1929 (76 page)

Caleb sat against the side of the boat, his
head in his hands. He swayed slightly as the boat rocked and kept
his head low as he choked randomly and cleared his throat hard
several times. Jonathan sat beside him and looked briefly at the
sky, prepared now to know.

“What happened?” he asked numbly. Caleb shook
his head, still cradled in his hands.

“It happened so fast,” he started, having to
clear his throat again.

“Start at the beginning. How did you end up
in my boat?” Jonathan’s bloodshot eyes focused on the side of
Caleb’s bent head, and he tugged at his sleeve. “Talk to me.” Caleb
took a deep breath and recounted the day. Jonathan stopped him
several times, having him repeat accounts of the explosion and then
the shredded sails.

“Shredded? But they were fine–”

“I can’t figure it out. I think there was a
second explosion . . .” he stared blankly ahead as he spoke. “There
was a wave so big. I’ve never seen one so big . . . next thing I
know, I’m underwater not knowing which way was up. When I finally
found the surface, I saw the bow of the Ava-Maura just before it
went under. It was so hard to stay afloat with the waves and the
wind, it was hard to see . . . but I saw Aryl. I know he came back
up at least . . . for a moment. He was maybe ten yards from me. He
was pointing at a smaller fishing boat headed our way. I bobbed as
high as I could so they would see us and screamed as loud as I
could. There were pieces of the boat floating all around. I hung
onto one until they got close. When I looked back . . . he was
gone. He had lost a good amount of blood, Jon.” Caleb was nodding
firmly. “He probably didn’t have the strength–”

“Lost blood?”

“The first explosion threw him across the
deck,” Caleb said, painfully remembering. “The back of his shirt
was bloody.”

“That changes things,” Jonathan said
grimly.

“I know.” He took a ragged breath and gave
into the grief. “We’re not going to find him, are we, Jon?” His
voice was frayed.

“No. I don’t think so.” He put an arm around
Caleb’s shoulder; they gave up hiding tears from each other as the
harbormaster guided his boat over every square inch of the assigned
search area.

∞∞∞

“Anything?” Ava rose quickly from Hubert’s
chair with anxious eyes, shifting Samuel on her shoulder. Jonathan
dropped his eyes and shook his head. Caleb’s newly inherited
farmhouse had become the gathering spot for family and friends,
except for Aryl’s parents, who chose to be alone to mourn
privately.

“How’s Claire?” he asked as he glanced at the
stairs.

“Not good. The medicine makes her sleep. But
she wakes up screaming every few hours. She won’t eat.” She wiped
her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled as she laid Samuel
in his floor pen and then hugged Jonathan tightly around the neck.
“How are you?” she asked. Her tears had been for Aryl, even more
for Claire. But some had been shed in relief that Jonathan hadn’t
been on the boat; that he had gone to pick up Patrick, that her
recurring dream had not been a premonition.

“They’re going back out tomorrow, even though
everyone knows . . . I’m not going with them, though. I’m going to
the Sullivan’s to help arrange the funeral. Claire isn’t up to it.”
She pulled back with a dire expression.

“You’re giving up?”

His eyes were dull, lifeless, and his voice
broke when he spoke. “He’s gone, Ava,” he whispered as a single
tear spilled. She pulled him close again and held him while he
racked with strangled sobs of grief and exhaustion.

Jean walked in quietly, wrapped his arms
around Jonathan’s leg and rested his head against his hip. Ava
placed one hand on his head and stroked his hair while he looked up
at her, somewhat fearful of Jonathan’s breakdown. The few other
inhabitants of the house tactfully avoided the room.

June 27th 1930

At the end of the day, when all of the boats
had returned, the search was officially called off. Ava was sitting
in the living room holding Jean on her lap when Jonathan returned
from the Sullivan’s. His face wore the hollow, red, and swollen
eyes of mourning. Ava and Jean hugged him in turn, and then Ava
took Jean upstairs to put him to bed.

Downstairs, she found Jonathan in the kitchen
sitting sloppily, as if he were a rag-doll thrown into a chair.

