Overcast. Spring shoots up. Socks need mending.
Eliza sees Steiner long before he reaches Smuggler’s Cove, his skiff bracing the stiff spring tide as he approaches the shore. She knows why he is coming, and she panics. The thought of accepting his inevitable proposition frightens her to the core. She has only shared one man’s marriage bed, and the prospect of being naked again with a man chills her blood. Jacob’s sudden absence from her life closed her down, and even the thought of being with Steiner—or any man for that matter—puts her off. All that sweating and moaning and grunting. No, she doesn’t want to face all of that. She does not want to face Steiner. She finds a pencil and scrawls a hasty note.
Steiner rows steadily toward the exposed cove, his strokes even and measured. When Steiner arrives on shore, he does not see Eliza anywhere on the property. Her cabin door is shut and there is no sound of life in the small yard except for the feeble protest from her shaggy goat. He wonders where she could be this early in the morning. He feels for the garnet ring in his pocket. He calculates that by day’s end the ring will reside on the fourth finger of Eliza’s left hand, and he intends to consummate the engagement on the spot. When he washed his private parts this morning, he hardened at the thought.
When he rounds the west side of the rude structure, he notices a slip of paper tacked to the cabin door. He pulls the ivory stationery off the cabin door and unfolds it.
Go away.
Nothing else, not even a complete sentence. He holds the paper in his left hand and feels again for the ring in his trouser pocket with his right hand. He stands for a moment and considers his options. He tries the door of the cabin. Eliza’s door is wedged shut.
“Mrs. Stamper!”
No one answers. The goat whinnies and shies away from his voice. Again he shouts Eliza’s name, and not even the goat notices the second time. He paces the periphery of the cabin, anxious. After five minutes—he checks his pocket watch—he returns to his skiff to retrieve the box of supplies. He slams his fist on the door, swearing under his breath. He calls once more for Eliza and leaves the box on her uneven front stoop.
Eliza sits in the corner closet with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head bent low. Her heart pumps cold blood. She shivers. Her left leg begins to cramp and she moves her foot in silent circles. She hopes that terror isn’t audible.
Eliza guesses Steiner’s been drinking already, and before ten o’clock in the morning. Men and drink prove a deadly combination, this Eliza knows. Her only regret is that she hadn’t the strength to push Gideon away. But of course then there would not have been Jonathan . . .
Steiner plods around the cabin one last time, nursing a cigar. The cigar smoke wafts in through the missing chinks in the closet’s outer wall. Eliza stifles a cough. She hears a familiar sound, and realizes Steiner’s pissing on the corner of the house just inches from where she sits cramped in the confines of the closet. Within seconds, she hears a loud whoomph and a loud whinny escapes from the goat. Eliza puts her hand over her mouth.
“Bitch,” he yells.
The goat bleats mournfully. Steiner saunters around the property and considers plowing through the cabin door. It would not be difficult to do; he had done so countless times before. He thinks for a moment that perhaps Eliza is hiding from him inside the cabin. He thinks again, and convinces himself that the message cannot be for him.
Steiner shrugs and turns toward the cove, his back to the cabin. The sky has darkened. Steiner knows he needs to beat the flood tide. He stomps the mud off of his boots in the shallows and pushes off the beach. He hops into the skiff and settles in to row.
When she hears no trace of Steiner, Eliza emerges from the closet and crawls toward the door. She stops to listen for any semblance of movement. She slowly unfolds herself first to a kneeling position, and then to a low crouch. She peeks out the small window above the sink. From her vantage point, she can barely make out the skiff as Steiner rows back to Orcas. Her leg throbs from being cramped in the closet. She stands and shakes her leg. She realizes her whole body shakes, involuntarily. She needs to pee.
When Steiner disappears from sight, Eliza nudges open the cabin door and squats to relieve herself. She then inspects the contents of the box on the stoop. Her note lies crumpled on the ground.
Nestled on top of the other supplies, and wrapped individually in sheets of brown paper, are three ripe pears. Eliza slowly unwraps one pear, turning the plump piece of fruit in her hand and squeezing to check its ripeness. She sinks her teeth into the juicy pulp.
