Mike hung back, watching his mother’s plane land. Since Mr Blackburn was laid up with gout, Mike had plowed the grass strip himself. He had done it twice that day, once after last night’s dusting and again after the midday sun had melted the ice right down to the dry grass. His heart was pounding. He had never plowed a landing strip before, and he worried that he might have messed up. The shaky little plane jounced along something fierce, hitting every rut left by his plow. Until it came to a complete stop, Mike couldn’t let himself really breathe.
Starting up the big Jeep, he drove through the snow to the end of the strip. He parked beside the plane, then climbed out. His mother was stuck. She had her door open, waving at him like crazy, but she couldn’t get her seat belt off.
‘Hi, Mike!’ she called.
‘Hi, Mom,’ he called back.
The pilot gave him a sort of wave, coming around the plane to unhook his mother’s seat belt. The guy was really tall with big shoulders and a dark five o’clock shadow, just like some movie pilot. Mike watched how tenderly he acted and figured he was probably in love with her. Another man. Big surprise. But the belt unclicked, and she jumped out of the plane.
‘Mike,’ his mother said, barreling through the snow at him.
He folded his arms. He didn’t mean to; the action took him by surprise. Looking forward to seeing her all week, he didn’t understand why he suddenly felt like walking away. His mother must have read it in his face, because she stopped just short of giving him a hug.
‘Hi, Mom,’ he said again.
‘Mike, you grew three inches,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he said.
Her blue eyes were darting back and forth. She was looking at his eyes, his hair, his skin, taking everything in. He wondered whether she could tell he had to shave every other day now. He tried not to show that he was doing the same thing to her: checking her out to see if she was really as healthy as she said.
‘Your hair looks great,’ she said. ‘Grandpa’s making you keep it short?’
‘I want to.’ He shrugged.
He let his arms fall to his sides. It was okay with him if she hugged him now. She didn’t. He kind of smiled, but she was looking very serious. She had her head tilted, not saying anything at all. Her mouth was open in a small ‘O.’
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I’m looking at you,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’
The wind had picked up, and it was whipping snow across the field. Darkness moved in fast this far north; an hour later would have been too late. Mike had driven over the minute he heard the plane overhead. If it hadn’t come when it did, he would have lit flares for landing lights, would have stayed there parked with his headlights on. But such measures hadn’t been necessary.
The pilot was tying the plane down. He had four stakes and a big mallet. The beam from the lighthouse flashed across the sky. Each mallet strike sounded harsh and metallic. Mike nodded at the pilot.
‘He’s staying?’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said. ‘It didn’t make sense to have him drop me off, then come all the way back to pick me up.’
Planning to leave, of course. She had planned her escape route even before she’d arrived. His mother had abandoned the island a long time ago, just like Grandpa had said. She had brought a guy to keep her company for a few days, then fly her away. Mike didn’t say anything though. He just walked over to help the pilot. The guy worked fast, not unlike Mike’s grandfather. Mike watched him whack the stakes into the frozen ground, thread lines through the wings and wheels, tie them down with a sailor’s precision.
‘Need a hand?’ Mike asked.
‘Thanks,’ the pilot said, handing him a line, a stake, and the mallet. ‘Want to run this aft?’
‘Sure,’ Mike said.
‘I’m Will Burke,’ the pilot said.
‘Mike Talbot,’ Mike said.
They shook hands. The guy didn’t smile too long. His handshake was firm, but not suspiciously earnest. Mike felt his stomach relax a little. Will didn’t seem like one of the idiot suitors wanting to win Mike over so he could sleep with his mother. Mike wondered how his grandfather would take it, the pilot staying.
Mike estimated the proper distance from the plane for the most effective hold. He kicked away a patch of snow, positioned the metal rod, and drove it deep into the icy earth. Then he yanked the nylon line, eased it through the steel eye, tied a solid sheepshank. When he looked up, his mother was standing there. She had those proud eyes that made her look sleepy, like she was about to cry at the national anthem or something.
‘What?’ Mike asked, still crouching.
‘I’m so –’ She swallowed. ‘Glad to see you.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Me too.’
‘Then hug me,’ she said.
Mike dropped the mallet, brushed the snow off his gloves, and did what she asked. They stayed there, not moving, with the wind rocking them from side to side. His mother felt small, built like a bird, ten pounds lighter than the last time he’d seen her. His eyes were squeezed shut. She was crying. He felt her body shaking. Tears felt hot in his own eyes. With some of the news he had gotten through the last year, he wasn’t sure he’d ever see her again.
