Dreadful Sorry (18 page)

Janie came in from the kitchen to clear their plates. They sat silently until she reentered bearing a tray laden with two wild blueberry pies, a bowl of whipped cream, and a stack of serving bowls. She set the tray near Aunt Ethel and began slicing the pie into thick wedges.

"None for me," Aunt Ethel told her, then caught her husband's eye. "All right, then. Just a small portion. "

"A small portion for, me, too, please," said Clementine, when Janie had moved around the table to her place.

"Clemmy's trying to keep her figure," announced Anne. "I saw how one of the boys from the village was looking at her! He even said right out loud that he'd like to marry her!" Anne's thoughts had recently turned to romance, and she often speculated to Clementine about their future husbands and what being kissed would be like.

Uncle Wallace set down his fork and cleared his throat. "And who might this village boy be, Clementine?"

She shrugged lightly. "Oh, Uncle Wallace, it's nothing to worry about. It's just Hob Wilkins—he graduated today, too, you know. He always has a crush on one girl or another."

"I certainly hope you don't return his affections, Clementine."

"Not at all, Uncle Wallace," she replied honestly.

"That's good." Uncle Wallace shook his head and picked up his fork again. He looked around the table at all the children. "You all know how your mother and I feel about the village children. They're not our sort."

"Of course, Father!" Anne's voice was merry. "I'd
never
want to marry a villager. Why, they smell of fish and lobster all the time. And we'd have to live in a little cottage and—well, I think it would be awful! Wouldn't it, Clemmy?"

But it wasn't the smell of fish or the small houses that Clementine objected to. It was the pattern of small-town life. It was the lack of opportunity.

"Father will find all you girls suitable husbands in Boston or New York," said Aunt Ethel softly. "You too, of course, Clementine, dear."

Her aunt and uncle were no better than the villagers.

"I hope it wasn't a mistake to allow Clementine to attend the village school all these years," worried Uncle Wallace. He frowned at Clementine. "Make sure you avoid the Wilkins boy in the future, niece. I'm sure he's a very worthy young man and will work hard on his father's fishing boat, but he's not of our class." He peered around the table at all the children. "I will cut off any one of you who lowers herself—or himself—to marry down in the village. Your mother and I would be so ashamed ... you would have to leave our home. We would want nothing to do with you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Papa," they chorused. And Anne added: "Marrying a villager—what a disgusting thought, Papa!"

But Clementine's heart began racing. Cut off? If she married a villager? A blossom of hope unfurled. She smiled around her mouthful of pie and pondered her new plan of escape.

***

Clementine awoke very early the next morning with her sheet and blanket tangled around her legs. She listened in the darkness. No child stirred. She sat up and kicked off the covers. An escape route! At dinner Uncle Wallace had unknowingly set her on a path of escape. But she must hurry.

She dressed swiftly in her simple gray cotton school dress and coiled her braids around her head. When they were securely pinned, she shook the mending out of her sewing basket and rolled another dress and a change of undergarments up tightly to fit in the basket. It wouldn't hold much more, but she pressed
Hard Times
on top and forced the wicker cover down till she could latch it. She picked her woolen shawl up off the chair. Early mornings in Hibben were chilly even in the middle of summer. The winters were unbearable. But soon she'd be living somewhere warmer. Anywhere but here.

Then she knelt and pulled her hatbox out from under the bed. She couldn't leave these mementos of her happy family behind, no matter where in the world she traveled. She peeked inside at the doll, the red-bound atlas, and her mother's locket. The locket would be especially useful if ever she needed money. She would hate to sell it, of course, but if her plan worked, she wouldn't have to.

She crept down the hallway, pausing for a minute outside the doors of the children's rooms. She would have liked to say good-bye but knew she could not trust her young cousins to keep her secret. They would beg her to stay; they would call for their parents to stop her. She liked sweet Abner best, but he, even more than the others, threatened to weigh her down with his puppy-dog devotion and tie her to this place. She would not stay and be their unpaid governess. She would not marry and follow in Aunt Ethel's pattern of having a baby every year. She would be on her own, pursuing her education and seeing the world. The children would forget her as easily as she would forget them.

