The Whiskey Sea Page 3

  Through a break in the trees, the town, the bay, and the big city beyond spread out like a map. From that vantage point they seemed vast and unknown, and yet in a strange way small, as if in miniature. Just like her own life. At times Frieda felt the massive openness of her still-unfolding life and all its possibilities, and at other times she felt trapped in a muddled cage of smallness and mediocrity. Where was her place now in this world that surrounded her, this bustling scheme of life? Confusion about the future had always haunted her, but the one thing that had felt secure was the boat. That one small possession around which to build her life as an adult. Something to hold on to; it had sustained her and given her refuge and purpose. Out on the water she could forget about her mother’s tainted past, the judgment of others, and her isolation. It didn’t matter out there; it all drifted away.

  She knew that Silver hadn’t meant to hurt her. As she gazed out over the bay, the tide ebbing, her rage ebbed somewhat, too. The first time Silver had taken her fishing, she had been but a little thing, and somehow she got a fishhook caught in her hair. It had panicked her; it was as if that tiny hook and some fishing line could tie her up and trap her forever. Silver stopped what he was doing while the boat rolled on the swells, and he worked that hook out ever so gently. Frieda remembered his calming voice, his easy but sure touch, and his patience while she fidgeted and gulped in big breaths of air. How he had soothed her, talking to her in his low rumble; how his solid presence reassured that he would always take care of her.

  So yes, Silver meant no harm; she knew that in his mind he was settling her down, but he had no idea how much his decision had unmoored her.

  When she made her way back toward the waterside, the dying daylight sparkled on scales and tiny shells caught in fishing nets draped over skiffs for drying, but the approaching night already seemed the darkest in the world.

  Silver had made his living on the water; he should’ve known. He should’ve understood that the sea had a way of evening out her rough edges and reviving her hopes and dreams. Now her sorrow was as big as this bay. And in her mind’s eye she saw pockets turned inside out and empty piggy banks. How was she going to make money? What was she going to do with her life?

  Sam Hicks was already at the house. He lounged on the porch alone, sipping on iced tea out of a chipped mug, and papers sat on the rough little table between the two chairs. Frieda strode up the porch steps, and he stood to greet her.

  As she glanced at the papers, her heart fell into her gut. Silver had already signed the papers to sell Hicks the boat. Her boat. Nothing she’d said had made a bit of difference. Her defiance came seething back. Defiance was an old comrade that had kept her company for many years.

  “Evening, Miss Frieda,” Hicks said with a smile.

  Well, well . . . He looked as though he’d dressed up for the occasion. Instead of clamming overalls or rubber boots, he wore a pair of nice pleated slacks and a freshly ironed shirt, cuffs rolled up to his elbows. Hicks was a large man with a roundish face that made him appear little older than a teenager. He was attractive in a burly, boyish way, like someone who had grown into a man nestled away in some sleepy farm town and not in the grip of a bloodbath war. Though with clean-shaven skin and not a pockmark in evidence, he still had a bit of the soldier about him. He had combed his unremarkable brown hair away from his face with oil so it lay back in wide threads. She’d never seen him in anything other than work clothes before, but it made no difference. Everyone who lived down here lay bare. They could cover themselves in different cloth, but the fiber beneath remained the same. It was pointless to try to appear anything but salt and sea stained. She rather liked herself that way.

  She was not about to feign politeness. “What’s the occasion?” she asked.

  He smiled. Only a few little lines on his forehead and tiny etched curves in his cheeks were evident. He hadn’t been out on the water long enough to show it yet, and if she didn’t resent him so much for buying her boat she might have thought him comely.

  “I just bought myself a boat today.” He actually looked pleased with himself. Obviously Silver had not shared her feelings about the sale with this man.

  She chuffed out, “So I heard.”

  She walked straight through the door into the house and let the screen door slam behind her. No matter how much they aired out the place in the summer, the small rooms held the smell of salt, damp wood, fried food, and smoke from the stove. Bea was helping Silver in the kitchen.

  “Where you been?” Silver barked. “We could’ve used some assistance around here.”

