The Weight of Boats
Across five pivotal days spanning nearly a century, the Haddaways of Scarrow Island sell boats, forgo mainland rooms, and sustain a household whose sacrifices become claims on the next generation’s labor. As rising water and dwindling work make staying ever more costly, June prepares to leave for a mainland job her father sees as abandonment. Her departure breaks no family bond, but draws a hard, necessary line between caring for him and surrendering her own future.
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Alder Haddaway cut the heel from the loaf and set it beside his plate. Before breakfast, his wife turned Josiah's damp shirt on the chair back, bringing the sleeves nearer the stove. Their son had already laid the boat tools by the door.
"That hammer goes back in the box this time," Tamsin said.
"I know where it goes."
"Then you've an advantage over your father."
Alder divided the heel and gave half to the boy. Late summer had brought little money into their house on Scarrow Island, in the lower Chesapeake, but the boat still earned what they ate. At fourteen, Josiah could handle a line and keep the catch sorted. He expected to go out with his father that morning. Alder had left the line baskets under the stern seat.
Tamsin lifted the shirt away from the stove and tested a cuff against her cheek. Alder kept cutting. Middle age had thickened the joints of his fingers; the bread knife needed his whole hand now, though the work aboard still came readily once he began.
Josiah pushed a pair of small boots aside to reach his own.
"Put those back upright."
Before he could, Tamsin bent and set them upright, turning the toes toward the wall. Wren's boots had stood there since winter. The younger boy had drowned at twelve, and his feet would never fill them further. Alder saw a pale flake of dried mud break from one sole. He pressed the knife through the lower crust.
They needed a catch today. The store had carried them through several poor weeks, and the coal for winter would have to come by boat while there was room to bring it. Alder knew the place of every basket and tool aboard. He had spent part of the previous afternoon removing things from their places, then putting them back.
"Shall I take the tools down?"
"Eat first."
A knock came before Tamsin had sat. Alder put the knife flat on the table.
The buyer stood outside with his hat in his hand. Alder had expected him nearer midday. Behind him, the path to the shore lay empty.
"I've been over her again. We ought to settle before I bring my man across."
Tamsin kept one hand on the chair.
"Settle what?"
"The boat."
"He said he'd speak to you."
"Come down with me."
"He can speak here."
The buyer remained on the step. He had offered two hundred forty dollars, he said, on the understanding that the bottom needed only cleaning. A soft place beside a seam would require a small repair. He would give two hundred ten.
"We can mend that." The boy had risen with his bread still in his hand.
"You can. Or I can. It needs doing either way."
Alder reached for his cap. Tamsin moved the chair so he had to stop beside her.
"What will you work at?"
"There'll be work over on the mainland."
"Doing what?"
"Yard work. Loading."
"Whose yard?"
He rubbed the inside band of his cap with his thumb. The buyer stepped back from the doorway.
"I'll ask."
"What do they pay? Where would you lodge?"
"I'll find out."
She pulled Josiah's shirt from the chair and folded it over her arm.
"You could find out while you still owned a boat."
Alder put on his cap. He wanted her to let him reach the shore without another question.
"Come and see what comes off her."
The walk took them past the store and down the narrow strip of packed shell. Josiah went ahead carrying the tools he had meant to use aboard. At the shore he put them down well above the water.
Alder stepped onto the landing, then stopped while the buyer climbed into the boat. The hull shifted against its rope. The buyer crouched over the seam and pressed it with a knife point.
"Here. Nothing beyond repair."
"You offered two hundred forty."
"Before I found that."
"We have a piece that'll fit."
Alder could picture it under the house, dry and long enough. He had fitted worse pieces in poorer weather. Tamsin stood beside the tools, her folded arms holding the shirt.
"You can tell him no."
The buyer straightened and waited. Alder gripped the landing post until its rough edge hurt the pad of his thumb.
"Two hundred ten. The working gear stays."
He climbed aboard to unload it. Josiah received the baskets without speaking. They brought off the spare oars, the crab lines, the toolbox and the oilskin folded beneath the bow. Alder left the engine tools that belonged with the engine. When he reached for the stern rope, the buyer took it from him.
The money passed between them on the landing. Alder counted it once. Tamsin watched the boat rather than his hands.
