to reckon on Selina.”

  Thankful’s eyes blazed under the dark wings of her brows. Within her was an intolerable hurt. She had only young hard judgment for Robert. He was little and mean and full of devious ways which she could not meet. Her scorn was a devouring flame which burned away her sorrow. She started for the door, the letter stiff in her outstretched hand.

  Her mother blocked her way, gravy bowl balanced against a dish of cranberry jelly. “I wouldn’t do that, Thankful,” she said.

  “He mustn’t pride himself that he can do this to me.” Thankful was stubborn in her pain.

  “It will hurt you none. And he hasn’t so much to pride himself on. He’s not going to pass those examinations.”

  Thankful looked piteously at her mother and gave her the letter which went into the pocket with Selina’s card.

  “Now it’s as if nothing had happened. He’s your guest.” Mary Curtis was suddenly stern. Thankful snapped out of the self-pity which clogged her throat. She took the dishes from her mother and carried them with unsteady hands to the table. Robert was in his element explaining the mechanism of the shining instrument. Ethel exclaimed in admiration at his knowledge, and Thankful shut her teeth over, “Why wouldn’t you know?” He was her guest.

  “Dave’s coming over if he can make it,” Ethel announced. “The cutter’ll bring him in. He telephoned from down East last night. Had a little icebreaking to do first.”

  Thankful’s beaten spirit stirred. Dave was honest and strong. Nothing could keep on aching so hopelessly if Dave was around. If she could see him sitting there at the table where they had often shuffled off family dinners together, if she could see his honest blue eyes and sun-bleached hair she might forget for a moment that dark flashing smile which hid dark thoughts that made you ache. Wanting to see him so much, she started for the window and met Robert’s eyes, shrewd and thoughtful. She could not look at him, but he did not seem to notice.

  “Will the cutter come after him?” he asked casually.

  “Sure,” said Ethel. “He’s got in good there, I tell you. His father told me he’s pretty certain of promotion at the end of his year.”

  Dave getting promoted! That was as it should be, Thankful thought, and she felt family pride swell her sad heart. Dave coming today, with the immediate help which he always managed to give her. The day seemed caught out of its artificial chaos into natural order. She and Dave could always manage. She wondered fleetingly how he would get along with Robert, and knew that none of these fine manners would win him. And if Robert chose, he could make almost anyone uncomfortable.

  But Robert seemed to be watching as anxiously for Dave as she was, and when the slim cutter hove to outside the cove and dropped its dinghy, he looked unaccountably relieved. Dave was rowing himself in, and hauling the dinghy up the beach. That meant the cutter would be back for him later. Mary Curtis set an extra plate and began to dish up the dinner.

  Dave crunched up through the snow and into the crowded room, reaching for Thankful while he bent over to hug her mother. Thankful smelled the cold sweet air in his uniform, and feeling him tower over her thought that he must have grown. But perhaps it was because she was used to Robert.… She turned quickly to introduce him. And turning, felt Dave’s arm stiffen on her shoulder. She looked up at him, startled, and he dropped his arm, bowing abruptly.

  “Didn’t know you had company,” he said.

  Robert laughed, a little artificially. “I’m not company,” he said, “I’m one of the family.”

  Thankful believed that he meant to please her. But for once she knew exactly how her father was feeling. He and Dave, standing so tall and glowering, a welcoming pair indeed! And perhaps she looked the same way. She rushed into t
he kitchen and seized a platter of chicken. Robert was equal to them.

  Thankful sat between Dave and Robert and felt herself a receiving station for them both. Dave’s antagonism bristled through her to Robert who curiously enough deflected it with ingratiating questions about Dave’s work. And Dave could not resist an interest in the cutter. Thankful felt his fierceness abate and was filled with pride at the effect of his intelligent answers until she caught Robert looking attentively out of the window. Even through her resentment she marveled again at him.

  “Getting pretty cold for you, isn’t it?” Robert played with his plum pudding. The dinner was nearly over.

  “Cold? This is nothing. You should see us under steam when it really is cold!” Dave accepted another helping.