  Frieda stopped for a moment and watched Bea—pretty, sweet Bea, helping as always. Cutting up cooked potato, stirring a pot on the stove while Silver set the table. Bea was wearing the new sundress Silver had bought her for summer, because Bea always did as she was told. If Silver wanted Bea to wear a dress, she wore it. If Silver wanted Bea to do tricks, she would do them.

  Frieda did her best to shake off her anger. There wasn’t an unkind thought or mean deed inside Bea. She was fresh, like a daisy, and she carried her sweet disposition like a bouquet of sunlight. Even teachers and church ladies called her an angel. Frieda truly loved her sister. Other than Silver, her sister was all she had.

  Frieda shrugged. “It’s not my party.”

  Bea interjected. “But it is. It’s for your graduation day.”

  Silver said, “You go on and get yourself changed, will you? Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Let me guess: clams.”

  Silver winked. “My special chowder. Coney-Island style.”

  Bea glanced at Silver and then at Frieda. “You could try the dress, Frieda. I bet it looks good on you.”

  Frieda strode away and entered the bedroom she’d shared with Bea ever since their mother had died. All those years back Silver had given up his room to the girls, and since then he’d slept on the divan in the living room or on the porch in the summer. For thirteen years now she and Bea had slept in the same bed, huddled together during winter nights after the fire in the woodstove had gone out, talking and giggling until one of them fell asleep. Throughout all the years she and Bea shared secrets, Frieda had never told Silver about the stray cats Bea fed or the time she and Bea had nearly drowned, floating away on a riptide before they fought their way back.

  A window faced the porch, and Frieda took a peek beyond the tattered curtains, where she could see Hicks standing tall, holding his mug and staring off into the oncoming night. Beyond him lights were twinkling across the bay and down by the docks. The full moon was rising, shooting out silver rays across the rippling waters. Taking a sip of lemonade, he then set the glass down. He seemed deep in thought, probably lost in dreams that contained a white picket fence or a bedroom with windows that overlooked the bay.

  Hicks wasn’t a bad man as far as she could tell. But now that he’d ruined her plans, how was she going to find a way to make things better? Silver had been making less and less money, because he could no longer stay out on the boat all day. The house needed a new roof, and the foundation was beginning to shift. They bought only the cheapest food at the grocer’s and ate clams or fish most every night. Beef and pork were luxuries, along with butter and sweets of any sort. Silver had had no business splurging on the dresses.

  And what of Bea? She took to books, not the sea. She got seasick on the water, and her skin burned like parchment in the sun. She believed in castles in the sky; she dreamed of things way beyond her reach. She loved literature, poetry, art, and fashion. She could barely do ordinary chores. Her hands broke out in a rash from doing the laundry. Dust made her cough and sneeze. When she tried to cook, she usually burned the food. And she came down with bad colds and sore throats every winter. She would never survive having baby after baby in some clammer’s shack. The reality of a life like that would probably kill her.

  Frieda turned around and touched the dress hanging on the wall. Silver had bought it in one of the dress shops that resold clothes donated by the summ
er crowds. But still, he’d paid too much, and it wasn’t even the new drop-waist style she’d seen the fancy women wearing lately. Instead it was made of cotton in a small flowery print, fitted at the waist with a cloth-covered belt. What had he been thinking?

  Frieda took it down and slipped into the thing—for Bea, not for Silver. She could’ve worn her school oxfords with a pair of clean socks, but instead she stuck her feet into Silver’s old rubber sea boots, which she wore when he let her go out on the boat with him. She pulled the stained straw hat that she sported on the same occasions down low on her head.

  When she walked into the living room, Silver, Bea, and Hicks were seated at the table, waiting for her. She stomped in and plunked herself down in the only empty chair. Silver looked up, and she could tell he appreciated her giving in about the dress and also disapproved of her ruining the effect with the boots and hat. Silver and Bea took what appeared to be a knowing glance at one another, while Bea fidgeted with her napkin, but Hicks simply sat back and laughed aloud.

  “Well, well,” said Silver as he likewise leaned back in the chair. “There’s a girl in there after all.”

  Frieda grabbed her napkin, shook it open, and plopped it in her lap. “Do we have bread?”

