Twice Loved (copy2) (35 page)

It seemed the world had taken on a brooding sadness to complement Laura’s own. Her heart felt heavy, and she shuddered inside her woolen cape, drew the hood together tightly beneath her chin, and hurried on.

***

Jane took one look at her sister and said, “I’d better put on the tea. I think you can use it.”

Half of Jane’s brood had gone to school, leaving the house, for once, almost peaceful. A warm fire burned beneath the crane, and Josh came running with a welcome hug before Jane wisely bustled him and his cousins off into another room with a bowl of crisp-baked pumpkin seeds to nibble on. Then the two sisters settled across the table from each other, sipping strong mint-flavored tea.

“You look terrible,” Jane opened frankly. “Your eyes are all swollen and your face is puffy.”

“I had myself a good cry last night, that’s why.”

“Caused by which of the two men in your life?”

“The one I’m trying to avoid—Rye.”

“Ah, Rye. I take it you’ve heard about DeLaine Hussey, then.”

Laura’s head snapped up in surprise. “Y ... you know about it, too?”

Jane met her gaze steadily. “The whole island knows about DeLaine Hussey’s unabashed pursuit of Rye. It shouldn’t come as such a surprise to you that I’ve heard about it, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I haven’t seen much of you. You’ve been hiding away down there, I suspect, so you wouldn’t run into Rye.”

Laura sighed. “You’re right, I have been hiding away—scared to death of running into him someplace.”

The room grew silent for a moment while Jane studied her sister’s eyes. Beneath them were small swollen pillows of purple. “It’s that strong between you two, is it?”

The truth was printed on each tired line of her face. “Yes, Jane, it is. I ... we ...” And without warning the tears came again. She covered her face with both hands and braced her elbows on the table. “Oh, Jane, I’ve met Rye alone, I’ve ... I’ve 
been
 with him again, and it’s made my life a living hell.”

Jane placed a comforting hand on Laura’s forearm, stroking it lightly with a thumb. 
“Been
 with him as a man and woman, you mean, in the fullest sense of the word.” It was not really a question.

Behind her hands, Laura nodded her head wretchedly. Jane patiently waited for the fit of weeping to pass. When it had, she pressed a handkerchief into Laura’s hands, and while Laura blew her nose, the two shared quavering smiles.

“Oh, Jane, you must think I’m terribly wicked, admitting that.”

“No, dear, I don’t. Not at all. I’ve told you before, I always knew how it was between you and Rye. Do you think I’ve been blind during all these years you’ve been married to Dan? I knew there was ... well, something missing between you two. I only wondered when you’d admit it. Apparently, it took Rye’s return for that to happen.”

“I tried to stay away from Rye, believe me, Jane, I did.” Laura’s haunted eyes pleaded for understanding. “But I met him one day up in the hills when I’d gone to the mill to order flour. Josh was with me and ... and seeing the two of them together, looking so much alike ... I ... well, he asked me to meet him and I did. The following day. That’s the day I brought Josh here, the day when ... when Zachary died.”

The full implication of Laura’s words struck her sister, and Jane crooned sympathetically, “Oh, Laura, no.”

Laura swallowed hard and nodded. She took a fortifying gulp of tea, then warmed her palms around the cup. “I thought perhaps you’d guessed.”

“I suppose I did, about how difficult it was for you and Rye. But I had no idea it had happened that particular day.”

Laura studied her cup, remembering. “Fateful, isn’t it, that while Rye and I met and ... and deceived Dan, he was out searching for his father on the bar.”

“Oh, Laura, you aren’t saying you blame yourself for Zachary’s death?”

Laura’s eyes were etched with pain as she fixed them on her sister. “Don’t you understand? We were out there together, and when we returned to town, it was to the news that Zach was missing. The next time Rye and I saw each other was ... was down at the wharf. But Dan was there, too, and ... oh, Jane, I’ll never forget the sight of Dan turning to Rye when he came in with the search party. He tried to ... to resist going to him, but he couldn’t. He needed comfort, and right there before the whole town, the two of them flung their arms around each other right after Rye and I had ... oh, everything is so mixed up.” Again Laura dropped her face into her hands. “I feel so guilty!”

“I suppose that’s natural, but to blame yourself for Zach’s death is foolish. You’re no more responsible for the fact that Zach drowned than you are for the fact that Rye Dalton 
didn’t!
 I’ll grant you the timing was unfortunate, but that’s all I’ll concede!”

