John Casey - Compass Rose

Rose leaned closer to May and whispered in her ear, “I’m glad Charlie’s all right. That’s so great.”

Charlie and Tom were laughing together; Rose was whispering in her ear. She said, “Yes, Rose,” again, as close to telling her she loved her as she dared.

Elsie was sitting outside Jack’s new office on the top floor of the Wedding Cake, having second thoughts. She said out loud, “The truth is …” and couldn’t finish her sentence. She’d thought that saying it out loud to herself would make her untangle her thoughts. The look of relief on her boss’s face when she’d handed him her letter of resignation still hurt. And she hoped Jack wouldn’t ever let slip to Rose how Johnny Bienvenue had helped with her severance pay and pension, or how Jack had handled the board of governors at the school. Jack ushered her in, and she interrupted his waving his arm at the view of Block Island Sound. She said, “I haven’t really thanked you. I think I sort of took my own breath away.”

“Not necessary. A good move all around.” He came from behind his desk and sat beside her in the other visitor’s chair. “Of course, you’ve got to settle Miss Perry’s estate before you can officially start. As executrix you’ll be in charge of whatever has to be done to the house before title passes. The will stipulates that the estate will pay for that. It’s some extra work for you, but you’re the only one who can make sure it gets done the way Miss Perry would have done it.”

Elsie let Jack roll on, didn’t even raise an eyebrow when he said, “Six months. Johnny did a good job. Usually takes a year. In addition, I happen to know there’s a good feeling about all this — a charitable donation from a person above reproach. Not a lot of scrutiny.” She only spoke up when he said, “Usually someone who’s done the sort of caregiving you’ve done …”

“Jack. Don’t.”

“It’s just that it strikes me … Why the Pierce boys and why not Rose?”

“Jack.”

“Of course, as executrix you certainly can’t award yourself compensation for prior caregiving, but there may be—”

“Jack, listen to me.” He tucked his chin in, then gave a little start when she touched his arm. She said, “I know you mean well, and I’m grateful you’re ready to go over all the ins and outs. But there’s one part of all this I really want to leave … undisturbed.” She was surprised, too — she could see her usual sharpness far away, like the rare appearance of the aurora borealis this far south, a pale green flickering just above the northern horizon. “So we won’t talk about the time I spent with Miss Perry.” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s in its own—” She held her fingers around an imaginary ball.

“All right,” Jack said. “A closed book.”

“Sphere.”

“Sphere,” Jack said, and nodded. He leaned toward her and took her hand. “I understand, and I think it’s admirable.” Was he being nice or an old goat? Elsie thought she’d better free her hand before he started saying things like “I’ve always admired you.”

She said, “Sally,” and sat up straight. Her hand came loose. “Sally had some ideas.” She couldn’t think of any ideas. “Or maybe it was Eddie Wormsley. Or about Eddie Wormsley. I mean, it makes sense to use Eddie to do the carpentry, but you know that there’s a certain irony there.”

Jack said, “What?” and then settled himself. “Eddie’s first-rate. I use him all the time. It’s good practice to deal locally. You weren’t thinking of someone else, were you?”

“No, Eddie’s fine. I was just thinking of how skittish he used to be about coming up Miss Perry’s driveway.”

“Well, it’s between you and him now. You’ll get a fair price from Eddie. That woman manager of his, she can be the one to push a little too hard. I’m sure she imagined that I’d pay extra for the indoor court just because she looks so damn cute in her tennis skirt.”

“That won’t be a problem for me.”

Jack laughed. He said, “Elsie, Elsie, Elsie,” and patted what would have been her knee if she hadn’t put her hand on it. “That reminds me. We haven’t seen you out on the court for quite a while. I know, I know … But it’s time you unwound a little, a little tennis, maybe come for a sail. A little salt air does wonders. Not that you look … On the contrary, you look positively splendid. And that reminds me of another thing. I’ve renewed your membership.” He got up and opened a desk drawer. “We have a new system. This key card opens all the doors — the gate to the tennis court, the spa.”

“Jack.”

“And of course that includes Rose. A certain number of the Perryville students come down here to play after school — now Rose can join in. This is a gift I want to give. And what’s the point of all this”—he gave a backhand sweep toward the windows overlooking the tennis courts and putting green—“if I can’t do what I want?”

A moment ago she’d touched his arm and spoken gently. She knew — she’d even warned Mary Scanlon — that Jack’s good side was more of a problem than his bad side. The bit of fumbling and fondling, perhaps only affectionate, that came as an undertow to his generosity was easy enough to deflect. Of course, another aspect of his generosity to Rose and her was snobbish — he could bear to have poor relatives so long as he could endow them with trace elements of his life. But what really bothered her was his pontifical assumption that without his cloak of protection her life would be a mess. That assumption bothered her because she had let him help. How often? Often enough. And those times she’d told Sally about a problem, told her not to tell Jack and of course Sally did … They counted, counted as much as if she’d wailed, “But what’s a poor girl to do?”

He must have sensed her stiffening. He said, “Think of it this way — it’s for Rose.” He put the card in an envelope and wrote “Rose” with a flourish. In smaller letters: “from Uncle Jack.”

Rose would take it, would take pleasure in being a Sawtooth member, and take pleasure in having another place where she could get away from Elsie. Rose could go be adored by May, or drop by the Sawtooth kitchen and sing a song or two with Mary, and here was Uncle Jack giving her more treats.

Then, as with one of those puzzle pictures where the corner of a box seems to stick out but in an eyeblink is seen to stick in, Elsie saw Rose as sought after rather than seeking, pulled this way and that.

Jack licked the envelope and sealed it with the bottom of his fist.

Things wouldn’t be like this if she had a husband. That thought was an even more contemptible wail than “But what’s a poor girl to do?”

She took the envelope and said, “Thank you.” She took it because her anger at Rose for being spoiled, at Rose’s retinue for spoiling Rose, now turned to accuse her. What had she done for Rose? She’d quarreled and quarreled with Rose and relied on Mary and May to praise her. Now Jack wanted to stake a claim on Rose. Who was she to say no? Things wouldn’t be like this if she loved Rose enough.

During the January thaw the creek ran clear, rose a bit from the melting snow. The air was so still that when May opened the back door she could hear the gurgling around the wharf pilings. Nobody home but her. She put on her boots and headed downstream to look at the salt marsh. There was ice around the edge of Sawtooth Pond and some chunks bobbing along in the current from her creek and the other salt creeks that fed the pond. The tide was dead low, about to turn. The air was soft on her face. It was a relief to look farther than the walls of her house, to take in the stillness of the marsh. The lines of sight seemed longer with no green to break them — gray sky with puffs of white, gray ice with cracklings of white, the withered spartina broken or bent by winter wind. May loved the plainness. She’d be glad enough for spring, but the January thaw suited her fine. She scarcely dared say more than that, though she knew that when she dreamed a pleasant dream it most often was set in the salt marsh during the January thaw. Sometimes she saw the lace of ice along the banks of the creek, sometimes the long view she saw now.