Shadows on the Sea Page 4

  “I guess I bother everyone,” Wendy complained. “Even the snails.” She looked out to sea, and Jill wondered if she was about to cry. “I hope Aunt Adrie doesn’t think I’m a bother. She’s usually nice to me, but sometimes I feel like I’m in the way. Did you hear her call me a pest?”

  Jill didn’t know how to answer. Then she whispered. “You’re not a pest, Wendy.”

  The waves surged over the rocks beyond them and gulls soared overhead. Jill recalled her grandmother describing how this whole point was covered with water during storms.

  After a long silence, Wendy suddenly spoke up. “Someone must like me. We found a beautiful bouquet of flowers on the doorstep this morning. It had a card addressed to me that said, ‘Welcome to Winter Haven, Wendy. Have a wonderful vacation.’”

  “I got a bouquet too!” Jill noticed a flash of disappointment cross Wendy’s face and she almost regretted telling her. “Was there any name on your card?”

  “No. I have no idea who sent it.”

  “Me neither,” said Jill.

  “I thought it might be from a boy up here who I think likes me.”

  “I’ll bet lots of boys like you.”

  Wendy nodded. “Yes, they do.”

  “Where are you from, Wendy? Really.”

  “I’m from upper New York State. A small town called Derry. You probably never heard of it.”

  “What do your parents do?”

  “Well, as your grandmother told you, my dad runs a movie theater. He’s too old to be in the service. He’s in his fifties. How come your dad’s not in the service? He looks young.”

  “My dad has a bad ear. Would you believe it? I mean, here he is a singer and he has a bad ear. He had an ear operation once and now he gets dizzy spells.”

  “Then your dad is a 4-F. He didn’t pass the physical and that’s why he’s not in the army.” Wendy looked thoughtful. “Beethoven became totally deaf. Imagine never being able to hear your own music.”

  Wendy seemed to know a lot. “Tell me about your mother,” Jill said.

  “Mom’s never around. She’s too busy with her clubs. She’s always doing charity drives and now they’re making up Bundles for Britain—you know, for people who’ve lost everything in the bombings.” Wendy rolled her eyes. “It’s important, I guess, but sometimes I feel as if she’s too busy to have me around. I heard Mom tell Dad, ‘Why don’t we send Wendy up to Adrie’s for the summer? It will be good for both of them.’ They never even asked me if I wanted to come. It was a fait accompli.”

  Jill wondered what a fait accompli was but decided not to ask. “I kind of feel the same way,” Jill confessed. “My mother went off to Newfoundland and she wouldn’t take me. She’s risking her life for her brother—my uncle Cliff—and I honestly wonder if she cares more about him than she does about me.”

  “What about your dad? Couldn’t you be with him? It’d be swell traveling around with your father in show business and everything.”

  “No, Dad won’t take me on his tours. He said it wouldn’t be safe for me to travel around the country.” Jill picked up a shell and tossed it into the tide pool. “I’ll probably have to spend the whole summer here—or at least until my mom comes home.”

  “Well, we can have fun together.”

  “Maybe we can go shopping in Bayswater,” Jill suggested. “But you’ve already got lots of nice clothes.”

  Wendy looked down at her smart outfit and seemed to brighten. “Isn’t this cute? Mom said it was ‘nautical. The perfect thing for the seashore.’” Wendy’s voice went into a snooty imitation of whom Jill assumed was her mother.

  “So tell me about your aunt. What is she like?”

  “Isn’t she beautiful? I wish I could look just like her.”

  “You do look like her,” Jill said. “Except her eyes are brown.”

  “Oh, thank you, Jill. She’s beautiful,” Wendy said again. “Wasn’t that nice of her—telling me I would have her gorgeous ring someday? But I hope that day never comes. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Adrie. I suppose it’s an awful thing to say, but sometimes I wish she were my mother—even if she sometimes thinks I’m a pest.”

  There was an awkward silence, then Jill said, “Adrie’s nice.”

  “She doesn’t talk about herself much,” Wendy said. “She’s mysterious—like that movie star Greta Garbo.”

  Jill nodded. “Well I know someone who talks a lot! I met Quarry MacDonald when I went down to find you at the inn. He said you had gone out with your aunt.”

  “He must have been watching for me. I thought he might have been the person who sent me the flowers.” A quick smile crossed Wendy’s face.

