The Sisters from Hardscrabble Bay (9 page)

But he didn’t have a wife now. She was gone. There was no woman living here who would wear these clothes for him. Maddie lifted up the coil by one end and let it dangle. What long hair she’d had.

She held the braid up against her own hair to see its full length. She walked over to the window and tried holding it against what light there was. Even in death it had shine.

Without pausing, Maddie took the braid and went out to the kitchen and reached up to the sewing basket. She took the scissors and cut off a few inches of hair, retying the ribbon around the new end. Then she put the snipped length into her skirt pocket. She went quickly back into the bedroom, carefully curled the remaining portion of the braid back into a coil, and placed it under the blouse where she’d found it. She closed the drawer and looked for a moment at her reflection, dark and shadowy in the half-light. Then she walked out and shut the door. She went upstairs before anyone got back, and she put that braid end into her pillow. She would sew it on later. At night, when she did things.

The next morning, before the girls were even up, Maddie’s hair was piled and twisted on top of her head. She stood at the stove frying eggs. Bill’s eyes were on the hot, black liquid when she poured out his strong first coffee. “I’m in need of it, Maddie. Slept like a horse with fleas last night. Feel worse off than when I started. Goddamned field needs plowing, though. It don’t wait for beauty.”

Dalton walked in the front door, poured out a cup of black coffee, and sat at the table.

“Where the hell you been?” Bill asked.

“Mending the nets.”

“I need you on dry land today.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m not one to do a two-man job by myself.”

Maddie moved back to the stove. “Eggs also, Dalton?” He smiled and nodded, holding up his cracked mug. “Good coffee.”

“You never make it here for Maddie’s breakfast.” Bill winked at Maddie. “She’s a master with an egg in a pan.”

Maddie smiled and cracked six eggs into the waiting black skillet.

“Your hair looks different, Maddie.” Dalton took a big swallow of coffee.

Bill turned and looked at her from behind. “You got it all up on top of your head.” Maddie nodded and kept her eyes on the eggs sizzling in front of her. Bill and Dalton both watched her, drinking their coffee, till she served them.

They ate quickly and without comment. Standing to put on his hat and hitch up his suspenders, Bill turned back. “You look older that way, Maddie. Took me by surprise.”

“Maddie, when is your birthday?” Dalton watched her from the table, where he sat scraping up his eggs with biscuit.

Maddie looked down at the stove top. “It is the twenty-third of June.”

“That’s last week.” Bill looked up.

Maddie nodded.

“Well, you should get a present,” Dalton said.

“Shit. Goddamned. Maddie, we didn’t know it was your birthday. Look at your cheeks now. Red as a boiled lobster.” Maddie turned to face the stove. “Here, now, why don’t you take today off? Go look at the ocean all day—you’re always looking at the water. Idella can do the cooking. Right, Idella?”

Avis and Idella were just now pounding down the stairs. They stopped on the bottom step and took in the scene.

“Maddie’s got her hair up!” Avis was delighted.

Dalton, pouring out the last dregs of coffee from the pot, looked over at Maddie. “You want to come with me on the boat tomorrow? Whyn’t you come along on the morning rounds?”

“Me, too! Me three!” Avis was jumping at his legs like a flea.

“You like the sound of that, Maddie?” Bill asked. “You want to go in the boat?”

Maddie smiled and nodded.

“Can I come, too?” Avis was pulling on her brother’s pant leg.

“If you help me row.” Dalton reached down and tickled Avis under the arm. “I can’t be hauling the whole load of you.”

“You okay ’bout this, Della?” Bill looked at her. “There’d be no room in the boat for you.”

“I don’t want to go in the boat. I don’t like the feel of it.”

“Maybe we can have a little celebration. We can kill a chicken, since the lady of the house don’t like lobsters.” Dad was smiling all around. “And a birthday cake. You want to bake her a cake, Idella?”

Idella nodded. She was looking at Maddie’s hair piled on her head and wondering how it was staying up there.