“But you weren’t there the night of the funeral when Dan was so drunk.”

“I wasn’t there, but I heard about it.”

“Oh, Jane, it was dreadful. But it was true, everything he accused me of. I’m the one who’s driven Dan to drink, and there’s no way to cover up my feelings for Rye. I’ve vowed to stay away from him for six months, at least during the period of mourning. But Dan has guessed how I feel. He never comes home until late at night, then he stumbles in, too inebriated for us even to talk. And all the time I keep wondering, even after six months—if I divorce Dan and go to Rye, how can we face Dan then?”

Suddenly, Jane jumped to her feet, going to fetch more hot water for tea. “You know the answer to that, Laura. You’ve always known. This island is not big enough for all three of you. It never has been.”

“N ... not big enough?”

Jane replaced the kettle on the hearth, then turned and impaled her sister with a look that would force Laura to admit the truth. “Hardly. It wouldn’t matter which of the two you’re married to. There’s bound to be conjecture about the other, and you’re bound to confront each other time and again and dredge up the past. Somebody will have to leave sooner or later.”

“But Nantucket is our home, all three of ours!” Laura wailed.

Jane moved briskly back to her chair, but suddenly she looked ill at ease. Lifting her cup, she fixed her eyes on it as if reading its tea leaves. “There’s been talk, Laura.”

“Talk?” Laura looked puzzled.

“I can see you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

“There’s been a man visiting the island, named Throckmorton. He’s an agent for a land company that’s organizing a group of families to go to the Michigan Territory, come spring.”

“M ... Michigan?” Laura’s brown eyes widened.

“Michigan.” Jane swallowed a mouthful of tea. “To settle a new town there. And as you know, no town can survive without a ... a cooper.”

Laura’s lips dropped open as realization dawned. “Oh no,” she whispered.

“This man, this Mr. Throckmorton, has been seen at the cooperage more than once.”

Foolishly, Laura looked toward the door, as if she could see the cooperage from where she sat. “Rye? Rye is planning to go to the frontier?” Laura’s eyes again sought Jane’s, hoping for denial.

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard that. All I’ve heard is that this Mr. Throckmorton has been sent to New England to drum up excitement, to seek skilled men, the kind of men necessary to carve out a living in the wilderness. They say a man can have all the land he wants. It’s free for the taking. All he has to do is live on it and clear it and farm it for a year.”

“But Rye is no farmer.”

“Of course he isn’t. I doubt that he’d homestead. He’d be going where his skill as a barrel maker would make him far more successful than farming.”

“Oh, Jane!” Laura fairly wailed.

“I’m not saying it’s true that Rye’s going. I’m only saying what I’ve heard. I thought you should know.”

Laura remembered Rye’s stiff, forbidding pose the day before, how he’d turned his back on her, and her own impetuous words on the street. Could he be thinking of escaping Nantucket and its triangle of tension by simply turning to DeLaine Hussey and the frontier, accepting the challenge of both?

The thought haunted Laura continuously until the day when she returned to the cooperage to collect the lid she’d ordered. She fully intended to confront Rye and question him about his intentions for the future. But she was not to be given the chance, for when she arrived, it was to find only Josiah there. She had the distinct impression, though, that Rye had been on the watch for her and had hurriedly escaped to the lodgings overhead, for when she entered, Josiah was standing near the foot of the steps, looking up.

“Good morning, Josiah.”

He nodded. “Daughter.”

“I’ve come for my cover.”

“Ayup. And it’s ready.”

He fetched it, handed it to her, then watched while she held it almost caressingly. She looked up directly. “I... I wanted to talk to Rye. Is he here?”

The shrewd blue-gray eyes roved about the cooperage, but Josiah answered with deliberate evasiveness. “Y’ don’t see him about anyplace, do y’?”

“No, Josiah, I don’t 
see
 him,” she replied pointedly.

“Then it’ll be a bit difficult t’ talk to him, won’t it?”

“Is he deliberately avoiding me?” she asked.

Josiah turned his back. “Now, that I can’t answer. Y’ll have t’ ask him next time y’ see him.”

“Josiah, has there been a man named Throckmorton around here talking to Rye?”

“Throckmorton—well now, let’s see ...” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Throckmorton ... mmm ...”

