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There was a big window near the front door, with a long bench in front of it. The bench
was painted yellow, and had a large Christmas cactus sitting on one end. The cactus brightened
that corner with red blossoms at odd times throughout the year. I remember violets and
geraniums in that window, too. All kind of plants new to me.

My folks never had much use for plants in the house, things needed to be useful. This
was my first experience that I could like things different from my family. The colorful plants
were useful in cheering dark winter days, as was the large window that provided light for them.
The plants did well.

Most surprising to me was the bookcase. We didn't have much cause or time for reading
at home, so almost a whole wall for books was odd to me. Against the back wall, it reached from
floor to ceiling. The supports were hand-notched. In bare places were a few knickknacks, but
mostly shells. Lots of shells.

In the few feet of space not taken up by the bookcase was a small, paned window
looking back over the property into trees. In winter, with some of the trees and bushes bare, you
could see if someone passed by on the road above. Under the window was the sewing machine,
beside which was a large humpbacked trunk, used for storing material and Amy's sewing
stuff.

Over by the front door was where everybody hung their coats and hats, and all sorts of
other things: buckets, clamming shovels, a lantern. I've forgotten what all. David kept saying he
was going to build a porch to hide it all proper-like, but he never did.

I didn't meet David until spring came, but I saw him every day. A path led from his
house to the beach and it passed within a few feet of our cabin. I didn't notice him for the first
two or three days. I was too busy cleaning and cooking, but soon after I had the household
setting into a routine, I noticed him.

I was standing at the window watching the ocean. It was early, about 6:00 a.m. The
morning light was just starting to show. It was stormy as I remember, not like it gets in
mid-winter, but I'd lived inland all of my life and never seen any kind of sea storm so I was
fascinated. Seagulls were out there flying into the wind, catching updrafts and in general just
having a good time. When I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, I turned and
looked.

A man was walking slowly right by our cabin, carefully so as not to slip on the slick
grass. Once in a while he would look down to check his footing, but mostly he walked with his
head high. He was looking all around, feeling the wind and smelling the air, but when he walked
past my window he looked away. So he wouldn't be staring in our place, you know.

He was very polite, David was.

I couldn't see his face because he was going away from me, but I looked him over
careful. I was already twenty-two years old, remember, and I'll admit it, every man was a
possibility. He wasn't tall--five feet eight and a half inches--and even dressed like he was I could
tell he didn't have much meat on him.

He had on a heavy oilskin coat like fishermen wear, and high rubber boots. The hood of
his coat was thrown back but an old, yellow sou'wester protected his neck and ears from the
wind. His pants were black, and lumpy, like he had another pair under them. His hands were
stuffed in his pockets most of the time, 'cept when he took them out to steady himself. He looked
like a fisherman but he didn't have a pole, so I wondered what he was doing.

I watched him go down the path, slow and careful, until he disappeared 'round the bend.
I went to the front window and kept watching. Pretty soon I saw him walk out on the beach, right
toward the waves. I thought for a minute that maybe he was crazy, you know, going to walk right
out there and drown himself or something, but then I thought,
he's too dressed up for that,
unless he wants to die warm
. But he just walked at the water's edge for a long way down the
beach 'til I got bored watching. I got the broom and started sweeping sand from the floor to out
the door.

The sand. Always sand on the floor. Nearly drove me mad crunching underfoot and
clinging to my shoes and hiding between my toes so that I always had to wash my feet before
climbing into bed at night.

About an hour later I saw him coming back up the path. I stood at the window and
watched him come. I guess I was kinda bold, but how else was I going to see his face if I didn't
look at him? He was holding some shells, sand dollars I think, in one hand, and his poor hands
looked cold and raw, and red. I didn't think he saw me, so I continued to stare at him.

I put my hand up to smooth my hair and I guess the motion caught his eye 'cause
suddenly he looked up, straight at me. And he grinned.

He was no more than four feet away from me and that big grin just about turned my
heart over. I didn't mind staring at him, but I didn't expect him to be bold right back.

