Bright Island Read online

  “What’s your rush?” Dave seemed to think very little of her idea. “You seem awful busy all at once.”

  “Well, now”—Thankful broke the third sandwich in two and gave Dave half—“I am. And so’ll you be before you know it. You’ll be staying to supper anyway”—this sandwich had blackberry jam in it!—“and if we get hungry before then I’ll get us a snack.”

  Dave looked doubtful, but it was something to have the wheel. He bit into his final half. “Gosh, I’ll be glad to eat on the island again! Remember the strawberry shortcake your mother used to make us when we picked her enough field berries? Was that good, or was that good!”

  “We might have a raspberry shortcake tonight.” Because of the possibility, Thankful divided a piece of apple pie and ate her half. “I saw mother out berrying yesterday when we were haying.”

  Dave’s brow cleared entirely. “Say, I’m glad you sent for me! But how’d you happen to? More hay than usual?”

  “About the same”—the lunch box would never be emptier—“but silly old Sparrow plunked his foot down on father’s.”

  Dave looked concerned. “Hurt him?”

  “What do you think? Sparrow’s got a hoof like an elephant anyway. But it didn’t break anything, no thanks to him. And here was the hay waiting to be put in, and you can see for yourself what’s waiting outside.” She pointed toward the band at the horizon which had broadened and grayed, and moved in.

  Dave sniffed the air. “Funny how quick you know the weather as soon as you get outside. Say, too bad about your pa. But we’ll get the hay in all right before dark. Watch us!”

  Thankful hadn’t had a doubt but what they would when she went for Dave. That year after his mother died when he had lived on the island with them, he had been a better worker than any one of the boys though he was younger. For this reason and others intangible but real, they had shut him out of their clan of four and leagued against him and Thankful. Even then, Thankful had a dory with a triangle of a sail and she and Dave never missed the boys if the wind was fair. It was harder in the winter but the younger pair grew unco smart, as Mary Curtis said, in taking care of themselves. She seldom had to interfere.

  For four years Dave had been back with his father and stepmother. With no boat of his own he seldom got to the island now. “Oh, say,” Thankful suddenly remembered, “when you going to take your seaman’s exams?”

  Dave cast a worried look at her. “Lord, Thankful! I’d rather be drowned than take those. I can sail a boat all right, but it’s one thing to have her on the water and another on paper. Gee, I hate learning things out of books when they belong outdoors. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t have to,” Thankful began gaily but suddenly something dropped like a plummet in the region of her heart. It was things outdoors which had displaced entirely that dread of learning things out of books. She thought of telling Dave about the absurd and terrifying proposition but it needed time and she had to catch the mooring.

  “Haven’t forgotten how to bring her up,” boasted Dave. “Gosh, if I could do the tricky things with a pen that I can do with a boat!” He sighed, and unaccountably Thankful sighed too. But perhaps Dave could help her out—he’d done it many a time before. They pulled up the dinghy and Dave rowed ashore as if his arms were swinging to some music of his own.

  Jonathan was on the porch watching the cove and then the sky. He had no regrets that they would not come in for lunch and cast dark glances at Mary Curtis because she made them wait for a basket of food for a snack later in the afternoon. His directions to Dave were as peremptory and curt as if the boy had been one of his sons. Dave listened as he had learned to listen in the year on the island.

  But when the two had dashed away from the gloom of the porch into the barn for Sparrow, out with the rattly cart, up into the head of the island noisy now with the roar of the incoming tide, they might have been off for a holiday. Thankful perched on the high seat with the reins in her hands, but Dave did the real driving from the road where he ran beside old Sparrow who felt it was no holiday at all and would have liked to step on Dave’s urgent feet. The sun had the soft waiting look which they knew meant no wait at all for them. They flung themselves into action when the cart stopped at the outer field where Jonathan had left it.

