by ML Gardner
“No. Let me do it,” Arianna said from behind. He turned with a slight grin and handed her the bucket. She moved in close and dumped it over his head. He came up coughing and sputtering, seeing Arianna standing with her hand on her hip, glaring at him. She turned without a word and walked back to the house. Caleb saw Jonathan and avoided his eyes.
“I told you I needed to talk to you this morning, Caleb. We have some decisions to make.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Sorry,” he mumbled as he found his way to standing.
“Go get cleaned up. Patrick and I will wait for you at the table.”
Caleb nodded and stumbled off.
“And hurry up!” Jonathan barked over his shoulder.
Caleb shook off as much as he could and entered the kitchen without speaking to anyone. He made his way up the stairs with a throbbing headache. He stopped briefly in front of Claire’s door. She was sitting in the chair, staring out the window as Maura spoon fed her oatmeal. He sighed heavily and walked on to his own room to change.
∞∞∞
“One more bite for now, Miss Claire,” Maura insisted. Claire opened her mouth, but needed to be reminded to chew and swallow. She sat with a vacant expression. With slumped shoulders, her hands lay limp in her lap.
“Let’s go for a walk after breakfast,” Maura suggested. “Or maybe for a drive. We could go into town for a bit?” After a few more bites of oatmeal and one-sided conversation, Maura stood, looking down on her pitifully. “I’ll be right back, dear,” she said, patting her hand.
She went downstairs and sat at the kitchen. “She’s lost in her grief, poor thing,” Maura said, pouring a cup of coffee. “I didn’t want to leave before she was past this.” She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.
“How long can you stay?” Ava asked.
“Two more days at most.”
“Who knows when she’ll come around,” Jonathan said. Shannon eyed him and Maura. They stared at each other for a moment, and Maura gave a small nod.
“Do you want help then?” Shannon asked. Maura shook her head.
“Not now. I’ll call for you if I need you,” she said with a heavy sigh, knowing what she must do, but not looking forward to it. She stood and looked at everyone. “No matter what ye hear, unless I call for ye, leave us be, me and Miss Claire…agreed?”
Ava looked concerned and Shannon took her hand. “It’ll be fine,” she said.
Jonathan’s eyes went around the table, before settling on Maura. He trusted her completely and even though he had no idea what she was planning, he nodded his agreement.
Maura took a large mug of coffee and retreated to Claire’s room for what was certain to be a long day.
∞∞∞
Caleb was cleaned up and presentable at the dining table with Jonathan and Patrick when Claire let out a wrenching scream from upstairs. He winced as if it caused him physical pain. Ava poked her head inside the back door and looked around and up.
“It’s alright,” Jonathan told her. She stared at his deep blue eyes for a long moment, then returned to the yard, joining Arianna and Shannon where they worked in the garden.
A second, screaming sob echoed from the stairwell and Caleb looked at Jonathan with begging eyes.
“Can we please leave?” he whispered. Jonathan nodded and led the group out to his father’s old car. He stopped along the way to hug Ava.
“We’re going to go look over the boats and get some work done. We’ll talk there. Caleb can't stand to hear Claire.” He glanced at the house where desperate sobs could be heard from the open window. She nodded and hugged him a second time. “You’re not going out are you?”
“Not today.” He kissed her forehead and waved to Jean before driving away.
∞∞∞
“I think I can have them both fixed in a few days’ time,” Patrick said, wiping his hands on his pants. “There’s a few wires cut on the Ahna-Joy, shouldn’t be too hard a job. The engine on the Lisa-Lynn, well it looks like there were some hoses ripped off. But I’m confident I can make the repairs if ye get me the parts.”
“Thank you Patrick. That’s really good news.” He looked closer and saw Patrick touching his stomach. He belched and grimaced, reaching for the railing.
“Are you alright?”
“Just feel queasy. Not used to raw milk. It’ll pass,” he said. Jonathan shot Caleb a look of concern.
“Tell me, Patrick, were you sick on the ship when you came to America?” he asked curiously.
“Aye. Had the stomach flu somethin' fierce. They almost didn’t want to let me in. I stayed in quarantine on the Island till it passed.”
“Did Shannon get the stomach flu as well?” Jonathan asked.
“No. why?” Jonathan looked at Caleb and almost laughed. He wouldn’t–couldn’t begin to worry if their all too important third man were going to suffer from seasickness. Time would tell, he supposed.
“I’ll go get the parts. Patrick, if you could make a list of what you’ll need to get the third boat running please? It will be a much bigger job, it’s barely floating.” He nodded toward the old neglected sloop Aryl’s uncle only used for storage the last few years. Patrick jumped down to the pier looking a bit green.
Jonathan walked over to Caleb, who stood staring out at the ocean with a blank expression.
“I need to know now, Caleb. Are you going to be able to go back out there? No one will think less of you if you can’t, you know.”
“I’ll be fine,” Caleb said, not taking his eyes of the horizon. “Besides, what choice do I have?”
“What about the farm?”
He answered him with a shrug. “It’s not enough. I have to find a way to do both.”
“Patrick is there now. He’ll be a big help,” Jonathan offered, “And I’ll do what I can.”
