Storm Tide (33 page)

Stevie and Jud picked it up, clear deep young voice and cracked elderly one. They sang it together to the end of the song and then Caleb began another. Joanna couldn't sit still, she must go to see how he looked. The gay music sounded so foreign to his gaunt, solemn self. He still looked solemn, playing “My Money Is All Spent and Gone,” with Owen and Stevie roaring it like seamen in a bar on the waterfront, but there were twin glints in his eyes.

He finished with a flourish. Joanna saw Owen make a beeline for her. “Choose your partners for Lady of the Lake!” he shouted, and began to swing her in a wild whirl to the tune of “The Devil's Dream.” A delighted, laughing Nora was clapping from the doorway. Vinnie and Marion were there, and a determined Gram was pushing her way between them.

Matthew Fennell went toward his young wife, smiling. She said excitedly above the tumult, “I don't know how to do it, but it looks like fun!” Stevie and Jud left their cribbage game and pushed the table back against the wall. Nils moved chairs out of the way. They began to pair off, Owen and Joanna, Matthew and Nora, Jud and Vinnie, Nils and Marion. Stevie led Gram to the rocker, and took up his position as caller.

The accordion seemed possessed of a life of its own. The familiar calls rang out above it. “First and every other couple cross over! Balance and swing the sides! Swing in the middle and go down the center!”

The teakettle danced on the stove and the cups jingled in the cupboard. The younger men danced without effort or lack of breath, keeping up the pace set by the music, which grew wilder and wilder. Incredible. that Caleb Caldwell was making all this joyous noise, for them to skip through the figures, laughing, possessed by the exhilaration of the moment. Joanna found herself swinging with Nils, his arm was tight around her waist.

“Having fun, Nils?” she asked him, her eyes brilliant.

He laughed and let her go to her partner, Owen, who seemed to be having a good time without the couple of quarts he'd mentioned. His laughter was the heartiest in the kitchen, coming out from his great chest; he lifted the women off their feet when he swung them, and made them shriek, and he swung Nora Fennell just a little longer than anyone else. When he stopped she was so dizzy she clung to him, her eyes shut tight. And he kept his ann around her until Joanna caught his glance and held it. With an ironic lift of his eyebrow, and a wink, he pushed the girl toward her husband.

Joanna, still dancing, still laughing, thought with relief that everything was going fine, even if Mark and Helmi hadn't come. She'd been half-afraid for a moment that Owen—but she knew in her bones that it wasn't so. He wasn't going to bother with Nora Fennell.

When they finished dancing, she'd make the coffee. Oh, it really was a fine party. Everyone looked happy, even Gram. Perhaps it was the way Stevie bent over to speak to her, he was so very gallant and handsome. She was not snorting or shaking her head now....

“Promenade the hall!” Stevie shouted, and the dance was over. Marion, red-faced and frankly panting, sat down hard in the nearest chair. Nora went to the water pails, drinking deeply from the shiny dipper instead of bothering with a glass from the cupboard. Vinnie, her amber eyes glowing, was miraculously not out of breath. She patted Caleb's shoulder and said, “I guess you'd kind of say he had hidden talents, wouldn't you?”

“I guess
so!
” said Joanna.

The kitchen table was covered with a brightly colored cloth, and in the center of it, on Grandma Bennett's best cake plate—the one with a beaded edge for ribbon to be run through—Joanna laid the deed. After all, it was in honor of the deed that they were gathered here together. Marion's devil's food cake and Joanna's white cake flanked it; sandwiches rose in mounds all around—lobster, egg, chicken salad. Vinnie had brought those, she had the only flock of chickens on the Island and had already canned some for winter. The coffee had reached the right perfection of dark golden-brown, and they were all hungry. There was nothing like dancing and singing and good fellowship to make people hungry, Joanna thought. But through the friendly talk, the laughter, the eating, her eyes went again and again to the deed.

We've beaten Fowler
, she thought.
We're safe now
. Suddenly she was ravenously hungry. And she felt as though she would never be worried or afraid again.

