The Sea is a Thief (18 page)

Sam winced.  Nancy Bagwell was the last problem he needed.

“I didn't give her any cause to look for me.  What was her reason?”  

“She didn't say.  Not be concerned, though, Sam.  I told her you wouldn't be back for a while, and she left quickly.  I don't believe anything will come of it.”  Sam dropped his head into his hands.  “It cannot.  If she keeps me from Anna another day…” His voice trailed off into silence.  

“When,” Ethan asked, “do I find myself a girl such as this, who inspires you so?”  

Sam flashed a wry smile.  “There's a girl foolish enough for you somewhere, Ethan.  You haven't looked hard enough yet, is all.”  He finished the last of his coffee.  “Now I need only to find some raggedy uniforms.”  

“You can start with mine.  I'll give them to you in the morning,” Ethan offered.  “Just take a few things at a time.  Tell them your seamstress is so careful that she can't go very fast.  Then you'll have a reason to visit every day.”  

“That's good,” Sam reflected.  “When did you start thinking ahead of me?”  

“I always have,” Ethan replied. “You're just too slow to know it.”

Ethan's prediction was right; Sam had no difficulty finding work for Mary Daisey.  Benjamin Harvey gave his blessing and was the first officer to toss a torn garment into Sam's bag.  Word spread fast.  Within hours Sam's shipmates were seeking him out with tattered trousers and tunics in need of attention.  It occurred to him that he had no guarantee Mary could even handle what he might bring her; then he recalled how diligent Anna had told him she was, laboring into the night whenever there was work.  Mary would come through, as long as he didn't drown her in navy-blue broadcloth.  He set a limit of five pieces a day.  Looking at the pile of crumpled uniforms, he could already account for many trips to the Daisey household.  It made him smile.  

Mary Daisey was used to Sam's presence at her home, though she would have been astonished to learn just how many days he had spent with her daughter, beneath her notice.  Both Sam and Anna knew full well that their growing love would please no one but themselves: certainly not Mary, nor Beau, nor any of Sam's superiors on the gunboat
Louisiana
.  That left them almost entirely alone.  They built a fortress of two, with only Ethan Platt to stand watch.  Their secret was safe as long as it belonged only to them.  They took the greatest care their hearts would allow.

Sam arrived at Mary Daisey's door on a cool, clear morning, burdened with a basket of Navy mending.  Mary's face lit up with happiness.  Her empty sewing table told Sam that she needed work.  She held the well-worn garments to the light, frowning at the damage.  

“What manner of things must you sailors do to your clothing, Mr. Dreher?” she clucked, shaking her head.  “Some of this is difficult.  There's re-weaving to be done.  It's no wonder they didn't want to attempt it themselves!”  She counted the items quickly.  “What am I to be paid?”  

“I told them only that it would be reasonable, ma'am, and I'm certain it will be.  Charge what you usually do, then a bit more.”   

Mary smiled, “I told you when you first arrived that you were like an angel sent to this home.  Just when all the curtains are completed, and nothing else on the horizon…” her voice trailed off.  “You shall have these for your return tonight.  Do you still return to your ship each evening?”  He nodded.  “Then tonight it shall be, as God gives me speed to finish them.  And are there more for tomorrow?”  He described the small mountain of uniforms that lay beside his bunk.  He could see tension drop from her shoulders as she lifted up her face as if to heaven.  “I will begin straightaway,” she said, and with that retreated to her workroom.  She paused momentarily, capturing his gaze.  “Thank you, Mr. Dreher.”

Within hours, he and Anna were on Assateague.  

 

Anna's worst fear was that Sam would not love Assateague as she did.  It was unfounded.  He took delight in the place.  They traveled there at every opportunity.  What mattered most to both of them was being together; the time they passed in each other's company was like time spent aloft in clouds.  She could see that the island held a special appeal for him, too—in his eyes, his stance on horseback, and the ease in his body as he lay on his back, face raised to the autumn sky.  Assateague was working its charms on Sam Dreher.