"I'll bring my man back for her this afternoon."
"She'll be here."
Josiah carried the tools home. Alder and Tamsin went into the store, where the smell of lamp oil reached them before the door shut. Josiah joined them after putting the tools away. She named what they owed and asked the storekeeper to count it out of the money in Alder's hand. Then came coal, flour, oil and boots for Josiah, whose toes had begun to press against the leather.
"He can manage another month in those."
"He can manage today in them. Try the new pair."
Alder paid. The coal would come with the next load; they carried the flour and oil themselves. The notes left in his pocket made a much thinner fold. They would buy food for a while, but every purchase now came out of the boat.
At home, he put the flour where Tamsin told him and waited for her to name something else. She set the loose kitchen chair on its side.
"That rung wants mending before it throws somebody."
"I've been meaning to get to it."
"You've got to it."
He worked beneath the window through the afternoon. The old glue came away in brittle crumbs. He cleaned the joint, pared a narrow wedge and warmed fresh glue while Tamsin prepared the meal.
Josiah stood at the window when the engine sounded from the shore.
"He's taking her."
Alder kept the chair steady between his knees. Through the window he could see the buyer's hat and the stern moving beyond the landing. Josiah followed the boat's course until the house corner hid it.
"Shall I put the baskets under cover?"
"Yes. Leave the lines loose to dry."
By evening, the chair stood square on the floor. Alder pressed his weight onto its seat and found no movement in the rung. He stayed seated while Tamsin brought the plates.
Josiah held his wedding shirt clear of the wash water while Ruth emptied the basin. Summer flies had gathered at the kitchen screen. Twenty-two years after his father's sale, he still worked aboard other men's boats, and at thirty-six he had put aside enough for a winter room near a mainland repair yard.
Ruth had come that morning with a clean dress over her arm and word from the store about the replacement pump for her inherited boat. The pump had arrived. If they meant to keep it, they had to pay.
"It was less when you first asked."
"That was for mending the old one. He opened it. The shaft's worn through the casing."
She wiped the basin dry and put it away. Josiah had helped her remove the old pump. He had seen the groove the shaft had cut.
"We could make it last till autumn."
"With water coming in under the engine? I won't work her that way."
Tamsin lifted a kettle past him and set it on the stove.
"Let your mother get through. You can be married standing somewhere else."
He stepped back. The repaired chair stood at the table, its rung darkened by years of shoes. Ruth laid her dress over it and began turning down her working sleeves.
"The pump takes the room money."
"I know what it takes."
"There's enough left for a bed somewhere."
"For how long?"
He had planned on a month paid ahead, with enough to eat until the yard paid him. After the pump there would be passage money and little more. He drew a finger along the edge of the table.
"We can sell her. The man who asked still wants her. I can take packing work here, and you can go to the yard."
"That isn't much of a marriage."
"It's work in two places. We could marry and do it."
He wanted her boat, sound and earning, and his own place aboard it. He wanted the winter room too. Ruth took the clean dress from the chair.
"Tell me before I change. I'll keep the boat if we're working her together. I won't keep paying for her while you decide."
"We'll put the pump in."
"And the room?"
"Let it go."
She nodded, then asked him to bring the small spanners when he collected the pump. He had expected something further, a hand on his arm perhaps. She went upstairs to dress.
He paid at the store on the way to the church. The pump, wrapped in cloth, sat behind the counter until they could fetch it after the service. He carried the remaining money in the breast pocket of his good shirt.
In the church, Ruth answered clearly when asked whether she would marry him. Josiah gave his own answer with his hands clasped behind his back. Tamsin sat near the front, her hat straight, and sang when the hymn began. Josiah knew the tune of Abide with Me well enough to enter after the first phrase.
They ate at the house afterward. Ruth set aside food for their evening meal before she changed back into working clothes. By the time they reached the shore with the pump, the afternoon had shortened.
Josiah climbed aboard first and lifted the engine cover. Ruth passed down the tools.
"Hand me the wrench. I'll offer it up."
"Hold the body square while I start the fitting."
He braced it against the mounting. She worked low beside him, her skirt tucked clear of the bilge. When the fitting resisted, he moved his hand toward hers.
"Give it here a minute."
"It's catching crooked. Keep the pump level."
