The Whiskey Sea Page 22

  On a dark night, when Charles was away on a run, Frieda saw a marked turn for the worse in Silver and sent for the doctor. Silver’s breaths were coming in gasps, then pausing for moments before resuming, and she considered having him taken to the hospital. She didn’t know if she could do that, however, because she knew that Silver preferred to spend what were probably his last moments of life in his own home and not in a hospital bed.

  He looked at the ceiling and moved his lips on the good side of his face, as if trying to speak. Yet he wasn’t trying to speak to Frieda. Instead, he was either trying to talk to himself or to some spirit that had appeared to him as he approached the end. Then he stopped trying to form words and lay still without moving. The peace in his eyes told Frieda he was not in unbearable pain, maybe no pain at all. The fingers fluttered on his good hand, and she took the hand in hers.

  Frieda stared at the floor and then back at his face. He closed his eyes and appeared to sleep peacefully for a few moments. Then his eyes flew open and sought out Frieda. He took his hand from hers, reached up, and rubbed his chin, the same mannerism Frieda had seen thousands of times, the gesture he made when he was about to say something funny or clever or share a memory. It was a movement that indicated pleasure and anticipation, and his eyes again found the ceiling or perhaps what he believed or hoped might be beyond it. He laid his arm at his side, and the sheets over his chest stopped moving. Frieda went to take his good hand again and found it still warm but without a reciprocating squeeze. She stayed there in the stillness, listening to the sounds of boats coming and going, a ship’s horn, some distant fleeting music from a resort, then a hush as the tide flowed out to sea.

  She thought of better days, of Silver in his boat, squinting in the sunlight, showing her how to bait a hook, teaching her how to stand in the boat without falling when swells rolled under them, pointing out constellations at night, telling her and Bea that all over the world people were gazing at the same stars, joining everyone together in this strange state he called humanity.

  Frieda had no idea who her blood father was, and yet this man had given her a loving home. She pressed her lips to his hand, already blanching of color, and laid it back beside him on the bed. Moments later she walked from the house to where she would stay until the doctor arrived: under the stars in the middle of the street.

  Hicks took the ferry to the city to fetch Bea while Frieda made funeral arrangements. Silver wouldn’t have liked what he called a “fuss” made over him, and he wasn’t a religious, churchgoing man, so she decided to bury him without a lot of ceremony. At least she didn’t have to worry over the cost of things, and she purchased the nicest understated casket at the local funeral home, then let the funeral director put Silver in a room for viewing for just one day.

  In a rare moment of clarity, she decided to bury Silver next to her mother. He’d never purchased a plot, and now she was left to make decisions. Her mother and father, never lovers, laid to rest side by side . . . It gave her a small comfort.

  After the simple burial, she chose to hold a small service outside the house that Silver had loved, under the scorching sun in full view of the sea. Silver didn’t like to let anything wait that could be done soon, so she planned the funeral for the day after the burial. Hicks had found a kindly Methodist minister to conduct a simple ceremony in the front yard of the house, using the front porch that Silver had so loved as a pulpit.

  The day was still, bright, and hot. An eerie silence spilled over everything; not even sounds from the beaches drifted near. Silver would have liked the sounds of beachgoers’ merrymaking, but Frieda didn’t know if she’d be able to take it.

  People began gathering, and there was still no sign of Bea. Finally, just moments before the minister was to begin, Hicks drove up in his old Runabout, with Bea and another man beside her. All three slipped silently out of the car and went to the back of the gathering. Hicks wore what Frieda knew to be his only suit. Bea was dressed in a new black, sleeveless frock, a straw hat adorned with a black ribbon sitting smartly on her head, as calm, poised, and pretty as a photograph. The other man held close to Bea, his hand at her back, indicating that they were together, and Bea made no move to join Frieda at the front of the crowd. Frieda took in the man in one long glance. He looked to be nearing thirty and wore shiny wire-framed glasses and a waxed moustache that curled up on both sides. Slight in build and dressed in a brown suit, he looked like a teacher—or a snake charmer masquerading as a teacher.

