American Morons Page 13

  “And what was that?”

  “The Kendalls had given up. Less than one hundred yards from shore, they’d given up. Or decided that they weren’t going to make it through the night. Either rescue would come before dawn, or it would no longer matter. The ship would not hold. Or the cold would overwhelm them. So they were hastening the end, one way or another.

  “But not Charlie. Not my Charlie. He didn’t jump in the air. He just slumped against the railing. But I know he saw me, Mr. Selkirk. I could feel his gaze. Even at that distance. I could always feel his gaze. Then the snow came back. And night fell.

  “The next time we saw them, they were in the rigging.”

  Silently, Selkirk gave up the idea of escaping Winsett until morning. The network of functioning lights and functional keepers the Service had been toiling so hard to establish could wait one more winter evening.

  “This was midday, the second day. That storm was a freak of nature. Or perhaps not natural at all. How can that much wind blow a storm nowhere? It was as though the blizzard itself had locked jaws on those boys—on my boy—and would not let go. The men who weren’t already wracked by coughs and fever made another five attempts with the rowboat, and never got more than a few feet from shore. The ice in the air was like arrows raining down.

  “Not long after the last attempt, when almost everyone was indoors and I was rushing about making tea and caring for the sick and trying to shush Luis, who had been barking since dawn, I heard Charlie’s father yell and hurried outside.

  “I’d never seen light like that, Mr. Selkirk, and I haven’t since. Neither snow nor wind had eased one bit, and the clouds hadn’t lifted. But there was the ship again, and there were our boys. Up in the ropes, now. The Kendalls had their hats back on and their coats around them. They were nestled together with their arms through the lines. Charlie had gone even higher, crouching by himself, looking down at the brothers or maybe the deck. I hoped they were talking to each other, or singing, anything to keep their spirits up and their breath in them. Because the ship…Have you ever seen quicksand, Mr. Selkirk? It was almost like that, the way the whole thing was sinking, little by steady little. This glimpse lasted a minute, maybe less. But in that time, the hull dropped what looked like another full foot underwater. And that was the only thing we saw move.”

  “I don’t understand,” Selkirk said. “The sandbar was right there. It’s what they hit, right? Or the rocks right around it? Why not just climb down?”

  “If they’d so much as put their feet in that water, after all they’d been exposed to, they would have frozen on the spot. All they could do was cling to the ropes.

  “So they clung. The last healthy men came out behind Charlie’s father and me to watch. And somehow, just the clear sight of the ship out there inspired us all. Everyone got angry and active again.

  “We actually got close once, just at dark. The snow hadn’t cleared, but the wind had eased. The sickest men, including the older Kendall boy, had been run back to town on horseback, and we hoped other Winsett whalers might be rigging up a brig in the harbor to try reaching Charlie’s ship from the sea-side, rather than from land, the moment the weather permitted. I kept thinking I’d heard new sounds out there, caught a glimpse of the mast of a rescue vessel. But of course it was too soon, and we couldn’t really hear or see anything but the storm, anyway. And in the midst of another round of crazy, useless running about, Charlie’s father grabbed my wrist and whirled me around to face the water and said, ‘Stop. Listen.’

  “And I understood finally that I heard nothing. Sweet, beautiful nothing. The wind had been in my ears so long, I hadn’t noticed its absence. Right away I imagined that I should be able to hear Charlie and the Kendalls through the quiet. Before anyone could stop me, I was racing for the shore, my feet flying into the frozen water and my dress freezing against my legs, but I could hardly feel it. I was already so cold, so numb. We all were. I started screaming my husband’s name. It was too shadowy and snowy to see. But I went right on screaming, and everyone else on our little beach held still.

  “But I got no answer. If it weren’t for the swirling around my feet, I might have thought even the water had had its voice sucked from it.

  “And then.”

  Finally, for the first time, Mrs. Marchant’s voice broke. In a horrible way, Selkirk realized he envied her this experience. No single hour, let alone day, had ever impressed itself on him the way these days had on her, except perhaps for those few fleeting, sleet-drenched moments with Amalia. And those hardly counted, somehow.