‘Mike,’ she managed to say.
‘Hey, Mom,’ he said. ‘Don’t, huh?’
‘I know.’ She bowed her head, took a half-step back. She fumbled in her pocket for a Kleenex. She never had one. When he was a little kid with a runny nose at the playground, she had been the only mother with no tissues in her pocketbook. Mike had grown accustomed to taking care of himself, so he reached inside his jacket, then handed her a handkerchief.
‘Thanks,’ she said, blowing her nose like a goose. She handed the white square back to him. It was stiff with starch. ‘No one does laundry like Aunt Bessie.’
‘Nope,’ he said. Returning the handkerchief to his inside pocket, he was just about to suggest driving his mother and the pilot home, when he lost his breath. Totally, football-in-the-solar-plexus, couldn’t breathe.
‘Who’s she?’ he asked, looking over his mother’s shoulder.
This beautiful young girl was climbing out of the plane. She had huge eyes, a glistening mouth, glowing skin. She wore a big navy jacket, tight jeans, brand-new sneakers. Her fingernails were painted brown and orange. Stretching, she looked as if she had just woken up. She glanced around her surroundings, but when she caught sight of Mike, she smiled and started walking over.
‘That,’ his mother said, smiling too, ‘is Snow.’
‘Snow?’ Mike asked.
‘You must be Mike,’ Snow said with a voice like someone who should be singing on a CD.
‘Yeah,’ Mike said. ‘Hi.’
‘We’re friends of your mother’s,’ she said. ‘My dad and I.’
‘Oh,’ Mike said, blushing at her beauty and direct way of speaking.
‘Good friends,’ his mother said, placing her arm around Snow’s narrow shoulders. Snow was just a couple of inches shorter than his mother, and having just hugged her, Mike had a pretty good idea of how it might feel to hold Snow. His face got even redder.
‘Huh,’ Mike said.
‘Your mother couldn’t wait to get here,’ the pilot said.
‘I couldn’t!’ his mother exclaimed, hugging Snow tighter. Mike saw how happy her eyes looked. They were glistening, and she was staring straight at him. As if it were he she wanted to be hugging instead of this new girl, as if she wished the space between them would magically close. Mike took a half-step toward her, but that couldn’t close the space.
‘You look different,’ Mike said.
‘I do?’ his mother asked, looking hurt. He didn’t know how to tell her she looked beautiful, so he just stared.
‘Sarah, can I ask him if he likes …’ Standing on tiptoe, Snow whispered something in his mother’s ear. It felt weird, to hear a kid his age calling his mother ‘Sarah.’ Mike forced himself to look disinterested in what particular like of his she might be wondering about.
‘Go ahead,’ his mother said.
‘Do you like her hair?’ Snow asked.
‘Huh?’ Mike asked, frowning. Glancing at his mother’s hair, he could see that it was something new. Really short and really blond. It looked good, maybe it was part of what was making her look so beautiful. He nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s okay,’ he said, smiling.
‘My idea,’ Snow said, beaming.
‘Huh,’ the pilot said, smiling like Mike. ‘It does look good. It’s different, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said, smiling.
‘Dad, you are so blind. All the way to Maine, and you’re just noticing now?’ Snow asked with affection. ‘Guess you are too, Mike. Blind!’
‘Sorry,’ Mike said, feeling stung. He stared at Snow, determined to become more observant right away. He noticed her wide eyes, her long, chestnut-brown hair, the way it curled so softly over her shoulders. He noticed her throat, how white and delicate it looked. Swallowing, he had to look away to keep from being so observant that he’d explode on the spot.
‘It’s cold,’ Mike said. ‘I’ll drive everyone home.’
‘That’s fantastic! I’m freezing,’ Snow said, beaming as if he were her hero.
‘I’ll get the bags,’ the pilot said, heading toward the plane.
Without saying anything, Mike went to help, leaving his mother and the lovely stranger to climb into the Jeep and get warm.
They all pulled up in front of the old farmhouse. Sarah and Will walked ahead of the kids. The memories of her entire childhood swept over her. She had lived in this house until she went to college. She hadn’t even gone off the island until she was eleven. Her mother had died upstairs, in the front bedroom.
‘I can’t believe I’m here,’ she whispered. Her hands were shaking.
‘You sound scared,’ he whispered back.
‘I am!’
‘It’s your home,’ he said.