  At four they were well past the middle of the island, and the fog was no longer a threat. It was blowing in white wisps down the island, catching on Thankful’s hair in fine drops which turned it to silver. No time for the sandwiches. No time for the talk that had been spattering back and forth, news of the island for Dave, of the mainland for Thankful. The holiday had turned into work which strained their tired muscles, silenced any attention away from it. At five when the last great load staggered under the barn roof already loaded to its eaves, a gust of rain drove after them to announce the end of the day’s work. Thankful stretched flat on the fragrant heap which she had brought in and stared at the shadowy cobwebbed roof. “I wouldn’t move,” she said, “even if you stuck the pitchfork into me.”

  She could hear Dave still in action somewhere down below her, the thump of the wagon thills on the floor as he unharnessed, the dragging steps of Sparrow into his stall, his crunch of oats, a—and then the cobwebs closed down over her eyes and she slept in the sudden way of a tired puppy.

  “Hi!” The fork was actually prodding her. “Your pa says leave this load in the wagon as long as it’s under cover.”

  Thankful blinked over the edge of the hay into Dave’s eyes, their pupils black in the darkening barn. “Quit,” she muttered, “I’m dead!”

  The eyes approached, the fork grew urgent. “Raspberry shortcake! I smell it clear out here!”

  “Oh, well.” Thankful sat up and shook the hay from her hair. “Oh, well.” She slid toward the edge of the hay and prepared to leap.

  Dave jumped back from the wagon wheel where he was perched and caught her as she avalanched toward him through the cloud of loose hay. He shook her and stood her up. “What you trying to do? Join the porch hospital? Have some sense!”

  Thankful twisted away from him, suddenly awake. She glowered up at him. “When I need you to teach me sense—” then she laughed. “Hungry. That’s what’s the matter with us. Let’s get washed up,” and they walked companionably toward the house.

  The kitchen was warm with a heavenly smell of fresh shortcake. Mary Curtis had foreseen the need of an early supper when the shadows darkened the sky. The table was set by the kitchen windows as it always was when they were alone. An extra plate was the only change for Dave.

  “Thankful!” Her mother’s voice was sharply exasperated. “You’re not taking a swim this time of night!”

  The girl had dashed through the kitchen before she had finished. “Quickest way to clean up,” she sounded halfway down the beach.

  Dave shivered. “I wouldn’t go into that water.… What are girls made of!” He took a pitcher of hot water from the stove and went over to the kitchen sink. Before he had rinsed away the suds, Thankful was back, swift with vitality which she drew from the sea.

  “And hungry! Am I hungry! Oh, mother, am I hungry!” She was upstairs in long wet leaps.

  “Waste no time talking about it!” But Mary Curtis never held an irritation. “Come on, now,” to Jonathan who limped over from his rocker, “supper has to be early for the hired men!”

  They ate, steadily, quietly, ravenously, through the platter of pink slices of ham, the heaped dish of creamed potatoes, the warmed-up greens, until Mary Curtis would give them no more. “I’ll not have my shortcake wasted!” She removed the emptied plates and reached into the oven for the flaky cake which was no cake and was no bread but a crisp thing bred of the best in the two. She split it deftly, watched by eyes still hungry, buttered it, and poured over it a great bowlful of sweet red raspberries. “A corner piece for each of you”—she dealt them out—“and an extra bowl of berries for juice. There now, Dave, put yourself through that!”

  Dave crunched the first forkful and
not a word from him until his spoon had scraped the last drop of red juice. “Well, I don’t mind.” His plate pushed out toward Mary Curtis’s silent offer. “I’m one up on you, Thankful.” For Thankful was indeed done, eyes closing, head nodding over the empty plate. It had been a day!

  “Well,” Dave sounded reluctant to move, “guess you’ll have to wake up, Thankful, and ferry me home. Kinda thick out.” He peered hopefully through the kitchen window dim with fog. “Better move right along if you’re to get back before night.”

  “Not thinking of having you go.” Mrs. Curtis rose briskly. “I’ll get sheets on your bed and you can turn into it any time you want. She’d go to sleep at the tiller, and you’d do the same, so where’d you land? She can take you over early, right to the factory dock.”

  Dave tried to look as if he hadn’t thought of the idea. He ducked his head with a shy, “So long since I’ve seen you folks. Like to stay if wouldn’t make too much work.”