  “Right here,” Bea answered, passing the bread basket. In the center of the table sat the pot of steaming clam chowder, and Frieda reached for the ladle.

  “You still look lovely, even with the unusual accessories,” Hicks said, his eyes all misty and annoying.

  She didn’t respond. Bea started urging a pleasant conversation that wasn’t going to happen, Silver stared down into his chowder and ate slowly, as if he wanted to draw out the evening, and Hicks was clearly trying his best to charm her. He glanced from time to time at his food, but mostly he kept his focus on her. There was something strange in his eyes when he gazed at her, some kind of softness, but it was a highly focused sort of softness. She’d never seen this look before from anyone, and she had no idea what it meant.

  He said, “Congratulations on graduating from high school.”

  Frieda nodded, then averted her gaze. He kept staring; she could feel the weight of it on her skin, and she wanted to shrug it away.

  Hicks said, “You gotta be smart to finish.”

  After chomping on bread, Frieda dug into the chowder. “I barely passed.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she wanted Hicks to believe it. Studying and reading had been a refuge of sorts, plus it turned out she was as good a student as any. It showed she was no slacker. Her grades fell because she wouldn’t participate in group assignments or stand in front of the class and read an essay. Beyond high school few opportunities awaited working-class women in Highlands. Unless one found a way to go to college, it was either a poorly paying job cooking and cleaning, or marriage and babies.

  He smiled. “Still, it’s an accomplishment.”

  She glanced over at him and registered the admiration in his eyes. Maybe what she was seeing was puppy love. But if he had a crush on her, why hadn’t he approached her before? Why make some deal with Silver? His apparent actions seemed archaic and made him out to be spineless.

  “I brought you something,” Hicks said, and then shifted awkwardly, as if he was unsure whether to get it now or not.

  Frieda glared hard.

  He fidgeted, then stood up clumsily and pulled out a small box from his pants pocket. He sat again and pushed the box toward Frieda. Curious, she opened it to find an almost-round, blackened . . . something.

  “It’s an old coin—from a shipwreck, I’m pretty sure. I found it a year ago when I was clamming. I raked it up and kept it for a special occasion.”

  Picking up the coin, Frieda examined it closer. On it were some odd markings that indeed looked very old.

  Hicks said, “I never took it to a museum or an expert to find out if it’s valuable.”

  Bea chimed in, “I can ask my teacher.”

  Frieda rubbed the coin between her thumb and index finger.

  “I cleaned it up as best I could, but I didn’t want to damage it. I’ve heard you can do more harm than good if you don’t know what you’re doing,” said Hicks, a hopeful expression on his face. “It could be worth something.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her approval. Funny thing was, Frieda did like the gift. But she wasn’t about to show it. “If it’s worth something, I can’t accept it. If it turns out to be a trinket, then . . . thank you.”

  An awkward silence hung in the muggy air after that. Bea did her best to fill it, bringing up the graduation ceremony Frieda had shunned, what all the kids from her class were doing over the summer, and finally, the weather. But the conversation inevitably led back to the boat, with Hicks and Silver discussing the Wren’s quirks and charms, the work that needed done, and Hicks’s plans for her.

  Frieda could not endure that conversation. Why didn’t Silver and Hicks just go join the drunks down at the speakeasy so she didn’t have to hear this? She despised both of them in that moment. She imagined grabbing each of them by the head and knocking their noggins together. She wiped the chowder bowl clean with a piece of bread, stuffed it in her mouth, and left the table without a word.

  CHAPTER THREE

  On Monday morning Bea awakened early as usual. Rolling over to the sounds of Bea moving about the room, Frieda creaked open her eyes. Bea, donned in one of her two school dresses, was packing textbooks, pencils, and composition books into her satchel.

  “What are you doing?” Frieda asked.

  Bea turned around and set that clear-blue gaze on her sister. “I’m meeting with my study group.”

  Frieda sat up and rubbed fists into her eyes. “Funny. I thought school was out.”

  “Of course it is,” Bea said. “But I’ve made plans with some friends of mine to meet three times a week to read and keep up our study habits over the summer.”

