Miller's Secret

by Tess Thompson

  Crossing the yard with long strides, she reached him just as he was closing the car door. “Good afternoon, Joseph.”

  He yanked his hat from his head, holding it at his waistline in a way that always made him seem apologetic. “Miss, I’m sorry to disturb you. I have a message and a delivery from Mr. Dreeser.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, fine. He wanted to tell you that he’ll be visiting tomorrow. Returning to the city Sunday.”

  Joseph: chauffer and secret keeper.

  “Mrs. Dreeser and the children are leaving for their beach house in Santa Barbara.” He opened the back of the car and pulled out a wooden box with a lock on it.

  “I see.” She flushed, ducking her head, examining her fingernails. Mrs. Dreeser. The wife. The mother of his children. With her absence, Miller could safely come to her. He would stay the night.

  “Mr. Dreeser asked if you would keep this box for him. He asked that you put it under the bed,” said Joseph.

  “Thank you, Joseph. I’ll take it.” He placed it in her arms. “Would you care for something to drink? A glass of cold water?”

  “No, thank you, miss. I’ve been instructed, however, to take you and Teddy into town for supplies.”

  It hadn’t fully occurred to her until that moment that she was without a car, stuck miles away from town. Yes, she would have to rely on others to take her shopping. Another way in which she was trapped like an animal. “That would be lovely, Joseph. Can you wait a moment? I’ll put this away and fetch Teddy.”

  Moments later, they were settled in the back of the car, Teddy snuggled close against her legs. He loved riding in the car. It had the lucky effect of quieting him, as he was too busy gazing out the window to squirm or ask a hundred questions.

  After five miles, they arrived in the town of Stowaway. The main street, flush with businesses, bustled with activity. Joseph slowed as they passed the city sign, inching along now behind another car that had its windows down, with the arms and legs of young women and men hanging out the sides, skin exposed to the bright sun. No one seemed to be wearing many clothes. She almost smiled, imagining her mother’s horrified expression as they passed two women in two-piece bathing suits walking barefooted toward the beach. Her mother’s shrill voice invaded her mind. Practically naked, just strutting through the middle of town.

  At the end of the main street, the town met the sea in a long strand of sandy beach spotted with copious people reclining or picnicking, all in brightly colored swimsuits. Children ran from waves. Women chatted in clumps, smoking cigarettes or drinking sodas from bottles. In the surf, men rode long boards. An old man held the hand of a small girl in a pink bathing suit as they ran from a wave. Even from the car, Phil heard the child’s delighted shrieks. Mary. She remembered the plump legs of her baby sister and her laughter like chiming bells as Phil chased her across the lawn. Fury, jealousy, and self-pity came roaring in like one of the waves. Why was she the only one here now? Why couldn’t Eddie be here holding Teddy’s hand with Mary running ahead to chase a wave? It all played before her as if it had happened once, like a memory or a photograph or home movie, and when it was over, the homesickness came and she was like a washrag hung out to dry, dirty and useless. She lived in a state of memory or imagination. This is what it was like to be banished from your world and sent to a strange land for punishment. No matter how pretty the new world, one still longed for home, for those who had made it home by their presence.

  “Miss, will this do?” Joseph had found a place to park near the beach.

  “Oh, yes, Joseph. This is fine.”

  They got out of the car, the scent of marine life and seaweed and salt air greeting her like a soft kiss.

  “Shall I take the young master for a walk along the beach, miss, while you shop?”

  “Yes, please.” She turned to Teddy. “Be a good boy and don’t run away from Mr. Joseph.”

  “Yes, yes.” He nodded, jumping up and down in excitement.

  “Try not to get too sandy,” she said, planting a kiss on his fat cheek.

  Joseph reached into his pocket. “Mr. Dreeser said to give you this.” He handed her an envelope. It would be full of cash, she knew. He gave her a generous allowance every week, and often, like now, extra spending money. “He said to buy yourself something pretty besides just supplies.”

