Come Along with Me (15 page)

“I could spend all day,” she thought, almost speaking aloud, “just standing somewhere watching the horizon, or sitting on a high rock, or walking down to the water and up again.”

She put on a pair of heavy shoes, since if she were going to climb rocks she must be protected against their animosity, and went down the wide wooden stairs of the house into the stone room, where already this morning a fire was burning and the heavy furniture looked burnished in the sunlight through the windows. A clean napkin lay on the long wooden table and on it a heavy cup like the one she had had her tea from the night before, and a wooden trencher. Paula went to the door which she had learned led to the kitchen, opened it slightly, and called “Good morning.”

“Well, there,” said the landlady from somewhere within. “With us already?'

She swung the kitchen door wide and came into the stone room with an earthenware jug which she set down on the table. “Coffee,” she said. “You'll have eggs, perhaps? And bacon? Fresh-made rolls?”

“Thank you,” Paula said. Even the landlady seemed more cheerful this morning, and Paula thought that perhaps this was because she herself was not so sullen. “I'll have anything I may,” she said, smiling. “I never dreamed I could be so hungry.”

“It's being near the water,” the landlady said profoundly. “You'll always have good appetite here. I've known them eat a whole chicken at a sitting.”

“Tell me,” Paula said, coming closer to look at the earthenware jug of coffee, “your dishes are so unusual, and so lovely. Where did you ever find them?”

“They came with the house,” the landlady said. “I keep them because people seem to think they belong.”

“They do, indeed,” Paula said.

“Hard to wash clean,” said the landlady, disappearing again into the kitchen.

This morning the moving lines of the firelight on the stone walls were caught and pursued by reflections of sunlight, and the broad windows overlooking the sea and the rock glittered until Paula wondered if the island could be seen from the mainland as a bright light on the horizon. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the earthenware jug, admiring its weight and solidity, and stood with her cup by the window, looking out. When the kitchen door opened she said without turning, “What is the rock the island is made of? I'd really swear it was black.”

“Jet?” said the landlady's voice, musing, “malachite? I don't remember, but it's in the little book.”

Paula came to the table and sat down, and served herself with eggs and bacon onto the wooden trencher. The landlady stood by, silently, and when Paula began to eat she said, “You'll see my other guest this morning.”

“Another guest?” said Paula.

“You'll be wanting to meet him as soon as possible,” said the landlady.

“Who is he?” said Paula, but the landlady was going into the kitchen. She finished her breakfast and lighted a cigarette, and came back to the window with her cigarette and her coffee cup, and pulled one of the great wooden chairs around to sit in, so that she was almost hidden by the back of it and was surprised for a minute by the landlady's scolding voice until she realized it could not possibly be addressed to her.

“She's been and gone, of course,” said the landlady. “You ought to have come an hour ago.” There was the dull sound of the wooden trenchers being stacked together and the landlady's voice went on, “I can't after all keep coming to look for you when I want you; there are people here needing food and bedding and attention, and where you've gone I can never tell.”

Since she was eavesdropping, Paula thought that the only thing to do was stand up immediately and go to the table for more coffee as though she had not been listening at all, which turned out to be more difficult than she thought, when she saw the landlady's surprised face.

“She's here again, then,” the landlady said. “This will be the other guest, Miss.”

I hope she doesn't fall to addressing all her guests so impertinently, Paula thought, and turned to smile at the other guest; she felt an immediate shock of recognition, as though this were someone she had known all her life, and then realized that she had never seen him before. “How do you do,” she said, and then stopped because she did not know his name.

“How do you do, Miss Ellison,” he said courteously but in such a low voice that she was not completely sure if he had called her by name. He seemed so frightened of her that she refrained from asking his name, but only smiled again and said, “I was admiring the view of the water from the window.”

“That's why I like an island,” he said. His tone and his manner were precisely those of someone excruciatingly shy, who cannot always stop to frame sensible remarks. He was very small, and held his hands in front of him in an attitude of cringing, and the only fact against his being so terribly shy was that he did not avoid looking at her, as a shy person would, but kept his eyes fixed upon her in a sort of hypnotized stare, and, staring back rudely, Paula thought that his eyes must be almost the color and texture of the rock itself.

“I was waiting for your sister-in-law, actually,” he said.

“She'll be down in a while,” said Paula, trying not to smile. Virginia was small and lovely, and shy little men like this always found her reassuring. “She was very tired after our trip yesterday, and I expect she'll sleep late.”

“You'll
do
, of course,” he said ineptly.

“Thank you,” Paula said with gravity. “Have you been here long?”

“Quite a while,” said the little man vaguely. “A very long time, in fact.”

“I understand that this is quite a popular spot earlier in the year.”

“Moderately so. Never more than a few people, that is.” He looked at her earnestly. “Not many people feel at
home
on an island,” he said.

“I suppose only a certain sort of person would find this stimulating,” Paula said. She glanced out the window again and down to the sea below. “It's an excellent place for my brother to be, right now; he's been very ill, and needed precisely this kind of lonely, stimulating spot.”

“It will probably do him a great deal of good,” said the little man politely.

“I hope so,” said Paula. She was thinking of how such a concrete, limited world as an island and the sea might be extraordinarily helpful to Charles, since he would be given no choice except rock or water, and could not waste his mind in a thousand distractions; he might come to see everything, as she sternly hoped, in terms of solidity and fluidity, and learn that the rock was, as a place to live, far preferable to the sea. Perhaps, even, confining Charles to an island for a while would result in his taking an island away with him and being thus enabled to preserve for himself this kind of firm rock to live on always . . . The little man disturbed her by saying, “You mustn't be
entirely
sure of the rock, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, it's been here for a number of years, of course . . . and rock is a hard thing to get rid of . . .”