"I can see that."
He took the wrench as she loosened her grip and tried the fitting himself. It turned partway and stopped. The pump tipped against his wrist.
"Back it out."
"It only wants bringing up."
"You'll strip it. Back it out."
He eased it loose. A bright shaving lay against the thread.
"Fuck it. Let me finish the thing."
Ruth held out her hand.
"You can hold it square, or you can leave me room. I know this fitting."
He put the wrench into her palm harder than he meant to. For a while, only the tools sounded. She cleaned the thread and started again. Josiah kept the weight steady until the fitting turned freely.
The first washer she tried allowed a slow bead of water.
"That's too thin."
She ran a finger beneath the joint.
"Bring the other one."
He found it in the cloth and passed it down. When they ran the engine at last, the joint held. Ruth stayed crouched beside it through several minutes of steady running, then moved aside so Josiah could check it himself.
At the house that evening, he scrubbed his hands while Tamsin reheated their meal. Ruth was still at the shore securing the cover.
"There wasn't much choice once that pump went."
Tamsin scraped the spoon against the pan.
"There was a man willing to buy her."
"And leave Ruth with what?"
"You'd have to ask Ruth. She named the work."
He dried between his fingers. When Ruth came in, he moved his plate to make room for hers.
Meribah put on the shoes she had chosen and stood while her grandmother checked the hem. On her summer wedding morning, at nineteen, she could feel each pin through the dress whenever Tamsin's hand pressed the cloth against her shin.
Her case stood open beside the bed. Ruth had set a lower pair of shoes next to it.
"Those will do for the church. Wear these down to the landing."
"I've walked in mine."
"Without the case."
Tamsin took a pin from her mouth.
"Turn toward the window."
Meribah turned. Her grandmother's fingers had become too bent to pull a tight stitch readily, but she would let nobody finish the hem. Meribah kept still and listened to Cecil speaking with her father below.
The mainland passage was arranged for late afternoon. Cecil had brought the fare and confirmed it at the landing. His house was ready for them, and his work would resume after the weekend. Meribah had packed what she meant to take. She had left room for the dress.
Her brother came to the bedroom door carrying a comb.
"Is there a mirror free?"
"Use this one. I've finished."
At twenty-one, Wren had a regular inland job fitting parts in a factory. He wore a watch he had bought from his wages. Meribah moved so he could reach the mirror, lifting her skirt clear of Tamsin's needle.
"Cecil says you're taking the afternoon boat."
"That's what we arranged."
"Dad thought you might stay a little."
She put her weight onto her other foot. Tamsin caught the movement and tapped her ankle.
"He can ask me."
Downstairs, Josiah was fastening the cuffs of his good shirt. He still worked Ruth's boat with her. Meribah had spent much of the summer washing boxes and mending net while her parents were aboard.
"You could stay till the season's done," he said when she entered. "There's no need to rush straight off."
"When is done?"
"When we bring the gear in."
"Which week?"
"I can't name the week before we see the fishing."
Cecil stood beside the door with his jacket folded over his arm.
"We've paid for the passage."
"I'm speaking to her."
Meribah pulled a loose thread from her cuff and rolled it between her fingers.
"I'm going today. Will you carry my case down when we come back?"
"I've things to put away here."
"It would take you twenty minutes."
"If you're ready to go, you can take what you've packed."
Wren came down the stairs and stopped on the last tread. Meribah turned toward him.
"You never ask him to stay till the fishing ends."
"He's got work to get back to."
"I can't just miss a shift."
"Your leaving counts as work. Mine counts as leaving you short."
Her father pulled his cuff down over his wrist. Ruth came through with the church flowers and asked Wren to take them. He accepted them carefully, keeping the wet stems away from his trousers.
"Leave it be now. We'll be late."
Nobody had answered her. Meribah wanted to ask once more about the case, to make him refuse in words that could belong to nothing else. Cecil opened the door.
They walked to the church in separate knots. Meribah shortened her steps for Tamsin, whose hand rested just above her elbow. Near the church gate, Cecil waited for them to catch up.
"You aren't staying, are you?"
"I said I was going."
"I've got the house ready. I don't want to spend the rest of summer going back to empty rooms."
"Then hear what I said."