  Something pretty? A new dress to wear for him? A new hat? She needed nothing. Her closet was full, as was her stomach. Regardless, Miller liked to see her in new dresses, made her put them on and walk in front of him, proud that she had such good taste and a slender figure.

  She parted ways with Teddy and Joseph and made her way down the main street, quickly spotting the butcher shop and the produce stand. A barber, a doctor, and drug store rounded out the necessities. In an alley, a sign for a tailor shop hung above a door, but no dress shop.

  She needn’t have worried to change into a decent dress. Ladies were dressed in bathing suits and shorts, walking around town, brown from the sun. California was a strange land. She came upon an attractive brick building. Sayer Fine Furniture. Henry’s studio. She paused at the window, looking inside. He stood, sanding a large piece of dark wood. Should she go inside and say hello? Before she could decide, Henry looked up, his face changing as he recognized her. Grinning, he set aside his sanding tool and strode to the door, swinging it open to meet her on the sidewalk. “Mrs. Rains, you’ve found me.”

  “I’m just here doing some shopping. I’d forgotten to look for your shop, I was busy getting acclimated, and there you were.” Why did her voice sound odd? She sounded nervous. Indeed, she was nervous. Henry Sayer made her nervous.

  “It’s nice to see you.” He smiled at her again. Such a nice smile. So genuine and disarming.

  “Thank you for all the work you put into the cottage and yard to make it safe for Teddy. The more I’m there, the more I notice what you’ve done.”

  “Oh, you’re most welcome. You must let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.” He raised an eyebrow, almost flirtatiously, but in a way that seemed out of practice. She imagined him before the war, handsome, whole, the world before him, no lady impervious to his charms.

  “The awful place I had to live before…” She could have kicked herself. Why had she revealed so much? Thankfully, he did not ask any follow up questions. Too well-mannered. His mother had taught him properly.

  They chatted for a few more minutes, during which time Henry gave her advice on where to shop, offering to bring home anything she couldn’t carry. “That won’t be necessary. A friend brought me to town.” To change the subject, she continued without pause. “Stowaway isn’t what I expected.”

  He nodded, glancing down the street at the water, the bright light illumining the golden highlights in his dark blond curls as he squinted into the sun. “It’s changed since I was a kid. The surfers have discovered us.”

  “I’ve seen them in the city, but it seemed such a silly thing to do I couldn’t imagine it being anything more than a fleeting interest. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  “Fortunately, I never picked it up. Can you imagine trying to surf with one arm?” He continued to watch the shore, smiling.

  She followed his gaze toward the beach. Young women lined the coastline, watching the surfers catching breakers, some riding them almost to shore, others falling, only to get back up again. She spotted Joseph holding Teddy’s hand, both running from a wave. What was it about the seashore that made everyone feel young?

  “On a day like today it feels like the war never happened,” she said. “They all seem lighthearted, like they haven’t a care in the world except how to catch the next wave.”

  “May they be so lucky,” he said.

  “It doesn’t make you bitter?” she asked.

  “Others having fun?”

  “Yes.”

  “I fought so that they might do exactly that.”

  She turned her gaze back to him. He spoke without pride or boa
stfulness. It was a fact to him, she supposed, an inevitability that his generation must bear. He fought so that the world, their world here in America, could remain free from terrorist reign. Eddie and her brother Ivan had not come back. They would not ever frolic under a warm sky again. She wasn’t like Henry. She could not let it go, this bitterness that lived at the back of her throat, poisoning everything. But she didn’t say it out loud. It was best to keep her darkness away from men like Henry, who had given so much and yet could still look for the light.

  For the moment, she was no longer in the place between memory and imagination, but right here. Was she absorbing Henry Sayer’s light? “You should make boards.”

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  She gestured toward his shop. “Surfboards. Surely they couldn’t be any harder than the exquisite furniture you make.”

  He stared at her. “I hadn’t ever thought of it before.”

