Light Over Water (3 page)

          “I’ll walk you up to
the house,” Aubrey offered Cleo, who turned, as the tide turns, docile and
agreeable.

          The girls moved off
the wharf to the road that led through the village, around the harbor and out
to the Granger homestead.  Aubrey and Cleo headed up the high hill to the
Eliot’s home.  Sam stayed, running his hand over Brute’s bony head and watched
them until they passed into the trees, which shaded the road.  Aubrey seemed to
be listening and nodded at Cleo’s chatter, but he kept turning his head back to
catch a glimpse of Alison and Esther.  “Which one, Brute?”  Sam wondered aloud,
a sudden concern erupting that Aubrey’s interest might be in Alison.  In such a
small village, one’s friends became as familiar as family.  Alison, with her
eyes the color of blueberries in August, her freckled nose and wide smile, was
like a sister to him.  But there was more that he felt for her; a sensation
undefined but certain and proprietary.  As he watched her and Esther walk away,
he realized how slowly they moved and how little they spoke.  And he wondered
why exactly Alison had been so close to tears.

Only at night did
Mary Reid allow herself to visit her husband.  Ian kept trying to edge into her
thoughts, as stubborn as always, making it hard for her to get any work done. 
Sometimes, like today, it would be in broad daylight; she’d be lecturing her
students on the importance of proper grammar and Ian would be there saying,
“There’s naught else for me but you, me darlin.”  Or she’d see the blue of the
sea under a certain sky and be staring into his eyes.  The caress of a warm
breeze across her shoulders was his touch, or the ripple of men’s laughter from
the shore was his laughter.  She held him at bay, never allowing herself to
linger over any of these unexpected glimpses, never crossing the line to
embrace these snatches.  Except at night.

          After a long day at
school filled with children, she would step across the road to her small
cottage and continue working, correcting papers and planning lessons.  Work in
her garden was followed by supper, and then she read the newspaper and her
books until bedtime.  Then she would wait.  Ian came to her when she closed her
eyes.  She never beckoned him, but he was there with his grin, his sun browned
hands, his infectious laugh.  At times he was young, his blond hair untouched
by gray and his skin smooth and unlined.  She’d see him before the accident
that left him with a limp, flying across the fields of their farm after a stray
heifer.  Sometimes it was as if they’d never parted.  He’d be there in his
brown wool suit and button down collar; his traveling clothes, his face seamed
with sorrow, yet calm, going to bury his mother.  On their first trip back to
Ireland in ten years they had been grieving for her, yet thrilled to see their
homeland.  The worst nights were those in which she felt Ian’s hands firmly
moving her to the lifeboat, heard his insistent directive, “Don’t move from
there, Mary me love,” and turning, she lost him.  She screamed his name over
and over and often woke herself up with that name on her lips.

          In the village of
Little Cove, she was still an outsider. She knew this, and sure she was that
she would remain so.  Growing up in a small fishing village in Ireland gave her
insight into the mindset of village folk.  They were insular, suspicious of the
differences, no matter how they coated their suspicions in good manners.  Mary
knew if you weren’t actually born here you were from away, however long you
lived here.  The one exception she knew of was her friend, Olivia Eliot. 
Olivia loved her way into any community.  Mary had seen it when they were at
Bowdoin College together, in her involvement in church groups there, and then
most extraordinarily, in Little Cove.  Surely these people were unaware of
their inconsistency, but they embraced Reg Eliot’s wife as a native, while
looking on Mary as a stranger. 

It was because of
Olivia that she was here.  Olivia never finished college; having fallen in love
with Reg she defied her family and married him when she was twenty years old. 
But she had been studying to be a teacher and was in many of the same classes
with Mary.  They remained close through years of correspondence, so Olivia
wrote Mary when she heard of Ian’s accident, begging her to come and teach at
Little Cove.  For eight years she’d been among them, teaching their children,
going to church with them, buying their goods and joining their groups.  However,
she remained an outsider.

