High Tide at Noon (19 page)

On sunny afternoons in May, the beach was always well populated. Joanna and Alec had to run a gauntlet that would have fazed a girl unarmed with the superb Bennett self-assurance. Her uncle glanced at her from under thick black brows; Jeff grinned openly. Everybody looked at them with unveiled interest.

“Don't take some people long to get acquainted,” Ash Bird observed to the world at large. Jud Gray, who with his sons Tim and Peter was baiting trawls, shifted his plug of tobacco to the other cheek, spat, and winked at Alec.

“You want to look out for them black-eyed Susans, boy.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Alec politely. He untied the double­ender and helped Joanna in.

“Cripes, she's gettin' kinda helpless, ain't she?” said Forest Merrill. Joanna saw Alec's mouth tighten, his head turn. She said quickly, “Push off, Alec. The tide's going all the time.”

A few long strokes took them well past the old wharf. Joanna smiled at Alec and saw his tight jaw relax.

“Are they always like that?” he demanded.

“Don't pay any attention to them. I don't. They're ignorant, Alec. Forest Merrill's no good, and that nasty little Ash Bird—” she shrugged. “Jud's all right, and my cousin Jeff's just like my brothers. I don't even see the rest.”

“So I noticed,” he said dryly. “I suppose you'll walk through life with your chin up, and not even see the guys who don't matter.”

“Why waste time on them? Life's too short.”

He had a gentle, twinkling look. “You seen me yet, Joanna?” She hadn't noticed before how deeply his mouth was cut at the corners. It gave his bony face an oddly sensitive cast.

“I'm out rowing with you,” she answered him. His sister must have been a battle-ax, she thought. Driving him away like that. She must have driven him away. He never mentioned her; there was something . . .

The peapod glided swiftly among the moorings. As they went by Alec's boat, he gave it a rueful glance.

“I'd take you for a sail in her, but she's pretty dirty. As soon as I make enough from my trawls to pay Pete Grant for my shingles and stuff, I'm going to fix up the old lady.”

“How are you getting along, trawling?”

“Well enough to put a little toward my lobstering gear. I'll do better when the hake start to come. I ought to have a good-sized string of traps, come September, if I work hard all summer.”

“You're really going to stay here, then,” said Joanna.

“This place is just about the answer to everything, Joanna,” he said quietly. “A man could be happy here, forever.”

Their glances met, smiling, and Joanna felt contented and pleased with life. They were passing the western point of the harbor now, and the great boulders looming above them gleamed saffron and amber in the sunshine. The water rippled quietly against the ledges, dimpled with light; as the double-ender slipped over the submerged rocks, with their dark sea-grass waving gently just under the surface, Joanna could see the swiftly darting shapes of the little pollack; they were silvery-green when the sun struck down through the water.

Alec Douglass had come to the Island and found it good.
The answer to everything
, he had said. Then I'm not the only one, she thought, and her happiness was a vivid thing, tremulously and exquisitely alive. Because of it the whole day glistened with a new radiance.

I wonder why I never felt like this before, she thought, and stopped wondering. It was enough to sit quietly in the stem of the peapod, watching the little eddies in the wake of the oars, looking up at the great blue arc of sky above her and the Island forest towering against it; watching Alec Douglass row.

They were caught up in a wordless peace as the boat cut across the bright water. There was no need for talk. Alec whistled under his breath. It wasn't until they turned back toward the harbor that the spell was broken.

Nils' boat came down past Tenpound. Joanna, seeing it, felt a sudden sadness; without her knowing it, her face shadowed, and locked itself. She looked down at the bottom of the double-ender, at her feet against the planks; at the blue denim of Alec's dungarees, and his sneakers.

“Nils seems like a nice guy,” Alec said. He held the oars out of water and let the boat drift.

“Yes, he's all right,” she answered casually.

“Remember that first night I came, when Owen yelled at us from the well? He wanted to know if you had Nils with you. I wanted to ask you who Nils was, but I thought you'd slap me down.”

“Why should you care who Nils was, anyway?” she asked, and under his absorbed gaze she felt her face grow warm. For a moment she stared back at him, her eyes brilliant, her lips parted. Then she smiled, shrugged faintly.