He put on his jacket. She wanted him to understand the distinction without making her explain it at the gate. When he offered his arm for the last few steps, she took it.
Inside, the church smelled of cut stems and furniture polish. Her father sat with Ruth; Wren held the flowers until somebody told him where to put them. Meribah kept her chosen shoes flat beneath the pew. When the time came to stand beside Cecil, she went forward without turning toward her father's place.
She made her answer to the marriage question. Cecil made his. His voice carried more plainly than hers, but she had spoken loudly enough.
Afterward, Cecil went ahead with a box of wedding things and the bag he had brought over. He would leave them at the landing and wait there while she fetched her case. Ruth and Josiah had already started for the house with Tamsin.
Meribah took the side path from the church. Through the open vestry door she heard the elderly caretaker trying a jaunty tune on the keys. She stopped to pull off a glove caught at the ring. The tune came from a radio advertisement she had heard often enough to recognize without the words. He played its first brisk passage, slowed at the end, and missed the same little run twice. Meribah freed the glove but remained beside the doorway. On the third attempt his fingers managed the ridiculous upward flourish. He lifted both hands, pleased, then tried the whole thing again. She went on before he reached the difficult part.
At the house, her case stood open beside the bed where she had left it. She changed, folded her wedding dress inside, closed the lid and pressed until the catches met. Ruth stood in the doorway holding sandwiches wrapped in paper.
"Eat before you cross, or after. Don't leave them in the sun."
"Will you ask him?"
"About the case?"
Meribah nodded. Her mother put the food beside her handbag.
"He heard you ask."
"I know he heard."
Ruth pushed the lower shoes forward with her foot.
"At least change for the walk."
Meribah left the lower shoes where they were and took up the case. Its handle pulled against the soft skin below her fingers. She set it down once to fit the sandwiches into her handbag.
Her father was in the kitchen, gathering plates. She could hear them being stacked. She went to the doorway with the case in her hand.
"I'm going now."
"Your mother put food by?"
"Yes."
He brought the plates to the basin. She waited until he had set them down, then went out.
The case bumped her calf at the gate. She carried it in her left hand until her fingers began to open, then stopped and changed hands. The walk that took her little time without a load required two further stops. Each time she put the case down she had to bend, gather the handle and lift it clear of the ground again. The backs of her shoes rubbed where the straps crossed.
She wanted her father beside her. The want remained, even with the house behind her and Cecil visible at the landing.
He came partway up the path when he saw her.
"I could have fetched that."
"You had the box and your bag."
"They're aboard now."
"Then let's go."
She rested the case on the landing while the boatman brought the boat close. Cecil stepped aboard and took their smaller things. Meribah lifted the case, set it across the gap and followed, gripping the rail until both feet were firm. When she sat, the pressure marks in her palm had gone white.
The crossing took the rest of the afternoon. She ate one sandwich and gave Cecil the other. He asked whether she wanted the paper saved, and she folded it small before answering no. Her case stood against her knees. Once the island lay too far behind to distinguish the house, she turned toward the approaching shore.
Cecil drove from the mainland landing with the case on the back seat. He had brought bread and eggs into the house before coming for the wedding, and he offered to cook while she washed. She asked first where the case should go.
Upstairs, he had cleared a shelf in the bedroom. A few of his shirts hung at one end of the wardrobe; the other end held empty hangers.
"That shelf's yours. We can move more if you need it."
Meribah knelt and opened the case. Her feet hurt now that she had stopped walking. She removed the shoes and set them together beside her knee, beyond the swing of the lid.
The downstairs clock struck nine that evening as she lifted out a blouse. Cecil held the wardrobe door clear while she folded it and put it on the shelf. She remained kneeling beside the open case, smoothing the sleeve of another blouse still packed inside.
Meribah and Cecil's mainland shifts had left gaps between the end of school and the hour either of them could get home. Their son, Lyle, spent long stretches of his school years with Ruth and Josiah on Scarrow Island. Later he left for hull-repair work on the mainland. He knew which bedroom had been his and which kitchen drawer would still catch against the stove.
On the early-autumn morning he returned, Lyle passed his daughter up from the boat before lifting the overnight bag. June reached for Meribah's glasses. His mother took them off and let them hang against her chest.