  “Well, I’m sure he didn’t send them to me. Still, he knew all about my mother going across the Gulf. He told me about the U-Boats, and then he went on to warn me about saboteurs blowing up planes! As if I wasn’t already worried. My dad takes planes all the time. What a dumb thing to say.”

  Wendy shrugged. “Well, Quarry’s outspoken. That’s the way people are around here. But he’s quite nice-looking, don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t notice,” Jill answered. “He just made me so mad.”

  Clang! Clang! Jill jumped up. “Nana’s bell! Come on. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

  The girls sat at a picnic table out on the lawn where Nana served up a platter of egg salad sandwiches, a bowl of potato chips, and a pitcher of frosty chocolate milk.

  “I had the salad all made when I realized I was out of bread,” Nana said, as she handed each girl a plate. “So I drove up to the grocery store.”

  Jill helped herself to the chips. “That was fast.”

  “Wendy, does your aunt know that new man—Clayton Bishop?” Nana looked puzzled.

  “I don’t know. Why?” Wendy asked.

  “When we were talking about him this morning, she never mentioned that she knew him.” Nana sat down on the picnic bench. “I was a little curious about Clayton Bishop, after hearing how nasty he was to Jill. So as I drove to the store I looked more closely at his cottage. I could swear I caught a glimpse of Adrie’s Chrysler parked out in the back of the house.”

  Shadows

  “I don’t think Aunt Adrie knows him,” Wendy said. “At least, she’s never mentioned him to me.”

  “Maybe she was ordering squab for the inn,” Jill suggested. “She said she’d be starting meals soon. Clayton Bishop said he raises pigeons for food.”

  “Perhaps so. You don’t need to use ration stamps for pigeons,” Nana said. “But if you’re hungry, you’d probably need to eat four squab. There’s hardly any meat on them.”

  Jill shuddered. “I’ve never eaten a pigeon and I don’t think I ever will—even when they’re called squab.”

  “Oh, but I’ve heard they serve them at all the ritzy restaurants,” Wendy said.

  Nana reached for a potato chip. “Jill, tonight’s my night out. Every Sunday night I meet with friends. I’m hoping you’ll be able to keep yourself busy on Sunday evenings without me.”

  “It’s okay, Nana. I listen to my favorite radio programs every Sunday. I’ll be fine.”

  Nana nodded. “Good.”

  “I love Charlie McCarthy!” said Wendy. “He’s on Sunday nights.”

  “What do you do with your friends?” Jill asked her grandmother. “Play cards?”

  “No, we just talk,” Nana said. She got up and took the empty plates from the table and headed inside.

  “Can you come over on Sunday nights?” Jill asked Wendy.

  “Right after I help with the dinner dishes.” Wendy heaved a sigh. “There’s only Aunt Adrie and me right now. I hope we don’t have too many guests at the inn this summer. I don’t want to miss the clambake and the dances coming up.” Wendy looked over Jill’s shoulder. “Say, look who’s come to visit.”

  Quarry MacDonald was standing in the driveway by his bicycle. “What’s he doing here?” Jill whispered.

  “He’s probab
ly following me,” Wendy answered under her breath. “I told you he likes me.”

  Quarry waved and adjusted the kickstand on the bicycle. “Hi!” he said, coming into the yard. “Just thought I’d drop by to say hello.” He sat down on the picnic bench. “Guess I missed lunch—and me hungry enough to eat a boiled owl.”

  “Too bad,” Jill said.

  Quarry ignored her comment. “Hey, what are you two doin’ tonight?”

  “Why?” Wendy asked.

  Quarry spoke directly to Jill. “I know your grandma meets with the other witchy ladies on Sunday nights, so I figured you’d be alone and wonderin’ what to do.”

  Jill frowned. “What do you mean, ‘witchy ladies’?”

  “That’s what everyone calls ’em. They have secret meetings at Ida Wilmar’s house. No one knows what’s goin’ on. It’s been kinda suspicious for round about a year now.”

  “What do you mean suspicious?” Jill demanded. “Can’t some ladies get together and knit or something without the whole town wondering what’s going on?”

  Quarry shrugged. “Word gets round this town. Lots of blabber mouths in Winter Haven.”

