The work lights were nearer, set on wooden poles down by the foot of the drive.--They lit a small backhoe tractor bright orange. It was parked to the left of a hole that looked, to Charis, about ten feet by ten feet, and ten feet deep. Big enough for a really major septic tank.--This side of the excavation, along the bottom of the drive, they'd built a rectangular barrier of heavy planks, propped up at each end by heavier timber ... angled to hold an uphill mound of spoil out of the hole.
... And there'd been considerable digging besides that. Off to the left, beside the bluff, parallel ditches of the drainage field ran out from a smaller pit. It all looked like a lot of work.
She stood watching in moonlight, the sea wind stroking her, gently combing her hair. ... And after a long while, she saw a man climb out of the excavation on a ladder ... then begin hauling at a rope running through two pulleys chained to the top of a tall steel-pipe tripod set beside the pit. ... A big metal bucket came slowly up out of the excavation, heave by heave, and the man tied the rope off, swung the suspended bucket to the side, tilted it, and dumped its dirt up over the planking onto the mound of spoil.
Then he lowered the bucket into the hole, and stood for a moment ... either tired, or thinking a problem out. The work light threw such shadows, Charis couldn't see his face clearly.--Then he moved, and she could.
It looked like very hard work--night work, too. The contractor must have said,
"Get this done, all right? Finish it up. What you can't do with the machine, you do however.--But get it done."
And Captain Lowell, fisherman down on his luck, must have said, "Okay."
Charis watched for a long time. Saw Lowell go down the ladder into the pit again ... and after a while of digging down there, climb out to haul more dirt up and away. She watched him do that three times. Interesting work, interesting to watch.
It was going to be a big septic tank.
Chapter Twenty
Joanna woke in early morning, dawn luminous at her windows. A door quietly closing had wakened her. Then there were soft, sneakered footsteps past her room ... and on down the stairs. Charis, returned during the night from whatever short passage of freedom she'd required.
Joanna wanted to get up, get dressed and go downstairs. She wanted to see the girl--be certain she was home and all right, though she certainly was. It was an impulse surprisingly difficult to resist ... to go down to see her, to make sure.
Lying awake, Joanna waited for full morning ... for sufficient time to pass so the girl wouldn't feel pressured, watched for, her presence required to salve a stricken woman's loneliness. ... What a sad thing it was to be so needy; to be left with only the requirement of courage so as not to burden others with that neediness.--And what was left of life, if so much of it had to be spent enduring?
... When sunlight touched the windows, spilled a little on the floor, Joanna got up, put on her robe, and went downstairs.
Charis was sitting at the dining table, entering in her laptop amid a confusion of notebooks.
"Hi. ..."
"Good morning!" The girl looking bright, rested. "--I got up a little early.
This math. ..."
"I'll do breakfast."
"Okay. We have sausage."
"Sausage and scrambled eggs?"
"Great. ..."
Beginning breakfast, and a pleasure to do even something unimportant for the young woman working on her Statistics in the dining room. ... Modern college work now such an interesting combination of superficial courses--the various
"Studies" of this or that sex, group, or culture--and very difficult work, like Cavelli's painful statistics math. It must confuse the students as to the effort required for mastery of any subject. ...
"Two patties?"
"Sounds good." Charis peering at her laptop's screen.
"I think if we're doing country sausage, we ought to do it."
"Right on."
The blessing of concentration on tasks. Setting the table, then buttering bread, making toast. Frying sausage ... then scrambling the eggs. Soft scrambled. And coffee, putting the coffee on. Small accomplishments, that in a while come together.
"Sweetheart--breakfast." Joanna put the plates on the kitchen table, went back to the counter for the coffee.
"Coming. ... Oh, it looks great."
Joanna sat, and reached for the sugar. "Charis. ..."
"Mmm. ..."
"You've been playing nurse out here for quite a while, and I know you said you're fine with that. But really, wouldn't you like a break? Maybe just take off to the mainland for a week or two?"--Close as it was possible to come, without mentioning last night's quiet exit down the drive ... the apparently even quieter return.