“There wouldn't have been anything to say. Nils is Owen's chum. And he's always been good to me, ever since I can remember.”

Alec nodded. “I knew that.”

“What else did Owen say? He's been telling you things, hasn't he?”

“He gets to talking, when we're up there on the ridgepole. Everybody that comes in sight. For instance, he says the Birds are—”

“That's no lie. What else does he say?”

“Oh, he calls Gunnar names too. Joanna, don't look at me like that,” he said piteously, and she laughed in spite of herself. “Owen meanders along like a cow in a pasture. Sits there smoking cigarettes and talking. Of course we see a lot of the Sorensens.”

“Don't stall, Alec. What did he say about Nils?”

“Only that Nils thinks a lot of you,” said Alec. “Is that anything to be mad about?”

“I'm mad because my brother's a gossip. It would be easier for him to cut off his right arm than to keep his mouth shut.” Joanna watched Nils' boat roar into the harbor, caught a glimpse of sunshine on his blond head. “It must be late, Alec. We ought to go back.”

Alec squinted at the sun. “Gosh, yes! I've got a date for supper at five-thirty. Jo—” He smiled at her enchantingly. “Say the word and we'll stay out here and see the sunset.”

“I won't say it. What'll people say if you don't show up, after they invited you?” She wondered sharply who had invited him. It could be almost anyone; the whole Island had taken a deep and protective interest in Alec.

“They'd say I was fey,” he told her, “and leave it at that.”

Joanna shook her head and looked severe. They went back across the harbor, weaving among the boats; as they came past the old wharf, Joanna saw Nils tying up his punt on the shore. He was gone before Alec beached the double-ender.

The fish houses and wharves were deserted now. There was no one to wink as Alec pulled up the boat and Joanna waited for him. She watched his long hands as he tied the painter, remembering their certain swiftness with the violin. He was still thin, but less gaunt; a tribute to Donna's feeding, the baked beans or chowder, hot bread and pie that she was forever sending down to him.

He came up the beach toward her, his old hat on the back of his head.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “I loved it.”

“I liked it too. If you weren't such a proper young woman we'd still be out there, and I wouldn't have to go home and shave and put on a clean shirt.”

“And somebody'd be
terribly
disappointed!” Joanna's eyes danced.

“You needn't sneer. After all, I'm a very likeable guy, and you can't blame your Aunt Mary for asking me to supper.”

“Aunt Mary,” repeated Joanna without enthusiasm, and he nodded pleasantly.

“Nice woman. She's got a nice family, too. Rachel's quite an eyeful.”

A sore eyeful, Joanna thought inelegantly. You might know Aunt Mary and little Rachel would be right on deck. She was annoyed. She was so annoyed that she turned sharply away from Alec Douglass and his gay little smile, and said, “Well, I won't keep you. Thanks again for the sail.”

“Oh, look here! Wait a minute, Jo!” He sounded oddly anxious.

“I've got to help get supper.”

“Listen, Joanna. Can I—can't you—will you go with me to haul my trawls sometime?” His cheeks reddened under the tan.

“Sometime,” said Joanna coolly. “So long, Alec.” They separated. Alec went toward the village, whistling; Joanna, walking around the anchor, stifled an impulse to kick it hard.

Johnny Fernandez came out of his camp and said,
“Psst!
Juana, wait!”

She glowered at him. “Are you talking to me?”

“Si
. You come here just a minute, please?” Johnny screwed up his face and nodded violently. “Come see what I got.”

Joanna went back past the anchor, wondering what in the world Johnny wanted to show her. Probably Theresa had kittens, and he wanted her to admire the family. Well, she'd ask him to save one for Alec, unless Rachel gave him one.

At first she could see nothing in the dimness, after the brilliance outside. She could only smell Johnny's fish-scented overalls and the frying pork scraps on the stove. Then she saw Theresa, eyeing her malevolently from the table, where she sat between the coffee pot and a loaf of bread.

Behind her, Johnny said, “I bring him in here so he won't meet his fadder.”

And then she saw Hugo, lying on Johnny's cot. His black hair was tumbled, his face was putty-colored and beaded with sweat. “I'm sick, Jo,” he said piteously.

