Teetoncey and Ben O'Neal (3 page)

He tapped on the door and it was opened by Mama who said, "I was expectin' you, Cousin."

The surf captain tromped in, asking, "That girl awake?" He looked at me and just grunted, but then changed his mind. "Boy, when I call you, come back!" His eyes bored at me under bushy brows.

I said meekly, "Yessir." And meant it.

"No, she isn't awake, Filene," Mama said.

He frowned. "How long she been asleep?"

"'Bout twelve hours. I give her some Purple last night."

Filene said, "Can't you wake her up? That's enough sleep for anybody." He peered toward my room where he knew she'd been residing since early November. "She ain't sick, is she?"

Mama answered, "I don't intend her to be, an' I don't intend to wake her up. Come on in the kitchen where that bullfrog voice o' yours don't disturb her."

Filene took a deep, exasperated breath and followed Mama toward the kitchen. He was only trying to do his duty and get the wreck details. He had a responsibility to the Lifesaving Service.

I went as far as the door, reaching it at the point Mama said, "Write down your questions an' I'll have her answer 'em in her own good time."

Leaning up against the wooden sinkboard, looking around for what might be cooking, rubbing a large thumb over a ripe persimmon, the keeper shook his close-cut head. He cut the top himself but let Jabez use an extra-large china bowl to get a straight neckline in the back "I can't do that, Rachel," said Filene. A widower, with his children grown and gone, our cousin was more or less married to the surfboat station. "I cannot do it," he repeated.

"You might have to. I have no ideer what shape she's gonna be in when she wakes."

Filene studied Mama a minute and then his heavy jaw took a stronger set. "Ever since you got your hands on that girl, you have defied authority. Now, I'm tellin' you, Rachel O'Neal, she is the sole responsibility o' the Lifesavin' Service, an' now that we know for sure her citizenship, she is also a ward o' the British governmint. You have nothin' to say about her as o' this mornin'."

Mama was squinting. "Is that all?"

The keeper nodded.

I thought, Hang on to your tiller, Filene. You have no idea what this woman is planning.

Mama began quietly. "Allow me to say this, Cousin. We learned last night that when the great Lifesavin' Service didn't git to that ship in time, she lost her only livin kin." Mama let that sink in and then added deftly, "She is twelve years ol' an' hasn't a solitary human to call her own."

Filene winced a bit. "I'm sorry to hear that." But he also quickly recovered from his sorrow. "You can't blame me for losin' her parents."

Mama answered softly and understandingly. "Havin' been a surfman's wife, I'd never place blame. But I do want to politely ask—did you call the assistant inspector in Norfolk?"

"I have those intentions when I git back to the station. This survivor can talk now. I cannot delay information of this importance. Inspector Timmons can then notify the consul."

Mama pleaded, "For her sake, don't call for a week." I suppose Mama figured that would give her time to entice Teetoncey to stay on.

The keeper shook his head. "I can't do that."

I saw Mama begin to harden when she used a John Rollinson preachment on him: "
A
man o' words an' not deeds is like a garden o' weeds."

Filene had heard it many times. He repeated stubbornly, "I cannot do it."

Mama then poured lye into her next words. "Well, then I'm gonna ride to ever surf station on these Banks an' tell ever surf cap'n what an unfeeling jackass you are." Most people are more respectful to surf captains.

Filene clubbed the sinkboard with a heavy hand, causing a pot of soaking white beans to bounce. "Jackass, am I?" he exploded.

That woke the girl because we heard a startled cry from my room. In a fury, Mama chased the keeper out of the house. I hid my face so he couldn't see me laughing.

Later, I learned that he was so upset that he forgot to tell us that a brigantine, a small square-sailed ship, had wrecked off Bodie Island during the gale. Every man was saved by Keeper Filene Midgett and his crew.

A
FTER THE DOOR
slammed behind Filene, the girl came out of the room, a little wobbly legged and looking dazed. Purple could do that to you. Mama rushed over. I stayed back. During female crisis, whether it is a midwife problem or swampwater-juniper stains on a new dress, I do not think males are of much use.

Teetoncey stared at us as if we were total strangers, and I suppose we were, more or less.

Mama asked, very tenderly, "You feel better, child?"

