Storm Tide (56 page)

“Roger Stone,” he said. Stone got to his feet, a neat, elderly man with a pleasant, keen face. At the moment it was an anxious face.

“Nils, I'm sorry,” he said. “And I'm ashamed of Brigport today. But I want ye to know it wan't everybody that talked against ye. I'm no gossip-monger, and I never was. But I can't honestly tell ye that Tom was lyin', because he did hear me say somethin' about it. Only I never
told
him. He was listenin' in on a talk I was havin' with somebody else.” He spoke earnestly, without taking his eyes from Nils' face. “It was Whit Robey I was talking' to, and it was a long time ago. Not long after you brought in the
Janet F
. that day. Whit ain't here today, on account of his rheumatism bein' so bad, but Mrs. Whit's here, and if Whit told her about it, she can tell you just what it was we talked about.”

“Roger's never talked against you, Nils,” Mrs. Whit spoke up. “He's right about that. At least I never heard of him doin' it.”

A movement at the side of the room, down beyond Jud, attracted Joanna. Randy was getting up from the bench and moving quietly toward the rear. His father glanced at him, made no move to stop him, and looked back at Roger Stone and Nils. He seemed perfectly at ease. But the gray light from the windows caught the wet sheen on Randy's face, and the shadows under his eyes stood out like stains against his putty-tinged pallor. He looked sick. The change in him, since she had last seen him, shocked Joanna. This must be ghastly for him, to sit through such a session.

She watched him reach the back of the room. Now he was turning behind Mark and Helmi, he would pass behind her in a moment and reach the door. No one else noticed him. They were too much absorbed in Nils and Roger and Mrs. Whit Robey.

“Whit came right home and told me,” she was stating in very downright terms, “that somebody'd been droppin' hints in people's ears—all the ears they could find, I guess, so the story would be sure to get a good start. And Roger, he'd heard this stuff, and he was madder'n a wet hen at such foolishness. And seein' that he and my Whit've been chums all their life, he told Whit just what he'd heard. And that Tom Robey was standin' around with his ears flapped forward, like a jackass, listenin' for all he was worth.”

“That's how it was, Nils,” Roger Stone said. Nils nodded, and looked past him at the back of the room where Randy was. It was only the briefest of glances, and Joanna couldn't explain why she slipped out of the narrow seat and went to stand in front of the door. She reached it just before Randy did. Mark and Owen and Helmi were still intent on the scene by the teacher's desk. Only she had caught that barely perceptible signal from Nils.

Randy stared at her—his eyes held no sunlit specks now, only a desperate hurry—and reached for the knob. She put her hand over it. Roger Stone was talking again, and no one turned toward the back of the room.

“What's the matter, Randy?” Her lips formed the words. “Are you sick?”

“For Christ's sake, let me out of here,” he whispered.

“He'd been around my shop, talkin' to me,” Stone was saying. “He asked me if I didn't think it was queer, all those things fittin' together like that. I told him he'd ought to be careful, he might start a lot of trouble.” He added regretfully, “I guess that was jest what he
did
.”

“You said it was one of the young fry, Roger,” Nils said patiently. “Who was it?”

Randy was strong and he was driven by desperation, but Joanna held furiously to the doorknob.

“It was Randy Fowler,” said Roger Stone simply, and sat down.

“
Goddam you, Jo!
” Randy said aloud, and that brought Owen up out of his chair. He caught Randy's hand as it clawed at Joanna's shoulder.

“What in hell goes on here?” he demanded. Mark was up by then. Most of the rest were standing up too, staring, talking, and wondering aloud. The meeting seemed to have gone to pieces until Nils remembered the gavel and used it.

“Just a few minutes more, everybody,” he said, and his quietness reached the others. They sat down again, reluctantly. Randy stood with a curious inertness between Mark and Owen. All the frantic drive had gone out of him.
Why wasn't willing to brazen this out?
Joanna thought.
He's laughed off other things—why not this?
She leaned against the wall, aware of a shakiness in her knees, and of the hard pounding of her heart. She watched Nils, drawing steadiness from him. Nils could always meet everything.

