Compass Rose (23 page)

What she hadn’t counted on was that she’d be undone, so undone she was afraid that she’d be too weak.

Jack had wanted to give a eulogy. She’d said that Miss Perry didn’t need one. He could be the second lay reader, after Tory Hazard. It was Tory Hazard’s reading that undid Elsie. Tory didn’t break down, but she was on the verge. It wasn’t only that—Elsie had a spell of dizziness that made her grab the edge of the pew. It was a vertigo of time rather than space. Tory Hazard had been Miss Perry’s pet before Elsie; she brought old time and new time into one perspective, a perspective that was both long and horribly foreshortened. Elsie looked at Tory’s fingers curled around the sides of the lectern, felt her own fingers straining to hold herself in place. Elsie knew Tory only by name and an old story or two. Tory was now much older than in her story, her thin, pretty face beginning to loosen. But it wasn’t Tory’s name or story or face—it was her hands on the lectern, more immediately intelligible to Elsie than the words of the reading, that reminded Elsie of Miss Perry’s dream in which death was the loss of grammar, the last sinew of her consciousness that had held her back from nothingness.

Tory finished reading. There was a rustling—people shifting in their pews, picking up their programs, breathing, clearing their throats—a stir of wind across dry reeds.

It was Jack who brought Elsie back to the world with his handsome gray suit and black armband. Elsie considered that armband an affectation—too European, too mourning-chic. Jack adjusted his reading glasses and scanned the congregation over the rims. What? Was he checking the guest list? The seating arrangements? After a prickle of resentment, which, she had to admit, steadied her, she gave way by degrees. Jack read very well; the cadences of the King James Bible were right up his alley. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” His voice, which could be annoyingly enveloping at close range, carried easily, was suited to this dignified, well-decorated church. She thought he might have gone too far when, at the end of his reading, he stared heavenward.
What was this? Was he lifting his eyes unto the hills? It turned out he was cuing Mary and Rose in the choir loft.

Elsie could hear that they were in time, an octave apart but perfectly linked, and she could understand the words. “Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi …” At first it was just Rose and Mary, then the choir, then Rose and Mary lifting above the choir. When they finished, Sally, seated on her right, breathed into her ear, “Oh my God, I had no idea. I mean, that was as good as a record.” Elsie touched her hand and pointed her chin at the minister, who was starting again. When he turned, stood at one end of the casket, and looked at Elsie, she hesitated. He held out his hand. Jack and Captain Teixeira stood. Captain Teixeira took charge, nodding to Tom and Mr. Tran. Johnny Bienvenue was standing in front of her, taking her hand. She didn’t get up. She was sure something was wrong. For a second she was afraid she was wearing her red dress. She looked at Johnny’s hand, saw his navy blue sleeve, her hand, her navy blue sleeve.

Captain Teixeira arranged the six of them sensibly—Tom and Jack at the front end, Elsie and Johnny at the back end, and Mr. Tran and himself in the middle. Tom and Johnny, the two strongest, were at opposite corners. At Captain Teixeira’s nod they picked up the casket. It weighed more than she’d expected, but the effort concentrated her attention. She saw nothing but Captain Teixeira’s broad back, felt nothing but the weight. A burn flared in her arm and shoulder, and then fixed itself a notch below pain after she moved closer and put more of her back into it. The weight wasn’t Miss Perry, it was a mass of oak and bronze that had less to do with Miss Perry than did Captain Teixeira’s back. He was very old, but his back and shoulders filled the black broadcloth of his suit coat, and Elsie felt less scattered as she fitted her steps to his.

After they slid the casket into the hearse, Elsie floated toward him as if she were a ghost floating through a wall. She pressed against his back, and when he turned she clung to him. He put his arms around her and held her until she was still. He said, “Lydia.” It took her a second to recognize Miss Perry’s name. She’d seen it on envelopes, on documents, on the stern of Captain Teixeira’s second boat, the
Lydia P
. “Lydia loved you so much, you did so much, you are as good as the
best daughter.” His voice croaked in her ear, rattling into her brain, for the moment blessedly empty of any modest denial or polite answer or, for that matter, any sense that anyone was watching.

She let go of him when she thought she was about to kiss him. She stood up straight and put her hands on his chest. “You. You’re Miss Perry’s best friend.” They were standing between the back of the hearse and the front of the church, the people flowing around them. Had she been about to kiss him? On his mouth?