She nodded, eyes scanning around the room as if she might have awakened in a feed bin. She blinked when she looked at Reubens beautiful stuffed buck head on the west wall. Cletus Gillikin had done a lifelike job with the deer's eyes.

Later, I found out she'd also had quite a jolt waking up in my room, though she vaguely remembered it despite catatonia. Guthrie's Poteskeet arrowheads were wired to one wall; Reuben's
baleen,
which is filter for toothless whales, black, shiny, and curving, hairy fibers on one edge, was on another wall. My duck decoys were in one corner. Another corner had a big dried turtle shell sitting on a mullet throw net. For certainty, it was not like her own fancy room back in London. She could also smell seaboots and oakum boat caulking which I had never smelled in there before.

Though it was against my grain, I felt I had to say something. I asked, "How do you feel?"

She gazed at me with gray green eyes and answered mechanically, "Quite well, thank you."

Hah. If somebody had opened the door, the breeze would have knocked her over. But I did sense a weakening in the back of my own legs. I was not accustomed to a London voice and no one had ever thanked me for asking how they were.
Quite well, thank you.

Mama said, "Ben, you go on about your business. We have to tidy up." That meant showing her to the outhouse, a chill trip in early December; changing from her wool nightshirt (one of mine) to a dress; some water on her face in the kitchen and a hair brushing. That routine had been staple for a month though Teetoncey hadn't been aware of it.

I had to split some wood, anyway, and went out back, keeping the seat of my pants in the direction of the outhouse, which was southwest of the woodpile.

A little later, when I filled the wood boxes in the front room, Mama was watching her brush her hair. Well, that was progress. A few minutes later, when I filled the wood box for the kitchen range, she was settled down at the table and ready to eat some cornbread with blackberry jam on it. There was pure cow milk—not goat milk—to go with it. Eggs, if she wanted them. Fried fatback for the asking. We ate well.

I said, "You feel better, huh?"

She nodded and smiled nervously. I'm still glad there was no sudden thunder or lightning cracks that forenoon. She would have gone up like a rocket.

I said, "You look better."

She smiled again. "Thank you."

I desperately wanted to talk about that wreck but thought it should wait awhile. She seemed too ginger as yet; still dazed and foggy in the head; viewing her new surroundings with all the courage of a lost doe.

Mama went on, "While we was hair brushin', I tol' her exactly where we lived. Between the ports o' Norfolk an' Charleston out on sand islands." Mama laughed happily. "She'll see 'em soon enough."

She'd already seen them but it hadn't mentally registered. I'd taken that girl from Hatteras Lighthouse to the snow-geese grounds at Pea Island. There wasn't a thing she hadn't seen but was unknowing of it all.

I took another long look at her while she nibbled. Her daisy hair was neatly done and Mama had her in a long skirt and blouse, Lucy Scarborough's old shoes on her feet. There was some color back in her cheeks. She looked real fine.

Mama said, "I tol' her we'd probably be callin' her Teetoncey a lot since her true name is new to us."

Then this girl did a nice thing. She looked at Mama and said, "I understand."

That proved to me she was refined and had good manners. I had earlier suspected, from the labels on her dress and in one shoe, worn the night she was flung up on the beach, that she was also of means. No girl on the Banks had anything but a mail-order label on their dress collars. Of course, none of us knew much about rich people. Some came to Nag's Head in the summer to get away from
miasmi,
which is inland stinkery and germs. They seldom ventured this far south.

Mama then said to Teetoncey, "That man who so rudely woke you up is Filene Midgett, of some kin to us. He's been pesterin' us for weeks about that wreck, an' wanted to talk to you. But I run him out an' I doubt he'll be back for a day or so."

Having an interest in that possible discussion, I added, "He's a keeper with the Lifesaving Service. They have to make out wreck reports."

The girl glanced over. "I'll be glad to talk to him although it all happened very quickly." A shadow passed over her face and Mama changed the subject but not before tears began to stream down from Tee's eyes.

Mama gave me a sign with her head and I departed to go down to our little dock on the sound to work on my sailboat,
Me and the John O'Neal
Just putter around.

