Meetings with Mr. Ellis were also significant because they were rare. He called Ruth into his presence only twice a year or so, and began each conversation with an expression of fondness. He would then chastise her lightly for not coming to visit him on her own. He called her granddaughter, love, dear. She was aware, and had been from early childhood, that she was considered his pet and was therefore lucky. There were others on Fort Niles—grown men, even—who would have liked an audience with Mr. Ellis even once, but could not obtain one. Senator Simon Addams, for instance, had been trying for years to meet with him. Ruth was thought by many on Fort Niles to have some special influence with the man, though she scarcely ever saw him. For the most part, she heard of his requests and demands and displeasure or pleasure from Cal Cooley. When she did see Mr. Ellis, his instructions to her were usually simple and direct.
When Ruth was thirteen, he had summoned her to tell her that she would be attending private school in Delaware. He said nothing of how or why this was to be or whose decision it had been. Nor did he ask her opinion. He did say that her schooling was expensive but would be taken care of. He told her that Cal Cooley would drive her to school in early September and that she would be expected to spend her Christmas holiday with her mother in Concord. She would not return to Fort Niles until the following June. These were facts, not matters for discussion.
On a less momentous matter, Mr. Ellis summoned Ruth when she was sixteen to say that she was to wear her hair away from her face from now on. That was his only instruction to her for the year. And she followed it and had been doing so ever since, wearing it in a ponytail. He apparently approved.
Mr. Ellis was one of the only adults in Ruth’s life who had never called her stubborn. This was surely because, in his presence, she was not.
She wondered whether he was going to tell her not to drink anymore tonight. Was that the point of this? Would he tell her to stop dancing like a trollop? Or was this something bigger, an announcement that it was time for her to go to college? Or move to Concord with her mother? Ruth wanted to hear none of these things.
In general, she avoided Mr. Ellis strenuously because she was terrified of what he would ask of her and of the certainty that she would obey. She had not yet heard directly from Mr. Ellis what her plans for the fall were to be, but she had a strong sense that she would be asked to leave Fort Niles. Cal Cooley had indicated that Mr. Ellis wanted her to go to college, and Vera Ellis had mentioned the college for women where the dean was a friend. Ruth was sure the subject would come up soon. She had even got a message about leaving from Pastor Wishnell, of all people, and the signs pointed to a decision soon from Mr. Ellis himself. There was nothing Ruth hated more in her character than her unquestioning obedience of Mr. Ellis. And while she had made up her mind that she would disregard his wishes from now on, she didn’t feel up to asserting her independence tonight.
“How have you been spending your days lately, Ruth?” Mr. Ellis asked.
Wanting no instructions from him at all tonight, Ruth decided to divert him. This was a new tactic, a bold tactic. But she had been drinking and, as a consequence, felt bolder than usual.
“Mr. Ellis,” she said, “do you remember the elephant tusk we brought you?”
He nodded.
“Have you had a chance to look at it?”
He nodded again. “Very well,” he said. “I understand you have been spending a great deal of your time with Mrs. Pommeroy and her sisters.”
“Mr. Ellis,” Ruth said, “I wonder whether we can talk about that elephant tusk. For just a moment.”
That’s right. She would be the one to direct this conversation. How hard could that be? She certainly did it with everyone else. Mr. Ellis raised an eyebrow. That is to say, he raised the skin below where an eyebrow would be if he happened to have an eyebrow.
“It took my friend several years to find that tusk, Mr. Ellis. That young man, Webster Pommeroy, he’s the one who found it. He worked hard. And my other friend, Senator Simon?” Ruth pronounced the name this time without a hitch. She felt dead sober now. “Senator Simon Addams? You know him?”
Mr. Ellis did not respond. He found his handkerchief again and made another pass at his nose.
Ruth went on. “He has many interesting artifacts, Mr. Ellis. Simon Addams has been collecting unusual specimens for years. He would like to open a museum on Fort Niles. To display what he has collected. He’d call it the Fort Niles Museum of Natural History and believes that the Ellis Granite Company Store building would be suitable for his museum. Since it is vacant. Perhaps you’ve heard about this idea? I think he has asked your permission for years . . . I think he . . . It may not seem like an interesting project to you, but it would mean everything to him, and he is a good man. Also, he would like the elephant tusk back. For his museum. If he can have a museum, that is.”