They had come to the center of the web, in a minute now they would reach Randolph Fowler, who still sat so quietly on his bench. He wasn't going to like it; his very stillness had a deadly quality. What was he thinking as he sat there, waiting?

“Randy,” Nils said to Randolph's son. “Just tell me who put all the details together for you, and then you can go. That's all I want to know.”

Randy stared back at him without answering. He looked small between Owen and Mark. And trapped.

“Was it your father?” Nils asked him gently.

“To hell with him!” said Randy violently. “He never had anything to do with it! He ain't never mentioned Win since that day—you'd think I never had a brother!” Color blazed up into the yellowish cheeks. “All he thinks about is how you fellows snicked Grant's point over there right out from under his nose! But
I'm
the one who figgered out how you could've killed Win—or how to make people start thinkin' it, anyway!” There was a sort of ghastly bragging in his words.

“But you was right, Randy!” Earl Robey called out. “How do we know that he didn't do it? He could've, just like you said!”

“He didn't, because I know what happened to Win,” said Randy.

“What are you saying, Randy?” Randolph Fowler got up, and he was impassive no longer. “What are you talking about?”

The water ran down Randy's face like rain—or tears. “I'm tryin' to say I found him! Are you all numbheads? I found him!” His voice cracked ludicrously. “It was a couple of weeks ago, and I could've gone around and told everybody, and stopped the talk—only I'd be damned if I would!” He wiped his hand across his forehead and Owen said, “Hey, take it easy, kid.” He tried to push Randy down into a seat, but Randy backed away from him and stood against the door, his eyes wild, his face working.

“There wasn't much left of him,” he said. “I let him go again—I didn't want to touch him. But there was enough so I could tell what happened to him.”

His father had pushed his way through the crowd until he was facing him. “Son, are you crazy?” he said huskily. “Why didn't you tell me this before? Are you sure you—found him?”

“
Sure?
” Randy's voice scaled upward again. “Goddam it, I'm the one who's been havin' the nightmares, ain't I? I'm the one who's been goin' to bed drunk, so I wouldn't dream—but I always do! And I see him the way he looked, comin' out of the water. . . .” He pulled his voice down with an effort. He stared at the ring of intent faces. “It was funny how it happened. I mean, me shiftin' my pots around and settin' one where I knew Win used to have one that always fished damn' good. And then when I went to haul it, it was fouled up. I had a hell of a time with it . . . till I found out why. Win's trap was still there. I—I—” he wet his lips. “I got the two of 'em up together. And Win—he was all fouled up in the warps. Both of 'em.” He looked as if he could hardly get the words out, as if the whole thing were before him again. “Mine had got wrapped around him since I set it. But his—that was what killed him. He was caught in a ridin' turn. It must've pulled him overboard.”

He shut his eyes and leaned against the door. No one moved.

After a moment Cap'n Merrill cleared his throat. “We'd ought to get this clear, Randy . . . Randolph. We've all had narrow squeaks from ridin' turns. The trap pullin' one way, and the boat goin' another. If a feller can't reach his knife to cut himself free, when the warp gets around his wrist or his ankle, he hasn't got a chance.”

“But the boat was driftin' when Nils found it,” Jonas Pierce said. “And it wan't too far from where he said he saw Win haulin'. That don't sound right. Engine should've been goin'.”

It was Randy who answered him, in a dreary voice. “Tank was empty when he brought her in. Win always forgot to put in his extra can of gas till she was on her last breath.”

Randolph stepped forward and took his son by the arm. No one stood in Randy's way this time as he went out. There was a little space of silence after they had gone, and then confusion began. Nils was hidden from Joanna in the midst of the crowd. A few skulked on the edges; Rich Bradford, apparently wondering what stand to take, Ralph Fowler, scratching his head. Bella Merrill hurried out, George behind her. But for the rest, they surrounded Nils with their outstretched hands, their exclamations.

Joanna sat down again, answered Jud's radiant grin, winked at Joey at last, and then wondered how soon they could all go home again. She knew she should feel triumphant, but she felt worn and exhausted, instead She was shaken by Randy's behavior, she knew too well what was behind it. She had laughed at him, and convinced herself he would get over it. . . . It would be a long time before she could forget the horror stamped on his face in the last fifteen minutes.