And then she was in Captain Teixeira’s three-bench van along with a part of his family—Sylvia and her husband, and Dick’s stern-man, Tony. Captain Teixeira got out and pulled Rose in. He called to Mary Scanlon, but she called back, “I’ve got to go to Sawtooth. See you there!”

Tony was at the wheel. Captain Teixeira told him to turn his lights on. Then he said, “Wait. We should bring Tory Hazard with us. Sylvia, go get Tory. She’s right there at the top of the steps. Tony, if you turn the lights on, you have to run the motor. Rose, you sing beautifully, as good as Mary. One of these days I’m going to teach you a fado. Maybe Sylvia better teach you, I don’t sing so good. I lost my whistle. Tony, let the priest’s car go ahead. Then let Jack go, that’s the only family car. That’s nice, his armband. Lydia liked traditional things.”

Sylvia and Tory arrived, and Captain Teixeira made room for Tory beside him on the middle seat. He put his arm around Tory and said, “You okay?” He turned to Elsie. “I’ve known Tory since she was a little girl. And her father—”

Tory put a hand on his knee and said, “Ruy, please. I’m sorry. It’s just …”

Captain Teixeira shrank a bit, took a breath, and said, “You know Elsie, right? And her daughter, Rose? Rose sang the soprano part. Mary Scanlon was the alto.”

“Mezzo,” Rose said. “It’s an octave lower than my part, and it could be an alto but it’s a mezzo-soprano. There’s other places she has to sing higher.”

“You little smarty pants,” Sylvia said. “I used to change your diapers.”

“Okay, Tony,” Captain Teixeira said. “Right behind that car.” He looked out the back window. “That’s Eddie Wormsley’s pickup; he could’ve cleaned it up some.”

Elsie looked. “It’s okay. He’s driving Tom Pierce.”

“Now you mention it, where’s Dick? He was around yesterday. I know Charlie’s at sea.”

“Dick’s in Boston. Charlie had an accident, and he’s in the hospital there.”

Elsie felt Rose lean forward even before she heard Rose’s voice. “Mo-om! Why didn’t you tell me? Jesus, Mom.”

In between Elsie and Tory, Captain Teixeira turned, squeezing Elsie one way, Tory the other. He said, “Don’t talk to your mother like that.” He said this matter-of-factly. He stayed turned. After a long pause he added, “You’ve got a beautiful voice and you’re a beautiful girl, so be a good girl. Now your mother’s going to tell us about Charlie.”

As Elsie began to tell what she knew, she felt she was dropping stones in a still pool, sending ripples to every side—to Tony, who was Dick’s right-hand man; to Sylvia, who’d been in love with Charlie; to Rose … Tom was the brother Rose saw more of, joked with, but she’d cried out for Charlie, even if she turned her alarm into blame.

Captain Teixeira said, “Oh,
meu Deus!
That’s a terrible thing for Dick and May.”

“That’s all I know,” Elsie said. “And Rose—Tom thought he’d better wait to tell you till after you sang. So …” Elsie heard herself speaking to a van full of people who knew her place in this story. It had seeped drop by drop into common knowledge, so completely that Tory Hazard was the only one who had to furrow her brow.

Captain Teixeira said, “Tony, only the hearse goes through the gate. You pull in beside that black car. Okay. We’ll take a minute before we get out so we can each have a good thought for Charlie to get better.”

When Captain Teixeira raised his head and let out a loud breath, they all began to stir. Captain Teixeira said to Tory, “You got to pull that handle kind of hard. The other way. The door slides back.” After Tory got out, he turned. “You go ahead, Sylvia; I got to take my
time.” As Rose slid past he said, “Rose, I know you’re feeling bad about Charlie. I think he’s going to be okay. But there’s another thing. This is your first funeral, right? I got to tell you the priest is going to say something when we throw the first bit of dirt on the coffin. I’m telling you now so you know. He says, ‘The earth and the sea shall give up their dead and the corruptible bodies shall be changed … ’It always gets to me. It makes me see too much. Okay, here we go. Give me a little tug, would you? I stiffened up some.”

Elsie looked at Rose’s face as she took Captain Teixeira’s hand. Since Captain Teixeira had bossed Rose around, Elsie expected Rose to have put on her mask of sullen compliance. Elsie’s second guess, now that she saw Rose smile, was that Rose had been seduced by his calling her a beautiful girl. Wrong again. Rose was someone strange. Her smile was serene, confident, and womanly. She took Captain Teixeira’s other hand and guided him out of the van. She ran her hand down his back as if straightening him. She turned and said, “Mom? You coming? You two should be together for this.”