"I've got her. Bring the bag."
Cecil had the folded travel cot under one arm. He moved clear of the landing while Lyle climbed ashore, then shifted the cot to his other hand.
"Your grandmother's agreed you're staying?"
"She knows."
"That wasn't what I asked."
At twenty-two, Lyle could lift a damaged hull section into place and hold it while another man fastened it. He had trouble carrying June and a bag together.
June turned toward everything, dragging his balance with her. He took her back from Meribah for the walk to the house.
His relationship with June's mother had ended. She remained on the mainland, knew where he was taking their daughter, and had agreed with him about the coming weekends. Meribah had arranged to stay on the island through the house raising. The crew was booked for that afternoon.
At the gate, June rubbed her face into his collar. Lyle could smell the milk she had spilled on herself during the crossing.
Josiah stood beside the blocks stacked along the house. His shirt hung loose at the waist. He had come out without his stick and kept one hand against the wall.
"You've brought enough for a visit."
"The rest can come over later."
"See how you get on first."
Lyle set the bag inside the door. He had paid for the inspection and the work that had made the house ready to lift. Beams already ran beneath it. The higher supports waited under covers, and the lifting equipment had come over ahead of the crew. None of that gave him a bedroom until somebody agreed that it did.
"Where do you want these last blocks?" he asked.
Josiah indicated the side of the yard. Lyle handed June to Meribah and began carrying. The blocks were only for the cleared path beside the work area, but he brought each one square against the next. By the time Cecil came out to help, Lyle had moved most of them.
"Leave me something."
"Take that end one."
Inside, Ruth had laid June's cup beside a bowl. Lyle washed his hands, sat the child on his knee and fed her until she began pushing the spoon away. He wiped her fingers separately. She closed them around the cloth and held on.
"She can have that one. I've more."
"She'll put it in her mouth."
"It's clean."
He let go. June shook the cloth, pleased with its release.
The kitchen door dragged at the bottom. Once Meribah had taken June, Lyle found a screwdriver and tightened the upper hinge. The screws held poorly, so he cut thin slivers of wood, packed the holes and set them again. He opened and closed the door twice before putting the tool away.
Josiah tried it after him.
"Might move again when they set the house."
"Then I'll do it again."
He waited for something more. Josiah went out to the yard.
Near midday, Lyle began peeling potatoes. Ruth came through with a covered dish and stopped beside him.
"I had dinner ready."
"These can go with it."
"There are potatoes in here."
He held the half-peeled one over the basin. Ruth put her dish down.
"Finish those now you've started. We can use them tonight."
He cut them smaller than he needed to. From the front room came June's complaint and his mother's low answer. He had meant to make a meal for everybody. Instead he had used another pan, another place on the stove, and Ruth had moved his peelings out of her way.
Josiah entered while the water was coming to a boil.
"The buyer will be here before the crew."
"He can wait."
"Have you got the boat keys?"
Josiah put two fingers into his trouser pocket, then withdrew them empty.
"I've got them."
The buyer had offered six thousand dollars for Ruth's boat as she lay, with repairs still to do. Ruth had agreed to sell. Josiah had said they would settle it when Lyle came over, and Lyle had taken that far enough to keep the raising crew booked. The remaining charge was seven thousand five hundred dollars. After the preparation, Lyle had eighteen hundred left.
"He needs to take her today."
"You've arranged a great deal."
"We arranged the lift. All of us."
"I know what we arranged."
Lyle put the lid on the potatoes. His hands needed somewhere to go. He wiped the wet board and carried it to the rack.
"The boat hasn't earned the cost of keeping her these last two seasons. She needs work before she'll earn again."
"He could do that work."
"I can patch her. I can't pay the men with a patch."
"There's work for you here, then."
Lyle pressed the cloth flat against the counter. He had been awake since before the morning boat, and the flesh beside one thumbnail had split on a block. Each time the cloth caught there, he pulled it free.
"I'm staying here with June. That's what I've been telling you."
"For now."
The pan began to rattle. Ruth lowered the heat and carried her dish into the front room.
Lyle followed her with plates. He served Josiah first, then Cecil and his mother. He ate what remained in the dish while June pulled at his trouser leg. When he picked her up, she settled against him and immediately reached for his spoon.