          The village took good
care of her, especially now.  The school board paid her salary in a timely
fashion; her housing was provided also.  Her teaching was above reproach and in
spite of the shrinking attendance at school she was enthusiastically retained
every year.  But except for the school children and her friends the Eliot’s,
she was held at arms’ length.

          Olivia told her
clearly, not many months ago, that it was her politics.  They’d been sitting at
Mary’s tiny kitchen table. She was unwinding with a cup of steaming tea at the
end of a long day and Olivia was stopping for a brief interlude after supper.  
She knew now that Olivia had stopped to tell her she was expecting again; her
tenth child.  Mary remained stoic about her own lack of children, but was not
surprised at the number Olivia had.  When she was in college, she spoke often
of her longing for a large family, being an only child.  But that night she was
oblivious to Olivia’s wan appearance and exhausted sighs.  Mary had been poring
over the newspaper, muttering about the repeated losses and descrying the
continued stubborn neutrality on the part of the United States.  She was
surprised to see Olivia flushed with emotions.  “It’s a decision that’s not in
our hands, Mary,” she protested.  “You must stop blaming our village for not
ending the country’s neutral stance.”

          Mary remembered
blinking, coughing and sputtering as she inhaled a swallow of tea.

          “I’m horrified by all
that is occurring over there, but at the same time I know if we join this war
it will be…”  Olivia stopped here to draw back a sob, “it will be my boy, and
his friends, who go.”  Her eyes held Mary’s a moment, then a film of tears slid
down and spilled onto her cheeks.  She withdrew a handkerchief and fumbled away
her tears.  “I’m not forgetting Ian either, and your loss.  I’m such a horrid
friend.”  Olivia rose, shrugged on her overcoat, and grasped her basket tight
against her waist.  “I’m sorry, Mary,” she said, going out the door and letting
in a slap of cold air.

          Mary found her voice
then and hurried across to catch the door.  “Olivia, dearest, wait!  Don’t
go!”  But her friend had dissolved into the enveloping darkness.

          Mary realized the
truth in Olivia’s statement.  But on this evening in April she also knew a
delicious sense of elation.  She read again the day’s newspaper and sensed only
victory in this war, now that the United States was involved.  She’d been in an
agony of impatience for this to occur for years, especially the last two.  She
made ready for bed, relishing her sleep this night.

          It was the first
night that Ian failed to come to her.

Chapter Two

A Moderation of Counsel

          Tom Hudson slowed his
pace as he approached the steps to the orphanage that was his home.  Usually when
he returned from a trip to town, a gang of boys rushed out to meet him and to
help carry the supplies up the porch stairs, through the kitchen to the
pantry.  He would parcel out the items so that even the youngest child had
something to carry.  He taught them to be responsible, helpful and to carry
what burdens they could so that others had the strength for their own burdens. 
He taught them that a household runs best with the cheerful assumption of one’s
chores and duties.  When you don’t do your part, he would remind them, then
someone else has to do it, and they often feel bitter about the extra work.

          It was late now and
all the boys would be either in bed or preparing for bed.  He was late going to
town and slow in returning.  He’d let the oxen, Stone and Patience, take their
time while he came to a careful decision on the way home.  So preoccupied was
he that he didn’t realize they had stopped and the oxen were burrowing their
noses into the tender growth of some newly planted oats.  He’d pulled them back
and chuckled mildly at himself and them.

          For ten years
Reverend Tom Hudson and his wife Ruth had cared for orphaned boys at Valley of
Hope Home for Boys, along with Ruth’s sister Naomi.  When they were younger Tom
and Ruth had worked with the church in the town of Vay in the northern part of
New York State.  This church helped support the small orphanage outside of
town, operated then by a pair of widows, Mrs. Bowden and Mrs. Camp.  When Mrs.
Camp died from pneumonia one winter, Mrs. Bowden spent a month fasting and
praying for someone to come help her.  And Tom Hudson, unaware of her prayers,
spent a month with a burden on his heart that he was unable to lay to rest
until he spoke to the directors about working out at Valley of Hope.  Tom often
sensed the hand of God in his life in this way.  He hadn’t wanted to marry; yet
after meeting Ruth one winter night, he knew that God had different plans for
him.  He had been an apprentice to a local carpenter for three years when he
sensed God calling him to go to seminary.  This night that same sense was
undeniable; that he was needed elsewhere for a while.  As soon as he had said
yes to God, he felt that sense of peace that always accompanied his surrender. 
But he had yet to tell Ruth.

