Dried, dressed—although not shod—and seated on our blanket, David and I settled in to sup and watch the unusual sight, for Massachusetts, of the sun setting over water. We in the Commonwealth were far more accustomed to seeing the light-giving orb rise daily over the Atlantic and set over whatever land lay to our west. Instead, here the vagaries of geography had plopped us squarely on a patch of sand facing westward—with an eighteen-mile-wide body of salt water between us and the next land. Specks on the opposite shore had to be buildings in the bustling port of New Bedford, with the tip of Rhode Island visible beyond. Curving around to our left was the peninsula of Wood’s Holl followed by long, thin Naushon Island reaching into the sea.
Puffy clouds the color of my name arrayed themselves in a giant tower as I drew out the remains of the wedding supper and set them on the cloth between us. “The pickings are a little slim, it seems.”
David reached for a bag he’d tucked in the corner of the basket, one that hadn’t been there on the train. He drew out a squat little jar and an unopened packet of water crackers. “Caviar, madam?”
“Caviar? I’ve never had it. Isn’t it quite dear?”
I must have been frowning, because he reached over with his thumb and gently stroked upward between my eyes several times, smoothing out the worry lines.
“Don’t worry, Rose. The caviar was a gift to my father from some client. And now we can enjoy the delicacy before our meager meal. Which pickings, by the way, aren’t really all so slim.” A moment later he proffered a cracker topped with tiny black pearls of roe.
I savored the rich, slightly sweet flavor, the subtly salty eggs popping on my tongue. The topping went perfectly with the crunchy freshness of a cracker seasoned with pepper and rosemary, if I wasn’t mistaken.
“That is very nice, sir,” I said after I swallowed.
He threw his head back and laughed. “It is at that.”
I gazed at the sky again and at how the colors of everything appeared more vibrant than at home. “The light here is remarkable, isn’t it?”
“It’s the reason artists are drawn to Cape Cod, especially at this time of year. I’ve heard of a young fellow named Herman Hartwich whose work is impressing quite a few collectors. Perhaps we can acquire one of his Cape landscapes while we’re here.”
Around us others were also dining, some more simply than others. An older couple not far away had opened a can of sardines and ate them on bread. A family down the way had lit a fire of dry driftwood and were roasting corn and small whole fishes on skewers, which smelled divine. And a group of ragtag young men seemed to be taking their meal solely from bottles of ale, with the occasional munch on a piece of pemmican.
“You know, Tilly said something to me before we went in to dinner. She said she hadn’t meant to interrupt our wedding festivities. As we saw, there was no reason for us to hurry down here last night.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“I think perhaps Dru magnified the urgency.”
“We’re here now, together and in paradise.” David tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
The simple but intimate gesture flooded me with warmth. I savored a chicken turnover while I watched a low open boat being rowed toward shore. It now bucked the last gentle waves and ground onto the sand near us. A man in high boots hopped out and pulled the boat farther onto land. His ruddy face was as weathered as the boat.
A tall young person in trousers, rubber boots, and a ragged pullover climbed out. I might have thought it was a young man, except she wore a long red braid down her back and had not a trace of whiskers on her face.
“Brigie, why’re yeh after dawdling, now?” the man growled to her.
Brigie? Maybe this was the girl Hazel had spoken of.
She grabbed the rope at the prow and pulled the boat the rest of the way out of the water.
The man commenced to tossing wriggling sacks onto the wet sand. “Get yerself a-hustling, daughter.”
They were close enough that I could see the girl, indeed no older than Hazel or Frannie, roll her eyes at her father’s impatience. But she moved, and with strength and efficiency. He’d brought down a wide wheeled cart, which soon enough was loaded with the day’s catch. Of what type of fish I couldn’t discern, other than they were still alive.
The father grabbed the cart’s crossbar and leaned into it. The girl began tying the boat’s rope to a thicker rope running down from a post anchored in the bluff, a rope ending in a float. I sprang to my feet, told David I’d be right back, and hurried over to her. If I wanted to speak with her, I’d have to act fast. Her father was already impatient.
“Would thee be Brigid McChesney?” I asked her in a soft voice.
She straightened. “Who wants to know?” Her brown eyes bore into mine out of a tanned face.
“My name is Rose Dodge.” I barely escaped saying Carroll again. “I was Frannie’s, uh, cousin.” Or close enough. If Frannie had been like a daughter to Tilly, it meant the girl had been my cousin. That was another question, but not one for now: why hadn’t Tilly adopted Frannie?
Brigid glanced at her father, whose back was turned. She faced me and crossed herself. “May Frannie’s sweet soul rest in the arms of our Lord. It’s a terrible thing, what happened to her.” She sniffed. “I’m going to miss her that much, I am.” Her brogue wasn’t as pronounced as her father’s, but it was there.
“We met a Hazel Bowman today. She claimed thee very much disliked Frannie.”
The girl spat in the sand. “It’s because that Hazel, she hates me.”
“Why?”
“Brigid Siobhan McChesney, fer the love o’ God!” Her father scowled at her, a scowl now including me.
“I need to go. Find me at the Union Store tomorrow, I’ll be telling you more.” She jogged over to her father and pushed the back of the heavy cart the rest of the way up the path.
I plopped back onto the blanket with David, who gave me an inquisitive look.
“The Brigid we heard about this afternoon?” he asked.
“The same. She is the first I’ve encountered, besides Tilly, who seems truly sad about Frannie’s death.”
“And the part about this fisherman’s daughter hating Frannie?”
“She claimed it’s because it’s Hazel who hates her, Brigid.” I drew my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. “She told me to find her at the market tomorrow. She must work there.”
“The Hazel we met this afternoon. Did you notice her pupils were quite constricted?”
“I did.”
“I wonder if she indulges in laudanum. That’s a common effect of the drug.”
“And it can cause erratic behavior, can’t it?” I cocked my head.
“Yes. There is an initial euphoria, but as the opiate dissipates, people can become agitated and irritated, and they often experience dysphoria.”
“It sounds awful.”
David cleared away the food between us and scooted over to sit next to me. He took a bite of a berry tart, then held it to my mouth. “Your dessert, wife. That, and the moving picture show in front of us.”
I let thoughts of murder slip into the ocean along with this glorious orange ball paying witness to the turning of the globe. I was happy to focus on nothing but my husband for the rest of the night.