  “There could be a fortune to be made from others’ fun,” she said.

  “I suppose. Something to think about anyway.”

  “Well, I should be on my way. I have more than a few items on my list.”

  “It was a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Rains. I’ll look forward to tonight.”

  “Yes. Shall I buy a bottle of wine for dinner?”

  “There’s no need. My father left an extensive wine collection when he passed. It’ll be nice to have someone to share it with.”

  After they said good-bye, it occurred to her that she had had every intention of canceling their dinner, and yet it hadn’t crossed her mind for a moment when she was in the presence of Henry. The feeling she’d had earlier, this nervousness around Henry, what was it? She halted, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. That was the feeling earlier. Not nervousness, but excitement. Desire. Smitten. She’d forgotten the pleasurable flutter of desire.

  A creature buzzed past her ear. A planter hung in front of the store’s window. Inside it, a hibiscus dripped with pink and purple flowers, and a hummingbird with his slender, graceful beak drank from the flower’s sweet nectar, drawn to it despite the scent of the salty sea that might distract a less sensitive creature.

  Henry Sayer’s a problem. I’m a hummingbird to a hibiscus.

  **

  After Joseph carried her parcels into the cottage, he accepted a glass of water and a sandwich before he left for the long drive back to the city. When he finished his late lunch, he insisted that it was time he was on his way home. She walked him to the car, the sun hot on her dark hair. “I’m sorry, Joseph.”

  “Whatever for, miss?”

  “Well, this. Me.”

  With downcast eyes, he removed his hat and took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead. “Miss, we all do what we must to survive, to take care of little ones entrusted to our care. This world’s cruel to young ladies without a man; everyone knows that. Been that way since the dawn of time. My mother came here from England with me and no husband. My mother was the finest woman that ever lived, despite falling in love with the wrong man.”

  Phil’s eyes burned. Please don’t cry, she told herself. Why, when people were kind, did it always make her want to cry?

  He stuck his hat back on his head and put his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Don’t despair, Miss Rains. Everything will work out as it’s supposed to. It always does.”

  She remained standing in the yard, the grasses rustling about in a lovely symphony of sound, watching until the car disappeared. Throughout the last three years, the infinite kindness of some, equaled only by the treachery and cruelty of others, amazed her. They seemed to be parceled out in equal measures. One could not decide if more people were good than bad.

  **

  Later, up to her elbows in sudsy water, Phil looked longingly at the ocean, wondering what it would feel like to be submerged in its depth. Behind her, Teddy played with his truck, running it up and down the soft leg of the armchair. She dried her hands on her apron, leaving the wet dishes in the rack to dry. Her mother had never allowed such things, insisting that everything be dried and put away before leaving the kitchen. But her mother wasn’t here. She would never be here or in Phil’s life ever again. Do not cry. Fold the towel and walk away from the kitchen without thinking of her, without wondering what she’s doing at this very moment.

  Teddy had fallen asleep on the couch, sitting straight up with his face tucked into his own neck, never one to give up the fight and admit he needed another nap. She carried him to his bed before wandering into her own room. She lay on the bed, planning on resting her eyes for only a few moments, but she fell fast asleep.

  Teddy woke her up an hour later, staring at her with a worried expression in his brown eyes as her stroked her bare arm with his little hand. “Mama, wake up.”“Yes, yes. I’m awake.”

  “Beach now?”

  “Yes, beach now. Mr. Sayer said there were buckets and maybe even a shovel. We could build a sandcastle.”

  His round eyes, brown like her own, went wide. “A bucket?”

  “Yes. You can dig a hole or whatever you like.” She rose from bed, straightening her blouse. “We will only put our toes in or the waves might take us out to sea.”

  He bounced off the bed, nodding with great solemnity. “Okay, Mama.”

  She held out her hand. “Come on, let’s get our swim clothes on.”