After the meal, Meribah gathered the child's cup, spare clothes and cot. She had arranged to use the church hall while the crew worked. Cecil would take them there and come back. June began crying when Lyle passed her over.
"Come when they've made it safe. Not before."
"I'll fetch her."
He watched them reach the gate. Then he went back into the kitchen and took the pan off the stove.
Josiah stood at the window. Across the yard, the crew's first men had arrived and were examining the equipment already beneath the house. The boat buyer waited farther down the path.
Lyle set the pan down without washing it.
"I need your answer about the sale."
"Keys aren't an answer."
"Then give me an answer. Fuck, I've asked you."
Ruth came to the doorway. Lyle kept his hands at his sides. He wanted to tell Josiah about the door, the blocks, the money already spent. The buyer shifted his weight outside the gate.
"Will you agree to sell her for the six thousand? Both of you."
"Yes. I agreed, and I still agree."
Josiah rubbed the edge of the window frame where the paint had worn away.
"What work will you be doing after this?"
"Hull work. Whatever comes in. I'll go over for yard jobs when they're worth the fare."
"And she's here while you're over there."
"I'll arrange her care. Today it's arranged."
"We can stop the lift and still owe for bringing the men. Or we can pay them and get the house above the water. That's what we're agreeing to now."
Josiah turned from the window.
"Sell her, then."
He took the keys from his pocket and laid them on the table. Lyle picked them up.
"That doesn't settle everything else."
"I heard you."
Ruth went with him to the shore. Josiah followed slowly and remained on the path while the buyer checked the engine and the things that were to stay aboard. Ruth named what belonged to the boat. Lyle brought off the hand tools Josiah wanted kept.
The buyer paid Ruth. She counted the money against the closed engine cover, then put it into Lyle's hand.
"For the crew. Keep it separate."
The buyer took the keys from Lyle and started the engine. Lyle carried the tools up the path. Behind him, Ruth told Josiah where she had put the spare line. Neither called him back.
By the time the boat moved away, the crew had begun the lift.
Lyle stopped at the boundary they had marked and stayed there. The house rose a little, then rested while the men checked it. They raised another part and checked again. Beneath the kitchen, a man knelt to measure the space above a support. Lyle could hear short instructions but could do nothing with them.
Cecil stood beside him.
"Come away from there. You're in his room to work."
Lyle moved back. He had spent the morning finding things he could lift or mend. Now the job he had paid for required him to keep his hands off it.
The old kitchen chair stood on the grass with a table leaf and the things cleared out for access. Ruth sat on another chair farther from the work, a folded cloth over her knees. Josiah had gone around to where he could see the front of the house. They occupied separate places and spoke to the men when a question reached them.
Over the next hours, the house rose in small stages. The men built beneath it, checked the bearings and brought its weight down onto the higher supports. Lyle walked to the church hall once to tell Meribah how much remained. June reached for him, and he carried her around the hall until she wanted to get down.
"Have they finished the steps?"
"Not yet."
"Then come back when they have."
He put June's cup within her reach before leaving. On the walk back his legs had begun to stiffen.
Toward evening, the crew fixed the stair sections in place and secured the rails. Water ran at the kitchen tap again. A man went up and down the steps, testing them, before he allowed Ruth to use them. Lyle waited below until she reached the door.
He paid the remaining charge with the boat money and fifteen hundred dollars of his own. Three hundred remained. He counted it once more after the crew's man had put his money away.
The men still had equipment to load. Lyle carried the loose kitchen things toward the steps, stopping when he had to let somebody pass. Josiah stood at the bottom.
"You'll bring her to church on Sunday."
Lyle adjusted the table leaf against his thigh.
"Yes."
"Your mother used to manage it."
"I said yes."
He took the table leaf upstairs. When he returned for the chair, he had to lower himself onto one knee to get a grip beneath the seat. Its rung held firm against his wrist. He carried it up with the back against his shoulder, turning sideways at the top so it cleared the rail.
Inside, Ruth indicated its place at the table. He set it down and pressed the seat to make certain all four legs stood on the floor.
"Your mother will be waiting."
He wiped his palms on his trousers and went back down.