His eyes were blue--bright blue topped by wild, bushy red eyebrows--and his teeth were
very white. He had a red mustache that curled on the ends, but otherwise he was clean shaven.
His face was raw from the wind, especially his cheekbones. His face all over was almost too
sweet, but the sharp cheekbones and mustache gave him a dashing appearance. I still don't know
whether it was the smile or his eyes that did me in.

I was so startled when he grinned at me that I was almost scared, but I couldn't help
myself, I smiled right back. He nodded, then was gone past the cabin, up the path back to his
strange house.

From then on I watched him nearly every day. He was as regular as the clock. Down the
path at six, an hour on the beach, then back past the cabin about seven. Always, unless I was out
clamming, or something, I stood there and watched him go by. And always he looked in at me
and grinned.

He sometimes walked past near dusk but I usually ignored him then because the boys
were there.

I was like a fascinated thing. I could no more keep away from that window than I could
stop breathing.

I lived that winter on David's smiles. I thought of him during the day as I worked and I
dreamed of him at night when I slept. I would be embarrassed to tell you about those dreams.
When I got up at four in the morning, the thought that I would soon see him warmed me as I
made the fire in the cookstove.

The boys didn't suspect a thing. On Saturday nights I went to the dances with them and
had a good enough time, but I was always hoping he'd be there. He never was, of course. He was
at home with his wife.

I didn't know he had a wife. I'd blocked the possibility right out of my mind. David had
no wife in my dreams, except maybe me. I didn't know until one day, in late winter, when David
walked past one evening when I was staring out the window watching some gulls argue over
something on the beach. It would have been unnatural to have ignored the fact that a man was
walking right by the window, so I casually asked the boys, "Do you guys know who that fellow
is?"

Zack looked up and snorted. "Sure, that's crazy Smithers."

"Crazy Smithers?" My heart dropped. But I tried to sound casual, like it was just an
ordinary conversation and I didn't care much.

"Yeah," said Willie. "Some of the guys call him that 'cause he's a painter. But I don't
think he's crazy."

"A painter?"

"Yeah, of pictures." He made a square with his hands like a frame.

My relief was confused. I wasn't sure a painter was a "real man."

You understand, don't you Annie?

"Well," said Zack, "if he's not crazy he's probably...unnatural...which is just about the
same thing."

I was feeling rather queasy.

"Naw, Zack," Willie said, "he's nothing... He's just different. He uses his hands to make
a living just like we do, 'cept he paints with his. I saw him down to the beach a couple a times
last summer, painting. He was painting birds and people poking around Haystack Rock and it
looked real real, you know, almost like a photograph."

"Yeah?" Zack gave Willie a funny look. "That proves it, only weird people mess around
drawing pictures when they should be working."

"No, you're wrong, Zack. I know it."

"Yeah? How?"

"He had his wife with him," Willie answered flatly.

My heart felt like a rock. I didn't know whether to be crushed, or relieved.

"Yeah?" Women always interested Zack. "Is she a painter, too? What's she look
like?"

"I don't think so. She was just lying on a blanket in the sun. She's kinda frail looking.
Short, blonde hair and big brown eyes. Little woman. There was something about her didn't seem
too strong. She was sorta pale, like she didn't get out much. But she was real nice. Friendly.
Sweet-like."

"Humph." You could tell Zack was thinking it over. "Still, I wouldn't let the guys see
you hanging around Smithers. They might get wrong thoughts."

Willie let the subject drop but his mouth had the set look it got when he'd made up his
mind he was going to do what he dang well pleased. But what Zack said must of stayed with him
because next summer he avoided going down to the beach when he knew David was there.

I wasn't idle that winter, though I certainly didn't keep a spotless house. That winter was
not a problem of too little to do, but too much. Other than clammin' and fishing there was plenty
of housework. Our water came from a rain barrel by the cabin, plus what the boys got from a
well in town. We had a crude washing setup at the side of the cabin, with a couple tin tubs I
washed and rinsed in. They'd put a rough roof over my wash area and strung up a couple
clotheslines to a tree. I also had a couple lines in the house that I hung clothes on when it
rained.

