Storm Tide (20 page)

Standing in the shadows around the doorway, watching him, she remembered how many times Nils had worked like this, with the same unflagging concentration, as if work were his one cure for everything that beset him. Going far back into her childhood, as far back as she could remember Nils, he had been like this. She remembered when he had first asked her to marry him—she had been nineteen then, and Nils twenty-one—and when she had shaken her head, he had turned back to his bench and his trapbuilding.

And now, past midnight, with the whole world sleeping around him, he was patching pots. Joanna walked forward into the yellow circle of lantern light and said, “Nils, I'm going to make some coffee. Do you want some?”

“I'll be in,” he said. Another nail went home; tap, tap,
tap
. She went back through the shed and to her dismay found she wanted to cry again. She didn't know why. She realized all at once that she was living under an intense strain. At the moment it seemed unbearable. How had she ever dreamed she could live like this?

She stood by the stove waiting for the water to boil for the coffee, her head bent and her eyes closed. They ached. Her whole body ached. It didn't seem as if day would ever come again, and she dreaded it while she wanted it. The water boiled and she poured it over the coffee. At the same time she heard Nils' step in the shed. In a moment now she must meet his blue gaze, and here she stood, shamed and uncertain and tear-streaked as if she were ten again, and in disgrace. . . .

She lifted her head.
He wanted me
, she thought very clearly, her mind saying each word.
He wanted me under any conditions. We'd work together for the Island. And that's what it will be
.

He came into the kitchen and she turned her head toward him and smiled.
He had no right to reproach me for anything
, she thought. She said aloud, “Let's have some coffee and start all over again.” Her eyes sought his and held them. “And I'm glad you were honest with me, Nils.”

She saw how his strong, clean-boned face held its immobility for the fraction of a moment more; and then his slow smile broke through, lighting his eyes and lifting the somberness from his mouth. It was Nils' own smile; not dazzling, but as open and warming as sunshine itself.

He took out his pipe and began to fill it. “It's a good idea,” he said.

“Coffee or honesty?” said Joanna quizzically. Her knotted nerves were beginning to loosen up.

“Both,” said Nils. He smiled into her eyes, but he did not offer to touch her.

J
ANUARY BEGAN ODDLY
; there would be two or three days of clear, almost mild weather, and then two or three days of high winds, sometimes with snow, sometimes dry and bright. But snow or not, the thunder of seas around the Island and the white water pouring over the harbor ledges were the same, As yet there had been no bad vapor storms, and for that they were all thankful. For the misty wreaths that rose like white smoke from the bright water, and shimmered in the winter sunshine, froze the flesh unmercifully.

The lobster car was finished now, and moored near the old wharf, in the most sheltered part of the harbor. Mark and Stevie had made the second trip ashore with the lobsters, and Caleb the third; it was working out, the men agreed, and so did the women.

It was something not to have to run into Brigport after their day's work to sell to a sardonic Ralph, who was either uncivil or who had just shut up the car and gone ashore. It was something for the wives to unpack a grocery order with everything in it they'd asked for. It was a much easier proposition to go across to Brigport only once or twice a week, when the tides and weather suited, to pick up the mail and the freight. Oil and gasoline constituted the largest items of freight. Sometimes there was trap stuff, or lumber, but more often that came out with the men who had taken the lobsters ashore.

With Christmas over and done with, Joey and Ellen went back to school. Lobsters were coming thickly on the days when the men could get out to haul and the Island was ready to draw a long breath. . . . It was Mark who first complained about his engine, and then Nils' engine stopped one day, out near the Rock. Then Caleb had trouble. It was too much of a coincidence.

Joanna heard them talking about it when she walked down to the shore one mild afternoon, and her heart sank. She was on her way to spend the afternoon with Marion Gray, and the men were clustered around the engine box in Caleb's boat, tied up beside the old wharf. Their voices were clear in the Island's quiet.

“I've just about decided,” Caleb said, “that it ain't the engine that's at fault.”

“You're damn' right it ain't the engine,” said Mark bluntly. “It's water in the gas. And them Brigport bastards are doin' it.”

