Spartina Read online

  Joxer said, “Schuyler’s an old school friend of mine. He’s sort of a funny guy, but he might end up doing a lot of business in the area. He’s talking about getting a boat built, I told him you were the one to see.”

  Dick said, “The only boat I’m building these days is my own.” It occurred to Dick he’d better just say what he wanted. He said, “I’ll do the clambake—”

  Joxer said, “Terrific.”

  “If you’ll do something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You come over to my place and take a look at the boat I’m building.”

  Joxer said, “Sure. I’d love to see any boat you’re building.”

  “This isn’t any boat.”

  Dick swore to himself not to take it out on the boys. He was bound to be in a foul mood what with fixing the clambake and working on Parker’s boat. He’d bit off too much, and he was working for two different people. Dick dropped the boys off on the sea side of the bird-sanctuary beach. Charlie was nervous about going back there to dig steamers. When Dick tossed three peck baskets ashore, Charlie said, “The limit is a peck apiece.”

  Dick said, “I’m the third. I’ll be back after I pull my pots. If the Natural Resources people come along asking you where you were the other night, you just say ‘home.’ You got a job to do and you can’t stop to talk.”

  Halfway through the pots Dick remembered he wanted to take the boys’ skiff on Parker’s boat. That was the trouble with doing too much. But if he kept going at this rate he’d have enough for the engine by the 4th of July, enough to finish the boat by Labor Day. A good solid Cummins diesel. He’d decided to go first-class with the engine, first-class with the shaft and prop. He’d spent hours talking with the Cummins man in Providence, and at home measuring and remeasuring for the engine bed. The Cummins was the right size, the right weight. The Cummins rep had been as fair as Dick could ask. No financing, but he’d let Dick make a down payment of five hundred dollars to hold it at the old price. The Cummins price list had gone up 12 percent that spring. Dick had saved more than five hundred dollars right there. But he had to make another payment or the rep couldn’t hold it for him.

  Paying 12 percent more would be a burden, and Dick had sunk more than just money. He couldn’t go with another engine without refiguring the size and weight, probably tearing out the bed. And what was as hard as the money or the work was the time he’d put in studying that engine. A diesel is a diesel, a pretty simple idea, but he knew this model inside out. He’d put one in when he worked at the yard, serviced it twice. And over the last year he’d read the manual so often he could close his eyes and see any page he wanted, words and diagrams both, down to every bolt, washer, and nut suspended magically in mid-air just the way they were in the manual.

  He wasn’t in love with it the way he was with his boat, but until he got the engine in her he couldn’t feel good about her. There was some pleasure in looking at the line drawing in his mind’s eye, and converting it to metallic, oily density, hoisting it, lowering it—a convergence of two daydreams here—into the boat, onto the preset bolts in the bed, jostling its huge weight on the hoist chain so that the eight holes in the thick-flanged base lined up, settled over the tips of the bolts, slid down, giving off a little ringing rasp, a steel whisper from the touched threads.

  He’d do the clambake. He’d fix their boats, their docks, hell, he’d fix their toilets. He wasn’t going to work for them because he wasn’t good enough to make his living from the sea. He’d work for them to get himself out to sea.

  Dick got all the clambake goodies onto Sawtooth Island. He made Charlie and Tom spend the night on the beach on Sawtooth to keep an eye on the lobster car and the steel baskets of clams he’d submerged alongside it.

  He ran by the Neptune and left a message for Parker that the stuffing box was fixed, the bow pulpit was rigged, and they only had to wait their turn for the boatyard to put her back in the water.

  He dug the pit on the beach. He had to get Charlie and Tom to collect a new set of rocks to line the pit. The boys had gathered their rocks from below the high-tide line, and Dick had heard that every once in a while these had pockets of moisture in them. Dick hadn’t seen a low-tide rock explode, but he’d heard tell of some summer folks’ blowing up their whole damn clambake, sandstone and granite shrapnel blowing holes through the tarp. It’d almost be worth it to do it on purpose—make them catch their hot lobsters on the fly. Of course things never went wrong when you wanted them to.