Mr. Ellis sat in his wheelchair with his hands on his thighs. His thighs were not much wider than his wrists. Under his suit jacket, he wore a thick, black sweater. He reached into an inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a small brass key, which he held between his thumb and forefinger. It trembled like a divining rod. Handing it to Ruth, he said, “Here is the key to the Ellis Granite Company Store building.”
Ruth gingerly took the key. It was cool and sharp and could not have been a greater surprise. She said, “Oh!” She was astonished.
“Mr. Cooley will bring the elephant tusk to your house next week.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ellis. I appreciate this. You don’t have to—”
“You will join me for dinner on Thursday.”
“I will. Yes. Terrific. Should I tell Simon Addams . . . Um, what shall I tell Simon Addams about the building?”
But Mr. Ellis was finished talking to Ruth Thomas. He shut his eyes and ignored her, and she went away.
Ruth Thomas went to the other side of the tent, as far as she could get from Mr. Ellis. She felt sober and a little sick, so she made a quick stop at the card table that served as a bar and had Chucky Strachan mix her another glass of whiskey and ice. Between Pastor Wishnell and Mr. Ellis, this had been a day of strange conversations, and now she was wishing that she had stayed home with the Senator and Webster Pommeroy. She found a chair in the corner, behind the band, and claimed it. When she put her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, she could hear her pulse in her head. At the sound of applause, she looked up. A man in his mid-sixties, with a blond-gray brush haircut and the face of an old soldier, was standing in the middle of the tent, a champagne glass raised in his hand. It was Babe Wishnell.
“My daughter!” he said. “Today is my daughter’s wedding, and I’d like to say some words!”
There was more applause. Somebody shouted, “Go to it, Babe!” and everyone laughed.
“My daughter isn’t marrying the best-looking man on Courne Haven, but, then, it isn’t legal to marry her father! Charlie Burden? Where’s Charlie Burden?”
The groom stood up, looking agonized.
“You got yourself a good Wishnell girl today, Charlie!” Babe Wishnell bellowed; more applause. Somebody shouted, “Go get her, Charlie!” and Babe Wishnell glared in the direction of the voice. The laughter stopped.
But then he shrugged and said, “My daughter’s a modest girl. When she was a teenager, she was so modest, she wouldn’t even walk over a potato patch. You know why? Because potatoes have eyes! They might have looked up her skirt!”
Here, he pantomimed a girl, daintily lifting her skirts. He fluttered his hand about in a feminine way. The crowd laughed. The bride, holding her daughter on her lap, blushed.
“My new son-in-law reminds me of Cape Cod. I mean, his nose reminds me of Cape Cod. Does anyone know why his nose reminds me of Cape Cod? Because it’s a prominent projection!” Babe Wishnell roared at his own joke. “Charlie, I’m just playing with you. You can sit down now, Charlie. Let’s have a hand for Charlie. He’s a pretty goddamn good sport. Now, these two are going on a honeymoon. They’re going to B
oston for the week. I hope they have a good time.”
More applause, and the same voice shouted, “Go get her, Charlie!” This time Babe Wishnell ignored the voice.
“I hope they have a hell of a good time. They deserve it. Especially Dotty, because she’s had a tough year, losing her husband. So I hope you have a hell of a good time, Charlie and Dotty.” He raised his glass. The guests murmured and raised their glasses, too. “Good for them to get away for a while,” Babe Wishnell said. “Leaving the kid with Dotty’s mother and me, but what the hell. We like the kid. Hiya, kid!”
He waved at the kid. The kid, Candy, on her mother’s lap, was as regal and inscrutable as a lioness.
“But that reminds me of when I took Dotty’s mother on our honeymoon.”