She padded downstairs to the kitchen to pack a few slices of bread, cheese, and meat to keep her going until she had work. Then she froze in the back hallway as she heard a soft footfall. Someone was awake!

She turned to flee—never mind the food—but had to stop at the sound of Janie's soft voice.

"Why, Clementine! Up so early—and there's no school for you today, nor any day now, is there?"

"Oh ... good morning, Janie. I didn't realize you arrived so early."

"Why, whoever else do you think it is that gets your breakfast ready in the morning?" The young woman pressed a thin hand to her mouth and laughed. "Maybe the little doll in that hatbox you treasure so much?"

"I want to have breakfast out on the headland," Clementine improvised quickly. "A picnic to celebrate the ending of school. To finish school was something my parents always wanted for me. I feel close to them again when I look at all I have left of them." That was true enough and would explain why she was carrying the hatbox. Clementine hurried on: "Do you have something I can pack?" She held up her sewing basket.

"Land sakes! At this hour? My girl, it's barely light enough to see out there. You don't want to get the pages of your papa's nice book of maps wet in the dew. Or soil your pretty little doll. And I suppose you'll go to that little cave Abner was telling me about. I don't like the sound of it. Too dangerous. You ought to be sure to keep those children away from the cliff."

"I will," said Clementine.

Janie turned back to the kitchen and Clementine followed. She watched while Janie sliced roast salted beef and thick slices of homemade brown bread. The young woman wrapped these in grease paper and set them on the table. She fished two pickled eggs from the jar in the pantry and added a peach from the bowl on the counter. "Will that do you?"

"That'll be fine, thanks."

Janie took a cotton napkin from the hutch and wrapped the food, tying the ends of the cloth into a neat knot. "Here, let's put it in your basket."

But of course her basket was full. "I will," said Clementine, picking up the corners of the cloth bundle and hurrying toward the door before the hired girl could reach for the basket and see all the clothes packed inside. "I'll be back when the children awake," she lied, and rushed out the back door. Just out of sight around the side of the house, she stopped to dump the bundle of food into the hatbox. She replaced the lid and, picking up both the box and her sewing basket, hurried on.

The morning wind was cool and fresh. It blew over the headland, rippling the grass. Gulls swooped overhead as Clementine moved toward the cliff. She. looked back and realized Janie was watching her. Clementine waved in what she hoped was a cheerful gesture. Janie waved back, then stepped inside again and closed the door.

As soon as she felt sure she was not being watched, Clementine changed direction, veering sharply away from the cliff path and back around the side of the house. She tried to keep out of sight of the windows, just in case any member of the family inside happened to look out. She hurried behind the shed, behind the chicken coop, and then down the road to the village.

The road into town was rutted. It always turned to mud in the rain but was hard packed now and dry. The usually frequent summer rains had held off for three weeks, and people were saying that when the storm finally did come, it would be a humdinger. First she passed the church, then the school. The small houses lining the street had neat picket fences in front and well-swept stone steps. Housewives in the village prided themselves on the sheen of their entranceway. Most had planted flowers along the short walkways to their doors. The sight of morning glories just opening for the day made Clementine feel cheerful as she hurried past. Soon the soft, flowery air was overpowered by the sharper smells of salt and fish and lobster.

The townspeople were just opening their doors to bring in the milk and coal that had been delivered at daybreak. Clementine drew her shawl up over her head, tying it securely beneath her chin. She hoped it hid her face.

She knew exactly where to find Hob Wilkins. She turned off Main Street and headed down to the wharf. The fishing schooners were tied up at the rock wall. Their lowered sails billowed and flapped in the morning breeze. Men crawled and jumped and climbed over every inch of the vessels, checking knots, scrubbing decks, loading the hundreds of lobster pots on board. The pots looked like chicken crates made of oak and were stuffed with bait to attract the lobsters, which entered easily but couldn't get out again through the nets. This would be Hob's life, Clementine thought, her mouth twisting. Catching lobsters, throwing the females back so they could lay more eggs, bringing the males triumphantly home to sell or eat. It was no life at all.