  “Work? Who’s worked today?” Jonathan’s voice was almost genial. He touched a match to the birch logs laid in the sitting room fireplace and picked up the Bangor Daily News which Dave had brought over. “You’ll be seeing more of one of the family soon. Thankful’s going over to school in the fall.”

  The words were said. After these days of silence, and of work which made her indispensable, Thankful had shut the thoughts of Sunday out of her mind. But she could not shut them out of the minds of these other people who had planned her doom. They were still ready to say that she must go. The incredible sinking as the frightened little thoughts leaped out of captivity! Couldn’t Dave see her despair? It must be the firelight that made him look so glad. Dave never would rejoice over her fall. He leaned forward to look at her as if he could not believe his ears.

  “Honest, Thankful? Honest? Are you coming over? To stay all winter? Oh, gosh, how swell! Where you going to stay?”

  Thankful answered him with stiff lips and miserable eyes. “Too tired to talk about it. Father’ll tell you. Guess I’ll go to bed.” When she lighted her kerosene lamp the flame blurred and danced. “G’night.”

  “Leave by six thirty,” Dave called after her. And then she heard his eager, “When’s she going? Where’s she going to live?”

  “Careful, lass.” She had nearly collided with her mother on the stairs. “Watch the lamp! What’s the hurry?”

  “Tired. Going to bed.” Let her mother go on down and tell Dave all about it.

  “Tut, tut. And Dave here so seldom. I suppose the morning will be here soon enough for you. Your room’s thick with fog. But that’s the way you like it.” She was at the foot of the stairs now. “I’ll call you in time.”

  The sheets on her bed under the window were damp with fog, the pillowcase cold with it. Her mind was blurred again with fatigue but it held to a sense that something inevitable had happened. It believed now what it refused to believe before. She was filled with fury at her helplessness. “Worked so hard”—she stared at the gray squares of window—“and what good did it do? Might as well have let the hay rot in the field. Maybe better since he just wants to learn what a girl’s for.” She heard Dave stump wearily up to his old room under the eaves. “He’s just as bad as the rest of ’em. Wait till I get him in the morning.”

  Some small comfort seemed to come from the idea of punishing Dave. He was the only one she could reach. She tried to put her mind on making him miserable instead of on those casual words of her father’s which had so stricken her. And with no sense of stepping over the borderline of sleep, she was dreaming that she and Dave were sailing before the wind and as the boat rushed with incredible swiftness through the water Dave explained that he was taking her where she could learn what a girl’s for. Curiously she seemed not to dread it either. She half woke, wondering why it had seemed so bad and slept again before she knew.

  In the Fog and Rain

  Thankful struggled out of sleep at her mother’s call from the foot of the stairs. She could hear Dave moving around already. She lifted her head to look at the weather and sank back with a moan. Even the back of her neck was lame! It was still raining but the fog had lifted a little. No chance of taking the Gramp out in this! And Dave would be sure to want to run the powerboat. Well, let him. She wouldn’t care if she never ran anything. She pulled herself up and thought of a swim with nothing but distaste. “I wouldn’t go into that water, nothing could drag me down there.…” She sprang to the window and peered out at the astounding sight of Dave headed for the water with limping haste. A whirlwind of speed and she was beside him. They tore into the water side by side, gasped, groaned, flung themselves into the long swift crawl of the old days and raced across the cove. Out again and up to the house, their wet brown bodies dashing through the rain as if they had never known weariness.

  “What possessed you, Dave?” Mrs. Curtis fried him another egg, and pushed the platter of ham toward him.

  Dave grinned a little shamefacedly at the egg but took it. “Couldn’t let her get ahead of me, could I?”

  “Certainly not,” said Thankful smugly, “not a chance.”

  Her mother looked at her suspiciously but said nothing. It was something to have her out of last night’s mood.

  There was a rush at the last to get the powerboat bailed and off in the rain. It always sputtered on rainy days. Dave said it wouldn’t do to be late after taking the afternoon off and he pushed the old boat for all it was worth. In their long yellow slickers and oilskin hats they huddled together in the stern. The gull dipped enjoyably at the bow. It was not a cold rain and nobody seemed to mind it much.