“Sunday,” he said wearily. “We’re going to
have a service on Sunday. That’s what Michael and Kathleen want.”
She slid into the seat next to him and took his hand. “We’re going
to have a box. Just a small one, so people can put,” he paused,
looking upward, blowing out his breath and blinking fast, “put in
things that are special.” He shifted in his seat. “Michael sent me
into town with a list of family and friends to send telegrams to.
I’m not sure how I’m going to get through that service, Ava.” He
stared ahead with a clenched jaw. “Everything we’ve been through,
everything we’ve lost . . . .” He clutched a handful of his shirt,
right over his heart. “It was nothing compared to this,” he
whispered.

They heard a small noise and turned to the
doorway.

“Dadee?” Jonathan straightened in his chair
and sniffled, wiping his face.

“Yes, Jean. What is it?” Jean walked to
Jonathan’s side and curled his little arm around his back. He
seemed to struggle for words, and then his face relaxed.

“Here. I don’t have nightmares anymore,” Jean
said as he placed Maura’s cross on the table in front of Jonathan.
He scurried back up the stairs.

Jonathan stared at it for a long time. He was
out of tears, but his eyes burned as he held it for a moment and
then slipped it into his pocket.

After a long silence, there was a soft knock
at the door. Ava opened it to a disheveled and intoxicated
Caleb.

“Is Jon here?” he asked woozily.

“He is. Come in, Caleb.”

He walked into the kitchen and dropped into a
chair without acknowledging Jonathan, and the knapsack he put on
the table made clinking sounds as it settled. Ava leaned over
Jonathan, kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

He looked up with grateful eyes.

“I love you.”

She touched his face, smiled compassionately,
and left the two to whatever distraction Caleb had smuggled in.

“Compliments of the local law,” he said as he
pulled out two bottles of whiskey from the bag.

“The sheriff?” Jonathan asked
incredulously.

“He gave them to me, to us . . . in not so
many words,” he explained as he pushed one bottle toward
Jonathan.

“How many words did he use?” Jonathan asked
suspiciously.

“He confiscated these yesterday from a
runner. He stopped by this afternoon to give his condolences.” He
paused to tilt the bottle up for several seconds and whistled at
the burn. “Said he had some business to take care of on the other
end of town, asked me if I’d do him a favor and dispose of it
properly, since he didn’t have time.” One corner of his mouth
twisted but his eyes remained heavy. “I assured him that I would.”
He held up the bottle and swigged heartily again.

They sat quietly, avoiding each other's eyes,
listening to the crickets’ songs through the open window.

“It’s hot,” Caleb said, glancing at the back
door. “I’m going outside.” Jonathan knew Caleb was most likely on
the verge of tears again and preferred them hidden by the dark. He
grabbed his bottle and knapsack and pushed open the screen door.
Jonathan followed.

They sat on the bench against the house with
two feet of space between them; the spot where Aryl belonged.

The missing element was overwhelming and
neither could bear to look at the gap.

June 29th 1930

Claire sat by the window, staring through it
with blank eyes as Ava changed her bed sheets. The doctor suggested
they talk to her about random things, and so she did. The roses
blooming outside and the weather, how lovely the quilt was, what
the quilter might have been thinking when she created the design.
Claire didn’t answer or give any indication that she had even heard
her. After making the bed, she sat in front of her friend with a
tray of food.

“You need to eat something, Claire,” she
pleaded and held a spoon to her lips. Claire remained motionless.
“It’s been three days, Claire. Please eat something.” She touched
the spoon to her closed lips and sighed in frustration at her
catatonic state. Ava wiped Claire’s mouth. “Stand up, honey. We
need to get you dressed.” She pulled on both arms, and Claire stood
limply, swaying, staring past her. Ava pulled the gown over her
head and replaced it with a black dress, high in the neck with
dozens of small satin buttons lining the bodice. She straightened
it around her waist, and reached around to tie the high waist back.
She shook out the skirt around her calves and lastly, she bent and
pulled off her house slippers and replaced them with low heels. She
guided her back down in the chair and Claire’s arms hung limply at
her side. Ava moved behind her and brushed her dirty hair,
smoothing tangles. She placed a newly purchased cloche hat low
around her ears, so only the curls of the ends of her golden blonde
hair showed. Ava was grateful that the hat covered most of her
matted hair. She walked around and stooped to eye-level with
Claire.