Caleb, who looked indifferent, continued to gaze out across the water. When Jonathan started to speak again, he turned, jumped down to the pier, and walked away.
∞∞∞
“Someone is here to see you, Sir.”
Victor looked up from his souvenir newspaper, the smile lingering on his face.
“Who is it? I’m rather busy.”
“It’s the detective, Sir.”
Victor took one last look at the headline of the small town newspaper.
Captain of the Ava-Maura lost at sea, presumed dead.
He set it aside carefully, walked to the door rumpling his shirt and coat and mussing his hair. Just before rounding the corner, he gave his eyes a hard rub.
“Mr. Drayton. I am sorry to disturb you. I’m afraid one of our officers found something in an alley not too far from here. I’m going to need you to identify some items.”
“What items?” Victor’s low, distraught voice cracked slightly with a look of apprehension. The detective opened a small box and pulled out Ruth’s handbag. His lip quivered and his eyes narrowed in a perfect theatrical performance of grief. He opened it and pulled out Ruth’s wallet.
“This was hers,” he said quietly flipping through the contents. “This is all you found?” He looked up at the detective. “Maybe she’s alright, maybe she just dropped this and she’s still…somewhere.”
The detective then pulled out of the box a woman’s shoe, soaked through with blood.
“We found this next to the handbag,” the officer said apologetically.
Victor’s show was grand. Shaking with fake tears, leading the detective to believe he was on the verge of a full-blown breakdown.
“This was hers as well?” the officer asked.
Victor nodded as a few more phony tears fell.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Drayton.”
He nodded as he cradled the shoe caked with dried blood.
“We’ll be in touch if we find anything else.” He took the shoe and handbag from Victor, placing them back in the evidence box and turned to let himself out.
As soon as the door latched, Victor smiled as he straightened his posture, wiped his face and sm
oothed his hair.
“Grayson,” he called with a jovial tone as he tucked his shirt in. “Get my black suit ready. I’ll be going out tonight.”
∞∞∞
“Sheriff, I’m glad I caught you.” Jonathan walked into the small office and sat down across the desk from Vincent.
“Jonathan. How can I help you?” He set aside a small stack of papers and looked Jonathan over, noticing his fatigue.
“I need to talk to you about something. The Ava-Maura. What if it wasn’t an accident?”
Vincent stared at him twisting the end of his mustache. “Why would you think it wasn’t an accident?”
“I don’t know exactly. I’ve talked to Caleb several times. He’s mentioned there was a second explosion and the sails that they would have used in an emergency were cut.”
“I’ve interviewed Caleb as well and unfortunately we can’t be sure of either of those things. He admits to everything being very confusing and his memory is hazy at best. Your other two boats, well, I’ve closed that investigation. Some of the other fishermen reported seeing some kids playing around the pier around sunset a few days before. Chalked it up to vandalism.”
“No.” Jonathan shook his head in frustration. “That’s not what they told me. It wasn’t vandalism. Someone meant to disable the other boats so we’d be forced to take the Ava-Maura.”
Vincent leaned back with a look of sympathy. “Jon, I wish I could help. Bring me something solid and I’ll take a look at it, but until then, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’ve seen this more times than I care to count. A boat is lost and folks tend to lose themselves in the details instead of facing the grief.”
Jonathan glared at him in frustration. “I’m not avoiding grief. I know this wasn’t an accident,” he insisted. “I just don’t know who…or why.”
“Then bring me something to work with and I’ll do everything in my power to help.” He leaned under his desk pulled out a bag, handing it to Jonathan. “Here. Dispose of this properly for me would you? Took it from a runner last night. I’m ah–” He looked at the small stack of papers on his desk. “A little busy.” Jonathan didn’t need to look in the bag to know what was inside.
“Thanks,” he mumbled and looked back up at Vincent who had resumed his mustache twisting.
“Still trying to grow that thing out?”
“Yep. Been workin’ on my quick draw, too.” He grinned. Jonathan glanced over at his small bookshelf full of books on the old west and Wild Bill.
“I hear they’re looking for lawmen out in Montana.”
Vincent laughed. “I’d love that, Jon. Getting Elle to move out there, that is another thing entirely.”
Jonathan gave a sympathetic shrug and just as he was at the door, Vincent spoke.
“I mean it, Jon. Bring me something to work with and I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you.” Jonathan held the bag of donated distraction. “Do something else for me in the meantime. Don’t hand off any more charitable gifts to Caleb, alright? He’s leaning on it a little too much.”
“Sorry to hear that. Let me know if I can be of any help.”
Jonathan nodded his goodbye and tucked the bag away in his father’s car before walking down Main Street to the hardware store.
∞∞∞
Claire lay curled on her side, her head on Maura’s lap, with swollen eyes that refused to produce more tears.
“One of my favorite memories of Mr. Aryl was at my home last Christmas. He was lying just like this on yer lap. He was so tired and I remember him drifting off to sleep as Tarin sang. He looked so peaceful.”
Claire’s face crumpled with the memory, but her eyes remained dry.
