Alison’s house where they could see the windows glowing with yellow
light. A stand of gray birches leaned over them; their empty branches just
tipped with red buds.
Alison didn’t
answer. She swiped her cheeks and looked at the ground, feeling his arm across
her shoulders. Sam didn’t speak either, but slowly he pulled her into an
embrace. She leaned into him, letting his arms support her. Then softly, like
a rising breeze, he whispered, plainly and simply, “I love you, Alison. I
think I have since I could remember. But I have to go to this war. I’m
sorry.”
Alison closed her
eyes and smiled despite her tears. Then pulling away she met his gaze. In the
lamplight she read great anguish and slight hope. She rose on her tiptoes,
pressed her lips timidly to his, then whispered, “I’ll be waiting right here.”
Chapter Five
Sunk and Overwhelmed
Gladys Cooper made
the best pies in Little Cove. She brought six for the collation after the
funeral. She began the baking on the evening she heard about Olivia Eliot’s
death. She cried as she cut the lard into the flour, leaning her solid square
shoulders into the dough with grim purpose. Her heart ached for all those
little lambs without a mother. She muttered to herself about injustice and the
abundance of evil people in the world, and questioned why such a good person
had to die.
Vernon, her
husband, kept thinking she was talking to him. His hearing was defective and
each time he asked “What?” she roared back with great vehemence, “Nothing! I’m
not talking to you!” Then more quietly, to herself she added each time, “Idiot
man!” She sliced the stored apples from her own trees while pondering the
inevitability of death. She pounded the sideboard with the rolling pin as she
rolled out each circle of dough, deciding who in the village should better have
gone than Olivia. Alvie Cooper, Vernon’s cousin who cared for the lighthouse,
caught pneumonia every winter for the last thirteen years, but always pulled
through, and him almost eighty. Aurietta Alley, by her own admission, longed
to die but somehow held on so that she was able to recite every ache and pain
at each mission meeting.
By the time the
pies were cooked and cooling in the pantry her tears were spent although her
heart still felt like a sledgehammer in her chest. She blamed men for the ills
of the world, and Mr. Reg Eliot for this one in particular. He took care of
his family; he worked hard and obviously loved his wife. Obviously loved her
too much. If he could just have learned when enough was enough. Everyone in
Little Cove could see how with each child Olivia Eliot got weaker, thinner, and
paler, as if they were leaching the lifeblood from her. She loved each one as
if it were the only one, but they would be the end of her; everybody said so.
She, Gladys, could have told Olivia what to do, how to stop it. After her last
baby, her second girl, she told Vernon never again. And stuck to it, whether
Vernon liked it or not.
The funeral service
was good; almost unbearably sad. Reverend Whiting did the best he could, but
how do you give hope to the nine little ones missing their mother, and a
grief-stricken husband? Watching them now at the collation Gladys revised her
thoughts in her mind, for the children were not all so little. Sam was taller
than his father, a man now, really. Esther was herding the younger ones
together with all the instincts of a mother. Cleo carried the baby, who looked
feverish and sleepy.
Gladys directed now
as the food was quickly set out. The aroma of coffee permeated the air. The
mourners, as always, were eating heartily. Her pies went quickly, she noted
with calm pride. It was always so. Rachel Alley’s gingerbread and Lorelei
Anders’ chocolate doughnuts were favorites also. Barely
light. A stand of gray birches leaned over them; their empty branches just
tipped with red buds.
Alison didn’t
answer. She swiped her cheeks and looked at the ground, feeling his arm across
her shoulders. Sam didn’t speak either, but slowly he pulled her into an
embrace. She leaned into him, letting his arms support her. Then softly, like
a rising breeze, he whispered, plainly and simply, “I love you, Alison. I
think I have since I could remember. But I have to go to this war. I’m
sorry.”
Alison closed her
eyes and smiled despite her tears. Then pulling away she met his gaze. In the
lamplight she read great anguish and slight hope. She rose on her tiptoes,
pressed her lips timidly to his, then whispered, “I’ll be waiting right here.”
Chapter Five
Sunk and Overwhelmed
Gladys Cooper made
the best pies in Little Cove. She brought six for the collation after the
funeral. She began the baking on the evening she heard about Olivia Eliot’s
death. She cried as she cut the lard into the flour, leaning her solid square
shoulders into the dough with grim purpose. Her heart ached for all those
little lambs without a mother. She muttered to herself about injustice and the
abundance of evil people in the world, and questioned why such a good person
had to die.
Vernon, her
husband, kept thinking she was talking to him. His hearing was defective and
each time he asked “What?” she roared back with great vehemence, “Nothing! I’m
not talking to you!” Then more quietly, to herself she added each time, “Idiot
man!” She sliced the stored apples from her own trees while pondering the
inevitability of death. She pounded the sideboard with the rolling pin as she
rolled out each circle of dough, deciding who in the village should better have
gone than Olivia. Alvie Cooper, Vernon’s cousin who cared for the lighthouse,
caught pneumonia every winter for the last thirteen years, but always pulled
through, and him almost eighty. Aurietta Alley, by her own admission, longed
to die but somehow held on so that she was able to recite every ache and pain
at each mission meeting.
By the time the
pies were cooked and cooling in the pantry her tears were spent although her
heart still felt like a sledgehammer in her chest. She blamed men for the ills
of the world, and Mr. Reg Eliot for this one in particular. He took care of
his family; he worked hard and obviously loved his wife. Obviously loved her
too much. If he could just have learned when enough was enough. Everyone in
Little Cove could see how with each child Olivia Eliot got weaker, thinner, and
paler, as if they were leaching the lifeblood from her. She loved each one as
if it were the only one, but they would be the end of her; everybody said so.
She, Gladys, could have told Olivia what to do, how to stop it. After her last
baby, her second girl, she told Vernon never again. And stuck to it, whether
Vernon liked it or not.
The funeral service
was good; almost unbearably sad. Reverend Whiting did the best he could, but
how do you give hope to the nine little ones missing their mother, and a
grief-stricken husband? Watching them now at the collation Gladys revised her
thoughts in her mind, for the children were not all so little. Sam was taller
than his father, a man now, really. Esther was herding the younger ones
together with all the instincts of a mother. Cleo carried the baby, who looked
feverish and sleepy.
Gladys directed now
as the food was quickly set out. The aroma of coffee permeated the air. The
mourners, as always, were eating heartily. Her pies went quickly, she noted
with calm pride. It was always so. Rachel Alley’s gingerbread and Lorelei
Anders’ chocolate doughnuts were favorites also. Barely
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