“Honey, I’m going downstairs for a minute.
I’ll come get you when it’s time, all right?” She touched Claire’s
wet cheek as a few more tears overflowed from blank eyes.

∞∞∞

Downstairs, the house was beginning to buzz
loudly as more and more people arrived, wanting to be included in
the funeral procession. Dozens of people crowded the living room
and kitchen. Piles of prepared food accumulated quickly on the
counters.

“She’s dressed,” Ava told Arianna and Ethel
as she sat down to a strong cup of coffee. She glanced into the
living room and saw Caleb near the window with hands shoved in his
pockets, eyes cast down.

Jonathan stood by the fireplace, leaning on
the mantel, only half-listening to those around him. He looked
extremely handsome in his black suit, and Ava wished it was for any
other reason that he was dressed formally. She felt a pang of guilt
for even noticing his beauty at a time like this.

Just in the short time she had been focusing
on Jonathan, there had been three knocks on the door. Each time
Ethel scurried across the room to answer it, let people in or
receive a gift of sympathy for Claire or Aryl’s parents. Grateful
as she was, she was becoming more flustered. A fourth knock sent
her hands up in the air and the dishtowel flying across the
room.

Ava rose and took two quick steps. “I’ll get
it, Ethel,” she said and smiled back at her as she swung the door
open.

Her eyes flew open wide and she gasped,
slapping both hands to her mouth, making a whimpering sound from
behind them.

“Where is she, love?”

Ava stepped forward with tears stinging her
tired eyes and fell into Maura’s arms. She sobbed loudly and clung
to Maura as she patted her back.

“There, there, Miss Ava.”

“You’re here.” She pulled back and put her
hands on Maura’s cheeks. “You’re really here,” she said with a
quivering lip.

“I received Mr. Jonathan’s telegram and was
on the train first thing this marnin’.”

Over Ava’s shoulder, her eyes found Jonathan,
standing in the archway to the living room. He returned her gaze
with a tired, relieved expression, very close to breaking down. She
walked to him and stood on tiptoe to hug him.

“I’m so glad you came,” he choked, unable to
hold back his emotion. “Thank you.” He worried briefly about how
she would absorb the cost of the trip with Ian out of work and
tried to remember the exact balance of the account that held the
business funds. It didn’t matter. He was so relieved and soothed by
her presence that he would mortgage his soul, if need be, to pay
for the visit.

“You look so tired, Mr. Jonathan.” She
touched the side of his face.

“I am tired, Maura.” He wanted to say more,
but he remembered that Claire’s loss was the greatest amongst them.
He motioned to the stairs. “She’s upstairs.”

“We need to leave soon, Jon. Do you think we
can get her downstairs?” Michael Sullivan asked as he passed,
placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“We will,” Jonathan said, looking at
Maura.

Ava held onto Maura’s hand and led her to
where Claire sat, void of emotion.

“She hasn’t eaten in three days, she doesn’t
talk, and she just stares.” Ava stepped aside and let Maura do what
she did best, touch people’s hearts. She knelt down in front of
Claire and smiled pitifully, pushing stay strands of hair out of
her face, tucking them under her hat.

“Claire, love.” She took her cold hands and
put them together between hers, squeezing them. “It’s time to go.”
Claire’s eyes flickered but lacked focus. “This will be one of the
hardest things ye have ever done. Goodbyes are never easy . . . but
it’s something ye must do.” Claire’s eyes welled with tears as she
stared past Maura’s shoulder.

“Claire.” Maura commanded her attention with
loving authority. “Ye have to get this day behind you. Ye won’t be
able to truly grieve and begin to heal until you’ve properly said
goodbye. Today begins that long journey, love,” Maura said with a
sigh. “And ye must get to the point of healing. Aryl’s babe, he
depends on you. He needs ye. And ye need him. Aryl left a part of
himself with ye. Ye have to do this.” She put a hand on her
still-flat stomach. “Fer him.”

Claire rose from the chair slowly and held
onto Maura as they made their way to the door. Ava followed, tears
streaming down her face.

∞∞∞