“Josiah!” she said with strained patience.

“Ayup. Come t’ think of it, there has been.”

“What did he want?”

Josiah pretended to be busy cleaning the top of the tool bench, making a lot of racket as he rearranged tools. “I don’t listen to all the prattle of everybody who comes drifting in here t’ talk t’ that son o’ mine. If I did, I wouldn’t get a lick o’ work done.”

“Where was Mr. Throckmorton from?”

“From? What do y’ mean, from?”

“Was he from the Michigan Territory?”

Again Josiah scratched his grizzled chin, finally turning to face her, but assuming an expression of little concern. “Well now, seems t’ me I did hear him mention Michigan, not that I paid much attention.”

Laura’s heart seemed to rattle against her ribcage. “Thank you, Josiah. What do I owe you for the lid?”

“Owe me? Don’t be silly, girl. Rye’d tar ’n’ feather me if I tried t’ take any money for it.”

Momentarily, her heart lifted, then she could not help asking as she looked down at the newly hewn cover. “Did he make it or did you?”

Again the old one turned away. “He did.” At that moment Laura heard a floorboard creak overhead. She looked up at the ceiling and said loudly, “Tell him thank you, Josiah, will you?”

“Ayup, I’ll do that. I’ll be sure t’ do that.”

Several minutes later, Rye came down the steps and paused with his foot on the last riser, his palm resting on the upright post there.

“She’s gone,” Josiah grunted. “No need for y’ to skulk any longer. Y’ weren’t foolin' her, though. She knew y’ was up there.”

“Aye, I heard her thankin’ me.”

“Things’ve come to a fine pass when y’ leave an old man t’ tell lies to y’r woman,” Josiah grumbled, “and all the time y’ hidin’ over m’ head like some sneak-thief.”

“If she were really my woman and mine alone, there’d be no need.”

“News of Throckmorton and his business here’s got her scuttled.”

“Not enough to leave Dan, though.”

“How do y’ know when y’ wouldn’t let her have her say?”

“If she’d decided, she’d have come up those steps and nothin’ would have stopped her. I know Laura.”

“Aye, I suspect y’ do, though y’ didn’t see the look on her face when she mentioned Throckmorton. Who d’ you suppose told ’er about him?”

“I haven’t any idea, but the man’s been talkin’ to others besides me. Plenty on the island know his business here.”

“And have y’ been considerin’ his offer?”

Rye’s eyebrows drew together until they almost touched, but he didn’t answer.

Josiah picked up a tool, turned his back and stepped to the grindstone, testing the dull blade with a thumb while asking nonchalantly, “Well, then have y’ been considerin’ the offer of that 
hussy
?"

Rye jerked around to stare at his father’s back. The way Josiah pronounced the word, it was questionable whether he meant it as a surname or a slur. “Aye, I’m takin’ her up on it.”

Josiah peered back over his shoulder to see Rye with a caustic smirk twisting one corner of his mouth.

“She makes a damn fine orange cookie.”

“Humph!” The whine of the grindstone against steel cut off further conversation.

***

The final clambake of the season was held each year when the last of the winter stores had been put up and the beaches were not yet frozen. Cap’n Silas was the perennial tender of the firepit and could be seen each year on the day before the bake, gathering the indispensable rockweed from the stones and mussels on which it grew. Patiently, he filled burlap bags, each with nearly a hundred pounds of the yellowish-brown weed that contained small air sacs that flavored the food as the sacs burst. Bag after bag he dragged to the location of the clambake, heedless of the winds that gusted up to forty miles per hour—normal for this time of year. “We’ll find a lee,” he said, and they always did.

The hearty islanders thought little of braving the elements for a squantum such as this, the reward being the succulent scallops and clams that had been dug along Polpis Harbor and waited in baskets along with potatoes, squash, and cheesecloth bags stuffed with sausage, which would all be steamed along with the seafood.

On the day of this year’s clambake, Rye and DeLaine Hussey arrived at the dunes in the late afternoon to find a large gathering already there and old Silas reigning over the building of the fire, ruling each step of the procedure like a despot. A shallow depression had been dug in the sand and was being lined with wood, then filled with rocks. “This is the tricky part,” old Silas preached, as he did every year. “Got t’ build y’r mound so’s air c’n filter around every rock, else y’ll get no draw t’ heat ’em proper!”