“Sick! Drunk, you mean. Drunk as a coot at five o'clock in the afternoon.”

“You'd be drunk too,” said Hugo in profound melancholy, “if you went to see your woman and she wouldn't let you in.”

“Oh, is that it!” Joanna sat down beside him and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Why wouldn't she let you in?”

“She's scared of her husband.”

“That skinny little man?” Poor Hugo, she thought sadly, getting mixed up with a woman like Leah Foster. He was weak enough to be completely ruined before the affair was finished.

“Maybe he's skinny,” Hugo mourned, “but some day he's gonna kill her. He said so. Did you know—” he pointed a finger at her—“did you know they got run out of Port George before they came here? A man—a man . . .” His voice trailed off wearily, and Joanna prodded him.

“What about a man?” She shook him.

“A man killed himself. Young guy. Married, three little kids. People said it was Leah's fault. He'd been hangin' around her. So they ran her and Neddie out of town.” He looked at Joanna fiercely. “But she didn't have any more to do with it than
you!”

“Of course not,” Joanna soothed him. So that was the truth about the Fosters—run out of Port George, because Leah liked young men too well. And Father hadn't known that when he rented the Binnacle.

Hugo murmured on and on. “Neddie's a skunk—he blames her too. Just 'cause the poor guy went off his head. She couldn't help that! But Neddie holds it against her because he lost his house, an' they cut off all his traps. So he told her he's gonna kill her some day, if he ever catches her playin' around.”

“I guess that's just talk, Hugo. Is that why she wouldn't let you in?”

Hugo's eyes opened wide and blazed into hers. “No! She had another guy there this afternoon! Foolin' around with some bastard while Neddie's off sellin' fish.”

Oh Lord, thought Joanna. I'm supposed to be home getting supper, and Hugo's howling on my shoulder. “Who do you think it is?” she asked dutifully.

A look of indescribable slyness crept over Hugo's face. “I'm not goin' to tell you. You'd be madder'n hell.”

“All right,” said Joanna gently. “Don't tell me, then. You'd better stay right here till you feel better.”

“Don't you want to know?” he asked incredulously, as she stood up to go. She smiled at him.

“Nope! So long, Hugo. Don't feel bad about Leah. She's not worth it.” She turned toward the door. “Look after him a while longer, Johnny, will you?”

“Don't you even care,” said Hugo slowly, “if your own brother Owen's runnin' after Leah?”

“Owen?”

He dropped back with a groan. “I wasn't gonna tell you, Jo.”

She stood looking down at him, feeling a growing nausea. Without volition her mind saw a scene that would never be erased; she saw Owen swinging toward the Whitcomb gate, his hands in his pockets, his black head erect, his merry whistle floating back over his shoulder.

And he was going then to see Leah Foster.

It was a stunning thought. She had to get out of this dim stifling shack before it suffocated her, to get away from the sight of Hugo on the cot, and Johnny's impassive, wrinkled brown face watching her. She heard her undisturbed voice.

“Keep him here till he's fit to go home, Johnny.”

With her smile very steady, she said good-bye and went on. In the clear golden light of the May evening, she walked along the road toward home.

I
N THE NIGHT THE WIND SHIFTED
, and there was heavy rain; Joanna awoke to see a thick white wall of fog close against her window. Downstairs in the kitchen the men ate a late breakfast by lamplight. They were deep in conversation when she came down, so no one noticed her, for which she was grateful. She sat at the table listening half­heartedly to their voices, watching Owen through her lashes. He was as light-hearted and cocksure as ever. Was it her imagination, she wondered, or had he been extraordinarily good-humored lately?

He feels pretty sure of himself, she thought scornfully. The world's all his, with a fence around it, because he's taken Hugo's woman. At the moment she disliked Owen intensely.

“Well, I suppose somebody'll be visiting our traps while it's thick,” Philip said mildly. “Can't expect anything different.”

“If we could just catch 'em once,” Owen mourned. “Just once—to get the goods on those bastards. They've been out gunnin' for me ever since I took over Simon at the dance that night. He's been too damn friendly with that Brigport gang, and they'd just as soon haul hell out of us as not.”