Wash Ashores

by Anne Fall

  "Or what?" Mark knew he did not hold the ground here for this fight, and boys were stepping forward to stand behind David.

  "Or you'll wish you had." David sounded so young, and his voice was shaking, but he spoke. He spoke. She couldn't tell if she was proud or afraid. The trees swayed slowly as the wind picked up, waving their branches like worshippers. "Get out of here, now. And stay away from Mary Katherine, you hear me?" Mark, momentarily defeated, turned around and walked into the rioting trees from which he had come with a hand gesture as his final word. Mary Katherine shivered while David held her tightly in the crook of his arm. The intimacy between them was clear, and she knew that they shared more than she and David did. She was not like them. Was she like Mark to them? A useless creature here to pollute their shores?

  It was abruptly too much. She did not belong here. Was this jealousy? She could still see the fire when the rain began to fall. It succumbed to itself in great heavy gusts, encouraging the trees in their ballet. The fire was gone. Why hadn't he followed her? He was supposed to follow her.

  "David? David?" Her voice rose. She made her way back to the circle where they had all been standing, and she smelled the hissing of the spent fire and almost tripped over an empty beer bottle. The presence of the people who had just been here lingered, but they were gone. Heading out towards where she thought the road was, Sylvia heard laughter but lost the sound of it. The wind blew stronger and slashing branches lashed her face in angry scratches.

  In the distance, she could just make out a pair of headlights. Picking up her pace, Sylvia ran towards them. How had she come to this moment? Why was she here? It was all wrong for her, so wrong. She made progress, and just as she felt she had found her way, the headlights swept away.

  "David?" She saw something moving in the trees. The rain had drenched her, and she could barely stand the chattering coldness that overcame her.

  "Sylvia?"

  "David!" From behind her, David found her and grabbed her, turning her to kiss her forehead, her cheeks, and her neck. His lips were warm against her chilled white skin.

  "Oh my God, where did you go? You can't do that Sylvia." His voice verged on anger.

  "You were hugging Mary Katherine; I didn't know what to do."

  "I had to be there for my sister, Sylvia. She's my family. You don't know the history there."

  "Your sister? She's your sister?" The rain streamed around them, but the thunder had stopped.

  "Come on, we've got to get out of here. It's going to be a rough ride on the bike. Come on." David pulled her through the forest, trying in vain to protect her from the attacking branches of the trees and bushes.

  Sylvia could not stop shivering. The wind from the speed of the motorcycle and the sharp pellets of rain from the storm slapped at her. The motorcycle hydroplaned in several puddles, and she bit her lip each time. When they reached her aunt's house, David drove her all the way up to the front porch for the first time. He stepped off the motorcycle and regarded her in the porch light.

  "You look a mess. I don't know how you're going to explain this one." The party on the beach had been vacated, but the throng of people on the porch stood watching them, quietly.

  "It'll be all right. Are you going to be okay going home? Please, be careful." Her teeth chattered, and clothing stuck to her frame like wet sheets on a clothesline.

  "I will." David did not kiss her, alert to the people on the porch. "Tomorrow night? Again, please?"

  "All right, I'll be waiting at the end of the driveway, late. Maybe ten o'clock?"

  "Yes. Goodnight, Sylvia."

  Sylvia stood in the rain, watching David leave until the sight and sound of his motorcycle had disappeared. Then, turning bravely, she faced the people watching her on the porch and almost laughed at their expressions. She made her way up the steps, just as Catherine stepped out the front door. Taking one look at Sylvia, she exclaimed loudly, "Dear God, what happened to you?" Catherine grabbed her chin and turned her face into the light. It was covered in scratches; fine bloody lines were drawn as if with a burgundy pen.

  "I got lost in the woods. Ella had taken me to a party in the woods. I walked out into the woods, and I couldn't find my way back. The rain had put out the fire. David brought me home." The lie came easily to her, and Catherine decided it was the best thing to believe for the moment. The well-dressed guests gathered around her in astonishment. Before long, Eric and Vivian stood on the porch with the rest of them.