"Joanna, I don't need to do that." Charis put a dab of scrambled egg on a piece of toast, and ate it.
"But would you like to do that?--I'm very much better, sweetheart, and I don't want you to feel you can't come and go as you please. Because you can."
"I know that. And I want to stay--unless you need some space, some time alone."
"I don't want any time alone, Charis." Joanna took some marmalade, and passed it.
"Neither do I."
"All right. ... Then I guess we're stuck with each other."
""Stuck with each other,"" Charis said, smiled, and spread marmalade on her toast.
Leaving the midnight passage a mystery. "--Okay. Another subject. You know, I mentioned going over to White River?"
"Right."
"I really have to--things have piled up over there. And I thought we'd definitely do it, go this weekend."
"That would be good."
Joanna decided not to mention Rebecca's ashes ... that she wanted to bring them out, scatter them on the hill. "So, we'll leave early-take the morning ferry, day after tomorrow. And that'll get us off the island for two or three days. ... Where's the pepper?"
"Here; it was hiding."
"And since we'll be going across the state anyway, I thought you might like to try some caving. --Probably on our way back."
"You bet!" Pleased enough to pause between bites of sausage. "I know I'll like it."
"Well, you may--and may not. Lots of people don't. But it is a spectacular cave. Immense ... and miles and miles of it. The only formation of the kind ever found in the Northeast."
"Oh, Joanna, I want to do that!"
"... Then we will." A pleasure, of course, that entailed another trespass--no question a stupid and selfish thing to do. And only to be happy, at ease in the cave ... and enjoy introducing Charis to something she might find wonderful. "--I'm getting more coffee; want some?"
"Yes. ... Here's my mug."
At the sink counter, Joanna filled the mugs from the coffee-maker's pitcher.
"This isn't keeping the coffee hot enough. ..." She came back to the table. "I brought out my old harness and helmet, just in case I could persuade Frank down some sea cave.--Against all odds, I might add. He didn't like caving."
She felt some satisfaction at how smoothly, with almost no pain, she'd spoken of him. "So, we have two fairly complete equipment sets. ... This coffee is barely warm."
Jerry Peterson, the boy who'd waited on Joanna when she'd needed paint for the window frame, came over, smiling, when they walked into the store. He was smiling at Joanna--paying no apparent attention at all to Charis, as if she were too bright to look upon.
"Hi, Mrs. Reed. ..."
"Good morning, Jerry. We bought some flowers here yesterday, pansies, from ...
somebody."
"Must have been Mr. Shepherd. He's part owner."
"Mr. Shepherd, right.--And today we're looking for lawn furniture--the least expensive you've got."
"We have lawn chairs and stuff in the back."
"That's what we need to look at. ... Jerry, this is a friend who's come out to stay with me. Charis Langenberg."
""Charis,"" the boy said. "Charis." And looked directly at her for the first time. "... That's a very pretty name." A compl
iment surprisingly direct from an island boy.
"Thanks," charis said, and smiled, a Christmas gift. "When I was a little girl, I hated it."
Jerry had nothing more to say. He stood grinning.
"Lawn furniture," Joanna said.
"Right. Right. ..."
Most of the lawn chairs and tables were molded white resin--a few with tied-on plaid plastic pads.
"Without the pads, I think.--Charis?"
"No pads. They're always wet."
"Well, Mrs. Reed--we have just these two sets without pads. They're almost the same, except one table has the clear plastic top, and the other top is glass.
Glass is more expensive--and that whole set's a little more sturdy."
"Glass," Charis said.
"Four chairs and the glass-top table--how much would that be?"
"This set--" Jerry bent to check price tags. "This set is ... eighty-nine dollars."
"Without the umbrella?"
"Without the umbrella, yes, ma'am. Umbrella is ... fifty-two dollars.
Green-and-white is all we have."
"That's a lot of money," Charis said.