The fishermen were packing the barrels with salt for their catch and ordering everything for the day at sea. Their voices rang out across the harbor, laughing or quarrelsome or simply brisk. Soon they would be on their way, and Hob would be taking his place as a new fisherman among them. Clementine had to find him first.

She stood at the railing along the wall and peered at each ship, searching for Hob's blond head. She saw some of the men who worked on her uncle's fleet mending nets, and she drew her shawl forward. It wouldn't do to be seen by them and have one mention to her uncle that she had been here. She saw the bright red hair of Sam Sawyer in a cluster of young men near some smaller boats out on the pier and jumped away from the railing. She ran down the steps to his side and placed her hand on his arm.

The young men stopped talking and looked at her. "Hey, it's Hob's darlin' Clementine!" said Sam. "What are you doing here, darlin'?"

"I want to find Hob. Where is he?"

Someone hooted. The others shuffled their feet at the interruption.

She pressed Sam's arm impatiently. "Is he with his father? Where can I find him?"

Sam pointed, grinning. "See that beauty at the end, there? That's the
Undine.
But you won't find Hob going out today, not in his condition."

She pushed back the shawl so she could see him clearly. "Why? What's happened?"

"Me and him were up on the cliffs with the other boys last night having, you know, a celebration. It's a pretty big thing, being all graduated now. I guess you're the only one sorry to leave that old prison. Anyway, we were horsing around and Hob fell."

She asked tightly: "Is he hurt?" Would her careful planning come to nothing? Perhaps it was only a little sprain.

"Old Hob slipped on a loose stone. He's home in bed with his leg wrapped."

She breathed an inward sigh of relief. "So he'll mend."

"Oh, yeah. He'll be out on the boat as soon as he can convince his ma to let him walk. She's really only his stepma, you know, but she does carry on as if he were her very own." Sam glanced back at his small group of friends. "So, you going to accept? I want to be best man at the wedding, that's all I ask."

"Which is his house, Sam? It's on Cotton Lane, right?"

"Ha!" Sam leered at her. "You aren't really going to take him up on his proposal now, are you, Clementine? What a pair you'd make, the two of you! 'The Brawn' and 'The Brain'! I just can't see it working out, myself. But Hob's always had a thing for you, that's for sure." He was laughing.

She stood there, silent, looking at him, thinking that his chipped front tooth and wild red hair made him look like a pirate. He'd probably turn out to be a fine seaman.

"It's the stone cottage with the blue door. You can't miss it." Sam turned back to his friends.

Clementine ran back up the stone steps to the street. She drew her sewing basket higher on her arm and held the hatbox tightly against her chest. She hurried up Main Street to Cotton Lane, juggling her burdens to reach one hand up to tug the ends of the shawl tightly under her chin.

She nearly collided with a stooped man dressed in sober black just at the corner of Cotton Lane. She jumped aside. "Oh, pardon me!"

"Well, if it isn't the high school graduate herself!"
Dr. Scopes beamed at her. "Saw you dancing at the school yesterday. I hadn't seen you for a long while, my dear. You're usually out with the children when I'm up at the house."

"Oh—Dr. Scopes!" Her heart pounded. "Your fiddling was wonderful," she said politely.

"So what brings you to the village so early? I would have thought with school out, you'd be home with your family."

"Oh ... I'm doing some errands for my aunt."

"I'm headed up to the big house how to check on that poor lady. You're looking overburdened, my girl. Here, let me help you carry some of your things." He shifted his black bag and held out a hand. "The basket? Or the box? We can walk along together, I should think."

"Oh, thank you, Dr. Scopes. But I'm not done with my errands yet." Her mind raced to come up with a plausible explanation for such an early morning visit to the village. "Our hired girl needs a few things at the general store. I'm trying to help out now that I have more time at home."

"Well, give me the box, anyway. I'll carry it home for you."

"No, really," she protested. "I'm fine." She wished he would get on with his rounds and leave her. She hoped desperately that he would not mention this encounter to her uncle or aunt but knew it was most likely he would. Well, she would just have to make sure she was well on her way by then.