At the hall, June had pulled off one sock. Meribah gave him the sock and the child, then gathered the cot with Cecil. June rested against Lyle's chest while he worked the sock over her heel. When they reached the house, he stopped below the new steps to change his hold. She lifted her head at the sound of Ruth moving dishes above them.
Lyle went up slowly, holding the rail with his free hand.
By spring, June was setting Lyle's plate beside hers and moving the butter where both of them could reach it. In the raised kitchen, the kettle had just stopped boiling. Her father stood at the counter eating a biscuit over his hand.
"There's an egg."
"Put it here."
She brought his plate to him. He took the fork and stayed where he was, one boot planted behind the other. She returned to the table and sat down.
Spring water had reached the church step again. On her way home from the store the previous afternoon, she had seen it standing between the graves nearest the path. It would drain back, leaving another strip of grass to wash and cut. The supply launch was running its regular passage.
At twenty-five, June had worked enough irregular hours at the store to pay for her passage and put money aside. She never knew what the next week would bring. Her mainland kitchen job began the next morning. The room was ready, the deposit paid, and her place on the afternoon launch confirmed.
She wanted Lyle to sit down. His chair remained pushed beneath the table, close enough that she could have drawn it out with her foot.
"Store open at the usual time?"
"It is."
"We need potatoes. Bread, too. Soap for the machine."
"I can get them."
He put his plate by the sink. She had made two biscuits for herself, split and buttered while they were hot. The butter had stopped melting.
"Take the money off the shelf. And bring beans if they've got the small bags."
"Anything else?"
He bent to tighten a lace.
"That'll do."
June drank her coffee. She wrapped the biscuits in paper and put them in the small bag she meant to keep beside her on the launch. Then she washed the plates, including his, and took the house money from the shelf.
Her departure things stood in her room: a case, a shoulder bag and the smaller bag with her food and purse. She had kept enough for the fare, the room's first fortnight and basic living until her first wages. Beyond that was sixty dollars. She counted it apart from the rest before putting on her coat.
At the store, she bought what Lyle had asked for and chose a small bag of beans. The potatoes went at the bottom. She packed the bread above the soap, paid from his money and put his change in her coat pocket. She bought an apple for herself and ate it on the walk back.
The path past the church narrowed where the water covered its low edge. June took the higher strip, carrying the shopping against her hip. Farther on, the shore opened between the house and landing. The supply launch would follow that edge before turning out across the channel.
Lyle was beneath the steps when she reached the gate. He had a board across two low supports and was trying to bring one end into line.
"Leave that there a minute. Hold this end."
June put the shopping bag inside the gate, clear of its swing, and went to him. The board shifted under her palm.
"Up a little. There."
She held it while he marked a cut. He checked the mark from the other side, then took the weight from her.
"The bread's on top. Don't put anything on the bag."
"I'll bring it up."
She brushed grit from her hand.
"While you're here, we could shift that other piece."
They moved it against the supports. He wanted it turned, then brought farther in. By the time he let go, the back of her coat had caught against the stair rail and picked up a pale scrape.
"The spare bed cover wants washing, too. You could put that through before you go."
"It won't dry before I leave."
"I'll get it off the line."
She went upstairs, took off her coat and put the cover in the machine. From the kitchen window she could see the shopping bag standing where she had left it. She returned Lyle's change to the shelf.
Lyle came up carrying his tools, without the shopping. He washed his hands and dried them on the towel by the sink.
"The fuel wants ordering."
"I've got sixty dollars I can leave for it."
"That won't fill the tank."
"I know."
He hung the towel on its hook, then took it down to dry between his fingers.
"When are you coming back?"
"I don't know my days off yet."
"You'll have some."
"When I know them, I'll see what passage I can get."
He opened the cupboard, moved a mug and closed it.
"There's nobody to give me a hand with the long pieces. Everybody's working or over there."
June rubbed the scrape on her coat with a damp cloth. Most of it came away. She wanted the sixty dollars to be useful without having to become more than sixty dollars.
"I can help with something before I leave. I need to be at the landing before half past two."
"I've nothing ready now."
He went downstairs again.
Her telephone rang. Meribah had the room address in front of her and wanted to confirm how June was collecting the key.
"The woman will be there after four. I've spoken to her."
"And the kitchen knows you're starting tomorrow?"