  “Nothing I’d like better.” Robert was cordial, excited. “I say, you couldn’t take me aboard this afternoon, could you? You did mention that you were calling at the port anyway, didn’t you? You could drop me there easily. Say, that would be swell!” He leaned forward to look at Dave, his eyes full of the dark fire that had so moved Thankful.

  Dave took an unnecessarily large mouthful and was a long time quiet with it. Thankful waited without moving. Oh, if he only would take Robert away! Yet she could not bear to see this stratagem succeed. Where Robert was, no feelings were simple.

  Dave laid down his fork. “Too bad,” he said, “but this isn’t a passenger boat.”

  Thankful looked around at him imploringly but he still stared at his plate. Robert was not discouraged. “I will, of course, pay well,” he offered.

  Thankful could see Dave’s forefinger tap the edge of his plate. It was a strong brown finger and it managed somehow to look implacable. Dave’s voice was still gentle, but in it a latent tone which Thankful recognized. Robert would do well to go slowly. Though she suddenly found that she no longer felt responsible for Robert’s comfort. He could take too good care of it himself.

  “I don’t know as you or anybody else has got money enough to buy a ride on that cutter.”

  Robert always knew when he was beaten. “Sorry,” he said stiffly. “I understood you took the girls over in it without any trouble.”

  “No, there wasn’t a mite of trouble,” agreed Dave pleasantly. “They went on a special invitation. Well, I guess I’d best be going. I hear ’em tooting for me.”

  He would not let the family leave dessert, and said good-bye to them all together. But when his tall blue shoulders went past the window, he turned his head and catching Thankful’s eye he winked. And suddenly laughter flowed over the sore pride and healed it. Dave had never failed her yet!

  Robert had plunged into a feverish line of conversation with Pete about his store. Pete was being important and Thankful knew what would happen to him. She could not bear to wait to hear it. She rose to bring fresh coffee. When she came back it was settled.

  “Your brother has kindly invited me to spend the night at his place,” Robert said deprecatingly. “I think perhaps I’d better accept so that I can get off before it freezes. He says we’re likely to have it colder.”

  Thankful nodded, angry at the final stab of pain. She filled the cups and went back to the kitchen with the coffee pot. Robert’s overshoes were drying under the stove. She would take them up to his room so that he would not forget them when he packed. At his door she stood still. The room was bare and clean of everything which belonged to Robert. His bags stood packed and closed ready to go. Had she thought that stab of pain was final? She set the overshoes carefully together on the leather suitcase and closed the door of his room, so that her mother would not see.

  Back in the dining room there was already the stir of departure. Only Ethel sat still, a glazed look over her face as if she had turned inward thoughts on bedding for the spare room, and how much Pete had in the way of canned goods to eke out. She came out of her trance to cast a horror-struck look at him when he jocularly abetted Robert in his urge that Thankful come along too.

  “We’ll have a swell time traveling around the world to get back to school. We’ll make them open up for us. And I’ll come right back after the exams. Come on, Thankful. Be a sport. It’ll be an awful bore to go alone. And anyway you’ll get frozen in here.”

  Thankful thought of what a day on the train with Robert would have meant, what long days together in the deserted school should mean, and wondered because now there was no meaning.

  “Nothing would make me leave Bright Island,” she said fiercely, “and I hope it will freeze solid to the mainland.”

  But Robert only laughed at her. “Bet you’ll regret it,” he said.

  “I bet she won’t,” spoke up Jonathan unexpectedly, and Thankful was grateful to him.

  “Better be moving.” Jed was herding his passengers. “Get your things packed, young feller. Got to get back before gas freezes.”

  Robert looked alarmed. “It won’t take me long to pack.”

  Thankful thought, no, I guess it won’t. Then to her mother who was going to help him, “Why don’t we wrap up the bricks on the back of the stove for them?” and rushed to the kitchen.

  Robert was back reasonably soon. “How about me for speed?” His head emerged from the great fur collar brilliant with excitement.

