Elizabeth Gilbert - Stern Men

Ruthie. Hearing this, Ruth had a touch of heartache for her father.

“I suppose you should talk to her about that yourself.”

“She say anything to you? Anything about college?”

“You should probably talk to her yourself, Stan.”

“People are wondering,” Stan said. “I got a letter from her mother.”

Ruth was surprised. Impressed, even.

“Is that right, Stan? A letter. That’s been a long time coming.”

“That’s right. She said she hasn’t heard from Ruth. She said she and Miss Vera were disappointed Ruth hadn’t made a decision about college. Has she made a decision?”

“I couldn’t say, Stan.”

“It’s too late for this year, of course. But her mother said maybe she could start after Christmas. Or maybe she could go next fall. It’s up to Ruth, I don’t know. Maybe she has other plans?”

“Should I leave?” Kitty asked. “You want to tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

Under the table, Ruth felt queasy.

“Kitty,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “Please.”

“He doesn’t know, right? You want to tell him in private? Who’s telling him? Is she going to tell him?”

“That’s OK, Kitty.”

“Tell him what?” Stan Thomas asked. “Tell me what in private?”

“Stan,” Mrs. Pommeroy said, “Ruth has something to tell you. Something you’re not going to like. You need to talk to her soon.”

Eddie staggered over to the kitchen table, lifted a corner of the tablecloth, and peeked in at Ruth, who was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest. He squatted over his huge diaper and stared at her. She stared back. His baby face had a puzzled look.

“I’m not going to like what? ” Stan said.

“It’s really something Ruth should talk to you about, Stan. Kitty spoke too freely.”

“About what?”

Kitty said, “Well, guess what, Stan. What the hell. We think Ruth’s going to have a baby.”

“Kitty!” Mrs. Pommeroy exclaimed.

“What? Don’t holler at me. Christ’s sake, Rhonda, Ruth doesn’t have the guts to tell him. Get it the hell over with. Look at the poor guy, wondering what the hell’s going on.”

Stan Thomas said nothing. Ruth listened. Nothing.

“She hasn’t told anyone but us,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “Nobody knows about it, Stan.”

“They’ll know soon enough,” Kitty said. “She’s getting fat as all hell.”

“Why?” Stan Thomas asked blankly. “Why do you think my daughter’s having a baby?”

Eddie crawled under the kitchen table with Ruth, and she handed him his filthy peanut butter spoon. He grinned at her.

“Because she hasn’t had her period in four months and she’s getting fat! ” Kitty said.

“I know this is upsetting,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “I know it’s hard, Stan.”

Kitty snorted in disgust. “Don’t worry about Ruth!” she put in, loudly, firmly. “This is no big deal!”

Silence hung in the room.

“Come on!” Kitty said. “There’s nothing to having a baby! Tell him, Rhonda! You had about twenty of ’em! Easy breezy! Anyone with clean hands and common sense can do it!”

Eddie stuck the spoon in his mouth, pulled it out, let forth a delighted howl. Kitty lifted the tablecloth and peered in. She started to laugh.

“Didn’t even know you was there, Ruth!” Kitty shouted. “Forgot all about you!”

BY THE SUMMER OF 1982, the Skillet County Fishing Cooperative was doing a pretty good business for the three dozen lobstermen of Fort Niles Island and Courne Haven Island who had joined it. The office of the cooperative was located in the sunny front room of what had once been the Ellis Granite Company Store but was now the Intra-Island Memorial Museum of Natural History. The cooperative’s founder and manager was a competent young woman named Ruth Thomas-Wishnell. Over the past five years, Ruth had bullied and cajoled her relatives and most of her neighbors into entering the delicate network of trust that made the Skillet County Co-op successful.

To put it simply, this had not been simple.

The idea for the cooperative had come to Ruth the first time she saw her father and Owney’s uncle Babe Wishnell in the same room together. This was at the christening of Ruth and Owney’s son, David, in early June of 1977. The christening took place in the living room of Mrs. Pommeroy’s home, was performed by the cheerless Pastor Toby Wishnell, and was witnessed by a handful of glum-looking residents of both Fort Niles and Courne Haven. Baby David had thrown up all over his borrowed antique christening gown only moments before the ceremony, so Ruth had taken him upstairs to change him into something less elegant but much cleaner. While she was changing him, he’d begun to cry, so she sat with him for a while in Mrs. Pommeroy’s bedroom, letting him nurse at her breast.

When, after a quarter of an hour, Ruth came back to the living room, she noticed that her father and Babe Wishnell-who had not so much as looked at each other all morning, and were sitting sullenly on opposite sides of the room-had each produced a small notebook from somewhere on his person. They were scribbling in these notebooks with identical stubs of pencils and looked utterly absorbed, frowning and silent.

Ruth knew exactly what her father was doing, because she’d seen him do it a million times, so she had no trouble guessing what Babe Wishnell was up to. They were calculating. They were taking care of their lobster business. They were shuffling numbers around, comparing prices, planning where to drop traps, adding expenses, making money. She kept an eye on them both during the brief, unemotional ceremony, and neither man once looked up from his rows of figures.

Ruth got to thinking.

She got to thinking even harder a few months later, when Cal Cooley appeared unannounced at the Natural History Museum, where Ruth and Owney and David were now living. Cal climbed the steep stairs to the apartment above the growing clutter of Senator Simon’s massive collection and knocked on Ruth’s door. He looked miserable. He told Ruth he was on a mission for Mr. Ellis, who, it seemed, had an offer to make. Mr. Ellis wanted to give Ruth the gleaming French Fresnel lens from the Goat’s Rock lighthouse. Cal Cooley could scarcely deliver this news without crying. Ruth got a big kick out of that. Cal had spent months and months polishing every inch of brass and glass on that precious lens, but Mr. Ellis was adamant. He wanted Ruth to have it. Cal could not imagine why. Mr. Ellis had specifically instructed Cal to tell Ruth that she could do whatever she wanted with the thing. Although, Cal said, he suspected Mr. Ellis would like to see the Fresnel lens displayed as the centerpiece of the new museum.

“I’ll take it,” Ruth said, and immediately asked Cal to please leave.

“By the way, Ruth,” Cal said, “Mr. Ellis is still waiting to see you.”

“Fine,” Ruth said. “Thank you, Cal. Out you go.”