Stern Men (44 page)

“I want to talk to you about buying some land,” Ruth said. What she really wanted was to get this meeting behind her as quickly as possible. “My husband and I would like to build a house here on Ellis Hill, right near here. I have a reasonable sum to offer . . .”

Ruth trailed off because she was alarmed. Mr. Ellis was suddenly coughing with a strangling sound. He was choking, and his face was turning purple. She didn’t know what to do. Should she get Cal Cooley? She had a quick and calculating thought: she didn’t want Lanford Ellis to die before the land deal was settled.

“Mr. Ellis?” she said, and started to get up.

The trembling arm stretched out again, waving her away. “Sit down,” he said. He took a deep breath, and the coughing started again. No, Ruth realized, he wasn’t coughing. He was laughing. How perfectly horrible.

He stopped, at last, and wiped his eyes. He shook his old turtle head. He said, “You certainly aren’t afraid of me any longer, Ruth.”

“I never was afraid.”

“Nonsense. You were petrified.” A small, white spit-dot flew from his lips and landed on one of his stamp albums. “But no longer. And good for you. I must say, Ruth, I am pleased with you. I am proud of all you’ve accomplished here on Fort Niles. I have been watching your progress with great interest.”

He pronounced the last word in three exquisite syllables.

“Um, thank you,” Ruth said. This was a strange turn. “I know it was never your intent that I stay here on Fort Niles . . .”

“Oh, it was precisely my intent.”

Ruth looked at him without blinking.

“It was always my hope that you would stay here and organize these islands. Bring some sense to them. As you have done, Ruth. You look surprised.”

She was. Then again, she was not. She thought back.

Her mind slowed, picking around carefully for an explanation, looking closely at the details of her life. She reviewed some ancient conversations, some ancient meetings with Mr. Ellis. What exactly had he expected of her? What were his plans for her when her schooling was over? He had never said.

“I always understood that you wanted me to get off this island and go to college.” Ruth’s voice sounded calm in the big room. And she was calm. She was vitally involved in the conversation now.

“I said no such thing, Ruth. Did I ever talk to you about college? Did I ever say I wanted you to live elsewhere?”

Indeed he had not, she realized. Vera had said it; her mother had said it; Cal Cooley had said it. Even Pastor Wishnell had said it. But not Mr. Ellis. How very interesting.

“I’d like to know something,” Ruth asked, “since we are being so candid. Why did you make me go to school in Delaware?”

“It was an excellent school, and I expected you to hate it.”

She waited, but he did not elaborate.

“Well,” she said, “that explains everything. Thanks.”

He let out a rattling sigh. “Taking into account both your intelligence and your obstinacy, I imagined the school would serve two purposes. It would educate you and would drive you back to Fort Niles. I should not have to spell this out for you, Ruth.”

Ruth nodded. That did explain everything.

“Are you angry, Ruth?”

She shrugged. Oddly, she was not.
Big deal,
she thought. So he’d been manipulating her whole life. He’d manipulated the life of everyone he had sway over. It was no surprise, really; in fact, it was edifying. And in the end—
what of it?
Ruth came to this conclusion rapidly and with no fuss. She liked knowing at last what had been going on all these years. There are moments in a person’s life when the big understanding arrives in a snap, and this was such a moment for Ruth Thomas-Wishnell.

Mr. Ellis spoke again. “You could not possibly have married better, Ruth.”

“My, my, my,” she said.
On came the surprises!
“Well, how do you like that?”

“A Wishnell and a Thomas? Oh, I like it very much. You have founded a dynasty, young lady.”

“Have I, now?”

“You have. And it would have given my father supreme satisfaction to see what you’ve accomplished here in the last few years with the cooperative, Ruth. No other local could have pulled it off.”

“No other local ever had the capital, Mr. Ellis.”

“Well, you were clever enough to acquire that capital. And you’ve spent it wisely. My father would have been proud and delighted at the success of your business. He was always concerned for the future of these islands. He loved them. As do I. As does the entire Ellis family. And after all my family has invested into these islands, I would not want to see Fort Niles and Courne Haven sink for lack of a worthy leader.”

“I’ll tell you something, Mr. Ellis,” Ruth said, and for some reason she could not help smiling. “It was never my intent to make your family proud. Believe me. I have never been interested in serving the Ellis family.”

“Regardless.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Ruth felt strange and light—and thoroughly comprehending. “Regardless.”

“But you’ve come to speak of business.”

“So I have.”

“You have some money.”

“So I do.”

“And you want me to sell you my land.”

Ruth hesitated.

“No-o,” she said, and she drew the word out. “No, not exactly. I don’t want you to sell me your land, Mr. Ellis. I want you to give it to me.”

Now it was Mr. Ellis who stopped blinking. Ruth tilted her head and returned his gaze.

“Yes?” she said. “Do you understand?”

He did not answer. She gave him time to think about what she’d said, and then explained it, with careful patience. “Your family owes a great debt to my family. It is important and proper that your family make some restitution to my family for the lives of my mother and my grandmother. And for my life, too. Surely you understand?”

Ruth was pleased with that word—
restitution.
It was exactly the right word.

Mr. Ellis thought this over for some time and then said, “You aren’t threatening me with legal action, are you, Miss Thomas?”

“Mrs. Thomas-Wishnell,” Ruth corrected. “And don’t be absurd. I’m not threatening anybody.”

“I rather thought not.”

“I’m only explaining that you have an opportunity here, Mr. Ellis, to right some of the wrongs that your family inflicted on my family over the years.”

Mr. Ellis did not reply.

“If you ever felt like cleaning up your conscience a bit, this might be your big chance.”