Someone in the crowd whooped, and everyone laughed. Babe Wishnell shook his finger, like tut-tut-tut, and continued. “When I took Dotty’s mother on our honeymoon, we went to Niagara Falls. This was back in the Revolutionary War! No, it was 1945. I was just out of the war. World War Two, that is! Now, I’d gotten stove up pretty bad in a wreck in the South Pacific. I’d seen some pretty serious action over there in New Guinea, but I was ready for action on my honeymoon! You bet! I was ready for a different kind of action!”
Everyone looked to Gladys Wishnell, who was shaking her head.
“So we went to Niagara Falls. We had to take that boat, The Maid of the Mist. Now, I didn’t know if Gladys was the type to get seasick. I thought she might get all woozy on me under that waterfall, because you go—you know, you go right under the goddamn thing. So I went to the pharmacy, and I bought a bottle of—what’s it called? A bottle of Drambuie? What’s it called that you take for seasickness?”
“Dramamine!” Ruth Thomas called out.
Babe Wishnell peered through the darkening tent at Ruth. He gave her a stern, perceptive look. He didn’t know who she was, but he accepted her answer.
“Dramamine. That’s right. I bought a bottle of Dramamine from the pharmacist. And since I was there anyhow, I bought a package of rubbers, too.”
This brought shrieks of joy and applause from the wedding guests. Everyone looked at Dotty Wishnell and her mother, Gladys, both of whom were wearing the same priceless expression of disbelief and horror.
“Yeah, I bought Dramamine and a package of rubbers. So the pharmacist gives me the Dramamine. He gives me the rubbers. He looks at me and he says, ‘If it makes her so goddamn sick to her stomach, why do you keep doing it to her?’ ”
The wedding guests roared. They applauded and whistled. Dotty Wishnell and her mother both doubled over, laughing. Ruth felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. It was Mrs. Pommeroy.
“Hey,” Ruth said.
“May I sit here?”
“Sure, sure.” Ruth patted the seat next to her, and Mrs. Pommeroy sat down.
“Hiding?” she asked Ruth.
“Yeah. Tired?”
“Yeah.”
“I know Charlie Burden thinks he’s going to get rich, marrying a Wishnell girl,” Babe Wishnell continued, as the laughter died down. “I know he thinks it’s his lucky day. He probably has his eye on some of my boats and gear. Well, he may get it. He may get all my boats in the end. But there’s one ship I’d never want Charlie and Dotty to have. Do you know what ship that is? Hardship.”
The crowd said, “Awww . . .” Gladys Wishnell wiped her eyes.
“My new son-in-law ain’t the smartest guy on the island. I heard they were going to make him the master of the lighthouse over on Crypt Rock for a spell. Well, that didn’t work out so great. Charlie turned the light off at nine o’clock. They asked him why, and he said, ‘All good people should be in bed by nine o’clock.’ That’s right! Lights out, Charlie!”
The guests laughed heartily. Charlie Burden looked as if he might throw up.
“Yeah, let’s have a hand for Charlie and Dotty. I hope they have a real good time. And I hope they stay on here on Courne Haven forever. They might like it over there in Boston, but I’m not one for cities. I don’t like cities at all. Never have. There’s only one city I like. It’s the best city in the world. Do you know what city that is? Generosity.”
The crowd said “Awww . . .” again.
“He’s a real joker,” Ruth said to Mrs. Pommeroy.
“He likes those puns,” she agreed.
Mrs. Pommeroy took Ruth’s hand as they watched Babe Wishnell finish his toast with some more puns, some more jabs at his new son-in-law.
“That man could buy and sell every last one of us,” Mrs. Pommeroy said, wistfully.
There were cheers for Babe Wishnell at the end of his toast, and he took a dramatic bow and said, “And now, I’m real honored because Lanford Ellis is here with us. He wants to say a couple words, and I think we all want to hear whatever he has to say. That’s right. It’s not too often we see Mr. Ellis. It’s a real honor for me that he’s come to my daughter’s wedding. So there he is, over there. Let’s keep it real quiet now, everyone. Mr. Lanford Ellis. A very important man. Going to say some words.”
Cal Cooley rolled Mr. Ellis in his wheelchair to the center of the room. The tent became silent. Cal tucked Mr. Ellis’s blanket tighter.
