Sealed Off

by Barbara Ross

  When Chris and I entered Mom’s house, they were all in the dining room, including Livvie and Sonny, Page and Jack, Fee and Vee. I was surprised to see a stranger there, too. He was a robust man in his seventies with thick white hair and a deep tan. When he stood to greet us, he was tall, though narrow-shouldered with a bit of a gut. “Bill Beal,” he said.

  “Ah,” I responded, understanding his presence. “Julia Snowden. This is my boyfriend, Chris Durand.”

  Chris gave me a puzzled look before he shook hands with Beal. With all the craziness of the previous day, I had forgotten to explain about him.

  Beal sat back down and picked up the journal from the dining room table. “Lilly Smythe was my grandmother,” he said.

  “She married Captain Beal.” Tallulah couldn’t contain herself long enough to let Bill Beal tell the story. “She didn’t kill herself!”

  “No. She married in 1898 and had four sons. The youngest was my father.”

  “Did you know about—?”

  Beal turned the journal over in his hands. “No. Nothing.” He paused. “I shouldn’t say nothing. We knew my grandmother had worked on Morrow Island and my grandfather had captained for the Morrows and the island was where they fell in love. It was a romantic story in our family. Much later, after your family founded the clambake, and long after my grandparents were dead, we came over many times to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and such. We thought we were marking the occasions in a special spot, the beginning place for our family, so to speak. I don’t think any of us, apart from my grandparents, knew what really happened.”

  “Did you know Lilly?” Livvie asked.

  “Quite well. She died in 1968, the year I went off to college. She and my grandfather lived in the house at the head of the harbor, the white one where the Seafarer Inn is today. I grew up in town and spent every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter there, and a lot of other days as well.”

  “Was she”—Livvie frowned, trying to find the right word—“happy?”

  “I’m not sure ‘happy’ was a feature of that generation. They worked hard and made a life. My grandfather captained a fishing boat out of the harbor. It was hard, dirty work. He’d come home smelling of bait, hands rough from the sea with a thousand little cuts on them. My grandmother would make him shower in the basement and change his clothes before he could come upstairs.

  “Their sons were born over twenty years. The oldest, Michael, was born in 1900, my dad in 1920. Michael fought in World War One and my dad in World War Two. They both made it home, thank goodness.”

  “Did she—” I tried to ask.

  “Show any lasting trauma from the attempted rape?” Beal understood me. If “attempted” was even the right word. There might have been some things Lilly couldn’t describe, even in her journal.

  He shifted in his seat. “My grandmother was controlling. Everything had to be just so. Everyone had to behave according to a code that only she truly understood. In our immediate family, my mother, her daughter-in-law, bore the brunt of it. Nothing my mom did as a parent or housewife or townswoman was quite right.”

  “That’s not the young woman in the journal,” I said.

  “No,” Beal agreed. “It’s not.”

  Perhaps having lost control of her life and her body on that terrible night had changed her forever.

  “I didn’t think anything of it,” Beal continued. “To me, she was old-fashioned and not unlike most of my friends’ grandmothers, though she was a little older. That generation had one code; we baby boomers had another. I loved her. My grandfather adored her.”

  That was something at least. Lilly had lived and she was loved. “And the sealed-off room?” I asked.

  “Not a clue,” Beal said. “To think it was sitting there all that time, even while my siblings, cousins, and I ate lobster dinners on your island.”

  “She left in a hurry,” Tallulah pointed out. “Her personal things were left behind.”

  “The family story was that my grandfather sailed off with her in the middle of the night so they could elope,” Beal said. “Clearly there was more to the story.”

  “After she left, the family wouldn’t have wanted to think about her,” Marguerite said. “They may have pretended they didn’t understand why she left so suddenly, but at least a few of them must have understood.”

  “To close the door to the room, even lock it, I get,” Chris said. “But to seal it off, preserve it, hide it. It’s extreme.”

  Marguerite cleared her throat. “My half brother Charles spent much more time at Windsholme than the rest of the family. William was based in New York, my mother and I in Boston. We would show up for the season, nothing more. When Charles was a young man, he oversaw the Morrow Ice operations on the Kennebec River. He lived in Bath and so had access to Windsholme in the spring and fall before the rest of the family arrived and after they left. He clearly had a crush on Lilly Smythe, and at an impressionable age he was a witness to what happened to her. Everyone has always said he was a sensitive soul. I would guess after Lilly left, the room was closed or even locked by the family, who didn’t want to deal with it, and sometime later, after he was grown, Charles had the room sealed off.”

  We were all silent for a moment. “Sounds right,” Bill Beal said. “As right as we can know.”

  “I’ve given the journal to Bill,” Mom said.

  “And I’ll give it to the Busman’s Harbor Historical Society once I’ve made copies for the family,” Bill said.

  Would Lilly have wanted that? Probably not. For her, it would be her greatest shame exposed, known to all her family, and available for anyone stopping at the historical society to read. But in a more enlightened age, we knew it wasn’t her shame she described in the journal. It was someone else’s.

  “I’m sorry my uncle did that to your grandmother,” Marguerite said, as if she’d been reading my mind.