  The boys had got a load of clean seaweed from the ocean side of the beach. When the fire burned out on the rocks, they dumped in the first layer of seaweed. There was a nice sizzle, and the air sacs on the seaweed began to pop. They got the whole wheelbarrow full of new potatoes in, and another layer of seaweed. A bit later the bigger quahogs, then the smaller ones and the steamers. Last of all the lobster. Resealed the tarp with wet sand and rocks.

  Joxer had brought the first load of guests from the point to the island in his boat. Dick recognized some of them and nodded. A slice off the top of local South County and their summer guests.

  Joxer brought him a beer and asked Charlie and Tom if they wanted Cokes. The boys had moved in behind Dick in a sheepish way that annoyed him, though he couldn’t blame them—these first ten guests had come ashore and arranged themselves in a semicircle on the higher ground, as though the Pierce boys and their authentic South County clambake were on stage. Dick turned away toward the water.

  Joxer and Schuyler were lucky with the weather. A perfect June evening, one of the first still summer evenings after an unsettled spring. Just enough movement in the air to bring the smell of beach roses in across the pond. The sky, the puffs of clouds, the flat water of the pond, the swell breaking on the bar at the mouth of the breachway, even the terns circling and fluttering over their nests in the marsh grass seemed suddenly less frantic as the afternoon glare began to soften, the air and water to carry more color.

  Joxer said, “You boys want to go for a swim?”

  “Go ahead,” Dick said. “You got your swimsuits on. Then you won’t have to wash up when you get home for supper.”

  “They’re welcome to eat here,” Joxer said. “I thought May and the boys would join us.”

  “They’re used to early supper. Thank you just the same. Go on, boys, get wet and then go on home.”

  The boys looked around awkwardly, as though taking off their sneakers and T-shirts was like changing in front of a crowd.

  Elsie Buttrick came down to join them. “Hi, Dick. Hi, Charlie, Tommy.”

  Dick said, “Hello, Officer Buttrick.”

  The boys smiled. Elsie was an old neighbor but also an officer in the Rhode Island Natural Resources Department, a sort of super-powered game-and-fish warden. This authority would have made any of Dick’s friends more remote, but since Elsie started off as one of the Buttricks, a pretty rich family living on the Point, her official position brought her closer.

  Dick was uneasy with her—closer wasn’t easier—but he liked her for her way with Charlie and Tom. She sometimes gave lectures in the school system and called on Charlie and Tom by name. “Charlie Pierce, I know you know if snapping turtles live around here.” Charlie said, “Yes, ma’am.” She’d turned to the class. “He knows ’cause one took a snap at him right in Pierce Creek. Right, Charlie? And is Pierce Creek salt, brackish, or fresh water? That’s too easy for you, Charlie. We’ll ask one of the potato farmers.”

  Charlie reported all this, and more—the class trip to the Great Swamp, to Tuckertown to see potato planting. Elsie got Miss Perry to give a slide show on local birds, and—something that had puzzled Dick a lot—Eddie Wormsley to talk about trees. The only time Eddie ever got really pissed off at Dick was at the Neptune when Dick started to kid Eddie about his tree lecture.

  Elsie said, “You boys going for a swim?” She kicked off her sandals and pulled off her jersey. She had on a faded red swimsuit. She flicked off her wrap-around skirt, and Dick sa
w Charlie look at her legs.

  Elsie said, “Come on, you guys.”

  Dick was about to say something, tease Charlie about his girlfriend. He held back, puzzled by a sudden melancholy.

  Charlie was sixteen. He wasn’t as tough as Dick had been at sixteen. He was smaller, smarter, and nicer. Not a shitty kid. A scrawny, shy kid who took a look at Elsie Buttrick’s legs. Dick knew he was too rough on him. From behind, Elsie still looked the way she had when she was sixteen. He remembered her walking up to him in her swimsuit that summer (at the town dock? at the boatyard?). He noticed her figure then. Little Elsie Buttrick all grown up. He watched her with pleasure as she came right up to him. She said she was sorry to hear about his father’s death. Put an end to his looking at her legs.

  The next thing he knew she was back in South County after college—two colleges. Brown and Yale Forestry School. In uniform. She was good-looking—not pretty all the time but often enough to throw you. And she was law. It was the combination that was shifty. And her being one of the rich kids. But she worked hard—she was like Joxer that way—you could see she put in a day’s work.