  Frieda turned toward the minister and did not look back throughout the ceremony. Hicks stayed with Bea and the unknown man, while Charles stood next to Frieda, keeping a respectful distance from her and listening to the minister. He had his feet planted, holding so still that Frieda once glanced his way to see how he was handling all this. She had no idea what experiences he’d had with death before.

  Frieda was gratified by all the people who’d come to pay their respects to Silver, including almost all the fishermen he’d once worked alongside, Dutch and Rudy, Polly and her family, the Bahrs family, and some of Bea’s former teachers and classmates. A few bar owners, shopkeepers, some kind churchwomen. And Hawkeye. She was surprised Hawkeye would have the nerve to come, but today all of her anger had stood up and walked out of the door. The minister kept it simple and didn’t preach but also managed to paint the hope of a better life beyond as a final message to those who stood in the sweltering sun. When he finished and said a final prayer, the wind picked up and blew the heat away.

  The women set out casserole dishes, cakes, and pies in the cluttered kitchen Frieda had yet to clean well enough for visitors, and they made coffee and tea. Frieda glanced out the window. Bea was sitting on the porch with the man she’d brought, but Frieda was too busy to join them. There would be time to catch up after the others left. Too late she realized that she didn’t have enough plates, silverware, and cups for the group, and so Charles drove quickly to his summer house and returned with enough for everyone.

  “A fine fisherman,” “A fine man,” “We’ve missed him,” “God rest his soul,” and “May he find his eternal peace now” were some of the comments that the well-wishers made. People conversed in small groups, but no one made mention of the rumrunning that was likely on many of their minds, as if out of respect for Silver, who’d never made an illegal dime in his life. They all knew what Frieda did of course, but since many were in one way or another participating, too, no one needed reminding.

  The house and yard were full of people, and yet an emptiness inside the place made Frieda’s body feel hollow. Silver was the only man she was sure had really loved her. The one man who was most needed here was gone. Gone, she had to keep telling herself when she gazed at the places he liked to sit, when she thought she heard his old voice, when she caught the scent of him in the air. Soon even that would be gone.

  Behind her, the murmur of voices, the clink of dishes, the distant sounds of a piano. Before her, the sea shimmered in the setting sun, the tide coming in, the currents tracing their ever-eternal paths to and fro. The sea was a landscape of longing, she thought, a landscape of ceaseless change. No matter how peaceful, it would not last. Change could be only seconds away.

  After all was said and done, people started filtering away, and Frieda realized, almost too late, that Hicks was leaving with the rest of them. She followed him down the shell-strung street, the sun lowering into the hills in front of her, nearly blinding her. “Hicks!” she called out, shading her face with the flat of her hand.

  He kept walking, and at first Frieda thought he meant to ignore her. But slowly he stopped in his tracks. He turned and came toward her.

  A moment alone with someone who’d known Silver as she had. She was able to take her deepest breath of the day, and a tiny sad smile might even have formed on her lips. “Thanks for going for Bea. Thanks for everything.”

  His gaze traveled beyond her, to where Charles was waiting on the porch for her return. In his eyes was more pain than the world
should be able to hold, and Frieda didn’t know if it was for Silver or because he was having to witness Charles and her together, so obviously together now. She would’ve liked to believe that his suffering came from the loss of Silver, but Hicks had clearly not let go of his weakness for her, as was evident in the way he looked at her, his mouth softening, his eyes filled with a longing she did not feel in return.

  “Anything for you,” he finally said.

  “Thank you,” she repeated helplessly.

  “If there’s anything else you need, you know where to find me.”

  She wanted to say something else, something about his steadfastness and his faith in her despite it all. Regardless of all the undercurrents between them and surrounding them, Hicks had stayed on course, unswerving. He had that quality that made one want to join hands with him and go along. She wished she could express that, but she could form no further words. Did he love her even now? And if so, with what kind of love? Funny how death made one reexamine all the things about life. The biggest questions in life. The question of love had never haunted her so.

