Read Online The Sea is a Thief by David Parmelee - Free Book Online

William Daisey went home with more money in his pockets.  Grinnald sometimes came close, but he never surpassed Sweet William—not once.  It was a topic of whispered conversation everywhere he went.  Grinnald imagined he could hear the room turn quiet just as he entered the Dry Goods, or passed the open doorway of the Atlantic Hotel.  He burned to shoot more ducks than William Daisey.  
    He had every opportunity to do so, and no excuse to fail.  No one dared compete for the spots where he set out his decoys.  Grinnald had a signature decoy: a black swan with a big G carved on the side.  Years ago he had given a passing schoolboy a nickel to carve it with his jackknife, for he did not read or write.  Unbeknownst to him, the schoolboy was Beau Daisey.  
    When any hunter came upon the black swan he quickly looked for another place to shoot.  It was said that both Grinnald and Daisey each knew where the favorite spots of the other man were.  Sweet William Daisey was simply a better hunter.  He was skillful, patient, and relentless—just a little more so than his larger competitor.  
    The two could not be called enemies.  They had never exchanged a cross word.  In fact, they barely spoke at all.  As strong as their rivalry was, it was a private matter.  William Daisey even came to Grinnald’s aid once.  Coming close to him on the marsh, Daisey saw that his face was pale and his arms labored at the oars with unusual fatigue.  He let it pass, but it preyed on his mind, and as the sun began to set he made a rare trip to Grinnald’s corner of Assateague.   The big man lay in his bed, feverish and sweating, cursing Daisey, but terrified by whatever illness had seized him.  
    Daisey brought Elizabeth Reynolds, the medicine woman, and Reynolds treated Grinnald, staying with him until he was over the worst.  William Daisey returned two days later with a chicken stew that Mary had made.  Only when he saw that Grinnald could eat again did he leave, bringing Elizabeth Reynolds back to the lighthouse.  He brought a jug of whiskey back as well; John Grinnald did not take charity.  Grinnald never mentioned it again, and neither did Daisey, but the story made its way around the island, with added embellishments.  Daisey would dismiss it whenever it was brought up.  “A pot of stew,” he would say.  “That’s all it was.”  Their quiet rivalry continued.
    Then, one night, it ended. It was a cold, raw day in late November.  The hunting had not gone well.  Sweet William had been out longer than Mary expected.  She was working late into the night at her sewing machine, as she always did until he returned.  After sunset the wind was howling.  Hard sleet began to fall. Driven by the gusts, it scratched at the windowpane like the claws of a hungry animal.  Beau was sound asleep, but Anna tossed in her bed, unable to rest.  Seeing the lamps still lighted, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and descended the twisting staircase.  
    She turned into the front room to see her mother unlatch the front door. It had to be her father coming home.  Leaping down the final step, she ran to greet him, but when the door swung open its frame was filled by the giant form of John Grinnald.     
    He carried William Daisey.  Sweet William was dead.
    They stood together in the little room, not speaking or moving.  Grinnald’s hands were red with cold.  Water and sleet ran in rivulets down his shoulders.  It coated his beard and dripped from the brim of his hat onto the floor.  William Daisey’s face was pale white.  
    â€œI found your William out on the marsh,” Grinnald said, finally. “I’m sorry to tell you it was too late for him.”  
    Mary clasped her hands to her mouth and closed her eyes tightly, then quickly whirled around and climbed the stairs,