  It took them only moments to take off their clothes and dress in their swimming wear. Phil’s bathing suit, a gift from Miller, came in two pieces, the top no larger than a brassiere. The bottoms came up to her waist and stopped at the beginning of her thighs. A bare midriff and exposed legs were more revealing than she was comfortable with, but Miller had insisted upon it. “You’re too young for an old lady suit,” he said when she’d opened the box.

  “A swim costume?” she asked. “Whatever for?”

  “I’ve found you a cottage by the ocean. Out of the way.” A solution to both their problems, he said.

  Now, she stood at the full mirror in her bedroom, staring at her own reflection. Thinner than she was before she’d gotten pregnant with Teddy, her ribs stood out and her arms and legs looked like trunks of a birch sapling, pale and breakable. She covered her mouth with red lipstick, vivid against her pale skin. Slender all her life, with long legs, small breasts, and a short torso, she had never given much thought to her appearance but was under no illusions that when God had given out curves He’d forgotten to include her. She had not minded. Growing up on a farm, she’d always been thankful for strength and ease of movement, and there was no place for vanity in their strict religious upbringing. Mirrors were discouraged, as were clothes that revealed one’s figure. Hair styled in any way other than long and worn in a braid or bun was not allowed. But of late, she’d dwelled more on her appearance, given that it had saved Teddy’s life. Miller found her beautiful, arrestingly so, he’d told her that first night when he’d made his offer. Because of her outward appearance, she’d secured a home for Teddy. Was she beautiful? Before Teddy and the hardships of the last three years, she might have said, yes. But now, her cheeks were hollow and her clavicle bones, missing flesh and muscle, were more visible than they should have been. Shadows under her eyes made her seem either tired or troubled. Perhaps both? Her eyes stared back at her with a wariness, like a dog expecting to be hit.

  She covered in a loose cotton dress. Teddy was at the door, calling out to her that he was ready and could she please hurry?

  Minutes later, they searched the shed. It was neatly organized, everything arranged on shelves, and they found sand toys and a bucket with no trouble. Teddy bounced with happiness.

  They held hands going down the stairs to the beach. It was a sharp incline but the steps were well made, with nary a loose board. Soon, they were settled on a blanket under the shade of a tree. A large piece of driftwood at her back made a nice chair. Teddy played in the wet sand, far from the incoming tide. He was afraid of the waves. Well, good. She wanted him to be cautious. From her bag, sh
e pulled out a book, put on her sunhat, and settled back to read. It was no use. She couldn’t relax and keep an eye on Teddy at the same time.

  Instead, she surveyed their little cove. Above, on the cliff, grasses swayed, but here in a cleft of the hillside, it was warm, sheltered from the breeze. The small stretch of sand was no more than a hundred feet wide, surrounded by rocks on both sides. The tide, low now, would enable one to walk beyond the cove, but Phil had decided against any kind of walk, afraid to get stuck. On both sides, tide pools housed sea anemone, small fish, and even a starfish. Incoming waves crashed against rocks, breaking their strength so that only soft waves came to their shore.

  She’d brought with them the bread, butter, and jam, along with several boiled eggs and a jar of water, in case Teddy grew hungry. She salted an egg, devouring it in two bites. The fresh air made her hungry. She buttered a piece of bread, smeared it with jam, and bit into it. Heaven. The jam was extraordinary. Sweet but not overly, like the taste of a strawberry warm from the sun. Her mother had made good jam, but nothing like this. Perhaps it was impossible to make something sweet if you were mean and stingy? She was about to take another bite when footsteps coming down the stairs distracted her. Setting the bread back into the basket, she turned to look. It was a woman in her late forties, wearing an enormous pink straw hat. It flapped in the breeze, almost as wide as the woman was tall. Petite, no taller than five feet, she wore a loose sundress that engulfed her small frame. Her legs and arms were muscular and browned from the sun, although no bigger than a prepubescent boy’s. She carried a muslin bag, from which a long loaf of bread bounced from side to side. A shotgun rested over her shoulder. Phil tensed.