  Her throat was paralyzed, her mind swimming. What was love of any kind, for that matter? Was it the unbridled passion and longing of the sea during a storm? Was it what she felt for Charles? That thrill, that risk? The push and pull of power? Or was it the quiet, soft caress of the sea during a calm? Was it a solid and secure fondness and affection? Was it what she felt for Hicks, his centeredness that held her still?

  She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound emerged. Charles was waiting. Hicks flicked his eyes in his direction, and the moment was lost. Hicks tipped his hat, backed up a few steps, turned, and walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  After all the townspeople had gone, Frieda began to wash dishes, and Charles stood beside her to dry and stack the plates.

  Bea appeared in the kitchen. She stood with her feet together, holding her hat in front of her, her eyes enhanced with a rimming of kohl but wavering with want of crying, her mouth stained cherry red, wisps of her bob framing her brave face. After glancing at her sister, Frieda turned back to the dishes.

  Excusing himself, Charles left the two women alone.

  Bea exhaled. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she said softly to Frieda’s back.

  Frieda wanted to be angry, but her sister’s presence made her realize how much she’d missed Bea, and all she wanted to do in that moment was hug her. She turned away from the sink and took Bea into her arms.

  Bea silently cried into Frieda’s shoulder. “At the end . . . was he in pain?” she asked, swiping at tears on her face as she finally stepped back.

  “I don’t think so,” said Frieda.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through it alone.”

  Frieda looked away. “I wasn’t completely alone. Charles has been wonderful.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Frieda. And I’m sorry, truly sorry.”

  “Did you get my letters?”

  “Yes, but I had been away on a holiday. When I returned and read them, I immediately made plans to come. Then Hicks showed up, and I realized I was too late. I’m so, so sorry, Frieda.”

  Everyone was so, so sorry for everything. Charles was sorry for hurting her, Bea was sorry for abandoning her, and the townspeople were sorry that Silver was dead. Finally she said, “I suppose it was just bad timing.”

  Bea hugged her sister again.

  “Where were you?” Frieda asked.

  “Oh, here and there. I’ve been to so many places I can’t wait to tell you about.”

  “Because of the man you brought?”

  “Yes,” Bea said firmly. “I’m happy for you and Charles. And so . . . I hope you’ll be equally happy for me. I have wonderful news.” Bea produced her left hand, where a diamond glinted on her ring finger. “I’m engaged.”

  Frieda couldn’t squelch the gasp that escaped from her lips.

  “That’s right,” Bea said, and smiled brilliantly. “His name is August Freeman. I met him at the fan club for Mrs Dalloway, and you won’t believe this part of the story: he’s a professor at NYU. An English professor. Isn’t that amazing? We started to date, and it soon became evident that we were meant for each other. We love the same books and authors, we love the city, and we want to travel the world together. He’s madly in love with me, I assure you. Oh Frieda, I never imagined being this happy. Please say you’re happy for me. Once you get to know him, you will be.”

  Frieda tried to control a rising sense of panic that tasted of acid in her throat. She became aware of every bone and muscle in her body and the way Bea expertly carried herself, a young woman in love. Bea was radiant, transcendent.

  “You scarcely know him.”

  Bea’s face lit up with a natural glowing charm. “I knew you would say that, but I’ve seen him almost daily since we met. He’s on break from the university, and after I finish my day at the drugstore he takes me out. We’ve been all over the city and up to Long Island and out to Nantucket. We peruse used-book stores and frequent little coffeehouses, reading alongside each other. It’s so perfect, Frieda. Fate brought us together. If I hadn’t met him this summer, I probably would’ve been enrolled in one of his classes during the school year. I might have been just any other student, although he assures me I would’ve stood out”—she smiled coyly—“but I think fate intervened and allowed us to meet before the school year began.”