  When Mrs. Marchant continued, the quaver had gone, as though she’d swallowed it. “It was to be the last time I heard his real voice, Mr. Selkirk. I think I already knew that. And when I remember it now, I’m not even certain I really did hear it. How could I have? It was a croak, barely even a whisper. But it was Charlie’s voice. I’d still swear to that, in spite of everything, even though he said just the one word. ‘Hurry.’

  “The last two remaining men from Winsett needed no further encouragement. In an instant, they had the rowboat in the water. Charlie’s father and I shoved them off while they pulled with all their might against the crush of the surf. For a minute, no more, they hung up in that same spot that had devilled all our efforts for the past thirty-six hours, caught in waves that beat them back and back. Then they just sprung free. All of a sudden, they were in open water, heaving with all their might toward the sandbar. We were too exhausted to clap or cheer. But my heart leapt so hard in my chest I thought it might break my ribs.

  “As soon as they were twenty feet from shore, we lost sight of them, and later, they said all they saw was blackness and water and snow, so none of us knows how close they actually got. They were gone six, maybe seven minutes. Then, as if a dike had collapsed, sound came rushing over us. The wind roared in and brought a new, hard sleet. There was a last, terrible pause that none of us mistook for calm. The water had simply risen up, you see, Mr. Selkirk. It lifted our rescue rowboat in one giant black wave and hurled it halfway up the beach. The two men in the boat got slammed to the sand. Fortunately—miraculously, really—the wave hadn’t crested until it was nearly on top of the shore, so neither man drowned. One broke both wrists, the other his nose and teeth. Meanwhile, the water poured up the beach, soaked us all, and retreated as instantaneously as it had come.”

  For the first time, Selkirk realized that the story he was hearing no longer quite matched the one Amalia had told him. Even more startling, Amalia’s had been less cruel. In Amalia’s version, no rescues had been attempted because none had been possible. No real hope had ever emerged. The ship had simply slid off the sandbar, and all aboard had drowned.

  “Waves don’t simply rise up,” he said.

  Mrs. Marchant tilted her head. “No? My father used to come home from half-a-year at sea and tell us stories. Waves riding the ghost of a wind two years gone and two thousand leagues distant, roaming alone like great, rogue beasts. Not an uncommon occurrence on the open ocean.”

  “But this isn’t the open ocean.”

  “And you think the ocean knows, or cares? Though I will admit to you, Mr. Selkirk. At the time, it seemed like the sea just didn’t want us out there.

  “By now, the only two healthy people at Cape Roby Point were Charlie’s father and me. And when that new sleet kept coming and coming…well. We didn’t talk about it. We made our wounded rowers as comfortable as we could by the fire on the rugs inside. Then we set about washing bedding, setting out candles. I began making this little Sister here”—as she spoke, she toed the doll with the white bandeau, which leaned against her feet—”to keep Charlie company in his coffin. Although both of us knew, I’m sure, that we weren’t even likely to get the bodies back.

  “My God, the sounds of that night. I can still hear the sleet drumming on the roof. The wind around the tower. All I could think about was Charlie out there, clinging to the ropes for hope of reaching me. I knew he would be gone by morning. Around 2:00
a.m., Charlie’s father fell asleep leaning against a wall, and I eased him into a chair and sank down on the floor beside him. I must have been so exhausted that I slept, too, without meaning to, right there at his feet.

  “And when I woke…”

  The Kendalls, Selkirk thought, as he watched the woman purse her mouth and hold still. Had he known them? It seemed to him he’d at least known who they were. At that time, though, he’d had eyes only for Amalia.

  “When I woke,” Mrs. Marchant murmured, “there was sunlight. I didn’t wait to make sense of what I was seeing. I didn’t think about what I’d find. I didn’t wake Charlie’s father, but he came roaring after me as I sprinted from the house.

  “We didn’t even know if our rowboat would float. We made straight for it anyway. I didn’t look at the sandbar. Do you find that strange? I didn’t want to see. Not yet. I looked at the dunes, and they were gold, Mr. Selkirk. With the blown grass and seaweed and debris strewn all over them, they looked newly born, wanting only their mother to lick them clean.