  As soon as they were well under way Dave began. “Now see here”—he turned his tanned wet face toward hers—“let’s hear all about this school business. You’d think I wasn’t interested.”

  Thankful felt something lurch in her. Just when she found a chance to forget it a moment he had to bring it up. “There’s nothing to hear,” she muttered, “and anyway you heard it all last night.”

  Dave looked hurt. For a while he steered in silence staring at the compass in front of him. “Say, what’s the matter with you?” he burst out abruptly. “Anyone would think you didn’t want to go!”

  The queer sick feeling burned away under her hot anger. She glowered under her dark brows into his startled face. “Perhaps you can think of some good reason why I should want to go. Perhaps you think it would be fun to go boarding around with those girls! You know how they boss! You know I’d hate it! You ought to know, but you don’t know anything. You don’t know anything!” Under the visor of her sou’wester her eyes looked almost black.

  “Well, well.” Curiously enough Dave seemed reassured. “So it’s the girls. Well, they’re all right, but I don’t know as I would want to live with ’em. But after all it would be kinda nice,” he finished lamely, “I could see you now and then.”

  “What’s now and then?” demanded Thankful. “You’ve lived on the island a year and you know something about it. Did you want to leave it? No, you didn’t. Watch that compass!” And Dave looked hastily away from eyes suddenly filled with tears.

  The dock rose out of the mist and Dave made a quick change of speed. The jerk was unexpected to the gull balanced on the bow and he flopped down into the water. Dave made a sweep to avoid running him down just as the whistle of the factory blew. Thankful leaped to her feet and seized the wheel. “All right,” she sang out, “I’ll put you ashore and come back for him. He likes to float!”

  Dave made the dock with a long leap from the deck. Thankful moved at low speed past it and left him. Bad’s the rest, she thought. You’d think he might understand. She paid no attention to the wave of his cap. Where’s that gull?

  She did well to ask. Her gull was suddenly one of a thousand because a barrel of high-smelling herring ends had been dumped. They were all eating, ducking, diving; they were all gray and silver; they were all screaming.

  “If I nose among them they’ll all fly but Limpy. Then I’ll fish him out.” She cr
ept into the swirling wings. They rose around her with a sound of tearing silk. All of them. Not one neat gray back left floating for her to pick up. Now what?

  Had they killed her lame gull because he couldn’t fly? Just in the minutes she had left him? There was no broken body floating as far as she could see into the mist. Wild things were cruel to each other. She had lived among them long enough to know. When she had dragged him from a rock on the headland in the spring he was nearly dead. And now what had finished him?

  The fog was thickening with the tide. A fury of rushing wings wove in and out of it. The gulls could wait no longer for her to go. They settled all around her, clacking, fighting, swallowing anything in sight. Thankful felt a little sick while she searched. Great gray and white birds, with now and then a dark one, but alike, all alike.

  The fog had shut even the dock and canning factory behind its curtain leaving her alone with the screaming gulls. She turned off the motor and drifted among them calling Limpy’s name. And not one gull turned its beautiful head. She shook his empty dish over the swarming water, but what was that as a treat? Would any gull leave dead herring for the sound of an empty dish?

  When the boat had floated outside their greedy zone, she rolled up the wheel. “Can’t move faster than a crawl through this weather. Might as well start. Take hours.” She watched over her shoulder as the boat crept away. Almost instantly the gleaming dip of their bodies was clouded by the fog, lost except for the muffled screams.

  “Gone,” she said aloud, “gone just when I needed him most,” and turned to see him balancing like a figurehead on the bow. Even when she squinted her eyes, he was still there. When she spoke to him he paid no attention. He bulged a little as if well fed. He was all ready to be taken home.

  “You know what,” Thankful speculated, “that gull can fly as well as I can.” She ignored him as an imposter and by and by he hopped down the deck and pulled her hair. She stroked his wet feathers and they forgave each other. “Dave did dump him off,” admitted Thankful. “He didn’t know he could fly again until he had to. Well, catch me lugging him round anymore.”