"It is--but this stuff is pretty tough." Jerry picked up a chair, and put it down. "It'll really last."
"--..Umbrella'll go three summers. Four, tops." Tom Lowell was standing by a croquet set behind them. "We meet again, ladies--don't mean to bother you. ...
Jerry, is Greg around back? Need some chain."
"Yes, he is, Cap."
"Okay. Mrs. Reed, Charis ...." He smiled and strolled away, nautical in worn cotton coveralls and black rubber boots.
"Anyway ... anyway," Jerry said, "it's really a pretty good set of outside furniture."
"Except for the umbrella," Charis said. ""Three summers. Four, tops.""
"Yes," Jerry said, "--b you're ladies. You're not going to beat it up as much, leave it open in the wind and so forth."
"So, with the umbrella?"
"Mrs. Reed, that would be ... a hundred forty-one, before tax."
"Hmmm."
"... I'll tell you what. If that umbrella--if that umbrella doesn't last five years, store'll replace it. And that's a promise."
"Right.--Charis?"
"I don't know if we need an umbrella."
"It's nice to have, though. Gives you some shade."
"Most people want an umbrella," Jerry said.
"... Well, Jerry," Joanna said, "we'll take it."
"I'll buy the chairs."
"Charis, you'll buy one chair."
"Two chairs, Joanna, I want to buy two chairs."
"Well, let me give them a check, and you can pay me later--or spend it for groceries or whatever."
"Glass-top set, with green-and-white umbrella." Jerry took a pad from his back pocket, carefully wrote out a sales slip. "We'll deliver that for you this afternoon, and we don't charge for delivery. ..."
"I'll give you a check.--Jerry, do you have a phone?"
"Yes, ma'am, we do. Down at the end of the counter."
"Charis, back in a minute. I need to call the gas station--the only gas station--to get my inspection sticker sometime this month."
Joanna walked down the counter. The phone and island phone book were tucked behind a large antique cash register decorated with embossed metal scrollwork.
Its cash-drawer handle was a steel flowered vine.
Cooper's was in the slender phone book under Bakeries. There was no other bakery.
"--Cooper's." A woman's voice, stony New England. Coo-pahs.
"I'm calling to order a cake."
"Order over the phone ...?"
"That's right."
"Well ... can I ask who this is? Because on cake orders, unless you're an old customer, we like to get a payment before we do the cake. Who is this?"
"My name's Reed. Joanna Reed; I live up on Slope Street.--It's a surprise and I'm with the person, so I can't come over now."
"Just a minute. ..."
A silence almost restful. Joanna had found it an effort, speaking on the phone.
"Hello--Mrs. Reed?"
"Yes."
"You just tell us what you want, and it's okay."
"Well, thank you. ... What she likes is coconut cake."
"No problem; we make a great coconut. Big cake?"
"No, a small one. It's probably just going to be for two people."
"Decorated?--Birthday?"
"No. I think ... I think just the cake."
"We have some little rosebuds. We can put those on around the edge, look real nice. ..."
"Well, I suppose rosebuds would be all right."
"They will look real nice."
"All right. Rosebuds."
"... Your order is in."
"When could I pick it up?"
"Pick it up tomorrow mornin'."
"Thank you."
"That's what we're in business for. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
As they got into the Volvo, Lowell waved to them from down the street ...
climbed into the cab of a big, rust-spotted pickup.
"Well, your captain definitely likes you.--Saw you yesterday, had to see you again today."
"Charis, please. It's a small town."
"Not that small. He sees your car parked out here--and suddenly remembers he needs some chain?"
"Charis ..." Joanna started the car, pulled out into Asconsett's minor traffic.
"I'm not saying he isn't nice. I'm not saying he's out of line. I'm just saying he's interested, has some long-term intentions.--Oh, the phone. Are we going to try the phone company again?"
"Damn.--Oh, the hell with it. We'll get it fixed after the weekend."
"Okay."
"Do you mind?"
"No. No, I don't."