  Frieda tried to interpret what Bea was saying. “You can date your professor. No law against that.”

  Bea’s face fell. “I’m not going to date my professor, Frieda. I’m going to marry him in just a matter of weeks. I’m going to be his wife, not his student.”

  “Wait a minute. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I’m not going to enroll in classes. I’m going to be a wife . . . and maybe a mother, too.”

  Bea’s words yanked Frieda’s heart out of her chest. “You can’t mean that. You’re giving up school? You can get married, although I think this is much too fast of an engagement, but even if you insist on getting married, surely you can still go to school.”

  “I no longer want to go to college.”

  Frieda’s body opened up, and all its contents blew away. “Bea, no school? It’s what you’ve always wanted. What Silver and I both have worked toward for so long.”

  “I knew you would say that.” Bea took in a huge breath and let it out slowly. “I didn’t know what it was like to fall in love. I didn’t know how it would change me.”

  “You always wanted to be a teacher! Always!”

  Bea lifted her arms to her sides and then let them fall. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Has he talked you into giving up on your dreams?”

  “Please don’t do this. Please don’t paint him as some sort of villain. He loves me; I love him. That’s all there is to it. We want to go forward together, as man and wife. I hope that someday I’ll have a house full of children to teach—my own children. You know I’ve always been more traditional in my wishes than you.”

  “Yes, I figured you’d eventually get married and have children, but not now. You’re eighteen, for Christ sakes.”

  Bea held still, and eyes that had been misty became sharp with determination. “I’ve made my decision. I would love it if you could be happy for me, but I’ve made my decision. Look on the bright side—I don’t need all that money you’ve been socking away for school. And with Silver gone, it’s all yours.”

  “I don’t want the money for me. It was always for you! So you could better yourself, so you could always take care of yourself. I wanted you to be a new breed of woman, a woman who can stand up on her own.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint, but this is me now. This is what I want. And no one is going to talk me out of it. Please don’t try.” Bea was the picture of promise and purpose, and Frieda wondered if her sister had rehearsed this moment, whereas Frieda was caught completely off guard. But why hadn’t she imagined such a p
ossibility? Bea was exactly the kind of girl who could be swept off her feet by a whirlwind romance. Even Frieda herself had succumbed to one. And still Frieda was stunned. She couldn’t help restating her words of protest.

  “I have to! I’ve known you my entire life. I’ve listened to all your dreams and plans. Never once did you say you wanted to get married right out of high school and settle down. What about all your dreams?”

  “Well, I have August now.” She waited while Frieda tried to sort this through in her mind. Not Bea. She couldn’t lose her plans for Bea, on top of losing Silver. Bea said softly, “And apparently you have Charles.”

  Frieda raked her hands through her hair. Of course Bea would’ve been lonely in the city. Pretty as she was, of course she would meet men. But Frieda couldn’t grasp this no matter how hard she tried. “This is not the way everything was supposed to happen.”

  Bea stepped forward and took her sister’s hand. “I didn’t expect it, either. But this is what I want. It’s my life, you know. Please be happy for me. I want you to be at the wedding. It will be a simple affair in the city. Please let me introduce you to August. You’ll like him; you’ll understand once you get to know him.”

  Frieda doubted that, and all her protestations had changed nothing.

  True to Bea’s word, August Freeman was indeed a likable sort. After Frieda and Charles had spent the rest of the evening with the newly engaged couple, saying useless things, surrounded by Silver’s ghostly presence, Frieda could see how much August was trying. He was intelligent and well educated but didn’t flaunt it. He was soft-spoken and deferential to others. He didn’t seem shocked by the conditions in which Bea had been raised, and he did truly seem to adore Bea. He had snared a beautiful, young, blue-eyed bird just set free from her cage—why wouldn’t he adore her? Bea was her usual polite self, but it wasn’t long until she seemed anxious to go, as if she didn’t like the taste of the air there any longer.