‘That’s why!’ she said, and it sounded so funny, she laughed. Will put his arm around her. They stood still on the stone walk, letting her get her breath. Now that she was calmer, she really looked the old place over. It was an ancient saltbox, one of the oldest houses in Maine. The historical plaque had fallen off the wall, leaving nail holes visible. The white paint was peeling. One of the front steps had cracked in the middle.
‘I haven’t gotten around to replacing that yet,’ Mike said.
‘You?’ Sarah asked, surprised. Maintaining the house had always been her father’s job. She hadn’t seen her father in several years, and all of a sudden she realized that she was afraid of what she was going to find.
‘What are you, a handyman?’ Snow asked.
‘Yeah,’ Mike said, sounding proud.
‘You ready?’ Will asked, his hand on Sarah’s arm.
‘Yes,’ she said, giving three knocks on the big brass door knocker, then turning the knob and walking in.
George Talbot stood right inside the front hall. He must have seen the headlights, been waiting for them to enter. He might have opened the door, yelled hello, greeted them as they came up the walk, but that wasn’t his way. Sarah stared at her father. He’s gotten old, she thought. My father is an old man.
‘Well,’ he said, looking at her. ‘Well, Sarah.’
Sarah felt the blood rush to her face.
‘Hi, Dad,’ she said.
‘What did you do, bring the troops?’ he asked, glaring at Will and Snow.
‘I’m Will Burke, sir.’ Will said, shaking his hand. ‘And this is my daughter, Snow.’
Sarah smiled at the fact that he had said ‘Snow’ instead of ‘Susan.’
‘How do you do. You’re the new boyfriend?’
‘The pilot, Grandpa.’ Mike said, stepping in.
‘Your daughter hired me to fly her up here.’ Will said.
‘Pretty expensive, a private pilot all the way from New York to Elk Island.’
‘I guess that shows how much she wanted to get here,’ Will said.
‘Oh.’ George Talbot said. Sarah watched the confusion cloud his eyes. He had such little contact with other people, he had never really known how to interact. He was terribly shy, but it always came out as hostile. Sarah felt embarrassed and protective toward him, and she walked across the hallway to take his hands.
They felt dry and gnarled, as if they were old tree roots. She squeezed them gently, looking into his eyes. The gray hair he had had for as long as she could remember had gone all white.
‘Hi, Dad,’ she said again.
‘Hi, Sarah,’ he said. His pale blue eyes were sunk deep in the sockets, washed by an entire lifetime of living by the sea. Jutting forward, his sharp chin gave him a perpetual pose of contention, as if he were daring you to a challenge. Just about eye to eye with Sarah now, he had lost at least two inches in height. His posture was fierce, but his body had gotten so old.
‘My friends are going to fly me home on Sunday, so I thought it would be better for them to stay. I’ll make up some beds for them –’
‘You come all this way, and you’re only staying four days?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I had to close the shop completely to come, and I don’t feel right being gone for longer …’
Her father regarded her, then shifted his gaze to Mike. He took a step toward his grandson, as if allying himself with him. Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off them. In the dim hall light she looked at her handsome, strong son, and saw the affection he had for his grandfather. George gave him an elbow jab, and Mike pretended to double over, jabbing back.
‘Knock it off now, Mike,’ her father said sternly. ‘You behave yourself in front of our company. You like muskrat stew, young lady?’
‘Who, me?’ Snow asked.
‘Yes, you.’
‘Um, I’m a vegetarian.’
‘You eat only vegetables?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I don’t believe in eating animals.’
Mike looked uncomfortable, and George appeared perplexed.
‘Aren’t you worried about her having a balanced diet?’ he asked Will.
Will laughed. He shook his head. ‘She has a mind of her own, Mr Talbot. She’s my daughter, but she has her own ways.’
‘I know what that’s like, Mr Burke,’ he said, glaring at Sarah. ‘Exactly. You got any boys?’
‘No,’ Will said.
Sarah couldn’t see any sign in his face, or in Snow’s, of the boy they had once had. Fred. Leaning closer to Will, she accidentally touched her shoulder to his. Almost automatically they stepped apart, their eyes meeting for just a second.
‘Boys are easier,’ her father said. Strange, Sarah thought, considering he didn’t have any sons. But then she saw him looking at Mike. ‘Well, we’d better get down to dinner. Bessie’s deaf as a doorpost, or she’d have been up to welcome you. We don’t want to leave her out.’
‘Okay, Dad.’
Her father paused, giving her a long look. His eyes seemed to soften, and all at once they filled with tears. He was brutally sentimental, and Sarah knew that seeing her reminded him of the past. ‘Seems strange your mother isn’t here, doesn’t it, Sarah? I never get used to it, no matter how much time passes.’
