John Casey - Compass Rose

If any other woman were to cling to Dick like that … If May had come on Mary alone with Dick carrying on like that … When May was alone and thought of Mary Scanlon’s long arms and flying red hair whirling around Dick, May had to cut the thought off. Sometimes. Other times they wrapped their arms around each other and floated toward a vanishing point in May’s mind. And then it was gone. Easy as that.

For a while Rose called Dick “da.” She said to May, “Have you been on my da’s boat? All the way out to sea? When I’m bigger, can I go on da’s boat?”

May thought Rose’s saying “da” was a good idea. She wondered if Mary had chosen it as a smart compromise between Rose’s saying “dad” or saying “Dick.” Perhaps it was just part of Mary’s Irishness, or perhaps Mary’s way of putting another mark on Rose. It didn’t matter — it kept things in place.

When Tom found out, he was in college at URI, still popping into the house when it suited him. The first time he actually saw Rose he’d sat and watched May and Rose make tea for the teddy bear and two dolls. When Mary Scanlon came to take Rose away, Mary didn’t bat an eye. She gave Tom a hug and said, “Give Tom a kiss, Rose, and then we’re off. Good Lord, Tom, are you raising a beard? Never mind, Rose, there’s a nice bit of cheek right there.” Rose hid her face in Mary’s skirt, then turned around.

Tom held out his hand and said, “Can you shake hands, Rose? I’m Tom.” Rose stood on one foot and held out her hand. Mary laughed. May held her breath.

After Mary and Rose left, May sat down. She said, “Your father told me he told you.”

“How old is she now? Six? He took his time. And he didn’t say much. He sure didn’t say you got down on the floor and played dolls with her.”

May said, “Don’t poke fun.”

“I’m not. I’m just … I’m just catching up; I’m just taking it in. So you’re doing okay, then.” He hit his palm on his forehead. “Well, duh.” He looked at her. “I’m sorry. I’m goofing around. I think it’s great, the way you’re … doing it this way.”

May wished she had Mary Scanlon’s quick hugs and kisses in her. She said, “You were good. The way you asked her to shake hands.”

Charlie was another matter.

After Dick told him, he didn’t speak to his father for years. He graduated from URI and then from the URI graduate school of oceanography. He stayed on as a research fellow and spent a lot of time at sea on the R.V. Trident . May missed him terribly. He only phoned home if he knew Dick was at sea. When Charlie was in port he would ask May to lunch over in Saunderstown, a dozen miles away.

It pained May that Charlie seemed to have become as grim and stubborn as Dick — as Dick had been when he was building Spartina . It pained her that her family had flown apart. Every so often she blamed herself. If she hadn’t taken to Rose the way she had …

May’s life had been Dick and the two boys. Now it was Rose, with Mary Scanlon as a bonus, and Phoebe. It was for Rose and Mary and Phoebe that May made her garden bigger after Rose became old enough to help. Mary accepted some fresh corn and squash as a gift, and then asked if she could buy a basket for Sawtooth, whatever was ripe any given week. Mary said, “There’s one or two who eat there who can tell the difference.”

Phoebe liked the way the garden looked. She said, “Someone should paint a picture. Call it Abbondanza. ” Phoebe had taken to throwing in an Italian word or two, about the time she started referring to Mr. Salviatti as Piero. May didn’t think much about it — Phoebe called Mr. Aldrich Jack — until Phoebe brought her a dozen figs. “Piero sent these. He remembers you admiring his fig trees in winter.”

May said, “Well, be sure to thank him next time you see him. I didn’t think he comes down off his hill all that often. But I guess he looks in at Sawtooth.”

“I see him at his house,” Phoebe said. “In a way, it’s you who gave him the idea. You said that you thought one of his angels, the big one, should be looking out to sea. So he asked us up to see if our company could build a base for it down by the town dock. And then he thought he might commission a new one. We went to Westerly to look at the work one of the younger sculptors is doing. It’s all still in the planning stages, but he said, right in front of all those men, would I consider posing as the model? Of course, I laughed. I play a lot of tennis but I’m not a young girl. And then I had to blush. He made me stand on a block of stone, and they all talked in Italian. So just for now the sculptor is coming up to make a few sketches at Piero’s house. Oh, May, you look horrified. Really, it’s just … I mean, I’m not posing nude.”

That possibility hadn’t occurred to May. May wasn’t sure what it was that bothered her. It wasn’t just that she suspected that Phoebe had liked standing up on a block of stone while a bunch of men looked at her and talked Italian. And it wasn’t Phoebe pretending to be a Catholic angel. Not just that, either.

May said, “Mr. Salviatti means to put this up by the town dock?”

“Yes. He wants to do something for the community, something that shows he cares for the fishermen. We’ll call it The Angel of the Harbor of Refuge . Of course, all the people taking the ferry to Block Island will see it, too, and Piero likes the idea that a larger public will see what sort of art Westerly does.”

May remembered when the Perryville School started. Some of the people wanted to call it Miss Perry’s School or Miss Perry’s Academy. Miss Perry said no. She’d told Dick there was no helping the fact that the village of Perryville was named for a distant relative who’d been a hero of the War of 1812. She herself felt constrained by the old New England rhyme, “Fools’ names and fools’ faces / Often appear in public places.” May imagined the unveiling of the angel. There would be Phoebe’s statue in the middle of a crowd of lobstermen, fishermen, and dockworkers. The real Phoebe in one of her fluttery dresses next to rich old Mr. Salviatti. May couldn’t think how to explain just how jagged a joke it could turn into. May said, “Maybe you should talk to Captain Teixeira. He’s been around forever. He’s practically the chief of the town dock. And he’d know something about angels, him being Catholic.”

“Funny you should mention him. I said to Piero it would make more sense to ask Sylvia Teixeira to be the model. She’s very pretty in a Portuguese sort of way. Maybe a little too sexy for an angel.” Phoebe popped her eyes open. “Weren’t she and Tom …?”

“No,” May said. “That was Charlie.”

“Really? I seem to remember seeing Tom and Sylvia walking up to Miss Perry’s.”

“Tom? When was that?”

“Right after Sylvia graduated from URI. Just before she went to Portugal — she finally did have to go, after all — but this was when she was still helping Miss Perry. I remember when she came back, the Teixeiras had a family party for her down on the town dock and she seemed to have a new beau, someone much older this time. But you’re right, we should talk with Captain Teixeira.”

For a moment May thought that Phoebe had mistaken Charlie for Tom. May had been picturing Miss Perry’s front steps and a boy and a girl, blurred by Phoebe’s saying “I seem to remember …” But when Phoebe said, “a new beau, someone older this time,” it was like turning the focusing knob on a pair of binoculars, and May saw clearly. Not the Teixeiras’ party on the town dock but Tom and that pretty Portuguese girl.

Tom wouldn’t have … not if Charlie was still … But then Charlie held on to things, took a long time before he gave up. Tom thought each day was new. It’s what let him take to Rose without tying himself in a knot about where she came from. Charlie put out to sea. What would ever bring him back?