 

“Well, hello, stranger.” Mrs. Doncaster had heard Tippie barking and seen Idella walking along the path to her house. “Come sit awhile. Catch me up.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Doncaster, I can’t visit. I come to borrow some vanilla. We’re out.”

“Course you can have some. Come up on the porch at least. I’ll go get it.”

Idella stepped onto the porch and looked over at their house. It looked so small from here, against the blank blue sky. Dad and Dalton were in the field already. She could just make them out, dragging along behind the plow. Avis was off in the woods to find a treasure for Maddie’s birthday. Course what Avis took as treasure, anyone could guess. She might show up with a bone or a dried-out wasp nest and think she was giving her something. Idella was going to show them all how good a cake she could make. She was a much better cook than Maddie.

“Here you are, dear. Are you going to bake something?”

“A cake. For Maddie. It was her birthday.”

“Well, how old was she?”

Idella shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

“Things working out with this one?”

“She’s all right. Avis likes her.”

“Well, that’s a hurdle.” Mrs. Doncaster laughed. “If Avis doesn’t like you, you know about it.”

“And Dalton’s taking her in his boat tomorrow. And Dad likes her coffee.”

“Well, that’s four or five hurdles.”

Idella smiled.

“That leaves you, dear. What do you think of having her there?”

Idella shrugged. “She’s all right, I guess.” She held up the vanilla. “Thanks, Mrs. Doncaster.” She turned and started back along the path.

“Got enough sugar?”

“Oh, yes,” Idella called over her shoulder, and started to run.

Mrs. Doncaster watched her run all the way back, then stood looking for a few moments longer. The kettle’s on the boil, she thought. Something is brewing over there. Poor Bill. He thinks it’s just strong coffee.

 

“Maddie!” Idella called as she ran into the house with the vanilla. “You in here?” She stood at the bottom of the stairs. “You up there?”

There was a sound from Dad’s room. Idella went to the door and pushed it back till she could see in. Maddie was standing there, frozen, in front of Mother’s mirror. She was wearing the long white gloves that Mother wore to church. Mother’s white blouse, with a black velvet ribbon she would tie into a bow at the neck, was draped across Maddie’s front. Idella pushed the door open all the way. A long black skirt was pulled up over Maddie’s shapeless gray dress. It gaped open in the back. Maddie was too broad, too hulking, to button it closed. She was clutching at the blouse with her big hands, crushing the soft folds that Mother had worn so gracefully.

“No! You take them off! You aren’t ever to touch her things!” Idella rushed up to Maddie and grabbed at a gloved hand. “You are too dirty to touch them!” She pulled and scratched. “You get out of here!” The glove wouldn’t slide from Maddie’s swollen fingers. It had to be dragged and peeled and wrenched from the hand. “If I tell Dad, he’ll kill you. He’ll send you the hell out of here.”

Maddie was sobbing. “I wanted to feel like a lady.”

“You’re not a lady!” Idella screamed. “You’re a French girl from way down country! You belong in the lobster factory. We don’t need you!”

“Please, Idella. I am begging you. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to leave here.” Her shoulders were shaking. She crushed the blouse in her desperate fist. “You don’t know, Idella. My father, he will kill me. Or worse than kill me. Much worse.” Maddie was on her knees, the beautiful skirt crumpled on the floor beneath her weight. Idella held the one glove, baggy and misshapen from her own frantic pulling. She stood, stilled to silence, and watched the sobbing figure.

Then she laid the glove at Maddie’s feet and quietly walked from the room, closing the door behind her. She went directly upstairs and curled into a ball on the corner of her bed. She felt as though someone had poured a hot, heavy liquid over her, into her.

 

She must have slept. When she opened her eyes, the room had the feel of lateness; the light had moved, and shadows darkened it. Someone had covered her with a blanket and closed the bedroom door. Moving slowly, unfurling her groggy body, she went to the window and looked toward the water. Maddie stood there, holding the top of the ladder with one hand, looking out to the bay. Her gray dress blew out behind her.

