The woman had reached the bottom of the steps. With some effort—sitting on the ground had made her stiff—Phil unfolded her long legs and stood to greet her. “Hello there.”
“You must be Mrs. Rains,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Thomas. Dear Henry stopped at the farm earlier to tell me of your arrival. Mortified, I was, to think you’d moved in yesterday and I hadn’t been by to welcome you and bring you some food. Such a bother to get settled, I said to myself. You best get over there and offer your neighborly services.” Mrs. Thomas ripped off her hat and tossed it onto the blanket, setting her gun next to it. She wore her curly red hair, with just a hint of gray, short and cropped attractively around her face. Her eyes, the color of a pine needle, sparkled like she knew a delightful secret and couldn’t wait to share it with you.
“Oh my, you’re having my bread and jam. I’m enormously pleased. Don’t you know, I’ve had that sourdough starter from the time I was first married? No older than you, come to think of it.” With both hands, she raked her fingers through her hair, causing it to bounce like coiled springs as she turned to look at Teddy. He’d stopped playing—a rather unusual event—and gaped at her with his mouth open far enough a bug could quite easily fly inside, as if the last thing he expected was to see another person, especially this one who obviously carried a bag of good things to eat. “And this is the wee one? Dearie, he’s a darling. Look at those cheeks.” She perched on the edge of the driftwood piece. “My son was always such a skinny thing when he young. Used to worry myself sick whenever he was ill, afraid he’d perish before the morning.” She sighed, and wiped the corners of her eyes. “At the end there was nothing a mother could do, with this awful war taking all our boys. Anyway, never mind that. It’s a lovely day God’s made for us, and we should revel in it. I do love this cove. Many happy memories, right here, with Henry’s mother, God rest her soul. We were the very best of friends. She knew everything about me, even more than my poor Mr. Thomas. Women have their secrets they can tell only one another. Men, bless them for trying, just never understand nuances like other women do. I miss her terribly. Cancer took her. She went fast, which I was glad of at the end, as she was in terrible pain. Just three summers ago we spent almost every day here, enjoying our picnics and one another’s company, both of us beside ourselves with worry over our boys fighting overseas, and just like that, she started feeling awful and three months later she was gone. Wouldn’t you know, this is the exact spot we used to make our picnics. Speaking of which, I’ve brought some yummies. Like I said, Henry stopped by, asking if I’d make a little extra for your supper tonight, and I said to myself, it would be best if I put a few things together for you and me, maybe trap you into a chat. I get lonely, I’m not ashamed to say. I love every inch of my property and this view here, but it is a bit isolated. May I sit with you on the blanket?”
“Please.” Even though Mrs. Thomas had not stopped talking, except to take in a breath here or there, Phil immediately liked her. No wonder she was lonely, given all she’d lost. A boy and a best friend in such a short amount of time. Despite the warmth, Phil shivered.
“We have a grocer in town, but sometimes his stock is limited, and we make almost all our own food. I don’t frequent his shop much except to buy toiletries or certain items for the house. I’ve probably supported his entire family with the number of canning jars I’ve bought over the years. Anyway, between my vegetable garden and the livestock, chickens, goats, and all, we don’t have much need for store bought. Yes, we have goats.” She paused, pursing lips. “Goats, the most awful creatures. One ate my hat the other day. I had to buy this new one when the other one would’ve lasted me many, many more years to come. I regret the day I brought them home, but they were the cutest baby animals, bleating to beat all. The most pitiful sound. And Henry told you about the strawberries?” While she talked, Mrs. Thomas emptied the cloth bag. First she pulled out the baguette, several knives, plates, napkins, a jar of pickles, a flat of raspberries, a metal tin, and a chunk of white cheese. Last, she pulled out two brown bottles, holding what, Phil couldn’t guess.
“No, he didn’t.” Phil had resumed her place and stretched her legs out, enjoying the kisses of the late afternoon sun.
She put her head in her hands in a dramatic gesture of despair, before looking back at Phil. “A half acre we planted last spring. Poor Mr. Thomas didn’t say a word about it, just planted and planted, and wouldn’t you know they’re all thriving, producing fruit like plants possessed. And now we have all this jam.”
