Howard Norman - Devotion

“Except. Except —it was signed, LOVE, comma, JOHN. Not LOVE, EAMMON, but LOVE, JOHN.

“No big secret, really. I mean everybody in Parrsboro already knew John was madly in love with Ellen and always had been. But his declaration of it was kind of new. Well, first thing, the church social breaks up — people went right home. Secondly, the next day Eammon petitioned through official lines to get John’s skywriting license revoked. Next, thirdly, and this everyone agreed was a good decision, John Pallismore had to switch mail routes with a man named Sander Malachy. That was smart of the postal system, wasn’t it, to avoid all sorts of problems. You don’t want a murder — not that Eammon was capable of such a thing. He must’ve felt murderous, though. Family embarrassment displayed on the world’s biggest billboard like that.

“The minister of the church offered that John might consider skywriting an apology of sorts. Well, John picked right up on that advice. He got the skywriting apparatus shipshape and up he went, same part of the sky, whereupon he wrote: ELLEN I HAVE LOVED YOU FOREVER, comma, JOHN.

“Oh, my goodness, a skywritten sentence can stay intact floating out there quite a long time, let me tell you, depending on wind conditions. And this time John had done it on his own nickel, so he could write whatever he pleased. Of course, he’d written what he’d pleased the first time too, hadn’t he?

“Next, Eammon drove the family down to visit cousins in Port Medway for a week. Took the girls right out of school. And when they got back to Upper Economy, John drove up to their mailbox and delivered — and this is the amount rumored — two thousand love letters he’d written to Ellen since high school but had never sent. Stacked them neatly bundled.

“At this point, and without special encouragement, John committed himself to Nova Scotia Hospital, there in Dartmouth, for observation. Much to his credit. He just sized his mind up, drove to Halifax, parked his car, took the ferry over and got a room there, he said, like he’d checked into a hotel. Thirty days worked. Now he’s living in Yarmouth. Needless to say, he’s no longer delivering mail. He’s employed, last I heard, at the ferry terminal in some capacity.”

“He landed on his feet, then, John Pallismore,” David said.

“Basically,” William said.

They watched the wild swans for a few more minutes and then William said, “Just out of curiosity, David. Which person in that true story do you consider most wronged by life?”

“The children, I suppose,” David said. “Is there a reason you told me that story, William?”

“Margaret always loved it. She thought somebody should write an opera. The first opera set in Nova Scotia.”

They stayed with the wild swans till dark, then returned to opposite porch swings. Sitting down, William said, “I can’t stand it another minute.” He went inside, brought out a can of 3-in-One oil, thoroughly oiled then tested both swings, returned the oil to the house and joined David back on the porch.

“I said I was going to get to it,” David said.

“Now you don’t have to.”

They didn’t want to leave the wild swans. Managing only small talk, they mainly looked toward the pond until late into dusk. Then William said, “I’ve got a directive from Margaret and she hopes you’ll follow it.”

“Directive?”

“My word, not my daughter’s.”

“What is this directive, then?”

“You can look at her through the window,” William said. “But she doesn’t want you to come out and speak to her or anything. You just keep to the house.”

“Pretty much the status quo, isn’t it?”

“Status quo, except for the baby rounding out, as the saying goes. What’s changed is that you don’t have to leave the estate and drive around through two tanks of gas till Margaret leaves anymore. Actually, the directive’s her way of asking you not to leave, is my interpretation.”

“And should she happen to saunter past the guesthouse? To go swimming, say?”

“It’s the common-most way to get there, isn’t it? She and I might walk by. Or she alone. Maybe to swim. With this ungodly heat, and what with pregnancy being uncomfortable enough as it is. I remember Janice practically lived in that pond the summer Maggie was born.”

“I don’t get it. Maggie’s not cruel. I don’t recognize her in this so-called directive.”

“Start recognizing her in it, is my advice, take it or leave it. Consider it a way she keeps control, buys herself a little time to figure things out. A camera works through a window — take the opportunity to start your family album.”

“Will she take me back, William? I am asking directly. Once the baby’s born?”

“In my opinion, based on nothing but my opinion, she’s considering it. If I were you — God help me — if I were you, I’d comply. Don’t comply, well, I’m fit as a fiddle now, almost. I can drive the truck again. I can visit my daughter in Halifax. She doesn’t have to travel up here. But consider things on her behalf: the estate’s peaceful for her, with the possible exception of your presence.”

“I see.”

“The word ‘directive’ now fits like a glove, doesn’t it?”

“When’s Maggie visiting next?”

“Not until two days from now. Saturday. It’s a work week. She still works for a living.”

“If I write out a list, will you pick up some film for me? I’m not supposed to drive on these painkillers.”

“I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Margaret is quite capable of raising a daughter on her own. Don’t think for a minute she isn’t. And don’t think for a minute she won’t. Patience, I’m sure, will be useful in this situation, David, but don’t count on patience alone to provide results you think are fair, or any other such goddamn nonsense like fairness. Jesus, man, what’s wrong with you? You’ve got everything to lose. You’ve got to act on your feelings for Margaret best you can. Do something besides thinking. ” William got up from his porch swing; it squeaked a little and both men laughed. “Anyway, just put the list on the front seat of the truck. You’ll fend for breakfast yourself, eh? I guess orange juice and toast won’t challenge you beyond your present abilities.”

The wild swans left on Saturday morning at dawn. During their occupation of the pond, the Tecoskys’ swans were confined to the pen. David had sprayed them with a hose four times a day. Maggie arrived to the estate at 10:15 A.M. David had stayed up the entire night before, nervous about seeing his own wife. Since 7:30 A.M., after freeing the swans from the pen, he had stood at the window. He ate breakfast standing there. Drank coffee. Cleaned his telephoto lens. Now, looking through the kitchen window as she slowly emerged from her car, David saw that Maggie was wearing a loose-knit pair of slacks, a white blouse and black flats. She stopped halfway to the porch, turned toward the guesthouse, placed her hands, fingers splayed, on her considerable belly and gazed at them. Then she went into the main house.

David took up his Nikon from the table. The kitchen window looked out on a wider stretch of lawn than any other in the guesthouse, and therefore allowed the longest duration of time he might view Maggie, should she walk to the pond and back. At 11:50 William and Maggie did walk to the pond. William carried a picnic basket. David attached the telephoto lens. Maggie wore a skirted one-piece swimsuit obviously designed for pregnant women, and David thought she looked wonderful. He noticed that she appeared a touch weary around the eyes. Their pace was leisurely and they didn’t hesitate in the least while passing the guesthouse. Nor did Maggie look over. David snapped six photographs, the final one capturing Maggie and William entirely from the back.