Sam had passed Elizabeth's test early on.  She adopted him as a mother cat might take in a stray kitten that had wandered away from its brothers.  Her home became his home, as it was for Anna.  In her tent they cooked their meals: fish and oysters, garden vegetables, and wild plants that were altogether new to Sam.  He found it all good.  Elizabeth served him raw oysters, prying the shells apart with her knife to reveal the pearly flesh in its bath of fresh brine.  He ate them cautiously at first, then with gusto, learning to complement their salty tang with spoonfuls of ground horseradish that brought tears to his eyes.  

They made stew and smoked fish filets over the fire. They drank tea and cider. On one occasion Elizabeth brought Sam a dram from a very dusty old bottle of amber whiskey.  It had cured the vapors, or so a prosperous mainland Virginia woman once claimed, after all other cures had failed.    

The fire warmed them and the breezes cooled their faces. The music of the surf was constant, deep like a kettle drum when the wind was sharp, soft like the breath of a sleeping child when it was calm.  They rode the length of the beach to the limits of their horses' endurance, the surf tearing at their ankles, birds wheeling overheard like miniature angels.  The sharp scent of the ocean cleansed their minds of all concern, hurling it seawards towards England, or Africa, as the current carried it.

When they were alone, they held each other, their bodies speaking when their mouths could not.  They held each other as they would hold onto life.    

Each day they returned, lifted up, but mourning the end of the time that God had given them on their island.  Assateague had granted liberty to their souls, two in tandem.  This is what they brought back, to glow for a while, lighting the dark places around them.

Perhaps the most useful aspect of Nancy Bagwell's character was the inability to perceive the effect she had on others.  Had she been able to see herself as others did, she might have been discouraged in her pursuit of the young men of Chincoteague.  As it was, she was mystified when one of them spurned her advances.  She tended to blame her failures on a lack of effort on her part.  The opposite was true.  The harder Nancy chased, the faster boys fled.  Having no insight into their feelings, her instinct was to intensify her assault.  At some point, the object of her affection would abandon tact and resort to a more effective bluntness, letting Nancy know he wanted nothing more to do with her.  Even after that, she normally remained hopeful—at least for a while—that everything might still work out.

Alas, Sam Dreher had not been at liberty to deal with Nancy as others did. The Bagwells were his hosts.  It didn't take him long to realize that she had set her cap for him.  Others were free to reveal their true feelings; he was forced to hide them. When he longed to declare outright that he had no desire to keep company with her, discretion obliged him to bite his tongue.  When he wanted nothing more than to storm from the room, duty demanded that he count to ten and continue his work.  If it were up to him, their relationship, once-sided as it was, would have ended quickly.  As things were, Sam had no choice but to take his leave politely, providing Nancy the tiny shred of evidence she needed to conclude that the two of them might have a future after all.

A girl like Nancy could survive for months on a little hope.  

Thus, when Sam's work at her family's home was complete, Nancy resolved to seek out the young sailor and keep up acquaintances.  She let a short time pass, then launched a carefully-orchestrated campaign to run into him, quite by accident.  

Nancy was puzzled to discover that this was far more difficult than she imagined.  

She knew her way around the little social circles of Chincoteague.  If someone wanted to know who had been seen with whom, Nancy was the best source.  It wasn't easy to hide on an island ten miles long and three miles wide.  When Nancy had her buggy brought around one brisk afternoon, hitched to a docile old horse called Lucille, she calculated that she would encounter Sam Dreher within two hours at most.  She manufactured some errands that would take her to the most likely places.  She set out with confidence, inquiring as she went about the whereabouts of the sailors.  She found out that a party from the
Louisiana
had indeed come ashore that day, and that Sam Dreher was among them.   The tall, handsome carpenter always attracted his share of attention.  When directed to the Henderson farm, Nancy set out eagerly.  She did find a few of the
Louisiana's
crew there, working on a sagging corn crib, but when she asked after Sam Dreher they informed her that he had gone elsewhere at the beginning of the day.  They suggested he might be at the home of Major and George Rayfield, two elderly brothers.  At the Rayfields' she found another group of blue-uniformed sailors, closely supervised by both brothers as they labored over a dilapidated stone wall.  Sam Dreher was absent; she was told he had left for the widow Zipporah Hill's place.  Nancy's patience was wearing thin by the time she reached the widow's home.  She was encouraged to see, through the front window, a tall figure clad in a federal uniform.  

