The Whiskey Tide (6 page)

     
"As might be expected, Oliver made you sole beneficiary of his estate, Genevieve. That consists of this house, his car and boat, all bank accounts and business accounts receivable, plus a modest income from investments."

     
He hesitated. Behind the wire rims of his glasses his eyes dipped down, then raised again.
 
"Unfortunately, you also inherit his encumbrances. I'm afraid they're substantial. Among others there's... a loan of some fifteen thousand dollars against this house. A payment is due. They'll be decent enough to delay it a month or two, except.... Even if you could meet it, there'd be no way to cover the next one."

     
"But.... " Mama's head shook in slow denial. "It can't be. We had savings — Oliver's life insurance—"

     
"Woody's medical bills these last few years have been far steeper than you've been aware," Paul Garrison said gently. "Oliver had recently faced the need to take on cases where he could collect larger fees. He could have kept things afloat. But now...." The lawyer's fingers seemed to steady themselves on the desktop. "I'm afraid you'll have no choice but to sell the house."

     
A stream of ice invaded Kate's stomach and spread to her fingertips. Aggie emitted a small sound of animal pain. No one in the room seemed able to speak.

     
"Wait!" Kate spoke before she could force her thoughts into order. It brought her to the edge of the sofa as she looked at Uncle Phinneas. "The money you'd borrowed — it would be just enough to pay off the loan."

     
Her uncle looked startled. Almost at once his face smoothed into an affable mask.

     
"My dear girl, I have no idea what you're talking about."

     
Kate had to open her mouth twice before words came out. "The money you borrowed from Pa three years ago. You talked about it the night of Rosalie's party."

     
Her uncle's fly-swatter face turned a dull red. He lifted his hands in a shrug as he turned to her mother.

     
"Ginny, I've no idea where she got this notion. The shock, perhaps." He smiled at Kate, his manner indulgent. "I do recall telling your father about some investments I'd made —"

     
"No!" Kate was on her feet now. "You'd borrowed fifteen thousand dollars three years ago. Pa said it was time you repaid it."

     
"Kathryn!" Her mother's voice shook with anger and tears. "Surely you're not suggesting your uncle would lie."

     
Kate couldn't answer. There was no point. Her mother wouldn't believe her. Couldn't believe her, maybe. Uncle Finney was Mama's brother. Mama needed him; needed to believe in him. Aggie's gaze had narrowed with interest. The others, except for Uncle Finney, looked uncomfortable.

     
"Apologize," Mama said, each syllable an effort.

     
"Oh, no need," Uncle Finney said heartily. "We're all under a strain. And even though I knew Oliver had let things get in a bit of a muddle, I'd no idea the situation was this bad.

     
"Don't you worry, though. We'll sell this house and I'll invest the money for you. With Rosalie marrying next year there's no sense you staying in a place this size anyway. We'll find a cozy little cottage—"

     
"Mama!"

     
The frightened voice from the doorway wrenched Kate's heart from the anger consuming it. Her brother's small wheelchair wobbled into the room as fast as his frail hands could move it.

     
"Mama, I don't want to leave our house! I want to stay where I can see the apple tree Pa and I planted. I want to feed Mr. P. Please don't make us leave, Mama!"

     
Woody's pinched face was screwed even tighter to hold back tears. Mama sat frozen, unable to reassure him.

     
"Woody, you're supposed to be resting," Rosalie said weakly.

     
The others seemed incapable of action. Kate reached Woody's wheelchair and scooped him into her arms. He was so small for nine — more like six or seven. He clung to her, muffling a sob.

     
"It's just speculation, Woody. Things we
could
do if we wanted. Don't worry. You'll keep feeding Mr. P. until he's so fat we can serve him for Thanksgiving."

     
"Got to be a man now, Woody," Uncle Finney said with a wink.

     
"Fine! We'll excuse ourselves and see about finding him a job in a factory." Aware of shocked looks at her rudeness, Kate returned Woody to his chair and whisked him from the room.

     
"You didn't really mean it, did you, Katie?" he asked wide-eyed. The thought of joining the ranks of children his tender age who did work held less terror for him than leaving the house that was nearly his whole world.

     
"Of course not, Woody. We were just squabbling. Families do that."

     
Woody's eyes filled with tears.

     
"Nothing's going to be left! Pa's gone and you'll leave again and—"

     
"I'm not going to leave you, Woody. I promise. And we're not going to lose our house."

***

     
Once anger abated, Kate was appalled by the promise she'd made to her brother. Not about not returning to school; that was out of the question now with money short. But the house — there was no way they could save it. Unless Uncle Finney came clean, which looked unlikely.