“I am a lucky man,” Mr. Ellis began, “to have such neighbors.” Very slowly, he looked around at all those in the tent. It was as if he were tallying each neighbor. A baby started to cry, and there was a rustle as the mother took the child out of the tent. “There is a tradition on this island—and on Fort Niles, too—of hard work. I remember when the Swedes on Courne Haven were making cobblestones for the Ellis Granite Company. Three hundred good quarrymen could each make two hundred cobblestones a day for five cents each. My family always appreciated the hard work.”
“This is an interesting wedding toast,” Ruth whispered to Mrs. Pommeroy.
Mr. Ellis went on. “Now you are all lobstermen. That’s fine work, too. Some of you are Swedes, the descendants of Vikings. The Vikings used to call the ocean the Path of the Lobster. I am an old man. What will happen to Fort Niles and Courne Haven when I am gone? I am an old man. I love these islands.”
Mr. Ellis stopped speaking. He was looking at the ground. He had no expression on his face, and an observer might have thought that the man had no idea where he was, that he had forgotten he was speaking to an audience. The silence lasted a long time. The wedding guests began to look at one another. They shrugged and looked at Cal Cooley, standing a few feet behind Mr. Ellis. But Cal did not appear concerned; he wore his usual expression of bored disgust. Somewhere, a man coughed. It was so quiet, Ruth could hear the wind in the trees. After a few minutes, Babe Wishnell stood up.
“We want to thank Mr. Ellis for coming all the way over to Courne Haven,” he said. “How about that, everyone? That means a lot to us. How about a big hand for Mr. Lanford Ellis? Thanks a lot, Lanford.”
The crowd broke into relieved applause. Cal Cooley wheeled his boss to the side of the tent. Mr. Ellis was still looking at the ground. The band started to play, and a woman laughed too loudly.
“Well, that was an unusual toast, too,” said Ruth.
“Do you know who’s over at Pastor Wishnell’s house, sitting on the back steps of the house all by himself?” Mrs. Pommeroy asked Ruth.
“Who?”
“Owney Wishnell.” Mrs. Pommeroy handed Ruth a flashlight. “Why don’t you go find him? Take your time.”
11
From hunger to cannibalism is a short step, and although the lobster fry are kept from congregating, there still occur chances of individuals coming momentarily into contact with one another, and, if hungry, they make the most of their opportunities.
—A Method of Lobster Culture A. D. Mead, Ph.D. 1908
RUTH, WITH HER WHISKEY in one hand and Mrs. Pommeroy’s flashlight in the other, found her way over to Pastor Wishnell’s house. There were no lights on inside. She walked to the back of the house and discovered, as Mrs. Pommeroy had said she would, Owney. He was sitting on the steps. He m
ade a big shadow in the dark. As Ruth slowly moved the beam of the flashlight over him, she saw that he was wearing a gray sweatshirt with a zipper and a hood. She went over and sat beside him and turned off the flashlight. They sat in the dark for a while.
“Want some?” Ruth asked. She offered Owney her glass of whiskey. He accepted it and took a long swallow. The contents of the glass didn’t seem to surprise him. It was as if he was expecting whiskey from Ruth Thomas at that moment, as if he’d been sitting here waiting for it. He handed her the glass, she drank some, and passed it back to him. The drink was soon gone. Owney was so quiet, she could scarcely hear him breathing. She set the glass on the step, near the flashlight.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asked.
“Yes,” Owney said, and he stood up.
He offered her his hand, and she took it. A solid grip. He led her back through the garden, over the low brick wall, past the roses. She had left the flashlight on the steps of the house, and so they picked their way carefully. It was a clear night, and they could see their way. They walked through a neighbor’s yard, and then they were in the woods.
Owney led Ruth to a path. Now it was dark, because of the overhang, the shadow of spruces. The path was narrow, and Owney and Ruth walked single file. Because she didn’t want to fall, she put her right hand on his right shoulder to balance herself. As she felt more confident, she took her hand off his shoulder, but reached for him whenever she was unsure.