  Jonathan muttered, “B’ar cub,” but shook his hand limply. Mary Curtis patted his shoulder warmly, but she was too honest to wish him success with his examinations. She looked touched when he turned back at the door soberly and kissed her. Then like quicksilver he tried to grab Thankful but she dodged him. They parted with laughter.

  Jonathan offered to row out a load in his peapod, and Mary Curtis shut the door against the icy afternoon. Thankful started to speak to her about the cold, but her throat thickened so that the words would not come. Her face began to work, she made a mighty effort, gave it up, and rushed upstairs to her room.

  Her mother wrapped up the last warm brick, and got a sheep’s wool comforter from the cedar chest. She opened Thankful’s door softly, and with competent hands covered her until only the cloudy head buried in the pillows was visible. Then she left her in the quiet room with the sound of Jed’s motor going across the water, fainter and fainter. It was Mary Curtis’s belief that a lass must do her growing alone.

  Breaking Through Winter

  When Thankful woke next morning she felt as if she had been out in a storm which had left her battered but had washed her clean. She turned on her side to watch the sun ride up into the clear dawn. So she had watched it since she was a child, and so she would watch it, she knew, as long as her eyes could see. Robert was but a small incident in her island-ordered life. She heard the stove lids thump, and smelled the bacon and coffee. This was home as it always was, and she vaguely hoped always would be. She felt herself once more one of its native elements, merging into it. Robert had lighted like a dragonfly and gone as fleetingly. Down deep something yearned over the beauty of his flight. But the glory of the dawn, and the homely sounds beneath, made everything else irrelevant.

  Thankful sprang for her clothes. A new and vigorous current flowed through old channels and rushed her back into island life. She seemed to herself just arrived in her eagerness to get her hand in again. She was dressed by the kitchen fire and pouring out the oatmeal when Jonathan wheezed in from his chores.

  “Cold,” he said, and he looked pleased to see her there. “Cold, and getting colder. Nor’west wind come up with the sun. No kind of weather for b’ar cubs.” He stopped short at a warning look from his wife. Then as if to make amends, “Feel like helping to haul out a mite of wood this morning? We’re shy of cord wood and I got a piece cut over.”

  It was like haying again, only in the bitter, bitter cold. They harnessed old Sparrow, reluctant in any temperature, and followed his bumping sledge down the wood road to the clearing. The snow was so thin that in the shelter of the spruces they had to help push over gritty places. Sparrow expected it and waited for them to ease his load. “Pull as hard as we push and you’ll get somewhere,” Jona
than grumbled.

  But he acted as if he liked having Thankful there. The two strode along in companionable silence, collars up, ear lappets tied down, pants tucked in heavy boots. The thick woods were a windbreak but the urgent cold was numbing even through thick mittens. Thankful would be glad to get her hands to work.

  At the clearing they blanketed Sparrow who stood in a coma while they loaded the sledge. “Can’t take much at a time,” Jonathan said regretfully. “Snow’s too thin.” Thankful bent, lifted, and piled, feeling the return of her old strength and knack. Wouldn’t do to stay too long away, she thought. I’m going to be stiff tomorrow.

  But today was today, and its work warmed her and filled her with tingling satisfaction. The wood smelled clean and dry, and a red fox ran across the clearing, and the clouds sailed high in wind that bent the treetops and turned her face scarlet. They trudged back and forth three times, stopping once to thaw out at the kitchen stove. When the shed was stacked along one wall with wood for drying and splitting, Mary Curtis called them to dinner.

  Thankful peeled away the layers of coats and sweaters impatient at any delay. The platter of fishballs, crisp brown with creamy insides, dwindled and emptied. She divided the last one with her father who said, “Et more today than all the rest of the time you been here.”

  “She always liked fishballs,” Mary Curtis said.

  Thankful wanted to go back to the clearing in the afternoon but “Nuff’s enough,” Jonathan said. “If I got my work all done today there’d be nothing left for the rest of the winter.” So Thankful curled up on the couch to read a little, and talk a little, and to look out of the window at a hard bright day which made the old house creak, and finally to doze a little until the day grew steel dark.