  "Sylvia, my goodness, what on earth happened?" Vivian's eyes glimmered dangerously, embarrassed by the sight of her. Catherine related the story to Vivian and Eric boldly.

  "The poor child. I can't imagine how frightened you were."

  Catherine, somehow in her own way, transformed the story to make Sylvia a little lamb, lost in the woods.

  "Ella, that Ella has always been too irresponsible for her own good. I can't believe she took you to such a thing." Vivian easily removed the blame from Sylvia in the hearing of all at the party. Sylvia had not gone astray, but Ella had tried to lead her.

  "Come, upstairs. Let's get you cleaned up." The two women led her upstairs. Sylvia took her hot bath in the quiet solitude of the still empty second floor. The guests were everywhere downstairs, overflowing onto the porches of the first floor and avoiding the rain. No one had begun to think of the comfort of their beds, and the party was not over.

  Regarding her reflection in the mirror, Sylvia saw the scratches that extended from her face to her neck. Her arms were torn in the same manner, brightly colored in red. The storm shook the house with gusts of wind and rain. The sea was barely visible but loud. That night, she collapsed into bed in a deep sleep only to wake at three o'clock in the morning in a hot flush. Her skin was hot and her insides cold. Covered in sweat, she began to cough in a deep raspy attempt at breathing. She managed to find her way to Aunt Vivian's bedroom door and knocked, coughing through the pain in her chest. Aunt Vivian came to the door in a translucent blue nightgown, her wide and alarmed eyes immediately recognizing that Sylvia was ill.

  CHAPTER 9

  Sylvia was sick for a solid week. The fever that had come with the coughing stayed for the first three days. It was not easy for her to tell the difference between what was actually being said and what she thought was said. As she healed, Vivian came to speak to her about David.

  She waited patiently for Sylvia to wake up. The sun was setting on the other side of the house, and the room was already dark with shadows hovering around the bed. When Sylvia's vivid blue eyes first opened, they focused on Vivian. Her dark shining curls looked like a halo formed from the absence of light. There was a moment of silence between them before Vivian began to speak.

  "A young man has come to the house for three nights in a row asking about you, Sylvia. His name is David. Do you know him well?" Vivian's voice sounded low and secretive. Sylvia noticed she looked like she had been crying, but it only made her look more beautiful, younger.

  "Yes, I do know him fairly well, Aunt Vivian. He's a fisherman's son, but what is so wrong with that? Please don't send him away. Let him see me." Sylvia rushed into her justification too quickly, before it had been required.

  "Shh, there's nothing wrong with that. He's been coming to find out if you're okay. He brought flowers, they're on the bedside. When you're better, we'll talk about him." Sylvia turned her heated face to rest against the cool pillowcase and faced the flowers. They were fuchsia beach roses, tied together with a thick velvet tie, maybe an old sash from a dress.

  "He's the one who found you in the woods that night, isn't he?" Vivian tried to see where the two of them had met, how this small catastrophe had come about.

  "Yes, he found me. I was lost, and he came back and found me." Sylvia smiled and closed her eyes, penning the memory in her mind. It became fairytale-like, a girl saved on a stormy night rather than a beer party in the woods gone wrong.

  "I see. Well, we'll think about all that when you're well. Eric wants to see you. We'
ve all been very worried. He'll be up in a minute with your tea. Goodnight, Sylvia."

  Sylvia watched the movement of her curtain with the ocean wind. It looked like an almost sheer veil over a woman's face, rising and falling with her breathing. When Eric came in, he stood at the foot of her bed watching her look out the window. "Sylvia? Are you all right?"

  "Yes." Refusing to meet his eyes, Sylvia kept her thoughts focused on the peace of the ocean outside. What did it all mean? It could not be explained. It was all the blind thoughtless crashing of the waves on the shore.

  "I brought you tea. Hanna said you liked it with cream and sugar." He brought her cup to her bedside table and stood between her line of vision and the window.

  "I like lemon and honey, but no one has ever asked me what I liked since I've been here." Her eyes traveled the length of his chest up to his dark eyes. He reminded her of a priest, come to read her last rites. "I sound ungrateful, don't I?"