Rose’s sudden grace was as mysterious to Elsie as Rose’s music but more unnerving. More than their quarrels, this unforeseen full green leaf made Elsie foresee Rose’s growing up and away from her.

T
he doctor, the neurologist whom May trusted right away, said she was sure that Charlie would make a complete recovery, but she couldn’t say how long it would take. “He’s very healthy; he’s very strong physically and mentally. I think he’d get better on his own—the subdural hematoma has already shrunk by itself—but therapy will help with any lingering symptoms. I think that little speech impediment will clear up a bit faster, and he’ll get his motor skills back faster, too. Some people think physical therapy
is good for the brain. In any case, therapy will give him something to do. I can tell he’s not used to just sitting around. That would drive him up the wall. Probably drive you up the wall, too.”

Deirdre O’Malley, who was standing behind May, Dick, and Tom, said, “I believe in the mind-body link; it did a whole lot for me when I was hurt. But mainly I want to say you were great, really great. The neurosurgeon would’ve started cutting, but you—”

“Thank you,” the neurologist said. “We actually worked it out together.” She turned to May and Dick. “I’m sorry we couldn’t keep you posted every minute, but we were both pretty involved. I’m glad it’s looking good now.”

May thought that Deirdre might be feeling rebuked, so she said, “This is the woman who dove in and pulled Charlie out of the water. She’s an EMT.”

“Yes, so I heard.” She took a breath and added, “Good job.”

When an orderly rolled Charlie out the front door, Dick was there with his pickup, Phoebe with her Saab, and Tom on a motorcycle. May said to Charlie, “You’ll be more comfortable in Phoebe’s car.” She looked at Dick. Dick had said he was sorry for taking off by himself, but he’d added, “I just had to do something.” May hadn’t said anything.

Dick said to Tom, “Something wrong with that car of yours?”

“Still in the shop.”

Deirdre said, “That’s Walt Wormsley’s motorcycle.” They all looked at her. She said, “He used to do some work for me. But, hey, this’ll work out. Tom, you can ride with your family, and I’ll drive Walt’s motorcycle. That way I can swing by and pick up some things from a friend’s house and it wouldn’t slow anyone down. It’s okay—I’ve driven it before.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t do that without Walt’s say-so. Look, I’ll take you, and everyone else can go on ahead.”

May had been thinking of Deirdre as Charlie’s shipmate and rescuer. She was taken aback when Deirdre bent over Charlie, whispered in his ear, and then kissed him on the mouth.

Tom cranked the motorcycle, Deirdre got on, and they were gone.
Then Dick got in his pickup. He’d come up alone, let him go back alone.

May and Phoebe settled Charlie in the front seat. As they walked around the front of the car Phoebe said to May, “So it looks as if everything’s going to be fine.” May shook her head. No sense in tempting fate like that. She was also trying not to think of how mad she was at Dick. Maybe
mad
wasn’t the right word—
broken
was more like it. Something was broken.

Phoebe said, “I’m just sorry you and Dick couldn’t go to Miss Perry’s funeral. And of course you’re exhausted. Was that room they got you all right? They should have done that the first night. I mean, they could see we were just curled up on those awful chairs.” May looked through the windshield at Charlie, who’d tipped his seat back and closed his eyes. Phoebe said, “Yes, we should get going.” She got as far as the driver’s door and said, “I’ve got tons to tell you. When I went to my friend’s house, I drove Deirdre to
her
friend’s house, so we talked, or I should say she talked. But I guess that’ll have to wait. Let’s just say I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her. You’ll be okay in the backseat? I’ll scoot my seat up some.”

May didn’t want to talk or think; she didn’t want any part of her to come loose. As she and Phoebe each took hold of their door handles, Phoebe said, “It’s funny—she reminds me of someone.”

May said, “Charlie’s just falling asleep,” but Phoebe had already jarred the idea loose: Deirdre looked a lot like Elsie. Maybe a dozen years younger but the same animal alertness, the compactness, the tomboy edge. The way Deirdre was ready to ride a motorcycle. But fair’s fair, also ready to dive into the sea and pull Charlie out.

May got in. Charlie’s seat was tipped back so far she could put her hand on his forehead. Charlie said, “I’m f-fine, Ma, I’m going to be fi-fine. Damn!”