Teddy had approached, looking shy, but his love of food had outweighed his wariness of strangers. “Teddy, can you say hello?” asked Phil. “This is Mrs. Thomas, and she’s brought you some delicious food.”
“Hallo, Mrs. Thomas.”
“Hello, Teddy.”
Teddy pointed at the flat of raspberries. “What those?”
“Raspberries, dearie. Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
“What nice manners you have.” Mrs. Thomas put a half-dozen raspberries on one of the plates and handed it to Teddy. “Will we spoil his dinner? It’s after four.”
“He’s always hungry, Mrs. Thomas. Dinner is not usually spoiled.”
Mrs. Thomas smiled. “We’ll call this tea time. My mother came from England and we always had tea around this hour. I’ve gotten out of the habit of it, serving poor Mr. Thomas his supper around six. He works himself to death, and he’s not getting any younger. He’s half-starved by six and ready for bed by eight.” She pulled a metal object from her pocket, using it to pop the top off both bottles. “Ginger beer. Best thing you ever tasted. Poor Mr. Thomas fetches it for me from the city. Only thing I can’t make myself, I always tell him. He likes his whiskey after supper, so he can’t say much, now can he? Plus, ginger’s good for your complexion. Did you know?”
Phil, taking the drink from Mrs. Thomas’s outstretched hand, confessed that, no, she did not know ginger was good for one’s complexion. She took a tentative sip. It was cold and spiced with ginger. Unlike a soda, it was only slightly sweet. “Delicious. Thank you. Will it make me drunk?”
“Oh, heavens no. There’s no alcohol in it, but I always feel like I’m doing something terribly wicked when I drink it.” Mrs. Thomas had set her drink aside and was breaking pieces off the baguette. Then, slicing into the cheese, which Phil was surprised to see was soft, spread it onto the bread. “You eat this, Mrs. Rains. We need to fatten you up. This is cheese made from our goats, the appalling creatures. It’s not like cheese made from cows, so you might not like it at first, but give it another try, because it grows on a person. Like coffee, I always say. You’d never know we could make something this good out of the milk from an animal who eats hats.”
Phil laughed, accepting the plate Mrs. Thomas had made for her, and took a bite. The bread was slightly warm but the layer of cheese cool and creamy with a zesty taste. “I love it,” she said.
“Oh, but that does make me happy.” Mrs. Thomas smiled and settled back to lean against the driftwood log. Phil assumed she would begin to ask questions. Where did she come from? Why here? Where’s Teddy’s father? Instead, her unexpected companion drank her ginger beer and nibbled on a piece of bread with the cheese made from a hat-eater’s milk and watched, with apparent delight, Teddy gobble almost the entire bowl of berries. Phil relaxed. The food satiated her hunger. Between her full stomach and the soft light of late afternoon with the sound of the waves crashing, she became drowsy and lazy, unworried.
After the berries were gone and Teddy had polished off a piece of bread with cheese and jam, he was ready to play. Toddling off with his bucket in his hand, he returned to the wet sand, plopped to the ground, and began to dig.
“Have you always lived here?” asked Phil.
“I grew up a couple hundred miles north in a small fishing town. Mr. Thomas’s family has owned our land for a century. Early pioneers. I married Mr. Thomas when I was only seventeen years old. I suppose you could say I’ve
grown up here.”
A flock of birds flew overhead. Mrs. Thomas jumped to her feet, snatched her shotgun, aimed into the sky, and fired a shot. A bird, whatever kind it was Phil couldn’t say, fell from the sky, landing about ten feet from them. Mrs. Thomas put the safety back on—at least Phil assumed it was a safety—and set it back by the log.
Both Phil and Teddy were speechless. She worried he might cry, having never seen or heard a gun fired, but instead he gazed at Mrs. Thomas with his lips pursed, like he was trying to figure out what in heaven’s name had just happened.