  Joxer said to him, “There’s some more guests coming. If it’s okay with you, here’s the plan. I’ll stay here with this bunch, and you get the next bunch. Schuyler and Marie are giving them a drink at the Wedding Cake and then sending them down to the wharf. You give them a lift. Then Schuyler’ll wait for the late arrivals and bring them.”

  Dick said, “Okay. I’ll just see the boys on their way.”

  “Right-o,” Joxer said and went back to his guests at the top of the beach.

  Dick called the boys. They gathered up their things and then argued over who got to row.

  “Let Tom row,” Dick said. When they were settled, Dick gave the boat a shove. “Don’t run off tomorrow morning,” he called after them. “I got some plans for you.”

  Elsie stood up in the water and waded ashore. “Aye, aye, Daddy,” she said. She saluted and laughed.

  Dick said, “You know a better way to raise kids?”

  “Don’t mind me. You might even be right. They still think you’re pretty neat. After Ed Wormsley gave his talk on trees Charlie asked me if you could take the class on a tour of the salt ponds, up into the marsh.”

  “Jesus.”

  “It’s a good idea. You know the marsh. In fact, I think you and I are the only two people left who know where the old causeway is. The one that runs into the bird sanctuary.”

  Dick was startled. He didn’t say a word.

  “Don’t ever pull that again,” Elsie said. “Once was funny. Twice would be a big fat fine.”

  Dick fixed his eyes on the breachway.

  Elsie said, “There are two other Resources officers who have you in mind, but they can’t prove it. They’re puzzled because they know you don’t own a tractor. That doesn’t puzzle me. I know your pal Ed Wormsley. I’d hate to see Eddie in trouble again.”

  Dick rose to the bait, but didn’t take it. He said, “Ah.” Then said carefully, “I don’t think Eddie had anything to do with it. If what you’re talking about is whoever it was dug up the sanctuary beach. I thought I heard something that night. Could have been a tractor. Didn’t sound like a tractor, but it could have been. But Eddie doesn’t go in for clams. He doesn’t like them, wouldn’t know where to sell them. I got to go pick up some more guests. Now I guess you’re going to put your uniform on.”

  Elsie laughed. “Nope. I’m out of uniform. Mind if I ride along?”

  It wasn’t worth starting the motor just to go a quarter-mile round the point to the Wedding Cake wharf.

  Elsie said, “Don’t mind me, don’t mind me. Look. If you and Eddie don’t do anything terrible, I’m on your side. Did Eddie tell you about the swan? Don’t answer that. I’ll tell you. I let him keep a swan he shot with his crossbow. I know you know about his crossbow. So long as you don’t do anything worse than that. And so long as nobody finds out. I just want to keep this place from going to hell. Sometimes I think I should quit and go work for Save-the-Bay or the Clamshell Alliance. Lie down in front of the bulldozers when they start a nuclear-power plant.”

  “I heard that was all over with. They can’t build it in Wickford and they can’t build it in Charlestown.”

  “Yeah. That one’s stopped. I don’t know what I’m complaining about. And even the cottages my brother-in-law is putting up here aren’t so bad. Have they showed you the architect’s model?”

  “What cottages?”

  “I thought you knew. Here on Sawtooth Point.”

  “God Almighty.” Dick stopped rowing.

  Elsie said, “I’m surprised they didn’t … I thought that was why they invited you.”

  Dick laughed once. “No. Who’s this they?”

  “Joxer, and Schuyler. And then there’s my brother-in-law and Mr. Salviatti. I thought they invited all the neighbors. And then some of these people are ones they want to sell to. Maybe they’re going to tell you later. Don’t say I told you, okay? Look, it’s not so bad. I hate to be the one.… I’ve seen the plans and it won’t change much.”

  “How much do they figure to make?”

  “Oh God, I don’t know. Millions, zillions. You know what it’s like around here.”

  The skiff turned a little as it drifted. Dick could see Elsie’s face now that the sun wasn’t in his eyes.

  Someone yelled from the dock. Elsie waved and shouted, “We’re coming!”