Mr. Ellis still did not reply.

“I shouldn’t have to spell this out for you, Mr. Ellis.”

“No,” he said. He sighed again, took off his glasses, and folded them. “You should not have to.”

“You understand then?”

He nodded once and turned his head to regard the fire.

Ruth said, “Good.”

They sat in silence. David was asleep by now, and his body made a hot, damp imprint against Ruth’s body. He was heavy. And yet Ruth was comfortable. She thought this brief and forthright exchange with Mr. Ellis was both important and proper. And true. It had gone well.
Restitution.
Yes. And it was about time. She felt quite at ease.

Ruth watched Mr. Ellis as he watched the fire. She was not angry or sad. Nor did he appear to be so. She felt no resentment toward him. It was a nice fire, she thought. It was unusual, but not unpleasant, to have such a big, Christmasy fire blazing away in the middle of June. With the draperies drawn over the windows, with the smell of woodsmoke in the room, there was no way to know that the day was bright. It was a beautiful fireplace, the pride of the room. It was made of heavy, dark wood—mahogany, perhaps—decorated with nymphs and grapes and dolphins. It was capped by a marble mantelpiece of greenish hue. Ruth admired the workmanship of the fireplace for some time.

“I’ll take the house, too,” she said, at last.

“Of course,” said Mr. Ellis. His hands were clasped on the card table in front of him. His hands were spotty and papery, but now they did not tremble.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“You’re with me?”

“Yes.”

“And you do understand what all this means, Mr. Ellis? It means you’ll have to leave Fort Niles.” Ruth did not say this in an unkind manner. She was simply correct. “You and Cal should both return to Concord now. Don’t you think?”

He nodded. He was still looking at the fire. He said, “When the weather is good enough to set sail in the
Stonecutter . . .
”

“Oh, there’s no hurry. You don’t have to leave here today. But I don’t want you dying in this house, do you understand? And I do
not
want you dying on this island. That would not be appropriate, and it would unsettle everyone too much. I don’t want to have to deal with that. So you do have to leave. And there’s no immediate hurry. But sometime over the next few weeks, we’ll pack you up and move you out of here. I don’t think it’ll be too hard.”

“Mr. Cooley can take care of all that.”

“Of course,” Ruth said. She smiled. “That’ll be a perfect job for Cal.”

They sat for another long time in silence. The fire crackled and shimmered. Mr. Ellis unfolded his eyeglasses and returned them to his face. He turned his gaze upon Ruth.

“Your little boy is sleepy,” he said.

“Actually, I think he’s sleep
ing.
I should get him home to his father. He likes to see his father in the afternoons. Waits for him, you know, to come home from fishing.”

“He’s a handsome boy.”

“We think so. We love him.”

“Naturally you do. He is your son.”

Ruth sat up straighter. Then she said, “I should get back to the harbor now, Mr. Ellis.”

“You won’t have a cup of tea?”

“No. But we are in agreement, yes?”

“I am enormously proud of you, Ruth.”

“Well.” she smiled broadly and made an ironic little flourish with her left hand. “It’s all part of the service, Mr. Ellis.”

With some effort, Ruth got herself up out of the deep chair, still holding David. Her son made a small noise of protest, and she shifted his weight, trying to hold him in a way that would be comfortable for them both. At this point in her pregnancy, she shouldn’t have been carrying him around, but she enjoyed it. She liked holding David, and knew she only had a few more years of it, before he got too big and too independent to permit it. Ruth smoothed back her boy’s fair hair and picked up her canvas bag, which was filled with snacks for David and co-op files for herself. Ruth started toward the door and then changed her mind.

She turned around to confirm a suspicion. She looked over at Mr. Ellis, and, yes, just as she had expected, he was grinning and grinning. He made no attempt to hide his grin from her. Indeed, he let it grow wider. As she saw this, Ruth felt the oddest, the most unaccountable fondness for the man. So she did not walk out. Not just yet. Instead, she walked to Mr. Ellis’s chair and—leaning awkwardly around the weight of her son and her pregnancy—bent down and kissed the old dragon right on the forehead.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I WOULD LIKE to thank the New York Public Library for offering me the essential sanctuary of the Allen Room. I also extend my appreciation to the staff of the Vinalhaven Historical Society for helping me sift through that island’s remarkable history. While I consulted many books during this project, I was most helped by
The Lobster Gangs of Maine, Lobstering and the Maine Coast, Perils of the Sea, Fish Scales and Stone Chips,
the collected works of Edwin Mitchell, the unpublished but thorough “Tales of Matinicus Island,” and a disturbing 1943 volume called
Shipwreck Survivors: A Medical Study.

Thanks to Wade Schuman for giving me the idea in the first place; to Sarah Chalfant for nudging it along; to Dawn Seferian for picking it up; to Janet Silver for seeing it through; and to Frances Apt for straightening it out. I am profoundly grateful to the residents of Matinicus Island, Vinalhaven Island, and Long Island for taking me into their homes and onto their boats. Special appreciation goes to Ed and Nan Mitchell, Barbara and David Ramsey, Ira Warren, Stan MacVane, Bunky MacVane, Donny MacVane, Katie Murphy, Randy Wood, Patti Rich, Earl Johnson, Andy Creelman, Harold Poole, Paula Hopkins, Larry Ames, Beba Rosen, John Beckman, and the legendary Ms. Bunny Beckman. Thank you, Dad, for attending U. of M. and for remembering your friends after all those many years. Thank you, John Hodgman, for taking time from your work to help me in the final moments of mine. Thank you, Deborah Luepnitz, for going lobster-by-lobster with me, right from the beginning. And God Bless the Fat Kids.