John Casey - Compass Rose

Elsie laughed at her spark of vanity — then twisted away from the thought of Charlie’s pain when he found out about his father and her. She looked at Deirdre again. Deirdre seemed intent on linking herself to Elsie — all that shared nature and adventure lore wasn’t just for fun. What else did Deirdre have in mind? What had Charlie told her? What else had Deirdre picked up about Elsie during her stay at the Pierces’?

Her curiosity about herself glittered for an instant, like the sparkle of sand just after a wave recedes. Then she thought of May and Charlie, of May and Dick and Charlie and Tom. She thought of May making what she could of all of them. She thought of how May came to love Rose, how May had kept a house that held three such different men and welcomed Rose.

There was no new fact in all this; no new resolve would come of it. She doubted that she could ever tell it to May without May tightening her mouth, feeling a distaste for Elsie’s tainted attachment to them.

Deirdre stood and stretched, dangling her empty mug, the handle a ring on one finger. She said, “I’m all in.” She washed the mug and said, “You’re good to take me in like this.”

A companionable note on a winter’s night.

Rose came home for supper the next day. She dropped her book bag in the middle of the room. She said to Elsie, “That’s her car, isn’t it? That’s Deirdre O’Malley’s jeep.”

Elsie pointed toward the upstairs room. Rose said, “Come into my room.”

Elsie said, “Pick up your bag and take your boots off.”

When Rose got Elsie into her room and shut the door, she whispered explosively, “Mo-om! Are you out of your mind?”

“Calm down, Rose.”

Rose looked out the window, breathed a deep breath, crossed to her desk, and sat down, a study in rigid calm.

Elsie said, “What is it?” Rose put her fingertips to her temples, and Elsie said, “Quit acting. I’ve got to get back to making supper.”

“Then I’ll put it as simply as I can.” Rose clasped her hands and stared at them for another second. “Charlie and Deirdre. You’ve got that? Deirdre in May’s house. Deirdre takes out my boat without asking. I’m getting all this from Tom, by the way. Who thinks it’s funny, but we all know Tom. May says something, we’re not sure what. Deirdre leaves in a noisy huff. Now Charlie and May are in a silent huff.”

“When did you see Tom?”

Rose raised her fingers as if to say “Don’t interrupt” but allowed the question. “Tom gives me a ride home every so often. The point is this: this afternoon Deirdre left a note in their mailbox telling Charlie she’s staying here. Tom says he’s not sure how that came out, which I imagine means that Charlie told Tom and Tom let it slip.” Rose said this last phrase with the same theatrical head tilt and eyebrow lift as the first time. “The point is, Mom, that you shouldn’t get in the middle of it. You shouldn’t be in it at all.”

Elsie had been distracted by her irritation with Rose, but all that snuffed out in a cold second.

Elsie sat down on Rose’s bed. Rose put her elbow on the arm of her chair, pressed her knees together, and swung them to point at Elsie. Rose said, “May has really been good about—” and Elsie said, “All right, all right.”

After a moment Elsie said, “I can’t just tell Deirdre … I mean, I’ve told her she could stay another night. I can’t just kick her out. Maybe tomorrow she can … She seems to know the Wormsleys.”

“No,” Rose said. “Charlie’s jealous of Walt and her.”

“Oh?”

“Tom told me. She knows Phoebe, but she can’t go there because Phoebe’s best friends with May. I mean, face it, Mom — we live in a tiny ecosystem.”

Elsie would have laughed at this last bit of Rose’s making herself a wise little watch-bird, but on the main point Rose had seriously set her straight. “Wait,” Elsie said. “Doesn’t Charlie have a room over in Narragansett?”

“He gave it up when he sailed on the Trident . It was supposed to be a long trip. But Deirdre could find something for herself. I mean, it’s her problem. Of course, she’s used to parking herself on people — at least that’s what Tom said.”

“How does Tom know so much?”

Rose gave a little sigh. “Mom — he works with Walt Wormsley. They see each other every day. Can you give me a ride back to school after supper?”

“Do you have rehearsal every night?”

“No. I’m signed up for the piano room. I told you I was taking piano. Remember?”

Elsie wasn’t sure, but she nodded. She said, “You’ll be nice at supper …”

“I’ll be adorable,” Rose said. She got up and curtsied. She sang, “On the good ship Lollipop … ”

Elsie was exhausted.

May cried when Charlie moved out. She blamed herself. She blamed Deirdre, too, but mainly herself. Dick didn’t catch her crying, but when he was getting ready to take Spartina out, when it wasn’t yet first light, when he was standing by the door with his gear, he must have noticed that she’d be alone in the house. He said, “Did you think Charlie was going to move back home for good? There’s no cause for you to go on blaming your fussing at Deirdre. It’s natural he wants his own place. He’ll come to visit soon enough.” Dick was being reasonable, and May tried to be grateful. Dick said, “You can like or not like Deirdre O’Malley, but she got Charlie back here, and his being here turned out better than I could guess. He’s coming out on Spartina. ” Still reasonable but with less of an eye on May. He tucked his logbook under one arm and picked up his sea bag.

May said, “Charlie didn’t want to go on being mad at you. He just didn’t see how to come back halfway.” Dick dropped his chin. She let him think for a bit. She hoped he might think of what was wrong with his going off by himself to Boston, but most likely he was already feeling Spartina under his feet.

He surprised her. He said, “I shouldn’t ever have been uneasy about you taking such a liking to Rose. I don’t think I said anything—”

“You did.”

“Then I shouldn’t have. It’s good how Tom and Rose get along. And Rose coming round to see Charlie as often as she did … Without you being the way you are with her, she wouldn’t be the boys’ sister.”

She heard the thump of his bag in the bed of the pickup, the cab door slam, the engine catch, the crunch of gravel. He was off to sea, and she was standing on a patch of land. It might as well be an island, a dot on his chart he could put his finger on by tracing the latitude and longitude, coordinates he’d noted in his logbook.

She should be glad. She should be glad he’d said what he said, but she felt more alone than ever.

Elsie liked her days at Miss Perry’s house — the walk down the driveway surrounded by sunlight and the first pale green shimmer of budding trees, her second cup of coffee in Miss Perry’s kitchen, the smell of wood as Eddie and Walt set to work turning a new banister, or planing a piece of window frame. The lathe was outside under a tent that fitted off the back of a van, but the smell blew in the front door. Elsie made sketches of the new floor plans for the upper rooms, lists of the pieces of furniture that would stay or go, happy to be interrupted by Eddie. Yes, the stone garden house needed a new door. The coping of the garden wall — Walt could take care of that.

In the afternoon Elsie put in an hour or so on the garden, uprooting the brambles and maple saplings crowding the rhododendron, boxwood, and old flower beds. Then she’d go round the house, leave her dirty boots by the front door, and pad into the kitchen in her stocking feet for an end-of-the-day talk with Eddie and Walt. Part of her pleasure was that she liked the way the work was going. Another part of her pleasure was spending the day with two men. Nothing electric, just a low-grade amiability. She wore work clothes, jeans and a denim shirt or her old uniform, but each morning, after Rose left for school, she took a look in the mirror.