  “The rowboat had landed on its side. The wood had begun to split in the bow, but Charlie’s father thought it would hold. Anyway, it was all we had, our last chance. We righted it and dragged it to the water, which was like glass. Absolutely flat, barely rolling over to touch the beach. Charlie’s father wasn’t waiting for me. He’d already got into the boat and begun to pull. But when I caught the back and dragged myself in, he held position just long enough. Then he started rowing for all he was worth.

  “For a few seconds longer, I kept my head down. I wanted to pray, but I couldn’t. My mother was a Catholic, and we’d worked for the Sacred Heart Sisters, as I told you. But I was so tired. So in love, Mr. Selkirk. And maybe I never believed, anyway. So when I closed my eyes, I heard only the seagulls squealing around, and no prayer came to me. I just wanted Charlie back. Finally, I lifted my head.

  “I didn’t gasp, or cry out. I don’t think I even felt anything.

  “First off, there were only two of them. The highest was Charlie. He’d climbed almost to the very top of what was left of the main mast, which had tilted over so far that it couldn’t have been more than twenty-five feet above the water. Even with that overcoat engulfing him and the hat pulled all the way down over his ears, I could tell by the arms and legs snarled in the rigging that it was him.

  “‘Is he moving, girl?’ Charlie’s father asked, and I realized he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look, either. We lurched closer.

  “Then I did gasp, Mr. Selkirk. Just once. Because he was moving. Or I thought he was. He seemed to be settling…resettling…I can’t explain it. He was winding his arms and legs through the ropes, like a child trying to fit into a hiding place as you come for him. As if he’d just gotten back to that spot. Or maybe the movement was wind. Even now, I don’t know.

  “Charlie’s father swore at me and snarled his question again. When I didn’t answer, he turned around. ‘Lord Jesus,’ I heard him say. After that, he put his head down and rowed. And I kept my eyes on Charlie, and the empty blue sky beyond him. Anywhere but down the mast, where the other Kendall boy hung.

  “By his ankles, Mr. Selkirk. His ankles, and nothing more. God only knows what held him there. The wind had torn his clothes right off him. He had his eyes and his mouth open. He looked so pale, so thin, nothing like he had in life. His body had red slashes all over it, as though the storm had literally tried to rip him open.

  “Charlie’s father gave one last heave, and our little boat knocked against the last showing bit of the Kendalls’ ship’s hull. The masts above us groaned, and I thought the whole thing was going to crash down on top of us. Charlie’s father tried to wedge an oar in the wood, get us in close, and finally he just rowed around the ship and ran us aground on the sandbar. I leapt out after him, thinking I should be the one to climb the mast. I was lighter, less likely to sink the whole thing once and for all. Our home, our lighthouse, was so close it seemed I could have waded over and grabbed it. I probably could have. I leaned back, looked up again, and this time I was certain I saw Charlie move.

  “His father saw it, too, and he started screaming. He wasn’t even making words, but I was. I had my arms wide open, and I was calling my husband. ‘Come down. Come home, my love.’ I saw his arms disentangle themselves, his legs slide free. The ship sagged beneath him. If he so much as touched that water, I thought, it would be too much. The cold would have him at the last. He halted, and his father stopped screaming, and I went silent. He hung there so long I thought he’d died after all, now that he’d heard our voices one last time. Then, hand over hand, so painfully slowly, like a spider crawling down a web, he began to edge upside-down over the ropes. He reached the Kendall boy’s poor, naked body and bumped it with his hip. It swung out and back, out and back. Charlie never even looked, and he didn’t slow or alter his path. He kept coming.

  “I don’t even remember how he got over the rail. As he reached the deck, he disappeared a moment from our sight. We were trying to figure how to get up there to him. Then he just climbed over the edge and fell to the sand at our feet. The momentum from his body seemed to give the wreck a final push, or it was simply ready to go; it slid off the sandbar into the water and sank taking the Kendall boy’s body with it.