That first day after Tee came out of her catatonic state was vexing for everyone. Coming into a strange place, with strange faces, knowing her folks were dead, it's a wonder she didn't crawl back into her head and never come out again.

A little later, Mama walked down to the dock and said, "Go over to Mis' Scarborough an' ask her to git word to all the women that we're not to home for twenty-four hours. No visitin. Especially Hazel Burrus." That was wise.

"How is she?" I asked.

"Poor thing. She's either weepin' or jus' starin."

As I went to the shed to get Fid's bridle, Mama called after me. "Keep Kilbie an' Frank away, too." They were my best friends and never off-limits. Harboring a castaway has its penalty.

I nodded.

Supper that night was not much better and Teetoncey had no more words than a baked duck, which is what we had to eat. But Mama went on, as usual. Tee fled the table midway and sprawled out on the bed, Mama following her close. I went on eating, unable to assist. The last I saw of Tee before I went to bed, she was on her belly on the rag rug, stroking Boo Dog, who was getting more enjoyment out of this than anybody.

Morning broke and somehow Teetoncey had put her boat in order. Maybe she'd had time to think during the night and realize that we might be humble folks but we meant well. Besides, she didn't have much choice. She was kinless. Anyway, she was almost human in the morning, almost cheerful, talking a little bit instead of crying and moping. Right off, she talked strangely, calling a dress a frock.

My chores of chopping wood and emptying the garbage pail and filling the oil lamps were done about eight-thirty, almost the same time that Teetoncey finished helping in the kitchen—she'd volunteered, to my amazement—and I raised the window to ask, "You like to ride Fid?"

"Oh, very much," Tee responded.

Mama cautioned her. "Sometimes that pony can act up."

"I'll be quite all right, thank you," the girl answered, as British as ever.

Before I could get five feet away, I heard Mama stealthily warn her, "Ben might not be like boys in your country. He's rough at times." That made me mad.

"I'll watch myself, Mrs. O'Neal," was her reply.

Then Mama came to the window and looked out at me, didn't say a word but gave me cold eyes—Ben, you hurt her and I'll have Filene strop your mooney.

I returned her look with as much innocence as possible, then got Fid and brought him up about the time Tee came off the stoop in one of my old sweaters. The red bob-cap Mr. Burrus had contributed to her wardrobe was on her head.

I said, "Teetoncey, I'll help you up on him, then take the reins..."

"I think I can get up," she said, and with that, she went up backward, a kind of hike, like she had springs in her toes. I was surprised.

Fid was low to the ground but I still had to jump up a little to board him. I wondered why and how she'd done it but didn't ask. "Now, swing a leg over him."

She looked at me calmly. "If you don't mind, I prefer to ride this way."

"With both legs on one side. You got no saddle."

She nodded and grasped the reins with one hand, Fid's mane with the other.

It seemed to me that she was just showing off like a circus rider and I did something without really thinking about it. Yet I suppose it had been in the back of my mind. She'd annoyed me off and on—taking over my room, sleeping in my bed, practically stealing Boo Dog from me. I shrugged and looked back to see if Mama was watching. She was nowhere to be seen. Just to get him started, I drew back and hit Fid on the rump hard enough to stun my wrist-bone. I didn't mean to whack him that hard.

He shot out, and I fully expected to see Tee dump. But she stayed on at least forty feet down the path until she pitched into a myrtle bush.

I walked on down to help her out. Her face was red and I couldn't tell whether she was hurt or angry, but her eyes had some fire in them. At least, she wasn't thinking about her dead folks.

I said, "You'll learn."

Fid was about twenty feet away, gnawing on clump grass, and she went over to him, took the reins, did the odd backward spring, grabbed his mane, and clucked him away. She called back to me in a cool, crisp tone. "I ride sidesaddle in England, Ben. I'm really very good at it."

I stood there a long time, watching the red bob-cap go up and down through the low dunes. It occurred to me that she might have some spunk. It also occurred to me that if she ever fell off into any of our prickly pear or Spanish dagger she might "prefer" to ride the way we did, nestling the animal.

In early afternoon, I took Tee over to see Filene at Heron Head Station. Mama begged off because she was not up to wrangling with Filene so soon again but instructed me to withdraw Teetoncey if she got tired from all the questions.