The Watery Part of the World - Michael Parker [80]
Next morning just past dawn she sneaked down to the inlet and watched him off. Sarah was down at the dock with him, which wasn’t usual—Woodrow went about his business, Sarah went about hers, it was the way it was done on the island, black or white. Whaley stood a good ways up the lane and watched the two of them talking down on the dock, then hugging on each other, which made her feel guilty to witness. She felt a little bad to be out checking up on him anyway, though Woodrow didn’t always do what he said he was going to do and she wanted that dress and if he had not arrived at his boat toting coolers she’d more than likely have marched down there and reminded him. Right in front of Sarah. Just in case he forgot and all. Or Sarah talked him out of it, said to him (Whaley could just about hear her), Why you wasting your time on old sour Whaley, she want whatever it is so bad she can ride over there with you, you can pick her up tomorrow, why not? Whaley always assumed that Sarah undermined her loudly and with vehemence every chance she got. With the respect given to an opponent whose strength and patience is formidable, Whaley cared what Sarah thought. But there were only four of them left on this island now and somebody had to take charge and even though Woodrow and Sarah were each more capable than her little sister, it would not do to let them run things.
Besides, Woodrow was more comfortable being told what to do. The times she’d asked his opinion about something of importance to the four of them—to the island—he’d seemed reluctant to take charge. Too much responsibility made him nervous. Some people had no interest in leading; they were made to work behind the scenes. She had no illusions about what her life might be like without Woodrow, but they were a team, clearly. They worked together in their own inimitable, mysterious way. She’d never be able to explain it to Dr. Levinson and them because she was sure they’d judge her if she were honest—they’d figure her for a card-carrying member of the Klan—and if she were dishonest, if she pretended everything was equal, well, what would be the point of that? For years she’d avoided talking about her relationship with Woodrow and Sarah. When they’d asked she’d just smiled and changed the subject, and they knew better than to push.
After watching Woodrow load coolers in the boat, Whaley made herself scarce before Sarah caught her spying. She picked across the old Pollock place to check on the stock, down by that point to a dozen sheep, three cows, two ornery ponies. On the way across the island she happened to notice the sky, which had darkened to the south, though the highest clouds were a milky yellow. She thought of climbing a dune to study the sea, but she convinced herself that if it was to blow, it wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t seen before and more of it.
But when she came up on the stock she heard the ponies neighing, saw in the scuttling of sheep and the odd manic movements of all the animals some proof undeniable that it would be more than just the routine battering of wind and water.
Her daddy and other old-timers used to claim that if you saw a pig with a straw in its mouth, a bad storm was on its way. Whaley avoided going anywhere near Woodrow and Sarah’s where the only pigs on the island might be sucking on straws.
Back on the sound side of the island the day was calm, near windless. She put it out of her mind, tried to get some work done. But along about noon Maggie came in from God knows where and said, “It’s curious out there.”
Whaley, unable to resist, said, “How so?”
“No mosquitoes,” said Maggie.
“Wind changed,” said Whaley, her tone a shrug, a don’t-you-know-anything edge to her words.
“It’s fixing to blow,” said Maggie. “Where’s Woodrow?”
Whaley did not think it time to tell Maggie about the dress. She didn’t think that time would come, in fact. She said Woodrow was where he was always this time of the morning, out on the water. But she went a little further,