"Six in the morning. Back entrance, by the bins."
"Have you walked it from the room?"
"When I went for the interview. It's fifteen minutes."
The machine began drawing water. June moved into the front room so she could hear.
"Do you need anything brought over?"
"Not now. The bedding's included. I've packed a towel."
"Take a second. One won't dry while you're using it."
"I've room."
"All right. Call when you're in, if it's not too late."
June agreed. After they finished, she took a second towel from the cupboard, folded it across the top of her case and shut the catches again.
She hung out the bed cover when the machine finished. Then she checked the room key arrangement once more in her mind and left it alone. She had the address, the woman's name and a working telephone number. Her fare money stayed in the inner part of her purse.
Early in the afternoon, she brought her bags to the front room. From there she could hear Lyle moving something beneath the house. She went down far enough to tell him she would be leaving soon.
He came up before she had put on her coat. He stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the end of the rail.
"So you're leaving me with everything."
June put her arm into the sleeve and worked the lining down at the wrist.
"I'm taking the kitchen job. I start tomorrow."
"I know when you start. I'm asking about here."
"I can leave the fuel money."
"And after that?"
She pulled the other sleeve straight. He stayed in the doorway, leaving enough room for her to pass if she turned sideways.
"I have to keep the rest for the room and food until I'm paid."
"You eat here. You've got a room here."
"I haven't got regular work here."
"There's plenty of work."
"There aren't regular wages."
He released the rail. A shallow red mark crossed the side of his hand.
"I've kept this place going."
"I know you have."
She wanted to say something that would let her leave without making that answer false. He had cooked for her, waited at landings, worked late and come home wanting things done. She could name any of it. None would tell him what she was going to do now.
"You'll be paying somebody else to live in a room while this sits here."
"I'll be paying to live where the job is."
He moved into the kitchen. She followed and put the sixty dollars on the table beside the empty sugar bowl. He picked up the notes.
"Keep it, then."
June stayed where she was.
"I can spare that sixty. It's for the fuel. I can't pay the house bills and my room as well."
He laid the money down. She let it remain there.
The kitchen needed clearing after lunch. A cup stood by the sink, and the bread board had crumbs on it. June took one step toward the board, then turned back to her bags. She lifted the small one onto her shoulder.
Lyle came through and took the case before she could reach its handle.
"This one?"
"Yes."
He carried it down the steps. June followed with the shoulder bag in her hand and the smaller bag against her side. At the bottom, he stopped to change hands. She waited clear of him, then walked beside him to the gate.
The shopping still stood inside it.
Lyle set her case on the path, away from the potatoes and soap. He pressed its handle flat.
"Thank you."
"Mind the bread as you go."
"The shopping's staying here."
"I know."
He turned back toward the house and went inside. June put the shoulder bag over her other shoulder, lifted the case and pulled the gate closed with her foot.
The handle pressed against the joints of her fingers. She changed hands near the church path and kept walking. Water covered the foot of the church step; beyond the fence, the tops of the low grave markers remained clear. She took the higher path as she had that morning.
At the landing, she set down the case and eased her fingers open. The supply launch had already come alongside. Two men were carrying empty crates aboard, and the boatman indicated a clear place where she could wait. She had time to take off her coat and fold it over the case.
When the loading was finished, a man took the case across. June followed with her other bags, placing one foot where he indicated and holding the rail until she was steady. She paid the agreed fare and sat on the shoreward side.
Nobody needed her to decide anything else.
She drew the case against the bench so it would stay upright, then put the shoulder bag at her feet. The small bag kept slipping off her knee. She shortened its strap and settled it beside her, with her coat between it and the damp seat.
The paper around the biscuits had loosened at one corner. She could feel it through the open top of the bag. She pressed the fold back into place without uncovering the food, then closed the fastening.
The engine deepened. A rope came aboard, and the launch moved clear of the landing. June braced her foot against the case. The turn took them along the shore, past the open ground between the landing and the house.
Lyle had come back down to the gate. She knew his shirt before she could make out his face. He bent, gathered the shopping bag's handles and lifted it clear of the ground. At the steps he brought his other hand beneath the bag, keeping its top upright.
June rested her palm on her closed bag while Lyle carried the shopping up the raised steps.