It seemed to Joanna as if she had known all along what he was going to say. Brigport would think of something; water in the gasoline. Not Randolph or Ralph, or Tom Robey, had actually done it, probably, but it all belonged together. And if Randolph knew of it, he wouldn't protest. . . . She walked on up through the deserted village, toward Marion Gray's. She felt churned-up and uneasy. How could she endure it to sit still for an interminable afternoon and make casual conversation when this sickening anger made her want to fight?

But fight
what?
There it was, back again. . . . It was a mild gray afternoon, with a smell of snow in the air; Gunnar Sorensen's dark line of spruces seemed to pierce a soft pearly sky. The sea was gray too, and calm. By dusk the snow would be falling; as Joanna reached the clamshell path under the spruces, one flake drifted against her cheek with a light, cold touch.

Somehow the afternoon passed, and then she was walking homeward. It had been a pleasant enough two hours, talking and sewing and drinking tea with Marion and Vinnie. Helmi had been asked too, but she hadn't come, and already she had slipped into her allotted niche in Island life as “an odd girl.” Joanna thought seriously about Helmi and Mark sometimes, but her own life seemed too complicated for her to concern herself with her brother's affairs.

Now as she walked home her footsteps on the frozen ground were the loudest sound in the tranquil dusk. The snow fell like a soft veil dropping from heaven, the touch of the flakes on her face was lighter than a breath. She thought how excited Ellen would be; she had taken her new sled back to Brigport with her.

The Caldwells' light shone across the harbor through the snow, and when she passed between the beach and the long fish house, and turned by the anchor and the tilted hulls in the marsh, she saw the lights of her own house, far at the top of the meadow. The marsh was powdered with snow, and the spruces were lightly coated. It was a still and beautiful evening. She felt as if she could walk forever. But there was supper to get for the men, and besides, she must know what they'd decided to do about the water in the gasoline.

Nils was reviving the fire. He looked up as she came in, her cheeks red from the cold, snow crystals melting on her uncovered dark hair, and the dampness making it wave.

“You look like the Snow Maiden my grandmother used to tell about,” he said.

“Only I won't melt.” She held her hands over the stove. “Nils, what are you going to do? About the gas, I mean?”

“Has that got around already?” he said good-naturedly. He took out his pipe and began to fill it. “Well, there's only one thing we can do. It's a sure bet one of the young gang over there is raising hell with our freight, loosening the vent in the tops of the barrels and putting water in.” He stopped to draw and puff his pipe into life, his face absorbed. “Well, the idea that we sort of pulled out of the hat this afternoon is for somebody to go over there and wait for the boat on the days when the oil is due, and mount guard over it till we can get it off the wharf.”

“That's all we
can
do,” Joanna said.

“We'll have the stuff come out when the tide's high in the morning, so it won't have to hang around too long. And on real good days, we'll hire Link to come all the way down here with our freight. He'll do it when he's sure of getting in and out of the harbor all right.”

“Well, you've covered all the loopholes,” Joanna said. “Let's see what Brigport can do about
that
plan. But won't life be simple when we get the postoffice back, so Link'll have to come down here every mailday, whether he feels like it or not?” She sighed. “I never really appreciated Link and the
Aurora B
. till they disinherited us.”

Nils grinned and went into the sitting room to get the news. Joanna began to prepare supper. Lobster hash tonight. And Stevie would be home in a little while, famished as usual.

A new supply of oil was due at the end of the week, and Mark, spoiling for a fight, had volunteered to look out for it. If it was a good day, Stevie could leave him at Brigport, and then go to haul. Captain Merrill's boatshop was handy to the wharf, and the Cap'n had a soft spot for Stephen Bennett's boys; Mark could warm himself at the Cap'n's fire until the
Aurora B
. steamed in past the breakwater.

The day was as mild and tranquil as the glass had said it would be. Nils, who had hauled his complete string of two hundred pots in the last few days, intended to work on the Island till mid-morning, when the mailboat would have arrived, and then go over to Brigport. He and Mark would lash the oil drums on the
Donna
and bring them home.

