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

beckoning for Grinnald to follow.  Anna sank into a chair by the fireplace, not knowing what to do.  She sat for hours.
    After the storm abated and the sun rose, Grinnald left.  Mother and Beau went to bring Reverend Carter.  Anna climbed the stairs.  William Daisey lay in his bed, dressed in dry clothes, but still white.  She sat with him for a long time, saying to herself all the things she could never say to him now.  
    When the Reverend arrived they prayed together, and Mother made breakfast.  That day faded into other days; people came and went, some bringing food, and they all prayed.  Soon, he was gone.  
    Beau was kind to her during that time, and Mother kept her very close.  The world turned grey, and remained so.  There was no light inside her.  When a little light began to glow, it vanished quickly, as though some horrible sharp-toothed animal lived in her body, feeding on light.  For a while the animal would sleep, but when light appeared it roused itself and devoured it.  Anna could almost see the animal.  She drew it once in the corner of a drawing of something else, but it frightened her and she burned the drawing in the fire.
    Very slowly, the greyness faded.  One day she could no longer feel the animal inside her.  Beau took her out to Assateague to draw.  They stayed until he grew impatient, and as they rowed back she could breathe deeply and smell the air.   
    She and Mother spoke only once about how her father died.  John Grinnald told Mary the story out of earshot of the children the night he brought William home.  It was brief.  They were hunting near each other as the weather worsened.  Grinnald decided to make for home, but saw a steady light burning in the distance, unusually still.  He set a course for the light.  When he arrived he found William Daisey in the water, his arm wrapped tightly around a broken oar, his shattered boat half-submerged, shotgun still ready in the bow.  His gunning light was burning.  
    The man was dead when he arrived, Grinnald told her.  He could do nothing more than bring him home to his family.
    Anna asked her mother the only question whose answer she truly needed.  “Did John Grinnald kill Father?” she asked.  Her mother stiffened, and stared straight out the window at the empty crepe myrtle tree.  
    â€œNo,” she answered, finally.  “I am sure he did not.  Your father is with Jesus, dear girl.  Rest your heart.”  
    Some fishermen from the congregation retrieved his boat from the marsh, setting it on the horses in the shed.  Beau oiled his shotgun and wrapped it in canvas, and put the gunning light on the ground beneath the boat.  
    Three years passed.
    Mary and Anna did not speak again of the way William had died, though many in Chincoteague did.  The popular idea was that Grinnald had grown tired of losing his ducks to William Daisey, and finally decided, on a dark night in a remote place, to do something about it.  Late at night when the whiskey flowed, many were certain of it.  
    Legally, it was a settled matter; among the islanders it was not. John Grinnald was as quiet as ever.  Conversations still ended the moment his shadow passed a doorway, but they were different conversations now.  He did not seem to care.
    Sam returned to the workshop.  “Good as new, Miss Daisey,” he said, and she looked at him, startled.  She had no idea how long he had been away.  He pointed to the shutters, now sound again.  “Your shutters.  Good as new.”   Sure enough, they were, suspended square and trim from their frames.  “Now, what about this boat?”  
    â€œThe boat?”
    â€œYes, Miss Daisey.  When can we begin repairing this boat?” He crouched underneath to see the extent of the damage to the interior of the hull.  “I’ve worked on every type of