  “No need.” Bill Beal stood and prepared to go. “I’m sorry to learn this about my grandmother and I am sure you were sorry to learn about your uncle, but it’s in the past. Besides, if your family was in shipping in New England, as mine was, I’m sure they did worse things. Plenty of things to apologize for.”

  He was undoubtedly right.

  He shook all our hands and said good-bye. Then Chris loaded Marguerite’s and Tallulah’s bags in his cab. They put on their coats and we all went out on the porch. There was a lot of kissing and hugging and promising to stay in touch. “Next summer!” Tallulah chirped.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “Bring your mother and Jake next time.”

  “You don’t be strangers, either,” Marguerite added. “We’ll see you in Boston this winter.”

  We all promised that would be true, though as Chris pulled out of the driveway and headed down Main Street, I wondered. Marguerite was ninety-six. Though she seemed spry, any good-bye might be the last. At least she had lived a full life, more than full. Not like Jason. Not like Agent Petrov. And maybe not like Sofiya.

  We waved until the cab was out of sight.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Columbus Day was beautiful. The sun shone bright, though there was that crispness in the air that announced unmistakably, “fall.” We hadn’t been able to hold the clambake on Saturday or Sunday because there were still law enforcement personnel on the island. But for the last day of the season, we were back.

  Mom was in the gift shop, conducting a 50 percent off sale. “Everything must go!” But everything wouldn’t. Whatever was left would be boxed in our plastic containers and stored in the house by the dock until the next summer.

  Chris was giving Sonny a hand at the clambake fire. There were only two of them and we had a full load of customers, people who’d planned to come on the last day, and those who had missed out because they’d had to cancel the two days before. I watched Sonny and Chris hustle to cover the piled seafood with the saltwater-soaked tarps. Chris’s movements were strong and graceful as he flung the heavy cloth. I loved watching him when
he was unaware. My body vibrated in a rhythm that felt like it matched his. Would he always be graceful, or would he soon experience the tremors and ticks that marked the onset of symptoms of Huntington’s? If he did, how would he cope? How would I?

  Terry had left that morning on the beginning of his trip to Florida, a bus ride to Portland, another to Boston, and then a flight. Chris had given him the money. A loan, they’d both called it. “Until I can get on my feet,” Terry said. He’d met the night before with Emmy after she got off her shift at Crowley’s. She’d agreed to talk to him and share their mutual history after he showed her a snapshot Chris had found of his mother when she was Vanessa’s age. The likeness was haunting, and I imagined for Emmy even more so when Terry told her that his mother was in a nursing home, unable to control her mind or her body and sure to die soon from an inherited disease. Emmy had agreed to a paternity test for Vanessa. They’d take it from there.

  For now, Emmy scurried about, readying her tables for the meal. Vanessa and Page chased Luther around the lawn as he laughed and shrieked. Jack, frustrated, rose to his knees and tried to crawl after them, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He cried in frustration until Page picked him up and ran with him in her arms. “Careful, girls!” Emmy called.

  I had worried that when Terry left Chris would feel like he’d failed. He’d wanted a relationship, for them to spend time together. He’d been forthright with me about how painful it was to discover Cherie was in touch with Terry and their father, but not with him. Nonetheless, as the days got shorter and cooler, and the countdown to opening our restaurant marched forward, Chris smiled and joked more. He’d always had a sense of humor and a gentling teasing way with me, but he seemed lighter and happier than in any of our time together, as if another weight, or a part of a weight, had been lifted. In a moment of weakness he’d agreed to take part in a skit for a haunted house tour Busman’s Harbor was running for Halloween. I could even believe he was looking forward to it.

  Windsholme was to be boarded up for the winter. Mark Cochran would find another demolition team in the spring.

  The mansion had added another ghost—Special Agent Petrov. His body had gone home to his parents and I was glad he would rest among people who knew who he really was.

  The harbor seal was gone, too. I hoped, like Lilly Smythe, he had found his way back to where he was supposed to be.

  Recipes

  Greek Style Lamb Chops Sous Vide

  Because the title of the book is Sealed Off, I thought it would be clever to include a sous vide recipe, since food cooked sous vide is sealed in a plastic bag. Get it? The question was who should cook it? The answer had to be Julia’s sister, Livvie, and her husband, Sonny. Livvie is an accomplished cook and Sonny is the grill master, though Chris might have been an equally good choice as the chef. My husband developed this absolutely delicious recipe.

  Ingredients

  4 thick-cut lamb chops (rib chops—1½ to 2 inches, or shoulder chops—1 to 1½ inches)

  Olive oil for rubbing chops and drizzling

  Salt

  Black pepper

  2 large cloves garlic, chopped

  16 sprigs fresh oregano

  16 sprigs fresh marjoram

  8 thinly cut slices of lemon

  2 1-gallon size or 4 1-quart size sealable food storage bags or vacuum sealer bags

  Instructions

  Keep chops refrigerated until ready to use; some people even like to freeze for 20 minutes before beginning.

  Set up your sous vide unit according to manufacturer instructions and preheat water bath to 134 degrees.

  Rub the chops all over with olive oil. Generously salt and pepper on both sides.