  “The ladies are probably knitting afghans. All the club women back home are making afghans for servicemen,” Wendy said. “There must be enough afghans for everyone in the world by now.”

  “Don’t forget Bundles for Britain,” Jill added. “My mom keeps a big barrel in the garage and we fill it every month with clothes and blankets to send overseas.”

  “Oh well, it’s no one’s business what those ladies do, anyway,” Wendy said. She turned to Quarry. “What are you doing tonight? Jill and I thought we’d listen to Charlie McCarthy. Want to come over?”

  “Is it okay, Jill?” Quarry asked.

  “I guess so,” Jill said reluctantly. “I’ll have to ask Nana first.”

  “Ask me what?” Nana appeared from the house with more dishes and a pie. “Dessert is ready. Hello, Quarry. Want a slice of apple pie?”

  “Quarry wants to listen to the radio with us tonight while you’re gone,” Jill explained. “Is that all right, Nana?”

  “It’s fine by me.” Nana slid pieces of pie onto the plates. She handed Jill a wedge of Gouda cheese and a knife. “Cut this up four ways,” she said. “It tastes good enough to eat, with apple pie.”

  “I’ll do it,” Wendy offered, slicing the cheese and placing a piece on each plate.

  Shortly after Nana left for the evening, Quarry and Wendy arrived. Jill turned on the radio in the parlor and they listened to the Jack Benny and Charlie McCarthy programs. They sipped soda pop and ate molasses cookies that Nana made with the last of her month’s supply of sugar. Sarge took a fancy to Quarry and stretched out at his feet like a dog.

  “Will your dad be singing on the radio sometime soon, Jill?” asked Wendy.

  “He said he’d be on Manhattan Merry-Go-Round soon. That’s on Sunday nights too.”

  “Swell, we’ll come over and listen with you,” said Wendy.

  “It must be great to have a famous dad,” Quarry said. “But you ain’t stuck-up, Jill.”

  “What’s to be stuck-up about?” Jill replied. “My dad’s a pretty regular person. It’s hard to think of him as a celebrity.”

  “What’s he like?” Wendy asked. “I mean … really.”

  “He’s … nice. He’s fun. I miss him when he’s away. But he always sends me little gifts wherever he is. Sometimes when he’s on the air, he sings certain songs especially for Mom.”

  “What songs?” asked Quarry.

  “‘You’re My Everything’ and Our Love is Here to Stay’ and …”

  Wendy sighed. “That is so utterly romantic.”

  “When I was born, Daddy sang ‘Mighty Like a Rose’ on the radio. Actually, that song is written for a boy baby, so Daddy changed it a little, for a girl. All my birth announcements had a rose on them.” Jill became quiet.

  Quarry got up to look out the window. “It’s just now gettin’ dark and it’s almost nine o’clock. Hey, there’s somethin’ way out there on the water.”

  Jill jumped up and ran to the windows. “Probably a whale. Nana says sometimes you can see them breach out front.”

  “There, see?” Quarry pointed to a shadow off the point. “If it were a whale breachin’, it would have disappeared by now.”

  Jill could only see dark waves. “Don’t they come in schools?”

  “Pods,” Wendy joined them. “Whales are in pods.”

  “What I mean is, if there’s one we may see others. Let’s go up to the widow’s walk and watch.” Jill ran to the stairs. “Come on!”

  The trio raced up the stairway leading to the lookout. “Be careful,” Jill said as she led the way to the rooftop. She tugged at the heavy bolt, then pushed the hatch door open.

  “This is some sight!” Quarry exclaimed when they stepped onto the deck. “It’s ’bout as good a view as from the top o’ the lighthouse. You can even see the entrance to Frenchman’s Cove from here.”

  “Where’s that?” Wendy asked.

  “Over there on the other side o’ those cliffs.” Quarry pointed. “It’s a nice gunkhole.”

  “What’s a gunkhole?” Jill asked.

  “It’s a hidden harbor—bigger ’n an eel rut.”

  “Speak English, Quarry!” Jill exclaimed. “I don’t understand you!”

  “I’m talkin’ English, for Pete’s sake!” Quarry spouted.

  “It’s just Maine talk,” Wendy said to Jill. Then, addressing Quarry, she said, “Now explain what an eel rut is.”

  “An eel rut’s a tiny inlet. But Frenchman’s Cove is deep—a gunkhole. It’s got the deepest water round here. In fact, I heard say it’s the only natural fjord in North America.”