“Don’t mind me,” said Mrs. Thomas. “I can’t ever pass up the chance for a pheasant for poor Mr. Thomas’s dinner, now could I?” She marched over to the dead bird, picked it up by its feet and carried it over to the basket where she pulled out a newspaper and proceeded to wrap up poor Mr. Thomas’s dinner. When she was done, she walked to the water and washed her hands in the surf, drying them on her dress. She came back to sit by Phil, grabbing her ginger beer and taking a large swig.
“Where did you learn to hunt birds?” asked Phil.
“My grandfather taught me. He was from England and bird hunting’s big over there. He said no granddaughter of his was going through this life not knowing how to kill a pheasant. I’ve particularly good aim. My son, William, inherited my keen shot. He was specially trained in the army to shoot long range.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thomas.”
“Thank you, dear. I’d just turned nineteen when he was born. I grew up overnight. The minute you hold that baby in your arms you know life requires more of you. Well, you know, Mrs. Rains. You must be better, stronger, smarter. I was blessed to have Mr. Thomas by my side. A more devoted father you’d never meet. He’s a quiet one but still waters run deep, as they say.”
It was true what she said about motherhood. The moment she’d known that Teddy grew in her belly, she knew the only purpose of her life was to take care of him. “William’s such a nice name.”
“We said we’d call him Will or Bill, but he was a William. Tall and lanky like his father, and handsome. Quiet like Mr. Thomas, and dignified. I always imagined he’d become an attorney and ultimately a judge. Fair-minded. He had a sweetheart from the time he was just a boy. Rose. Henry’s twin sister. We all figured they’d be married with babies running around this beach by now. He lost his life protecting another soldier. Received a Medal of Honor for it. He made me proud all his life, up until the very end. It gives me comfort, knowing he saved another mother’s boy. They didn’t have a body for me, though. I didn’t get to bury him.” Mrs. Thomas, although her voice had not wavered from its cheery cadence, swiped at the corners of her eyes.
“What’s happened to Rose?” asked Phil.
“Rose? She lives in the city. Took over her father’s business. Quite different than dear Henry. She’s one of those people so quick-witted and smart that you can practically see her mind solving problems.”
“It must be strange to be a twin.”
“I can’t imagine. He was the social one, such an athlete, always making something or throwing something or figuring out how to make a game out of nothing. Whereas Rose was more in her brain…what’s the word I’m thinking of?”
“Cerebral?”
“Yes, right-o. Cerebral. Nose in a book. Doing figures. Never had any interest in sports or making things with her hands like her mother, but had a head for business like their father. ‘Girl things bore me,’ she used to say when we asked her to help us in the kitchen. She would’ve rather been out with the men talking politics or business. They built the twin cottages for them, figuring they could live next door to one another. Always close, those two, finishing each other’s sentences. Funny, being twins and all, that Henry took after his mother and Rose after her father. Inga was good with her hands, like Henry. Wasn’t a thing she couldn’t cook or sew or knit. ‘I like to do,’ she used to say to me. ‘Makes me feel useful.’ Sure as anything, when we were down here at the beach together, Inga’s fingers were always flying, knitting needles making that clicking sound, half blinding me when they caught the light. I used to say she made me tired just looking at her.” She chuckled, shaking her head.
“Seems I spend all my time missing them. I’ve lost Rose, too. She doesn’t like to come back here—says it’s too painful without William. She couldn’t think of what to do with her grief but to work like a mad woman. Henry says she won’t hardly leave the office. She looks different now, too. Skin and bones with this hard set to her mouth. Not that I can blame her. Besides Henry, she lost everyone she loved the most in five years’ time. Life’s cruel sometimes. We thank the good Lord for Henry. He’s all we have left of the old days.” She wiped the corners of her eyes again. They were red and chapped.
“We lost my brother. Ivan. In 1943.” Even as she said it, Phil knew it opened the possibility of questions, and she instantly regretted the slippage of her tongue. This genuine, intimate exchange, as if it were possible for them to be real friends, was the exact thing she could not do. She must remain isolated. Miller was clear on that point. Yet, here she was on the first day here, letting this endearing woman inside her secret world.
“And Teddy’s father? Mr. Rains?” asked Mrs. Thomas.
“Yes, just a year later.”