Mrs. Whit Robey leaned over her and patted her cheek. The motherly gesture brought quick tears to Joanna's eyes. “Dear, it's been terrible for you, but it's all over now,” the old lady murmured. “And I want you to know that it wasn't all of Brigport who talked about Nils . . . just a few, but I wish Nils could've got after 'em all this afternoon and made 'em squirm! And that Bradford young'un—if I'd known she was tormentin' Ellen—” she tightened her mouth, patted Joanna's cheek again, and moved away.

Others came and spoke to her. She thanked them, she was touched by their gestures, she knew she would never hate and distrust Brigport again, for these were the true people of Brigport whom her father and grandfather had known and respected.

But she wanted to go home with Nils! Would they ever let him go? She heard Owen's laughter ring out, and Mark's, and saw the quiet delight in Helmi's face as she stood at one side. Each thing was good to hear and see, but it was Nils she wanted.

At last they began to break up, and Nils came through the crowd, straight toward her, and held out his hand. He was not smiling; but his eyes reached out for her in the way she loved, and she was not ashamed for the rest to see how she put her hand in his.

“Let's go home now,” he said simply.

N
ILS STEERED THE
White Lady
, going home, and Joanna stood beside him. She could hear Owen's and Mark's voices behind her, their occasional hoots of laughter, their joyous swearing. She knew Helmi was looking out to the horizon with her distant gaze, thinking about—what?
I wish Stevie had been with us today
, Joanna thought, and then looked down at the wheel. Her hand was there, and Nils' hand lay over it. She stopped thinking about Stevie then. . . .

The
White Lady
pitched, going by Tenpound; there was a heavier sea on, for the wind had risen. But it was a good wind, a clearing wind. It wasn't going to snow, after all, and the sky was brightening. The sun had come through the veil of cloud at last. As they came out by Tenpound, the
White Lady
leaped as eagerly as a porpoise, and then settled down to run steadily and sweetly for the harbor. The first real sunshine of the day streamed down upon her wet decks, and was warm on Joanna's face.

“I keep thinking about Randy,” Nils said, just loud enough for her to hear above the engine. “What got into him? I've always been decent to him. . . . I used to think the kid liked me.”

“He did,” said Joanna. There was one more thing to tell Nils—the one thing she'd left out because she thought it didn't count. Today she had found out that it
did
matter. Nils had a right to know; he had been the one to take the blows Randy had meant for her.

“He did like you, in one way, Nils,” she said. “In another way, I guess he hated you, because you were my husband.”

Nils turned his head and looked down at her. “You know what that sounds like, Jo?”

“That's what it's supposed to sound like, Nils,” she said calmly. “Randy had a crush on me, and mentioned it several times. Remember the time he stayed all night because he fell overboard?”

“Yes. What about it?” Nils watched past the edge of the sprayhood.

“The next day he wouldn't go home, until I'd been pretty nasty to him. I thought that was the end of it. But he came back again while you were gone—to Eric's—and I said I'd have Owen throw him out. That time he was awfully mad. But I never thought he'd do anything like this.”

“Well, he's done it, and it's all over now . . . poor cuss. I was sorry for him today. Joanna.” Nils looked at her again, his eyes intent. “Why didn't you tell me about it, the first time he bothered you?”

She felt foolishly embarrassed. She was even blushing. Her answer was going to sound so silly—now. “I thought I could handle it. I didn't want to bother you with it.”

“And you're the one who said Helmi was right to tell Mark Owen kissed her.” Nils shook his head and looked sternly ahead. “You're the one who said it was a husband's right to know, so he could protect his wife.” His mouth twitched suddenly. But Joanna didn't want to laugh.

“I'm sorry, Nils,” she said simply. “I've made a lot of mistakes, and I guess Randy was one of the worst.”

“Don't you think I've been looking over my mistakes, too?” said Nils. And then he added something which she couldn't hear. But she saw the expression in his eyes when he looked at her, and the way he moved his lips. They said,
My dearest
.