  "You're sick. You need to rest." Sylvia rebuked his answer with a sigh.

  "I do. Will you just leave the tea and go? I am so tired, so very tired." It was true. The sleep she had the next few days revived her, allowing her to dream. In her dreams, she stood on the beach in a deep fog, and she could find neither the shoreline nor the dunes.

  On the seventh day, Sylvia wrapped up in a shawl and went for a walk on the beach with David. The sun shone high in the sky. He had come to visit her aunt and Hanna in the kitchen often since she had become ill. No one in the household, except perhaps Catherine, knew what to make of him. His earnest kindness made it hard to turn him away, even from the young girl who was under Vivian's protection.

  "I've been so worried about you." David smiled, holding the back of her arm through the shawl. Sylvia watched the ocean calmly, more securely. It was a mystery explained— the way a woman can become ordinary to a man.

  "I didn't mean to cause all this fuss. I feel silly about it."

  "My sister feels even worse. She's convinced herself that she was the cause it all." The sun slipped behind a cloud and the scene darkened.

  "Oh, no. It's not her fault at all. I was the one who decided to walk off into the woods." Walking slowly, she balanced her feet against the sand, resigned to trudging through it.

  "She'd like to see you. Maybe we can take a walk downtown one night, get some pizza or something."

  "I'd like that. I really liked her." Did she like her? Sylvia was not sure, but it didn’t matter: anything to pass the time here.

  "When you're better, we'll do that. You still look so pale, but your scratches have healed a lot." He looked away. "I'm already getting you into trouble."

  "You're not. I shouldn't have run off into the woods. Come on, let's walk back up to the porch." The two of them headed toward the cool shade of the wide front porch. They sat and talked for a little while on the steps. Hanna brought them lemonade, and the sun began to set behind them. They parted with a brief embrace. Sylvia, exhausted, went immediately to bed.

  The next morning, the sunshine filtered in through her east facing window, and Sylvia sat up in bed, stronger than she had felt in the past week. The house was strangely silent, and after she went downstairs, Hanna told her the four adults had taken a day trip to Boston.

  It was during that day that Sylvia found herself curious and began to pry open doors. She had spent the morning in bed, tossing and turning with a book in her hand and her eyes looking out the window. When she could stand it no longer, she climbed out of bed and stood in the second storey hallway. Walking the hallway several times, she found herself drawn to the door of Vivian and Adam's bedroom. Standing in front of it for several minutes, Sylvia listened quietly to the stillness of the house. The crystal doorknob turned easily in her hand, and she was inside. Closing the door softly behind her, Sylvia examined the room before going any further.

  It was lovely. The windows were shaded with powder purple drapes and lace curtains underneath. Her aunt's dressing table stood across from the foot of the bed, and two chest of drawers flanked it. The colors were pale and rich, lavender with touches of gold all around.

  Approaching the bed, Sylvia ran her fingers over the smooth fabrics, feeling the rougher edge of the lace around a decorative pillow juxtaposed against the warm velvet of the coverlet that matched the curtains. The bedside tables on either side of the bed were covered in cloth. Each had a brass candlestick. The candles had been used often, and their height was reduced to less than half of their former glory. Next to the bedside table nearest her, a tall jewelry box that reminded her of a doll’s house stood on the floor. Sylvia kneeled down and opened the tiny doors and drawers. Her aunt's jewels looked like the costume jewelry she had loved as a child. She took pieces out gingerly and put them back as carefully as she could.

  Fascinated by Vivian's dressing table, Sylvia sat down on the embroidered seat in front of it and gazed at herself in the mirror. The mirror, matching the style of the bed, had Queen Anne lines in dark shades of antique wood. Scattered on the dressing table, bottle after bottle of amber and light gold perfume stood precariously. Sylvia picked each one up carefully and inhaled. Some of the bottles were cut crystal; some had boldly scrolled names in gold or silver across the front. The scents were varied, deep and endlessly amber or bright and bitingly floral. Sylvia dabbed some onto her wrists and smoothed others down each side of her neck.