“You poor dear.”
“I understand how Rose must feel. Just this morning I was looking at myself in the mirror, thinking how skinny and pale I am. Hardly recognize myself anymore.” Phil kept one eye on her son, but he was not near enough to the surf to be in danger. Having dug one hole, he was now working on another and did not look up from his task.
“Did he ever meet his father?” asked Mrs. Thomas.
“No.”
“Sometimes I wonder how we all bear it.” Mrs. Thomas, as if only just remembering, snatched her hat from where it lay at her feet and plunked it on her head. “My mother was always telling me to wear my hat. She’d be horrified to see me now; brown as can be.”
“My mother had the same affinity for hats,” said Phil.
“When did she pass?”
“Oh, she’s very much alive. She’s too mean to die young.”
“I see.” Mrs. Thomas threw her head back, laughing.
“When I came out here, I cut ties with my family. They’re all in Iowa where I grew up. We grew corn, mostly. Eddie, Teddy’s father, lived on the neighboring farm. They were horse people and his father was a preacher, too. I knew Eddie all my life. I never loved anyone but him.”
Mrs. Thomas, with the front brim of her hat folded back, watched her. “What brings you here?”
“I wanted to live by the ocean.” A lie. “Start somewhere new. Fresh.”
“Without all the ghosts?”
“I suppose that’s one way to say it. I have an uncle in San Francisco.” Miller had told her to tell anyone who asked that he was her uncle. “He was kind enough to send for Teddy and me and rented this cottage for us. I’m trained as a seamstress and hoping to find work. Is there a dressmaker in town?”
“We have a tailor, Mr. Mullen, but more and more people buy their clothes mail order. It’s not how it used to be. Anyway, he makes clothes for men. Women have to go into San Francisco for a decent dress.”
Phil nodded, excitement growing in the pit of her stomach. She had designs, masses of them, for dresses that mimicked the latest fashions from London and New York. With careful planning, she could make them for a quarter of the price of a designer piece. Surely there would be ladies interested here in town? Independence. Freedom. If she saved every nickel, it would only be a matter of time before she could escape from Miller and start a new life with Teddy.
The sun, low in the sky now, indicated it was time for them all to go home and get cleaned up for supper. Phil didn’t want the day to end. It had been a long time since she’d sat with another woman talking the afternoon away. For the second time that day, she remembered the person she once was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
; Caroline
CAROLINE SAT ON THE COVERED PATIO of her parents’ beach house, watching Audrey and Pierce play in the surf. Mother sat in the chair next to her, reading a novel. The sun hung between sea and sky, swathing the June afternoon in warmth. In the rafters a pair of mourning doves cooed to one another like a sigh mixed with a moan, and the sound always evoked a feeling of loss and regret in Caroline. On the beach, Audrey shrieked as she ran from a wave.
“Mother, I’m feeling terribly guilty for my idleness,” said Caroline.
Mother put her book facedown on her lap and reached across the arms of their lounge chairs to take her daughter’s hand. “Darling, you must give in and let yourself rest. If not for you, for the baby. Sit here in the shade this afternoon. Watch the sun move toward the sea. Let the staff do for you. They’re beside themselves with joy to have you all here. As am I. When all the children are here, it feels like when you and Julius were young. It’s good to hear the children’s voices and their laughter. And to think we’ll have another.”
“Oh, Mother, I can’t believe I’m about to start it all again. It’s been too long since we had a baby. What if I’ve forgotten what to do?”
“That’s what Nanny Brown’s for,” said Mother.
“I hate to ask the staff to do more than their usual load,” said Caroline.
“That’s ridiculous. A new baby will give Nanny something to do. The older children don’t need her anymore. I’ve worried she would sink into despair if she had to leave you all for another job.”
“Poor Nanny.”
“Darling, truly, you need to let people take care of you, including me.”
“I hate to have anyone make a fuss,” said Caroline.
“That’s ridiculous.” Mother scrutinized her. “I blame Anna Beale.”
Caroline laughed. “Yes, Anna Beale should have part of the blame. Do you remember how I thought I was adopted?”
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