“I don't understand.”

“It doesn't matter at all,” he said nervously. “Your brother's illness—it's given you a good deal of worry?”

“Of course,” she said; she had mentioned Charles's illness originally as a sort of warning; it would be wisest, she felt, to let the other guest know immediately that Charles had been very ill indeed and must not be disturbed, and must not, indeed, be allowed to disturb others with vagaries left over from his illness. She had not expected, however, that the conversation might allow this little man to feel that he had any right to ask more personal questions; a polite murmur of sympathy was the most she had felt was required of him.

“It's been very difficult for you,” he said.

“Do you expect to be here long?” She hoped she did not sound too emphatic; these little men were sometimes hard to discourage and yet, on the other hand, they might be so easily affronted.

“Not much longer now.” He smiled at her, and again she thought that his eyes in the timid face were much like the rock under her feet. “I intend to walk up to the high rock this morning,” he said. “The highest point on the island. You can't miss it.”

“It must be very interesting,” she said flatly.

“I shall be there all morning,” he said. “Just follow the path that begins under your windows. Good-by.”

As she stood staring at the doorway out of which he had gone so suddenly she heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later her sister-in-law came into the room.

“Charles is feeling very tired and plans to stay in bed,” she said. “Good morning, Paula dear.”

“Good morning, Virginia. I'm so sorry about Charles.”

“Is this coffee?”

The landlady came in, bustling and fussing at Virginia; Virginia would have fresh-baked rolls and bacon, and perhaps a gently boiled egg? Would Virginia have peaches brought from the mainland this morning? And the poor sick gentleman; would he have a tray?

Paula stood at the window and watched Virginia breakfast; already the sharp air of the sea outside had made her impatient with being indoors, and she found herself unwilling to move into the room when Virginia invited her to sit at the table and take more coffee; the window was at present as close as she might reasonably go to the outdoors, and she must remain within sight of the sea.

“
Wonderful
coffee,” said Virginia. “I'm so hungry.”

The landlady came over to the window and leaned out, standing near Paula.

“He'll be up on the high rock,” she said softly.

“I know, he—”

“Mrs. Carter,” said Virginia, “might I possibly have another of your incredible muffins?”

The landlady hurried off and into the kitchen, and Virginia said, without turning around, “Isn't she unbelievable?”

“Would you like to go for a walk this morning?” Paula asked. “If Charles is resting, you and I could go exploring.”

“
Love
to,” said Virginia. “All over the island—I can't wait.”

The kitchen door swung open and the landlady returned, saying as she came, “The tray has gone up to the poor gentleman, and I hope he feels the better for it.”

“Mrs. Carter,” said Paula deliberately, “will you tell me the name of your other guest?”

“You ladies will be wanting fresh coffee,” said the landlady, peering into the coffee jug; “shame on me for letting you waste yourselves on this.”

“What other guest?” said Virginia as the landlady hurried off again.

“An odd little man,” Paula said.

“And the view,” said the landlady, returning, “you'll be wanting to see the view.”

“My sister and I thought we might walk over the island this morning,” Paula said.

“Indeed you will,” said the landlady, “and if the poor gentleman upstairs calls, I'll be right here.”

“Where would you suggest we start?” Paula asked.

“Well,” said the landlady. She stopped, thinking, her hands on her broad hips, and frowning slightly. “Most people,” she said, “prefer the steps down to the sea and then the path around the seashore. Or if you turn to the right as you leave the front door, you will find a path that takes you through our garden. If it were earlier in the year I might suggest bathing in the cove, but delicate young ladies do not care for bathing when the weather is chilled. Or perhaps—”

“What about the path that starts under my window?”

“That of course,” said the landlady, “takes you just back down to the seashore again. Only if you go so far away and the poor gentleman upstairs should happen to call . . .”

“We'd better stay near the house,” Virginia said.

“You were asking about my kitchens,” said the landlady to Virginia. “If the other lady chooses to go walking and yet you want to stay within hearing of the poor gentleman upstairs, I would account it a pleasure to show you my kitchens.”

“I should love to see them,” Virginia said. “Paula?”

“The other young lady is aching to be outside,” the landlady said. “Some of us cannot resist the sea.” She smiled politely at Paula and then turned again to Virginia. “If you are finished with your coffee,” she said, “it might be as well to start before the day is much along.” As Virginia rose, the landlady said over her shoulder to Paula, “We'll see you back, then, by lunchtime. Mind the slippery rocks.”

 * * * 

“Ah—Johnson,” said the little man. “Yes, Johnson.”

“I'm Paula Ellison, Mr. Johnson.”

“Yes, of course. It was Virginia Ellison I was—yes, of course.”

“Marvelous view up here.”

“Isn't it? You'll be tired of the sound of your brother's voice, I expect?”

“Why, I don't know that I am, particularly. Of course, he's been so very ill.”

“Yes.”

“It's been quite a strain on both of us.”

“Both of us? Oh, yes, Virginia, I see.”

“We've had to take
very
careful charge of him.”

“Of course. It must have been most upsetting.”

“Well—tiring.”

“Your own brother. Yes, I quite understand. And his wife such a—may I say?—such a
dependent
person.”

“She did as much as she was able.”

“Of course. As much as she was able, yes.”

“She is not strong. And she had the children.”

“Let me confess—I
do
dislike children. You do too, I take it?”

“Well . . . not of course my own nieces.”

“Of course not. Your own brother's children. But with the responsibility so much on you, and your sister-in-law so dependent, and the children too—it is not surprising you have been allowed to exhaust yourself.”

“It has been very tiring, yes.”