He was out of the house at sunrise, to put new tarpaper on the roof of the long fish house. In the late morning Joanna saw him coming up through the meadow that glittered with a new snowfall, and she had fresh coffee and mince turnovers waiting for him. Behind him the sparkling marsh reached to the harbor that shone doubly blue against the whitened shores. Nils' plaid mackinaw and bare blond head were spots of pure color against the clean brightness of the blue and white world.

She knew how he would be when he came in; in his voice and manner and expression he would be exactly the same Nils.
Almost
exactly. . . . Sometimes she could hardly believe there had been a night when he went out to the shop at midnight to patch pots. Neither of them ever mentioned it, and it might never have happened at all; except that he rarely touched her. And that was not very strange, she told herself, because he was working so hard. On days when he hauled he was gone for ten hours at a stretch. When he didn't haul he was busy around the Island from daylight till dusk, and no day was too cold for him. He was becoming a byword with the others. He had enough energy and industry for ten men.

Sometimes Joanna had a queer, unsettled feeling about the whole thing, a self-reproach that she couldn't understand. After all, she reminded herself now as she watched him come toward the house, she had done nothing wrong.

Today he told her the coffee was good, and the turnovers. Then he added unexpectedly, “It's a good day. You want to take a sail over to Brigport ?”

“Oh,
yes!
” She felt fifteen again, with Nils asking her to go to haul with him, as she changed into flannel slacks and a warm plaid shirt. When they left the harbor, the
Donna
riding effortlessly across the pale blue swells, he told her to take the wheel, and it felt good under her hands, just as the floor boards felt good under her feet, with the steady purring beat of the engine going up through her legs. She turned her head to look at Nils.

“Thanks, Nils.”

“She feels good, doesn't she?” he said. “Acts like a lady.” He went forward into the cuddy and began to set things in order. Joanna smiled at him. Nils and his housekeeping. She doubted if even her father had kept the
Donna
's cuddy so immaculate. . . . She felt curiously light-hearted and confident when she was on the water, with the boat's sturdy timbers under her feet and the wheel obeying her fingers, and the clean high bow obeying the wheel. Even with a January breeze stinging her face and tightening her skin, it was glorious. It would be more glorious if she and Nils could always be like this, as they had been when they were young; friends—no, comrades who liked the same things and to be together. If they could forget the interlude in between—a shadow of her spasmodic heavy-heartedness came over her and she brushed it impatiently away. Now it was time to concentrate on getting around Tenpound. There was a tricky surge here, even on the finest days. The gulls flew between the shining swells, and Whit Robey's sheep looked down from the peaks of rock.

The
Aurora B
. was at the big wharf in Brigport's harbor when the
Donna
came up through the Gut. There weren't many power boats at their moorings, it was a good day to haul. Nils shut off the engine, and in the sudden silence they heard the breathy puffing of the hoisting gear aboard the
Aurora
as she got rid of her freight.

“No time for Mark to have a fight today,” Nils said.

“I'm glad,” Joanna said. “Helmi wouldn't like_ it if he came home with a black eye and a split lip. She probably thinks he's beautiful.”

“Nice for Mark,” Nils said dryly. He slipped the
Donna
. safely by the
Aurora
's broad stern and tied up beside Cap'n Merrill's float. Joanna looked for Mark among the group on the wharf, but she didn't see him. As she went ashore, Nils was already climbing over the side of the mailboat, and thence to the wharf.

Cap'n Merrill wasn't in his boatshop—at mail time the store was the center of attraction. She glanced in at the half-finished boat, remembering with a smile how Joey had talked about it when he was home for Christmas vacation—he had forgotten to be shy, then. She picked her way around the rocky path, icy in places, behind the fish houses, and went up the slope to the store.

The mail had already been handed out, and the store looked more like a clubroom at the moment. On most winter boat-days, the women who lived far up on the island didn't come down to the harbor, but today's mildness had brought out quite a crowd. Joanna, walking among them, greeted them and was greeted; she didn't notice any restraint. Most of these people she had known since babyhood. . . . Because it was a good day, and almost windless, there weren't many men in the store, except a scattering of older ones like Cap'n Merrill, who was hearty in his welcome, and Whit Robey, who boomed at her.