‘Me neither, Dad.’ Stepping forward to hug him, Sarah was too late. He had turned away. Shuffling toward the stairs, he started down.
‘She’ll fix you any vegetables you want,’ Mike said to Snow.
‘I don’t want to put anyone to any trouble,’ Snow said, following Mike.
Sarah and Will were alone. Their bags were piled by the door, their children had followed her father down to the basement kitchen. Light, not much brighter than a candle, flickered from pewter sconces. Sarah’s heart was racing from the joys and terrors of coming home.
‘Are you okay?’ Will asked.
Sarah nodded. She wanted to smile, to say yes, but if she spoke or moved at that very moment, she would begin to sob. She heard Mike’s voice downstairs, introducing Snow to Aunt Bess, and he sounded so steady and mature and incredible, she could hardly believe it was the same boy she had fought with so terribly a year before.
‘You can stop missing him, Sarah,’ Will said. ‘He’s right here.’
‘I know. Thank you.’
‘For flying you here? That’s –’
‘For being with me,’ Sarah said.
Overcome with emotion, Sarah grabbed his hand. It happened so fast, before she had the chance to think about it, her heart racing. Instead of looking into her eyes, he was staring down at their hands, at the way they were joined, their fingers laced together. He brought her hand up to his lips, kissed the back of it, and let go. Raising his eyes to meet hers, he smiled.
‘The same to you,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said.
Together they walked down the narrow stairs to dinner.
The basement kitchen ran the entire length of the house. Five large windows overlooked Elk Bay; a window seat stretched beneath them, covered with one long cushion and many small down pillows, each covered with bright fabric and cut-out stars. The house was built on a granite ledge, and it was deeper by one whole story here in back. A fire crackled in the big stone hearth. Trophies covered the white-washed walls: heads of boar, elk, deer, and moose. Hooves had been hollowed out, and now were used as containers to hold Bess’s cooking utensils. Antlers had been employed as coatracks.
The table was hewn from one enormous fallen oak, the grain visible and mysterious under many coats of shiny varnish. A large cast-iron kettle held the stew. Aunt Bess stood by the stove, supervising Mike, doling it into rough brown crockery bowls. Aunt Bess was plump, as filled out as her brother was gaunt, and made her way around the kitchen on her walker. Sarah watched her, wondering how she got up and down stairs, thinking her the perfect example of how hard life could be on the farm. Wearing her special-occasion navy blue dress with white polka dots, she took her seat between Sarah and Snow with a big smile on her face. Her scent was an amalgam of perspiration, mothballs, and Arpege.
‘It’s so nice to have some girls around,’ she said. ‘Gets kind of lonely with just the men to talk to.’
‘It’s good to see you, Aunt Bess,’ Sarah said.
‘The same to you, Sarah.’ Looking from Snow to Will, she said, ‘Sarah’s like the daughter I never had.’
‘Sarah had a mother,’ George said, frowning at Bess.
Sarah couldn’t bring herself to look at him, wondering why he would want to hurt his sister that way. Aunt Bess steeled herself, setting her mouth. But at Sarah’s glance, she raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. The mood at the table was as tense as Sarah had remembered, and she found herself looking at her son, wondering how he stood it.
‘This stew is delicious,’ Will said.
‘A Maine specialty,’ George said.
‘Glad you like it,’ Aunt Bess said, the praise making her happy again.
‘Don’t know what you’re missing, young lady,’ George said to Snow. ‘Muskrat stew puts hair on your chest.’
‘My dinner is just fine,’ Snow said, eating the plate of carrots, turnips, and kale Mike had chopped and Bess had steamed for her.
‘This is real New England eating,’ George said.
Snow paused, tilted her head. ‘We never ate muskrat stew, and we’re from New England,’ she said.
‘Oh, really? I thought Sarah said Fort Cromwell,’ Aunt Bess said.
‘Snow was born in Newport, Rhode Island,’ Will said. ‘When I was in the navy.’
‘Newport? Oh, my goodness, my husband and I lived in Providence, and we just loved Newport. Our favorite restaurant was the Pier – do you know it?’
‘Lobster bisque,’ Snow said. ‘I loved the Pier’s lobster bisque before I became a vegetarian. And Fred loved their seafood stuffing. Remember how he’d always have baked stuffed lobster, Dad?’
‘I do,’ Will said.
‘We’d drive down to Newport nearly every Saturday, just to ride around and see the mansions and go to the Pier. Oh, I –’
‘Navy man, eh?’ George asked, cutting Bess right off, peering at Will with new interest.