J
OANNA AWOKE IN THE MORNING
to the sound of rain. She was alone in the pineapple-topped bed, and she lay comfortably under the quilts, listening to the sound of water running down the window panes. It was not light enough yet to see it.
A real, honest-to-goodness, drenching, rain
, she thought, and had to smile, remembering how everybody had called the good days weather-breeders. And this was all that had happened—a rain-storm. It had been a long time since they'd had a good rain. . . . The line storm hadn't hit them this year, and the leaves had dung for a long time to the birches and alders. Perhaps now the last of the yellow leaves would be washed away, and then it would look as if November was really coming to the Island.

She heard Owen's laughter in the kitchen, and knew she should get up; the men were all stirring and Nils had probably been up for hours. He always got up so early. But she was warm, and still drowsy, and her mind wandered lazily back to the party last night, and the day before yesterday. It had been such a perfect day, from the moment she and Stevie rowed out to the
Elaine
in the early morning until . . . when had it stopped being perfect? There were those things Nils had said, and for a little while they'd clouded her pleasure in everything, but not for long. Afterwards she knew she'd been right not to brood over what he'd said. For the storm he'd worried about was only a good heavy rain, after all, and when it cleared away, there'd be another week of fine hauling weather.

On this last thought she hopped out of bed and began to dress. Her clothes were cold against her warm skin, and she dressed hurriedly. She gave her hair a short but vigorous brushing and sped out through the chilly front hall and into the sitting room, where Nils had already kindled a fire in the round stove. She stopped to warm her hands at it, listening to the male voices in the kitchen.

“Looks like a day in the woods,” Owen said. “Jesus, can I do with one, too! This hauling every day is kind of strenuous, when you haven't touched a damn' trap in six years.”

“Think this'll amount to anything?” From his voice, Stevie was standing near the window.

“Just a hell of a lot of water,” Owen said. “What's the glass say, Nils?”

“Cloudy,” said Nils dryly. “More coffee?”

On that, Joanna came into the kitchen. She smiled at them all. “Morning, everybody.” Her eyes came to rest on Nils' face. “Hello, Nils.”

In mid-morning, there was an easterly breeze blowing the rain in a gusty spatter against the windows, and the gray water was choppy, ringing Green Ledge and Goose Cove Ledge with surf. But it was nothing out of the ordinary; there was hardly enough to notice. The men put on their oilskins and sou'westers and went down to the shore. Joanna watched them go down through the meadow, their oilskins a gleaming, sunny yellow against the drabness of the day.

The meadow looked dead and drenched this morning, against the somberness of the woods; sea and sky and blowing sheets of rain were gray. It was a dreary world. Joanna watched the men go between the gateposts, and then turned back gratefully to her colorful kitchen, still lamplit. Mrs. Robey probably hadn't sent Ellen to school this morning; she'd be up in her small room playing with the doll named Phoebe.

Joanna got the deed from her pocketbook and studied it again. She felt the way she'd felt when she was little and had something new and precious. Like her first wristwatch. She'd only worn it on special occasions, and between times, just the thought of owning it made her heart thump. She'd go and open the little box, and see it lying on its blue velvet. . . . It was almost better not to wear it; the joy of beholding it like this, when she hadn't seen it for several hours, was infinite.

So now she read the deed through very carefully, folded it, and put it away again. The very first minute that she could, she was going to walk over Grant's point again, just to enjoy this new feeling of possession.

The men came back to the house again, water streaming from their sou'wester brims, their faces stung red by the cold rain. “Well, we tied up the punts and dories,” Nils said. “The tide's coming, and it'll be plenty high—full moon tonight.”

“Everything all set now?” said Joanna. “If you're in for keeps, I'll give you a mug-up.”

“I guess we can dig in for the rest of the day.” Owen stretched luxuriously. “I see where I sleep this afternoon.” Oilskins stowed away, boots off, they sat down to their coffee and doughnuts. There was a sense of leisure and comfort in the kitchen.

The house was warm and pleasant, bulwarked against the cold autumn rain. Owen and Stevie played rummy in the sitting room; Joanna cleaned up the kitchen and started dinner, while Nils worked in the shop. That was the difference between Nils and her brothers, she thought. Owen and Stevie took a rainy day as a holiday, but Nils could always find some work he'd saved for just such a time.