  She leaned forward and touched his knee. “Look, Dick. I really am sympathetic. I was as horrified as you are. But everything west of Pierce Creek is still sanctuary. It’s just a few more houses.” She sat back and said, “Shit. Why am I saying this? I sound like them.”

  Dick felt bitterness about Sawtooth Point that he knew he could postpone. What he couldn’t figure out now was Elsie. For a minute there, she’d been talking to him, and he’d been interested in how she opened up about her job, how she thrashed about. He’d always wondered about her and her job. Then, of course, he’d been stunned by this news, but even after that he’d felt she was telling it to him straight enough. When she said she was sympathetic he thought that was so too.

  The change wasn’t so much that she got sentimental about the bird sanctuary, whereas he was feeling the old barb of his father’s hospital bill and the loss of Sawtooth Point. He could go her way—he had a soft spot for the sanctuary himself. Was it that she couldn’t go his way and think about money? Not just that. There was her sudden change, her correcting herself, swearing, trying to get her feelings just right—pulling it all back to how she felt.

  He began to row again. Her head swung back into the sun. Her face became dark. She said, “I’ve got to …” She leaned back. “Fortunately, I have my month’s leave now. I shouldn’t have told Schuyler I’d help him with his movie. Did you know that’s what he does? Makes short documentaries. He wanted to know if you could take us around some. You have any spare time?”

  “Not these days. I got to make some money. And if I do make some money, I got to work on my boat.”

  “Well, maybe we could just come along when you pull your pots. I think Schuyler’s got some money to pay.”

  “What’s his movie about?”

  “He’s got a couple of them going. But one is about South County. He has an educational-TV contract, and he’s got another one for the state tourism people. And part of his investment in the cottage project here is to make a film strip about what a great place it is.”

  “Busy fellow.”

  Elsie said, “He’s pretty good at it. He’s not just a pretty face.” Elsie laughed at that.

  Dick recognized one of the reasons Schuyler rubbed him the wrong way. He was a pretty boy all right. And he looked amused all the time. He looked at this, he looked at that, and was amused. Dick didn’t mind Joxer’s being hearty nearly so much as he minded Schuyler’s looking amused. It figured Schuyler would look at a fishing village and a salt marsh and take pictures. Of what was amusing.
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  Dick pulled up to the dock, and guests clambered in. Dick got up and helped Miss Perry to the stern seat. As the boat filled up Elsie gave up her seat beside Miss Perry, sat down beside Dick, and took the starboard oar. Elsie’s sister took Elsie’s place and her husband handed her a baby.

  “Sally, you remember Dick Pierce? And this is baby Jack—John Dudley Aldrich the third. Can you believe that little eggplant has all those names?”

  Dick remembered Elsie at fourteen and fifteen. Sally was the beauty then, Elsie the loudmouth.

  Sally ignored the part about her baby. “Yes, of course, Dick Pierce. You haven’t changed at all.”

  Dick saw that Sally had. Not for the worse. Before, she could have been any pretty girl. Now, she was softer, she looked a little tired, but her face was her own.

  Elsie shoved off and slid her oar out through the oarlock. She said, “All set? And a-one and a-two.”

  “This is a rowboat,” Sally said, “not a dance band.”

  Dick and Elsie rowed with mild strokes, the boat sluggish with nine people aboard, too much weight forward. Elsie chattered away with Sally and Miss Perry. Old home week. The other guests, most of them newcomers, exclaimed to each other about the view: the Wedding Cake, the island, the pond, how nice, how very nice.

  Dick and Elsie backed the skiff in to the little island beach. Joxer helped Miss Perry and Sally and the baby. The other guests took off their shoes and went over the sides, calling heartily to Joxer and Joxer’s wife. They were as cheerful as Joxer. Amused too. Polite as Sally and Miss Perry, they called back, “Thanks for the ride,” and, turning to each other, turning away from each other, they waded through the clear water, stirring the bright sand, a little school of nice-looking people in bright clothes and bare legs. How nice, how very nice. Was it as easy for them as it looked? To move so lightly, to begin sentences by saying with a smile, “Tell me. How was—” To smile back and say, “It was marvelous” or “It was ghastly,” smiles and words as quick and simultaneous as a school of minnows.