  “What’s a fjord?” Jill asked.

  “Danged if I know.” Quarry laughed. “A hole, I reckon.”

  “It’s a deep gorge under the water,” Wendy said. “Norway is known for its fjords.”

  “You’re right smart, Wendy,” Quarry said. “Anyways, Frenchman’s Cove’s deserted. No way to get in or out of there by foot, ’cept by an old path through the woods.”

  Jill went to the railing. “There! I see something moving through the waves! Look! In that glow on the water from the lighthouse beam. See?”

  Quarry squinted his eyes. “That ain’t no whale.”

  “I don’t see it,” said Wendy.

  Jill scanned the water. “Neither do I, now.”

  “Was it a boat?” asked Wendy.

  “Maybe, but it had no lights,” Jill answered.

  “Sometimes fishermen come back to the harbor without lights. That way they can’t be spotted by enemy subs. You know, U-boats,” Quarry explained.

  “U-boats. Unterseeboote,” Wendy said. “That’s German for …”

  “Undersea boats,” said Jill wearily. “That’s easy enough to figure out.”

  “There are no enemy subs around here,” Wendy scoffed. “They’re out on the ocean looking for warships, not fishermen.”

  “We got a Naval Intelligence Radio Intercept Station just down the road a piece. They’re listenin’ for subs all the time,” said Quarry. “If there was any U-boats out there, they’d be in touch with each other by radio. The naval base’d hear anything comin’ across on radio waves.”

  “So you’re sure there are no U-boats around here?” Jill asked.

  “Positive,” said Quarry. “My pa would have heard somethin’ about it from the coast guard. He hears all the news. That’s how I found out about the ship that was lost t’other night. It’d be dumb for U-boats to be cruisin’ these here parts, with the navy listenin’ right up the road. Wendy’s right. U-boats ain’t interested in fishermen.”

  “Well, whatever it was, it’s gone,” said Jill. “Let’s go downstairs. I’m getting cold.”

  “But it’s so pretty out here,” said Wendy, holding her skirt and twirling around. “I wish I were a bird. I’d fly right to the moon.” As she pranced, her d
ress fluttered in the breeze like wings. “Come on and dance, Quarry!” she teased, tugging him by his sleeve.

  Quarry pulled away. “Aw, for Pete’s sake, Wendy. Cut it out.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Jill said. “I’m freezing.”

  “How about makin’ some cocoa, Jill?” Quarry suggested.

  “Okay.” Jill turned once more to the east. Mom must have made it safely across the Gulf. What was it that people who have sons fighting in the war said? No news is good news. Jill would have heard if something bad had happened, wouldn’t she? But Mom still had to cross the dangerous waters once more, when she came back to the States.

  Please don’t let the U-boats find Mom’s ship, Jill prayed silently.

  Truth, Dare, Consequences, Promise, or Repeat

  Jill made hot chocolate and served it in china teacups. Quarry pretended to be a French waiter with a tea towel folded over one arm. He took Jill’s vase of flowers and placed them in the center of the table. Jill was tempted to ask if he had sent them but changed her mind. He bowed deeply and served the cocoa to the girls at the kitchen table. “Here you are, mademoiselles,” he said, faking a French accent.

  Wendy giggled. “Aunt Adrie should hire you for our tearoom, monsieur.” She began talking about her friends in New York. “My best friend back home is Barbara. Her father is a senator. Barbara is a debutante. She had a huge coming-out party and of course I was invited. I wore a gorgeous full-length dress of sheer white georgette.”

  Jill wondered what georgette was. She also wondered how much of Wendy’s story was true. But it didn’t really matter. Wendy and Quarry were fun and it seemed that Winter Haven might be a nice place to spend the summer after all.

  “Tell me what goes on here in the summer,” Jill asked.

  “Well, you know ’bout the Fourth of July clambake comin’ up this Saturday,” Quarry began. “That’ll be down on the beach. O’course there won’t be fireworks ’cause of the war, but everyone in town’ll be there. Then Saturday night dances will be startin’ up next week at Grange Hall. They’re lotsa fun.”

  “I went to those dances a couple of times last year, but the girls who live here are snobs.” Wendy pushed her nose up with her finger. “They called me ‘one of those summercaters.’”