Idella turned away from the window and glanced over at Maddie’s bed. It was made up, as always. Idella walked to it and sat. She reached down and opened Maddie’s drawer. She felt with her hands all through the scraps of clothing Maddie had folded so carefully. Nothing was hidden. She closed the drawer and looked about the room. Nothing.

She put her legs up, lay down on the little bed, and put her head on the pillow. Something was under the pillow, stuffed into the casing. Cautiously Idella felt the edges of the hidden object. It was soft and lumpy. She slid her hand into the casing and pulled it out. She gasped. It was a doll, a grimy little rag doll with no shoes and a crudely sewn dress made out of sacking. It had no face to speak of. It had a black button nose and a thin line of stitches for a mouth. Some of them were pulled out. There were holes where eyes must once have been sewn on. It had no hair or hat or ribbon of any sort. A sad little thing. Idella did not want to see it. She slipped it under the pillow again and got off the bed, smoothing everything back into place. Maddie had a doll, and she slept with it. She hid it from them all and was ashamed. Maddie wasn’t that old, Idella thought, or as grown as she let on.

 

When Maddie came back into the house, with Avis trailing her like a wake, Idella had already put the cake in the oven. She’d just gone on ahead and made it, using the cookbook she’d ordered from the flour company.

Maddie didn’t look at her.

“Did you save the bowl for me?” Avis said as soon as she came through the door. “Did you leave me some batter?”

“No,” Idella said. “I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” Avis said, coming over to the table. “It’s here waiting for me.”

“It’s Maddie’s cake. I saved the batter for her.”

“Oh!” Maddie looked up. “Oh, Idella.”

Idella looked her in the eye and nodded, then looked quickly away.

“Oh, Idella.” Maddie rushed up to her. “Thank you.” She put her hands out as though to hug her and then turned away, confused.

“Well, it’s not that great, licking the bowl.” Avis laughed.

“Come, Petite Avie, let us all three lick at the bowl with our fingers.” Maddie was suddenly aflutter.

“You go on,” Idella said, smiling weakly. “I had quite a lot already.”

 

“Well, that was a birthday meal fit for a queen. You’re the queen, Maddie.” Bill pushed his chair back from the table. “Damn good cake you made, Idella.”

Idella smiled. “I just followed the recipe.”

“Who killed the chicken?” Bill asked.

“I did,” Dalton said.

“It was Dalton had to kill it, or we’d be eating a live chicken,” Avis said, laughing. “Maddie didn’t know a thing about chopping off their heads.”

“I could have done it,” Idella said. “I could have. But I made the cake.”

“You’ve never chopped off the head of a chicken, Maddie?”

“No. Never.”

“She’s never cleaned one either,” Idella said. “She don’t know how. Dalton did that for her, too.”

“Well, weren’t you the helpful one, doing the woman’s work?” Bill looked at Dalton. “I wondered what the hell happened to you.”

“Why should she kill her own birthday chicken?”

“I will never be able to kill a chicken,” Maddie said seriously.

“You never should have named them,” Idella said. “That was stupid.”

“Named them?” Bill laughed. “Who’d we eat tonight?”

Maddie’s cheeks flushed, and she shook her head.

Bill grabbed a bone from his plate. “Come now, whose leg have I got here?”

“Don’t tease her.” Dalton glared at his father. “She don’t need to be teased about it.”

“I’m just having a little fun, is all. Don’t get your cock feathers up. I never knew the name of a bird I’ve had for supper. I was interested.”

“They’ve got French names,” Avis piped up. “Maddie was naming them to teach me words.”

“Is that so?” Bill looked at Avis. “You learnin’ French?”

“Some.” Avis smiled. “We ate Nuage Gris. Gray Cloud. ’Cause it was gray like a rain cloud. And it was the easiest to catch.”