Suddenly Owen called out to her, “How far up is the tide?”

“Wait a minute, and I'll tell you.” She opened the back door, sheltered from the wind by the barn, and looked down across Schoolhouse Cove. What she saw made her dread to turn and go back into the house to tell the boys, to tell Nils. And yet, they would see for themselves in a minute . . . She stood in the open doorway, the cold raw air chilling her, and looked down at the waves rolling up the beach. The tide had an hour to go, and already it was up to high water mark, and
beyond;
while she watched, a comber broke into spray against the remains of the sea wall. In an hour, where would the tide be?

She could look down at the harbor beach, too. It was more sheltered than Schoolhouse Cove, the water was not so rough as it came up the stones, but it was lapping at the camps on the brow of the beach.

She went back into the kitchen. “If you've got any loose stuff on the wharf down there,” she said steadily, “you'd better move it.”

They dressed again to go out, Owen cursing under his breath, Stevie looking philosophical. She tried to see if Nils looked worried. After all, there was nothing dangerous in an extreme high tide—it just meant the men had to run around making things fast. These gusts of wind would probably stop when the tide turned. She was certain they would stop. But she heard herself saying, casually, “Do you think this wind'll amount to anything?”

Nils, stripping his sou'wester under his chin, glanced at her remotely. “The glass is dropping.”

“But—” she began, and then stopped. There was no sense in saying anything now. All she could do was
hope
. When the tide turned . . . why, the weather often changed when the tide turned. Did a complete-right-about-face.

“Probably in for a goddam good gale of wind,” Owen grunted, and went out. At the same time he shut the door another strong gust hit the house, and the rain beat like hailstones against the seaward windows of the kitchen. Stevie grinned at her and followed Owen. Nils was the last to go, and there was nothing she could say to him. Because he had said there was likely to be a storm, and she had said there wouldn't be.

Please God, let the wind die out when the tide turns
, she prayed fervently, and said aloud, “So long, Nils. Be careful.”

“The marsh'll be flooded,” he said. “First time since we were kids. Remember how they used to come and get us at the schoolhouse in a dory?”

She laughed. “You'll probably have to row home in one this time. As far as the gateposts anyway.” She went with him to the door and watched him go down through the field. Yes, the wind
had
strengthened; she saw how he had to brace himself against the gusts that wanted to drive him forward. She knew how those gusts could turn into a steady, roaring gale; a gale that could churn up the sea, drag the pots and fling them against the ledges, but it mustn't happen now.
It mustn't
. She shut the door and went across the kitchen to the stove, warming her hands automatically.

In a little while she couldn't stand to stay in the house and listen to the wind shrieking around the corners. Besides, she couldn't tell what was happening down at the harbor. She got into her rainy weather clothes: her knee-length rubber boots, trench coat, and sou'wester. But when she went out, she knew she couldn't walk down through the marsh. For the tide had come over the sea wall, flooding the marsh, and from the harbor the tide had covered the beach and was coming up the road. When the two sheets of water met, the Island would be divided. Joanna had seen it happen before, with this same coincidence of a full moon and a strong wind. She had seen waves roll in over the sea wall and slosh around the schoolhouse steps.

She walked from the house to the edge of the bank overlooking Schoolhouse Cove, fighting the wind that swept down on her in an unbroken assault. The rain lashed at her face like needles, rattled on her sou'wester. Below her the cove was broken gray and white water, breakers rising at its mouth and rolling with a deep, increasing thunder toward the shore. The cove's points were buried in foam. The beach was white with it. She waited for a moment longer, to watch a gull flying close to the water. They always seemed to be so happy and excited about storms; she knew it was because the bottom was churned up and they found things on the surface that they liked to eat. She wondered if that lone gull could see any pot buoys out there, and then she tried not to think of how the traps could be dragged along the bottom and smashed to kindling on the rocks.

She couldn't go to the harbor by the road, for now the sea was racing across the marsh, streaked with foam; racing to meet the harbor. She went down across the meadow to the alder swamp behind the house where Gunnar Sorensen, Nils' grandfather, had lived; came out past his barn and went down to the harbor from there.