“Miss Ava told me about the time he got the men to dress up as women for Halloween.” She laughed lightly. “I only wish I could have seen that.”
“He was always doing things to make people laugh,” Claire whispered her first words in days.
Maura looked down at her. “What do you remember, love?” she asked.
She sniffled and sighed deeply before slowly recounting memories. One led into another and she went on for almost twenty minutes. As her memories slowed, she pulled herself upright and leaned against the wrought iron headboard next to Maura, holding her hand. Desperate sadness had replaced the vacancy in her eyes and her posture was empty, but no longer lost.
Maura, having pushed Claire past her catatonic state of shock by talking of Aryl, saying his name repeatedly, and recounting memories, decided to take it a step further. She looked down, holding Claire's hand in hers as she spoke.
“Do you know what I miss the most about Patrick?”
“Shannon’s Patrick?” Claire asked with a scratchy voice.
“No, love. My Patrick. Before Ian. Before I left Ireland.”
Claire stared at her as if she were still catatonic.
“Aye, I was married before Ian,” Maura volunteered. “We were very young and only married a year before he died. But, what I miss the most is his laugh. It would fill a room and even the saddest sap would have no choice but to smile once Patrick started laughin'. Your Aryl reminded me very much of my Patrick. Not in looks mind you, they couldn’t be more opposite. But in mannerism…very much like Patrick.” She trailed off with a faint smile.
“Maura, I had no idea,” Claire whispered.
“I know. I never wanted to speak of it. The only one that knows is Ian. And had I not been carrying Patrick’s babe when I married Ian, he’d not of known either. It’s something I prefer to tuck away safe, just for me.”
“So Scottie is…”
“He is Patrick’s.” Maura smiled. “All I have left of him. You’d never be able to tell though, Ian loves him so.”
She turned to Claire. “I know what you’re going through, Miss Claire,” she said with conviction. “I’ve walked this road myself and I can tell ye that it will get easier, with time. But you’ve got to start makin’ the motions of living and getting ready for the baby.”
Claire broke down in tears again with a look of helpless anguish. Maura let the wave of despair pass before pressing on.
“If there is one place you had to choose, to feel close to your Aryl, where would it be.”
Claire hesitated to speak.
“Where, Miss Claire?” Maura lovingly poked her in the thigh.
“The lighthouse,” she whispered.
Maura moved off the bed and stood with her hand held out to Claire. “Let’s go then.”
Ethel was surprised to see Claire beside Maura as they came down the stairs into the kitchen, and even more surprised when Maura asked to borrow the farm truck.
Maura drove slowly through town in no particular direction for a half hour. Claire leaned her head on the door frame with closed eyes, letting the afternoon sun warm her face and the wind whip her hair in all directions for a long time. Then she raised her head and began to give Maura directions toward the ocean. She pointed for her to make a right onto a long dirt road that led to a small lot. Maura parked the car and Claire sat staring at the base of the lighthouse for several moments. It was only slightly easier than looking out toward the open ocean, where her love was lost.
Maura quietly exited the car and opened Claire’s door, motioning for her to get out. She did so sluggishly and kept her head down, holding Maura’s hand tightly as they walked the sandy ruts and jagged rocks.
“I have to leave soon, Miss Claire. But I don’t want to do so till I know ye can take care of yerself. My heart hurts for ye, with me having to push ye the way I did. But you’ve a babe to think of and I can’t have ye starin’ out the window helpless.”
Claire sniffled and nodded, eyes still down.
“I met Ian only one month after Patrick died. I was already startin’ to show. He was a friend of me brother who had just moved from Dublin. My brother brought him over for dinner one evening, and in private told me that Ian had taken a likin’ to me. Ye know what I did?” She stopped walking and glanced at Claire.
“I punched him. Then I chased him out the house with a stick of firewood. I thought he was an ignorant pig to even broach the subject with my Patrick only gone a month.”
Claire nodded her agreement.
“Ian, however, saw somethin’ in me beyond the grief and he came by almost every day and tried to talk to me. Most times, I just threw things at him and yelled for him to go away and never come back.” She paused, smiling at her memories.
“I didn’t count on him being just as stubborn as me though, and he continued to come. When I got tired of throwin’ things at him, he just sat in the front room, quiet and still as a statue, only moving to help himself to tea or bring firewood in from the yard. About two weeks later, he walked through the door as if it were his own and poured a cup of tea. He sat at the table across from me and thanked me for not throwin’ anythin’ at him. Then he asked me to tell him about Patrick. I fell apart of course, cryin’ and blubberin’. He continued to ask me questions about him and wouldn’t let up until I gave him an answer, just like I did to you this morning.”
Claire looked at her, suddenly understanding. Last night, it had been impossible to think Aryl's name without breaking down. But this afternoon, desensitized by saying it repeatedly, she had managed it twice. As if reading her mind, Maura hugged her.
“And one day, you'll say his name, and speak of him to your babe, with no tears. A smile even, for the memories.”
Claire couldn't, at the moment, comprehend that idea but trusted Maura and hoped it were true.
“And feeling him?” She looked out at the ocean that began to glint gold with the setting sun. “Does that go away?”