Fortune's rocks_ a novel - Anita Shreve [32]
All along the hallways of the cottage is a cacophony of sound — children crying, women speaking excitedly in a foreign tongue, Josiah and the other servants moving briskly from room to room. A copper tub is set up in the kitchen, a cloth hastily erected. Olympia’s job is to bathe the children, female and male alike; and thus she observes that even the most stringent of mores, kept highly polished in normal times, may be quickly abandoned in times of crisis.
By mid-morning, some order has been established. Olympia is bathing a small girl with silver curls whose name may or may not be Anna. Though Olympia has little verbal communication with the child, they manage to convey a great deal by way of an inventive soap sculpture of a sailing vessel that floats for a time and then disappears into the cloudy water. As small children will, the girl seems recovered from her near fatal mishap, and she appears to be, for the moment, simply enjoying her bath. As Olympia kneels before the tub, enduring the child’s brief annoyance when she washes her hair, she hears a sound behind her. When she turns, she sees that John Haskell has entered the room.
“Do not let me disturb you,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He leans against a pine table and crosses his arms. He seems tired, which she knows he must be. He has hours ago changed into dry clothes, although his hair is somewhat unkempt.
Shielding the child’s face with her hand, Olympia pours another pitcher of water over the silvery head. The girl squeals and fidgets, encouraging her to finish the task with dispatch. Through an open window, Olympia notes the ribs of the unfortunate barque, a sight that calls to mind the skeleton of a beached and stripped whale. And how strange it is to see the lifesaving station, which was the locus of such frenetic activity just hours earlier, rendered tame and even charming in the sunlight. The building is a handsome structure with many wide windows and a large tower with a widow’s walk. Intricate carvings decorate the eaves of the red roof, which rises to a sharp peak. How tidy and neat the scene appears, she thinks. And how unapologetic Nature seems to be in her calm indifference.
“It was a brave effort,” Haskell says.
“Yes.”
“Sixty-five souls saved, and only one lifesaving officer lost. That is” — he calculates a moment — “slightly less than fifty percent of the ship’s passengers and crew saved and only eight percent of the lifesavers lost.”
She ponders his calculations.
“Were I the wife of the man who was lost,” she says, “I might consider that poor return for the risk, for to me and my children the loss would be one hundred percent.”
He studies her for a moment. “I think you quite beyond your years in understanding,” he says. She flushes with pleasure, though later she will wonder if the remark did not contain more hope than accuracy.
“What of the others?” she asks quickly.
“We have several with broken bones, one with a serious injury to the neck that may leave the man paralyzed. Philbrick is even now trying to arrange to have the injured and sick transferred to the hospital at Rye, but Mason has declared the house quarantined and has said that no one may leave.”
Haskell refers to the health inspector from Ely Falls, who arrived in the early hours. He comes to the tub and lifts the Norwegian girl from the water, the suds falling on his shirt. Olympia hands him a flannel, and he swaddles the girl in the cloth. He lays her on the kitchen table and examines her in a way Olympia finds thoughtful and gentle, despite the demands on his time and the sense of urgency all around them. She stands to one side, not certain whether to stay or to go, and in the end, indecision keeps her still.