When she knocked at the door, Zipporah welcomed her inside and introduced her to one Ethan Platt, also a carpenter from the
Louisiana.  
Nancy was curious.  Her curiosity grew when she asked after Mr. Dreher.  Yes, Sam Dreher was assigned to the Hill residence that day, but had left to get some food and additional supplies, according to Mr. Platt, who seemed strangely ill at ease responding to her questions.  Zipporah remarked that Mr. Dreher had been gone for quite some time, but Mr. Platt did not comment.  He was only repairing a window sash, and did not seem to lack for any materials.  Nancy took her leave politely and returned to town the way she had come.  

How odd,
she thought.
What route would he have traveled to get supplies?
She had not encountered Sam Dreher on the way out, and did not see him on the way back.  She pondered it the entire evening.

Those who knew Nancy Bagwell would agree that it was not in her nature to rise early in the morning.  She was different from her neighbors.  As a rule, ‘Teaguers woke up early.  The farmers and livestock herders needed to attend to their animals and the fishermen were eager to get out on the water while their chances were good.  The prosperity of the Bagwell family no longer depended on the wind and weather.  By island standards, Nancy usually slept late.  After several attempts on different days to find Sam Dreher, however, she was restless.  Something was not right.  Sam's mysterious absence gnawed at her.   He had to be
somewhere,
but so far his whereabouts had eluded her best efforts.  Where was he?  Everyone she spoke with seemed to know where to find him at first, but all of them were mistaken.  She was certain that Ethan Platt was misleading her; she had been misled before and knew the signs.  
But why?
  The search for of Sam Dreher engaged her mind as nothing had in quite some time.  To solve the puzzle, she would have to get up unusually early, before the sailors arrived on Chincoteague.  Unpleasant, to be sure, but worthwhile.     

The sun was just rising on frosty ground as Nancy gazed on the choppy waters of the Chincoteague channel from the dining-room window.  Hearing her up and about so early, Ruth Broadwater had made pancakes, and was now wrapping them to take along.  She packed a willow basket with a jug of milk and a little crock of blueberry jam.  

“You be careful, Miss Nancy,” she admonished. “It's cold today, you know.”  

Nancy was gracious to the cook.  “Thank you, Ruth.  Autumn air is good for the constitution, Father says.”  

“Yes, ma'am, I'm sure he's correct.   You'll be back from your inspection for lunchtime, won't you?”  Nancy had told Ruth that she was heading up towards Wildcat Marsh, on the northernmost end of the island.  She explained that someone was pasturing cattle on the Bagwell property, in defiance of the law, and she was going to identify the cattle.  Indeed she had heard about the cattle, over the dinner table, though no one had asked her to chase them down.  It made an excellent pretext.

Nancy had dressed for the day with uncharacteristic practicality in a simple grey herringbone woolen frock with very little lace trim.  She wore a matching bonnet lined in ivory wool and a broad black belt.  Tucked in her belt was her Italian spyglass.  On her feet were tall boots, presumably for hiking into the marsh.  Ruth thought it all a little odd, but she did not concern herself overly much with Nancy.  The girl never seemed to have a problem she couldn't solve.  When Ruth saw that the buggy had arrived from the stable, she brought out a heavy cloak and long gloves.  In a moment, Nancy was on her way up Main Street.  

When she was sure that Ruth had gone back to her work, Nancy turned her horse off the thoroughfare and into a little side street past the bank.  A covered portico stood to the rear of the building, used by a certain few patrons who arrived by carriage and wished to enter without exposure to the weather.  At this time of day it stood in deep shadow.  Nancy stopped the horse under the portico, her buggy entirely hidden.  The air was still, the town quiet.  She pulled her cloak around her, unwrapped her breakfast, and waited.  

Even before she had eaten the last of Ruth's pancakes, Nancy's patience was rewarded.  In the distance, she heard the crunch of boots on oyster shells.  She knew it could be no one but the sailors from the
Louisiana.
  She drew her cloak around her face and sank into the seat of the buggy.  In a few moments a small group of men walked past her vantage point, oblivious to her presence.  She counted eight.  At the head of the group was Sam Dreher.  Next to him was Ethan Platt.  Her heart leapt.  Today, there would be no misleading her.  She would have a conversation with Mr. Dreher, and unravel the mystery.