  She quietly opened the drawer above her knees and looked inside. Fine stationery and dried flowers looked equally fragile. Closing it, Sylvia opened the drawer to her left. Stacks of books were slipped inside with scandalous pictures across the front. Lifting each one, in the bottom of the drawer she saw a bound journal. Sylvia paused before picking it up, imagining she had heard a noise in the hallway. Quickly, she pulled the journal out and flipped it open.

  Inside, neat and concise handwriting covered page after page. Hitting blank unmarred pages, Sylvia flipped back to find the date of the last entry. It was June 30, the day before yesterday. Sylvia saw her name and read greedily.

  "Sylvia has found herself a young man. Only fourteen, she's still a child. The boy is quite kind, and I find myself feeling less and less concerned. Who didn't have a summer romance? What a child she is. What can I do? I'm not her mother. If only Marie was here, she would know what to do. As for me, I don't...” Turning the pages backwards, Sylvia found another passage.

  "I feel myself shrinking. I don't know what it means to feel like this, as if I'm disappearing. Where am I going? Where? I don't want to be like this, but it's all I have left to me. Has it all been a mistake? He says he loves me, but he won't see me now. He told me he would always be there for me but refused to see me. How could he do that? If he loves me, why doesn't he come back?"

  The muffled sounds of footsteps on carpeting alarmed Sylvia. Swiftly and without thinking, she dropped to the floor and crawled in the alcove underneath the dressing table. She pulled the stool up close to the opening and tried not to breathe. Holding the diary against her breast, Sylvia willed herself to be still.

  The crystal doorknob turned, and Sylvia could just make out Hanna moving across the room. She leaned into a deep closet and pulled out by force a bag of laundry. Hefting it across the room, Hanna efficiently walked towards the door. Pausing in front of it, she seemed to be taking one last final look around the room, although Sylvia could not have been sure. When she closed the door behind her, Sylvia could have cried with relief. She waited a few moments before moving. Quickly, Sylvia replaced the diary and slipped out of the room as quietly as she had entered it.

  In her own room, Sylvia racked her mind to understand. She had little time to think about it because, just as she was beginning to organise the events in her mind, Hanna was at her door.

  "There's a young lady on the front porch asking for you. She says her name is Mary Katherine." Hanna smiled softly, innocently regarding Sylvia's confused expression.

  "Oh, I'll be right down." Sylvia dressed herself quickly and carelessly.

  Mary
Katherine stood on the front porch with her back to the front door. Her curling hair was cut short, and she looked younger for it, like a grown up Shirley Temple with round bright cheeks. Her wide skirt fell just past her knees, but there was dirt around the hem, and Sylvia realized she must have come on David's motorcycle.

  "Mary Katherine, how are you?" Mary Katherine turned to face her, smiling.

  "I just wanted to come see how you are. I feel so bad about what happened." She held out her hands to Sylvia.

  "I'm fine; it's silly, and most certainly not your fault. I was the one who ran out into the woods like a fool." They released hands and walked down the porch steps. The sea was quieter today, and Sylvia resolved to learn about the tides, the movements, the strange moods of the shoreline. Finding herself again filled with curiosity, Sylvia carefully questioned Mary Katherine with a comment. "I'm just sorry that Mark acted like that."

  "He shouldn't have. He didn't belong there. Do you know him?" Mary Katherine's voice sounded smaller than before.

  "I met him once before at a party on the beach."

  "He's a summer boy. It's complicated. He told me he loved me. Can you believe that?” Was she warning Sylvia? Telling her something?

  "I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't said anything now." It was wrong for Sylvia to question her, and it felt like something greasy on her hands.

  "No, it's all right. Sometimes, it feels better to say things out loud. It's been going on for three summers. He comes back each June, and it starts all over again. I wait all winter for him." The blue gravel of the driveway crunched under their feet, and a strip of grass grew down the middle of the lane. Each girl walked on one side of the grass, divided by it. The mid-summer flowers sprang up around the edges of the lane in gold, periwinkle, and creamy whites. Sylvia could still smell Vivian's perfume, and the bouquet of it was her guilt. "David's waiting for us at the end of the driveway. Let's not talk about Mark in front of him, okay?"