"Because if there's ... if there are calls you'd like to make--"
"Joanna, I don't want to make any calls."
"Then the hell with it."
"The hell with it."
... They finished planting the flowers by evening-the marigolds, geraniums, petunias, and pansies all watered with B-1 starter, and arranged in checkerboard patterns down each side bed. Patterns interrupted occasionally to accommodate those tall veteran flowers that had survived so long uncared-for.--The perennials were set out to plant--sandy soil manured and mixed in the two long back beds ... and checkerboarded there, too, but with more space between them.
"We have a garden." Charis put down her trowel and knelt back in evening's shadows, satisfied.
"Yes, we have a garden." Joanna's right knee clicked as she stood, and began to ache mildly. Penalty for many deep miles crawled through stone passages.
... "But we still have to plant the perennials. And then we'll have to keep up with regular fertilizing, and weeding."
"I know," Charis said. "But we have a garden!"
... They cooked dinner together like dancers, changing places in the kitchen as they worked, never in each other's way.
And while cleaning the spinach, cutting away the stems, then soaking the deep-green leaves in the big pot, stirring them to get the last grains of sand out ... while doing that, Joanna felt--not happiness, nothing so rich--but a relaxation, an almost contentment.
It seemed very important, made her hands tremble with its promise that pleasure in living would be possible. Not just bearing loss, with such relief from loneliness as Charis had given her. But more than that.
She cleaned the spinach, rinsed the pot, then set the steamer in. Charis was veining the shrimp-whole Louisiana shrimp, shipped frozen, and strangers to these seas. Little mindless things ... biomechanisms. Who was the Victorian British naturalist that lost his faith in South America? He'd been unable to believe in a God who mindlessly created redundant thousands of varieties of billions of beetles.
--But had the beetles a god of their own, uninterested in British naturalists?
A god the color of seasoned wood, and jointed like tremendous planks hinged together ... slowly folding and unfolding through t
he forest, making beetles, spilling them from its long cracks and crevices.
Dinner, eaten late, was delicious. Curried shrimp, brown rice, and the spinach. Vanilla ice cream.
"... How are you doing on the Sociology?" Joanna put down her notebook, and sat across from Charis at the dining table. A work table; they'd never eaten there. ... She and Frank hadn't eaten there, either.
"I think I'm okay." The girl--so neat otherwise--sat with her laptop behind a low semicircular heap of notebooks, reference books, textbooks, and orange Post-it notes. "--I've got Singleton in at least a little small-time trouble, with the Vietnam War. We got zip out of that one--no fab new markets. But he probably won't even notice. Won't want to notice. It's ... it's like it must have been for the Scholastics, dealing with the church's bullshit. If you don't go along with these professors' agreed-upon crap, they have hysterics."
"I've had them."
"I don't think so."
"Wait till you do that almost-certainly-unwise Longfellow paper. You show me that, I think I can guarantee some hysterics."
"I don't believe it. Joanna, I have a very good argument."
"We'll see. But if it ain't anchored in the text, honey, in the work--you're in trouble."
"Trust me, you will really like it. ... But you know what I mean. The professors ... I mean they yearn for a society like a medieval manor, you know? Someplace ordinary people can't just do what they want, are kept on a leash by their betters.-And of course, they're among the betters."
"Charis, that superior position is what they're used to."
"Then they need to get booted out of it!"
It was such a touching thing to hear, touching to see the girl's lovely and determined face. Still so young. ... "Sweetheart, you're talking about a mountain of self-satisfaction and light workloads-tenured faculty diseases with which I've certainly been infected--"
"No, you haven't."
"Yes, I have.--You know the best way to affect that so often misplaced pride?
It isn't with angry or silly papers. It's with very good work. --That is the only thing that truly impresses teachers."
"I shouldn't do Longfellow?"
"No. You should do Longfellow, though Benet might be more deserving. But do him well and thoroughly, not as an argument to annoy Chris Engletree--or do someone else."
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