  Falling back on the bed, Frieda said, “Such devotion . . .”

  Bea aimed for the door. “See you later.”

  Frieda quickly sat up and pushed back the covers. “Wait! I’ll help you find something to take for lunch. Give me a minute.”

  “Please. I can take care of myself. Besides, Charlotte Larson’s mother is making us sandwiches. Lindsay Cooper is bringing cookies. Hazel Rogers and John LeRoy are coming, too.” She paused. “I have no idea what they’re bringing.” Bea shrugged. “Guess it doesn’t matter. We’ll have plenty to eat.”

  After swinging her feet to the floor, Frieda raked her fingers through her hanging snarls of hair. “You shouldn’t show up empty-handed.” Bea was studious and smart, but not practical. It worried Frieda.

  Bea passed a hand through the air as she opened the bedroom door. “Don’t be silly. These are my friends.”

  A few minutes later the front door whisked open and the screen door whacked shut.

  Frieda plopped back down. She stared at the cracked ceiling, where water stains blossomed like clouds. Could those clouds rain some kindness on her today? Please? Could some answers please come popping out of those cracks?

  Nothing. Just bleakness.

  After Frieda got up, she dressed and went to look for Silver. Normally he’d be up before dawn and out over the shoals by sunrise on his boat. But with the Wren in Hicks’s hands, what would he be doing now?

  In the kitchen she found him filling his Thermos with black coffee.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He smiled and scratched his thatch of hair. “Well, hello to you, too. Good morning, Frieda.”

  “Good morning,” she forced.

  He slipped a sweater over his head, but it took him longer than usual. Frieda could see that his shoulders were bothering him. She did worry about his health, his strength, but he’d always seemed so rugged and capable to her, despite his age. Maybe she should’ve offered to rub some salve into his sore shoulders, but that kindness sat just an inch or so beyond her reach today. She sighed. “So where are you heading?”

  “You probably
don’t want to know.”

  “Since we don’t own a boat any longer, I thought you were going to take it easy.”

  “I’m aiming to help Hicks with some repairs on the Wren. Want to join us?”

  Frieda rolled her eyes. “No, thanks. Why would you work on a boat you no longer own? It makes no sense.”

  Silver sighed. “It’s called being helpful. Friendly-like. You know . . .”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  “Right,” he said, and headed for the door. “You enjoy yourself, ye hear?”

  Frieda crossed her arms and turned away as he, too, left the house.

  Then she was alone.

  She made herself a mug of coffee with a little milk and sugar. She straightened up the place, then cooked herself an egg and buttered a piece of bread. Sitting on the porch in Silver’s chair, she watched the sun rise high into the sky until it threatened to burn her eyes. A yellow butterfly landed on the porch rail. Birds flitted over the street in front of her, sails in the bay filled taut in the blows, gulls cried, and rigging chimed against masts down at the dock. She made herself some lunch, although she was hardly hungry.

  A walk—she would take a walk. She went down to the small sand beach, where little waves broke and left lacy foam on the sand. Dainty sandpipers stepped in and around the froth like long-legged dancers. Smells of fish and salt drifted in the air. A group of summer tourists in their bathing dresses and bonnets were gathering up their things, probably to go back to their hotel for lunch. They glanced at her, studied her men’s clothing and wild hair just long enough not to be considered downright rude, and then looked away.

  She trudged down the shoreline, her bare feet sinking into the dense wet sand, surprised there was any weight left to her at all. A deadened, empty feeling consumed her. She was nothing more than the heat and the will of a man whose stubbornness was even greater than her own. She looked out over the water. Silhouettes of fishing and clamming boats puckered the flat horizon, ridges of black against the sunny air. Her feet landed even heavier against the sand, and her throat clogged with grief. The now-impossible opportunity beat through her body. Today on the water she could’ve escaped the town that looked down on her. Today she could’ve shown them all she was good enough to compete with all the men. Maybe she would’ve discovered a new shoal for clamming. Maybe she would’ve come back with more of a haul than even the seasoned clammers had. Or today she could’ve set her sights on fishing and pulled in more silvery sea life than any other fisherman. Today she could’ve done what she was meant to do.