John Casey - Spartina

Eddie said, “I guess your boat’s proved her worth. You could probably sell her for two hundred thousand. She’s passed the hardest test there’s likely to be.”

Dick shook his head. “I’ve never held with that idea. You see a big fancy sailboat for sale in Newport, the ad says ‘Two transatlantic crossings.’ You’re supposed to think that’s good. What it really means is she most likely needs some work. I probably took four or five years off Spartina ’s life.” Dick laughed. “I took her from maidenhood to middle age without much joy of youth.”

May said, “I guess you didn’t get as far out as you thought you could.”

Dick took May’s hand. She let it lie in his. “May, I figured it the best I could. And it worked out okay. Not perfect, but okay. I recognize it was hard on you, and I’m sorry for that.”

May didn’t say anything, but she didn’t take her hand away.

Eddie said, “You won’t have any trouble getting a crew. The boys’ll figure you can get through anything.”

Dick said, “Not if the whole story gets out. I’m not sure I’d sign on myself with a skipper who’ll do any damn thing to save his boat. I’d rather be with someone who’ll let a boat go. Gets everybody back, or, better yet, keeps them at home. Now, if the word is that I was just following right behind Captain Texeira and didn’t have much trouble, then I’ll get someone to sign on, someone who’s been around a while.”

May said, “At least it didn’t cross your mind to take Charlie.”

“You’re right,” Dick said, “it didn’t cross my mind.”

Eddie swung the pickup up the Ministerial Road and, after a slow half-mile through twigs and small branches, into his driveway. “Here you are,” he said, “your home away from home.” He came round and opened the door for May. He said to Dick, “You want me to fix you some breakfast?”

“I’ll get it,” May said. “If you don’t mind, Eddie. The boys can help you in the yard. I’ll fix something for all of us.”

May took Dick inside and began to cry. She rolled her forehead on his shoulder while she cried, and then began to thump her head against his chest. Dick stopped her and held her still and said, “It won’t happen like this again, May. It just won’t.”

She said, “Maybe not,” and went to the stove. She said, “There’s no running water but I’ll heat up a bucket so you can wash up.”

“I’m sorry, May.”

“I brought your razor and your toothbrush. They’re in the bathroom. You left without them.”

Dick laughed. “I knew there was something I forgot.”

May didn’t laugh, but when he held her hips from behind and pressed against her back he felt her ease up. Not give in, but ease up.

Eddie had given May and Dick his own room. Dick scrubbed off, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He went in and lay down for a minute. He heard the boys come in, May and the boys setting the table. When he woke up he heard the same thing — May calling the boys in and the clink of plates. But when he got up he found it was suppertime.

D ick had wanted to spend the day raising the big skiff. He’d wanted to make a list of repairs to Spartina ’s wheelhouse and check the hull and go see his insurance agent. Everyone else had been working. Eddie had been out on the roads all day, the boys had been busy in Eddie’s yard, and May had done a load of wash by hand and hung it out.

At supper Eddie said, “If the power don’t come back on soon, I’ll lose what’s in my freezer.” But that was his only complaint. He was making good money. He’d run into half a dozen house owners who wanted him to clear their drives and yards and do repairs. Eddie said, “I could turn the corner, I could turn out to be a general contractor. I already built some sheds and garages cheaper than those prefabs they sell at the Wakefield Branch, and people like ’em better, they like that log-cabin look. And now I’m out on the road and people see me, they make a deal. The phones are still out, so they can’t call anybody else. And Elsie’s been putting out the word. She got me on her CB this afternoon, told me to go by and see some folks and put in some estimates on boathouses. I should get some signs: ‘This boathouse being repaired by Edward Wormsley ST3–7801.’ No, a P.O. box. And a sign for right here: ‘Hurricane repair. Inquire within.’ I’ll tell you what you could do, Dick, is line up some boat-repair contracts for this winter. I’ll help you haul ’em, we got my flatbed with the hoist. I’ll build cradles here in my yard. I got plenty of wood. Six or seven of those’ll get you though the bad part of the winter. There’ll be weeks you won’t be going out at all.”

Dick nodded. “First I got to go out and see if the storm left me any pots. I may have to make quite a few.”

“First you may have to make a new house,” May said. “We can’t camp out on Eddie all fall.”

“I don’t see why not,” Eddie said. “I’m all alone except when my boy comes on weekends. We can fix up the back room for your boys. I’ll bunk in my boy’s room. We could have a pretty good time of it.”

“Oh, Eddie,” May said. “We can’t …”

“And, come November, Dick and I can shoot a few geese. Take Charlie and Tom. Maybe a deer or two. Turn your boys into woodsmen.”

Dick nodded, but didn’t say anything. He already was too obliged to Eddie.

“We could make pots in the basement,” Eddie said. “You, me, the boys. Get my boy off his motorcycle, make him pitch in. Regular assembly line. Make enough pots each weekend for you to add a trawl every week.”

Dick said, “What about your firewood business?”

“I’m way ahead. Way ahead. When I cut up the trees I’m hauling now, I’ll be two years ahead. There’s only so much firewood to be sold around here. I’m branching out.”

“Well, May’s right. I got to look at the house before anything else.” Dick got up, pulled out his truck key.

Charlie and Tom asked to go. Dick said, “I want to get a look by myself first.” He feared he was being a little hard again. “We’ll all go tomorrow. I’ll be right back after I get a look. I remember building it. I’d like to just get a look by myself.”

But when he came to his driveway, he lost his nerve. He decided to look at the cottages on Sawtooth Point, a benchmark, so he could say about his own house, “It’s not so bad, could be worse.”

The cottages just off the road inside the entrance were all right. Someone had covered the windows, left openings to equalize the air pressure so nothing popped. Some water had got to them but not really in them. Dick circled around to the Bigelow and Buttrick houses. The Bigelows’ was banged up but okay. It was a bit higher than the Buttrick house. The Buttrick house was in trouble. A corner had been undercut and lurched a foot toward the pond. The house was still up, but half the window frames had popped out. A lot of planking had sprung loose. The corner post itself was standing but skewed.

It could be worse. Maybe they could jack up the corner, replace the post and … Probably not.

Dick went on to the Wedding Cake, walked around it. He realized how smart his great-uncle had been about one thing. The Wedding Cake was near the end of the point but was up on a knob. The water had reached it, but hadn’t even got up on the high seaward porch. Just left debris and seaweed on the steps and the huge granite blocks of the above-ground foundation. The wind had done what it could, but the fretwork and windows and shutters were all it harmed. Dick felt a rise in his mood — good for Uncle Arthur. Good for the Pierces.