‘See any action?’
‘Some.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the Persian Gulf!’ Snow said proudly.
‘Yeah?’ Mike asked.
‘Yes,’ Will said, looking across the table at George. ‘Sarah told me you served in World War Two.’
‘That’s right. Army Air Corps, Eighth Air Force in Europe. Yep.’
‘Grandpa flew in the lead plane,’ Mike said.
‘On D day, he was one of the first planes over Normandy,’ Sarah said, feeling as proud as Snow. She always had for the fact that her father had been a hero in the war. He was passionate about the cause he had fought for. She watched him turn to glare at her.
‘Surprised you remember,’ he said.
‘Oh, I remember,’ she said softly. She had heard all the stories. He had told her most of them himself, but a few had come from her mother before she died. About how he had bombed Cologne and left the cathedral standing; about how the crew he had trained with in Colorado had been shot down over the North Sea, all killed except her father. Sarah kept his medals – the Air Medal, the Distinguished Flying Cross – in a small pink satin jewel case back in Fort Cromwell.
‘Persian Gulf, eh?’ George asked Will as if the others were not there.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What was your rank?’ he asked, a glint in his eye.
‘Commander.’
Sarah watched her father’s face fall. He hated being outranked. She wondered whether he would offer the information that upon discharge from the air corps he had attained the rank of first lieutenant, but he didn’t. Pushing his chair back, he went to the refrigerator and took out a big pitcher. He poured himself a tall glass of milk, and one for Mike.
‘Anyone else?’ he asked.
‘I’ll take one, sir,’ Will said.
George gave him a sidelong glance. He had heard the ‘sir,’ the tone of respect, and was deciding whether to forgive Will for being a commander as he filled another glass with milk. Sarah watched him replace the pitcher, his eyes hard with anger. Why was life so harsh for her father? She had never been able to understand. The island days that had been bliss for Sarah had seemed to weigh her father down.
‘George was only a few years older than Mike is now when he went off to war,’ Bess said to Snow. ‘He was so brave, and we were all so afraid for him. My father was the meanest lobsterman you ever saw, he’d slice the buoys off a competitor’s pots without thinking twice, but, oh, he cried like a baby when we drove Georgie to the train.’
‘Bess, that’s enough,’ George said.
But this time he couldn’t ruin her mood of nostalgic affection. A gentle smile on her wrinkled face, she gazed at him with love, her brother who had gone to war. The siblings were elderly now, George and Bess, but watching them stare at each other, Sarah could see the unending connection.
‘She doesn’t mean anything by it,’ Snow said.
‘What?’ George asked.
‘She’s just teasing you. It’s what sisters do. They don’t do it to hurt you,’ she said.
George gave a long, exasperated exhalation that sounded dangerously like an angry whistle. He glared at her, holding back whatever poisonous comment he wanted to make. He didn’t like being spoken up to; whenever it happened, he usually retaliated sharply. But Snow was new to him, a guest in his home, a young girl. Saved by those factors, he let her off with a cantankerous scowl instead. With awe and admiration Sarah watched Snow in action.
‘You’re very lucky to still have each other. At your ages,’ she said.
‘Lucky?’ George snorted. ‘Hah! She’s a millstone around my neck.’
Even Bess couldn’t take it. ‘Lucky he still goes to work every day, that’s about it,’ she said. ‘I pray to God I die before he retires.’
Will caught Sarah’s eye, trying not to smile. Mike was openly grinning.
‘You don’t want to say that,’ Snow said confidentially to Bess. ‘You’ll miss him when he’s gone.’
Bess raised her gaze to meet her brother’s. He stood there, frowning at the outspoken child. His teeth were slipping, and he gave them a shove back into place with his thumb. A log collapsed in the fireplace, sending a galaxy of orange sparks up the chimney.
‘Hear what she says?’ George said, looking at Bess.
‘I hear,’ Bess said.
‘You’d better start being nicer to me.’
‘Take your own advice. Your own daughter walks in after six years, and you’re acting as mean as a black bear in a thicket. We have houseguests, and we’re bickering like blue jays.’
‘We’re nothing like blue jays,’ George said, his tone softening by way of almost-apology. ‘Are we, Mike?’
‘Not at all,’ Mike said. He and his grandfather exchanged manly nods, and Sarah sensed something protective toward Bess in the gesture. Her son had become part of this Elk Island household, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it. Sarah could almost feel him averting his gaze from her.