Heaven on earth!
She savors the pear, and juice dribbles down her chin. She eats right down to the seeded core. She gnaws at the core until there is nothing left but the hardened shell of the seedpod. Beneath the pears Eliza finds, in no particular order, a casing of dried sausage, a jar of sourdough starter, a sack of chopped walnuts, a shoulder of pork, two tins of sardines, six eggs, a packet of thin rye crisps, two vials each of cinnamon and cardamom, and, at the bottom of the box, a package of crystallized ginger.
Such luxuries!
She feels guilty consuming these delicacies because she rebuffed Steiner, but her lust for the provisions knows no boundaries.
Lining the bottom of the box Eliza unfolds three weeks’ worth of newspapers. A large envelope is attached to the side of the box. On its front side, in a large masculine hand: “Stamper.” With trembling hands, she removes the envelope from the side of the box and turns it over in her hand. She can only imagine what message lies inside, especially attached to a box of forbidden fruit. If there had been a note inside at one time, there is not one now. She peers into the depths of the envelope, and feels carefully in each of the corners of its dark abyss. She comes up empty.
“Let it be so.”
Eliza makes good use of the remainder of the pears. She bakes a sweet, yet savory, pear crumble before retiring for the night. Its inviting aroma causes Eliza to burn the tip of her finger as she scoops out a taste.
She shakes her finger and rushes to the counter. She plunges her whole right hand into a jar of cold water and lets it rest there until the throbbing subsides.
PEAR CRUMBLE
Mix one and one-half teacups rolled oats, one-half teacup chopped walnuts, one-half teacup brown sugar, one-third teacup flour, and one-half teaspoonful cinnamon, and set aside for topping.
Peel and slice two to three pears and mix with one-half teacup maple syrup, a large handful of raisins, a scant one-quarter teacup flour, and sprinkle of crystallized ginger, if you have so.
Place in baking dish and divide topping evenly over pear mixture.
Bake until golden.
While crumble is still hot, fold topping into filling and let sit for an hour or more before serving.
Can be eaten cold for breakfast, like oatmeal.
ELIZA DREAMS OF STEINER THAT NIGHT. SHE PICTURES HIS LONG, lithe body walking toward the cabin where she had hid just this morning in the cabin’s corner closet, squashed between the wall and her Sunday boots. In her dream, Eliza pictures a different scenario. She runs out to greet Steiner; he gathers her up and wheels her around in arms. She becomes dizzy with the joy of it, and laughs out loud. The laugh wakes her from her dream, and Eliza chastens herself for entertaining these thoughts, even in her subconscious. Old Steiner had warned Eliza about his nephew.
March turns into April. Steiner does not return. Eliza waits longer than usual to row to Doe Bay. In the meantime, Eliza plants her garden and salivates when she thinks of all the canning she’ll put up later this summer. Soups run a clear favorite—easy to can and with a long shelf life. Eliza figures she can live on soup if needed. She puts up twenty quarts at least each year. Eliza reaches for the last of her stores on the plank shelf, rearranging the last two jars. But she feels a distance between what her hands do and what her heart nags her to do.
During the day, Eliza tries to put Steiner out of her mind as soon as he appears. It is a battle, though, because she sees him in everyday chores: digging clams near the edge of the cove, his broad shoulders bent; rowing her dory to the kelp beds, his veins protruding from his strong forearms; patching her roof, his lanky legs ascending the ladder one rung at a time. She pictures him in her home, helping her with everyday tasks. The only place Eliza does not entertain thoughts of Steiner is next to her in her narrow bed. But he lurks there, just under the surface of the everyday, and every day he is there.
There’s more’n a few skeletons hiding in his closet, if ’n you know what I mean.
He is surely a Jekyll and Hyde, Eliza thinks. Even though I’ve seen the way he treats his uncle—and my goat!—he has been ever so kind to me.
After a while, Eliza gives up the battle and lets Steiner in, but only as a ghost companion. She finds it easier to have him there in absentia than to battle her desire. And she knows of course he isn’t really there, so what’s the harm?