  Preheat a gas grill on high for at least 10 minutes or heat a heavy-bottomed fry pan on high, then add a Tablespoon of olive oil until it begins to smoke.

  Sear the chops 1 minute on each side and set aside to cool briefly.

  When ready to handle, drizzle chops on one side with olive oil and sprinkle with some garlic. Repeat on other side of chops.

  Place chops in bags.

  Put 2 sprigs of oregano and marjoram on each side of chop. Add 1 slice of lemon to each side.

  Vacuum seal bags or, if using food storage bags, seal ¾ of the way across the top and slide gently into the water bath, allowing the water to push out the air, and then completely seal to prevent water seeping inside.

  Cook for 2 hours.

  15 minutes before serving, preheat grill or fry pan again. Remove chops from bag, discarding herbs and lemon. Sear chops for 1 minute on each side. Set on a platter and allow to rest for 10 minutes.

  Serves 4

  Halibut Pizzaiola

  Fee Snugg, another great cook in the series, makes the halibut pizzaiola in the book. She, Livvie, and Chris have gotten into quite a little cooking competition, and all the Snowden clan are the beneficiaries.

  Ingredients

  3 Tablespoons olive oil, divided

  2 6-ounce filets halibut

  teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)

  2 anchovy filets, chopped (optional)

  1 large clove garlic, chopped

  1 teaspoon dried oregano

  1 28-ounce can ground peeled tomatoes

  Instructions

  Heat 1 Tablespoon of olive oil in a sauté pan over high heat. Season the halibut filets with salt and pepper and sear 1 minute on each side. Remove from pan and set aside.

  Turn the burner to medium, and using the same pan, add the remaining olive oil and red pepper flakes, if using. Add the anchovy, if using, and stir, crushing, with a wooden spoon until the anchovy melts into the oil. Add the garlic and oregano and stir together for 2 minutes. Add the tomato, season with salt and pepper, and bring to a boil. Simmer for 15 minutes. Add the halibut and cook for 8 to 10 minutes. Plate the halibut, spooning some of the sauce over the top.

  Serves 2

  Slow Cooker Cioppino

  This recipe wasn’t meant to be in the book. My husband Bill made it for me and I decided it had to be. It’s an East Coast take on a West Coast dish. I gave this one to Chris to make for Julia’s family. The comforting food expresses the comfort he’s found with them.

  Ingredients

  2 medium onions, chopped

  1 cup celery, chopped

  3 large cloves garlic, chopped

  1 28-ounce can diced tomatoes

  4 cups seafood stock

  ½ cup white wine

  1 6-ounce can tomato paste

  6 sprigs of fresh thyme

  4 sprigs of fresh oregano

  2 bay leaves

  2 teaspoons kosher salt

  ¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

  ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper

  1 or 2 cooked lobster bodies (no tails, no claws, heads removed)

  1½ pounds flaky white fish like haddock or cod, cut into 1-inch pieces

  1½ pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined

  2 6-ounce cans chopped clams with their juice

  8 ounces lump crabmeat

  8 ounces cooked lobster meat

  Instructions

  Stir together onions, celery, garlic, tomatoes, stock, wine, and tomato paste, herbs, and seasonings in slow cooker pot. Add lobster bodies. Set to high and cook for 4 hours. Remove lobster bodies, herb sprigs, and bay leaves. Add fish and cook on low for 30 minutes longer. Serve with crusty bread.

  Serves 8

  Olga’s Brownies

  My mother-in-law used to make these brownies for her young family, and they are the first thing my husband recalls making by himself. Over the years the recipe fell out of use in the family and we thought it was lost. Bill searched the Internet to no avail. After his mom died, we found the recipe among her effects and Bill has shared it with his siblings. In Sealed Off, Vee makes the brownies and brings them to dinner at the Snowdens’, which is entirely appropriate because, like Vee, my mother-in-law ran a B and B in Maine and was an excellent cook and baker.

  Ingredients

/>   1 cup butter

  1 cup cocoa

  2 cups sugar

  5 eggs

  3 teaspoons vanilla

  1½ cups flour

  ½ teaspoon baking powder

  ¾ teaspoon salt

  1 cup chopped nuts (optional)

  1 Tablespoon cooking oil of your choice to grease the pan

  Instructions

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large saucepan, melt butter. Remove from heat. Stir in cocoa until it mixes completely, then stir in sugar until it mixes completely. Add the 5 eggs one at a time, stirring each in before you add the next. Add the vanilla, flour, baking powder and salt, stirring each one before adding the next. Stir in the nuts, if desired.

  Bake for 30 to 35 minutes in a greased, 9” x 13” pan.

  Ma’s Pot Roast

  In Sealed Off I attribute Jacqueline’s pot roast recipe to a German housekeeper who helped raise her. In reality it was one of my maternal grandmother, Ethel McKim’s, best dishes, often served on the first day of an extended visit to my grandparents’ home on the Jersey shore. She always said, “It’s better the second day.”

  Ingredients

  3 pounds beef rump

  2 large onions, cut up

  2 Tablespoons catsup

  2 Tablespoons apple cider vinegar