  “The effort of getting down had taken everything Charlie had. His eyes were closed. His breaths were shallow, and he didn’t respond when we shook him. So Charlie’s father lifted him and dropped him in the rowboat. I hopped in the bow with my back to the shore, and Charlie’s father began to pull desperately for the mainland. I was sitting calf-deep in water, cradling my husband’s head facedown in my lap. I stroked his cheeks, and they were so cold. Impossibly cold, and bristly, and hard. Like rock. I was willing all the heat I had left into my fingers, and I was cooing like a dove. Charlie’s father had his back to us, pulling for everything he was worth. He never turned around. And so he didn’t…”

  Once more, Mrs. Marchant’s voice trailed away. Out the filthy windows, in the gray that had definitely darkened into full-blown dusk now, Selkirk could see a single trail of yellow-red, right at the horizon, like the glimpse of eye underneath a cat’s closed lid. Tomorrow the weather would clear. And he would be gone, on his way home. Maybe he would stay there this time. Find somebody he didn’t have to pay to keep him company.

  “It’s a brave thing you’ve done, Mrs. Marchant,” he said, and before he could think what he was doing, he slid forward and took her chilly hand in his. He meant nothing by it but comfort, and was surprised to discover the sweet, transitory sadness of another person’s fingers curled in his. A devil’s smile of a feeling, if ever there was one. “He was a good man, your husband. You have mourned him properly and well.”

  “Just a boy,” she whispered.

  “A good boy, then. And he loved you. You have paid him the tribute he deserved, and more. And now it’s time to do him the honor of living again. Come back to town. I’ll see you somewhere safe and warm. I’ll see you there myself, if you’ll let me.”

  Very slowly, without removing her fingers, Mrs. Marchant raised her eyes to his, and her mouth came open. “You…you silly man. You think…But you said you knew the story.”

  Confused, Selkirk squeezed her hand. “I know it now.”

  “You believe I have stayed here, cut off from all that is good in the world, shut up like an abbess all these years with my Sisters and my memories, for love? For grief?”

  Now Selkirk let go, watching as Mrs. Marchant’s hand fluttered before settling in her lap like a blown leaf. “There’s no crime in that, surely. But now—”

  “I’ve always wondered how the rowboat flipped,” she said, in a completely new, flat voice devoid of all her half-sung tones, as he stuttered to silence. “All the times I’ve gone through it and over it, and I can’t get it straight. I can’t see how it happened.”

  Unsure what to do with his hands, Selkirk finally settled them on his knees. “The rowboat?”

  �
�Dead calm. There was no rogue wave this time. We were twenty yards from shore. Less. We could have hopped out and walked. I was still cooing. Still stroking my husband’s cheeks. But I knew already. And I think his father knew, too. Charlie had died before we even got him in the boat. He wasn’t breathing. Wasn’t moving. He hadn’t during the whole, silent trip back to shore. I turned toward land to see exactly how close we were. And just like that I was in the water.

  “If you had three men and were trying, you couldn’t flip a boat that quickly. One of the oars banged me on the head. I don’t know if it was that or the cold that stunned me. But I couldn’t think. For a second, I had no idea which way was up, even in three feet of water, and then my feet found bottom and I stood and staggered toward shore. The oar had caught me right on the scalp and a stream of blood kept pouring into my eyes. I wasn’t thinking about Charlie. I wasn’t thinking anything except that I needed to be out of the cold before I became it. I could feel it in my blood. I got to the beach, collapsed in the sun, remembered where I was and what I’d been doing, and spun around.

  “There was the boat, floating right-side up, as though it hadn’t flipped at all. Oars neatly shipped, like arms folded across a chest. Water still as a lagoon beneath it. And neither my husband nor his father anywhere.

  “I almost laughed. It was impossible. Ridiculous. So cruel, after everything else. I didn’t scream. I waited, scanning the water, ready to lunge in and save Charlie’s dad if I could only see him. But there was nothing. No trace. I sat down and stared at the horizon and didn’t weep. It seemed perfectly possible that I might freeze to death right there, completing the carnage. I even opened the throat of my dress, thinking of the Kendall boys shedding their coats that first day. That’s what I was doing when Charlie crawled out of the water.”