     
She sat on the beach on the flat rock where she retreated to think, but her brain felt as lifeless as the pebbles she'd picked up. She stared at the ocean. A fishing boat was heading back for Salem harbor. Small white sails bobbed merrily in the August sun. A Coast Guard cutter skimmed the waves. Gulls cried. Life moved ahead, oblivious to their loss.

     
When she'd sat for a time, half-drowned by despair, she became aware of the soft crunch of sand. Looking around she saw Theo making his way toward her, his cane sinking into the coarse sand and shell litter with every step.

     
"Oh, Theo!" She sprang from the rock, dismayed at the thought of him toiling down the beach stairs.

     
He gave a short laugh.

     
"The doctors keep telling me I should exercise. I suspected I'd find you down here."

     
The rock was low. He raised himself onto it, bereft of his old grace, and after a moment, too miserable to resist the companionship that had bound them in childhood, Kate returned to sit beside him. Picking up one of the flat stones she'd gathered, he threw it, and they watched it fly. In perfect, resonant silence Kate flung another. Without a word they repeated the acts, not competing, merely observing a cause and effect which over the years had engaged them for thousands of hours. Each stone was a paradox, casting off thoughts yet gathering them.

     
"What you said about my father was true, wasn't it?" Theo asked.

     
Kate nodded. Her life and Theo's had been too tightly braided for her to lie or for Theo to doubt her. They were closer to each other than to their own siblings; knew each other better than their families knew them.

     
"Bluster and business — that's all there's ever been to him. It was Uncle Oliver who taught us stickball and took us for ice cream and pleaded our cause when we came home dirty. How can our two families have been so different?" Theo sighed.

     
"Your father told Mama once it came from her marrying a Unitarian. I don't think it was meant as a compliment."

     
They both laughed.

     
Alternating, they threw more pebbles.

     
"Remember when we made our raft and nearly drifted out to sea except Uncle Oliver spotted us and came rowing after us like a galley slave?"

     
"And never told Mama or Aunt Helène because he said our being scared was lesson enough?"

     
They leaned against each other and for a bit it felt as if the clock had turned backward. The wind was fresh. Theo was smiling. His hair was golden with sun.

     
When he spoke again, his voice had deepened.

     
"The best times of my life were here on this beach with you, Kate." He turned as unease stirred in Kate's midsection. "Hear me out, please. Don't be your usual impetuous self and start an argument before I even finish.

     
"I know I'm not much of a prize. I can't dance, can't walk at more than a hobble, can't even drive the damn car. God knows what I'm going to do with my life. But I think I can make you a decent husband for all that. I've the small trust from my grandfather. I could pay off your house. Your mother and Aggie and Woody could stay in the place they love."

     
Kate's hands were covering her ears even though she was listening. As if her act could make words disappear.

     
"Theo, don't! You're my cousin. My brother, almost. How can I possibly think of you that way?"

     
"I think of you differently now." His gentle voice made her want to weep. "I have for a long time. On the hospital ship I kept myself alive by thinking of you."

     
"Please don't!" Panic and guilt were making her wild, and she had nowhere to run. "I can't. Don't you see? If I said yes, it would be for the wrong reason."

     
Theo's features went rigid with hurt.

     
"Out of pity, you mean?" He slid from the rock and stood erect on his cane. "I'd settle for pity, Kate. It's you who can't stomach the thought of it, I think."

     
She opened her mouth to cry out, but words wedged in her throat. Maybe she was deceiving herself. Was she being selfish? To Theo as well as to Mama and Woody, whose lives could go on untroubled if she took this one step with a kind, gentle man?

     
Already he was at the stairs, making his way back up them with fierce effort. If she ran after him, tried to reason with him, offered an arm to help, his hurt would be intensified. Only if she could give him the answer he longed for would her presence be welcome.

     
Brushing sheets of wetness from her cheeks, she crushed her head in her hands. Where were they going to find fifteen thousand dollars? She could get a job, but she'd never find one in time nor earn enough to pay what was due on the loan. Damn lying Uncle Finney and his friends who thought about nothing but making more money and how to get their bootleg hooch.

     
Dejected, Kate reached for the last of the throwing pebbles. On the verge of throwing it, her arm jerked to a stop. Letting the smooth stone slip from her grasp, she ran toward the stairs. Resolve transformed her bones into molten steel.

     
There were no cars in sight when she reached the house. Aggie sat in the kitchen with her shoes off eating graham crackers while Peg wept silently into the dishwater.

     
"They've all left," she said with glum relief. "Everyone's resting."

     
Kate took a graham cracker and nibbled companionably though her tongue felt as though it would never want food again. "Generous of Uncle Finney to finance such a lavish wake. What do you suppose all that liquor cost him?"

     
Aggie shrugged. "I've heard good Canadian's going for upwards of ten bucks a case. From the bottles Peg cleared away I'll bet there were two cases anyway. Did you really hear Pa saying he'd lent Uncle Finney that money?"