After the work was done, the cabin cleaned and bread set to rise, I'd get to work on my
quilts. One for Zack, one for Willie, and finally, one for myself. Zack and Willie's were
traditional: a design of plain squares for Zack, 'cause he didn't like anything too fancy, and a star
quilt for Willie. His was many colored, with even some flower pieces from old dresses. I
wouldn't dare use flowers on Zack's. He'd a burned it up.

Mine was different, big enough for a double bed, 'cause I still had hopes. But sort of
modernistic, I guess you would call it now. I wanted to capture the ocean, but I couldn't get it
right. I was trying to copy the seashore with a sandy gray, the sun with a bright yellow circle, and
the different blues of the sky and the sea with broad bands of varied and pale violets, but it was
defeating me.

The sky and the water looked different, depending on the weather. I particularly wanted
to capture the sea as I'd seen it the first days after I arrived. The contrast in the weather--one day
was brilliantly appealing, sunny and warm, and the next was foggy cold and windy--stunned me
into a love for the sea that I've never lost, though I came to dread the many endless days of thick
fog through the next long, lonely winter.

The boys had picked me up in the late afternoon from the train in Seaside, so that by the
time we arrived at the cabin I'd seen only little glimpses of the ocean. The sun was low in the sky
when I got my first full view of the shore.

We were carting my belongings down the path to the cabin. I stopped and looked at the
ocean. In front of me was all blue and green water, moving and foamy, stretching 'til it met the
faraway sky, which was a different blue, with clouds reflecting the colors of water and sky.

In the center, just off shore, were three big rocks. The one in the middle was the biggest.
The boys had told me about what they could see from the cabin windows. To Willie I said,
"Haystack Rock? Is that it?"

"Of course," he said. "There's nothing around here like it." I threw my stuff on the floor,
didn't even take a look around. Right then and there I challenged Willie and Zack to a race to the
waves. They won. They were stronger and running through dry sand is hard.

Once I got on the wet, firm sand, I sprinted barefoot for the shallow water and ran
splashing past the boys. The water rolled in to greet me, all foamy. I turned and ran down
through the surf towards Haystack. It looked so close, but the distance was deceptive. Before
long I was out of breath and little closer.

The boys caught up with me and we strolled through the shallow water, with me
splashing it into a fine spray with my toes. It was cold, not like river water at home in the
summer. When the sun started to set on the horizon, my brothers turned me around to walk up to
a drier spot to sit on the sand and watch the sunset.

"Just look, Sophie!" Willie said, happy to have someone from home to show this off to,
"Ain't it beautiful?"

The sun was a round, red blaze sinking into dazzling blue water, casting up a pink and
pale blue sky before, above, and all around us.

"Ummm, Ummmm." was all I could say. So quickly, before I could absorb the glory, it
was over. The sun flattened out like a stepped-on rubber ball, then slipped into the ocean.

"Couldn't you almost hear it sizzle?" whispered Zack as we stood silently in the twilight.
He surprised me. Zack was not known for his sensitive nature. I couldn't resist the urge to tease
him a bit.

"Why, Zack, I think you've got a poet's soul. Willie, did you hear what he said?"

"Ah-h-h, Soph," Willie kidded, using his childhood name for me, "leave the poor guy
alone. A night like this would turn anyone's head, even a tough heart like Zack." Zack was
glaring at both of us, saying nothing.

Poor Zack, he so seldom opened up like that, and we crushed him. As the now-oldest
boy, no one ever let him forget that he had to see things clearly, with no romantic haze. We could
be as silly as we wanted, but he must maintain a toughness, be a "real man". I hadn't learned yet
that a real man could be both tough and tender.

We strolled home, getting to the cabin just as dark set in.