          Ruth was a strong woman
with a deep faith and a quick mind.  She had physical strength and stamina that
enabled her to care for a household that sometimes swelled to twenty people. 
She was firm but kind to the orphans.  She protected them and her sister with
the fierceness of a mother bird, yet she was unusually vulnerable where he was
concerned.  Tom feared that she loved him more than anyone else, even God, and
he knew that made an imbalance in her life.  He pictured her standing at the
chopping block; sturdy and poised, and knew the look of calm satisfaction she
got in her sea green eyes when she brought the axe down and split the wood in
one sure stroke.  She’d had that same look the previous week when she had
informed him that he was eligible to be exempt from a draft because he was
director at the orphanage.  She carried on as if she had solved a problem and
it was time to go on to the next thing.  He dreaded what he was about to do.

          Naomi was at the
sink, humming while she finished drying the supper dishes.  Her pale blonde
hair was scraped back in a meager bun, emphasizing the thinness of
her
face, and her lips were pressed into a straight line, but she gave Tom a tired
smile as he passed through the kitchen.   Ruth was just coming down the stairs
and hadn’t seen him.  He watched her slow descent; her steady hand as she held
the rail; her light brown hair with its gentle curls escaping the combs in
back; her slight smile - recalling some sweet saying one of the boys had just
said, no doubt.  She moved as if she were weary.  Her day began before the sun
rose without much chance for a rest until they lay down at night.  He wondered
how well she’d sleep tonight.

          She turned at the
bottom of the stairs, trailing her hand over the carved banister that he
himself had made.  She saw him then, standing in the hall and flew into his
arms.

          “Tommy!  I was
starting to get worried.  What took you so long?”

          He laughed and held
her and kissed the top of her head.  “What’s to worry about?  That I got lost? 
That I went too fast around the Kissing Corner and was thrown from the wagon?”

          She squeezed his ribs
at his teasing.  “I don’t know.”  She kissed him and put her head against his
chest.  “I missed you.”

          Tom looked up at the
ceiling as if he could see God and asked a silent question, “Are you sure,
Lord?”  He grimaced but said lightly, “Stone and Patience were unusually true
to their name.  They found the oats in Saunders’ field especially delectable on
the way back.”

          Ruth pulled away and
said cheerfully, “Let’s get the wagon unloaded.  Were you able to get
everything?”

          “Everything and
more.”

          She stiffened as her
smile faded.  “Tom!  You know we can’t afford treats every time you get
supplies.”

          “Don’t worry,
Ruthie!  Just some fudge for you girls and a newspaper.  It came out of the
chair money anyway.”

          “Which you know has
got to be saved!” she declared over her shoulder as she led him back through
the kitchen.  “We can’t keep doing this forever!”

          He mouthed the words
to Naomi at the same time as Ruth said them and Naomi smirked.  Both in their
late thirties, Ruth expected their health to break down at any moment while Tom
said they’d die at one hundred with a baby on each shoulder.  He made furniture
and sold it – using part of the money to support the orphanage and saving most of
it.  He called it their chair money.  Really he knew it was God’s money because
they were called upon from time to time to give some away to someone in need.

          The three of them
carried the bags of flour, beans, cornmeal and coffee into the pantry and put
away the rest of the supplies.  Naomi led the tired oxen into the barn and
bedded them down for the night.  She sleepily bade them goodnight and withdrew
to her own private rooms beyond the kitchen.