Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [97]
“You think?” She looked away then so he couldn’t see her lips move. “They loved each other,” she whispered.
“You don’t say much. As I recall, it was hard to get the word out of him too. Like a gull on a rock he was, a real loner. Most he ever said to me, apart from when I was in school, was one day I was over to Aunt Peg’s. He said, ‘Learnin’ to read is the most important thing you’ll ever do in your whole life.’ I didn’t believe him at the time. Learnin’ to fish, read the weather, handle the boat, that’s what was important to me then. But I kept me mouth shut.”
“Was he right?”
“Well, girl, I know there’s truth to it for sure, but I don’t know that it’s more important than learnin’ to make a livin’.”
They were beyond the headland now and on the open sea. The boat rolled and dipped more violently, but while it was a bit unnerving, it was also exhilarating.
“I’m going outside on deck for a while.”
“Mind you hold that rail. You’re not used to the roll.”
She staggered to the rail, grabbing it tightly. The coast was far behind them now and she watched silently as the black streak of land and cliff gradually disappeared into the ocean. Parting from Peg had been difficult for Nora. She had developed a quiet but intense admiration for the gentle woman, who had taken her, with honest and endearing openness, through the depth and breadth of her life, sharing her most private and tender moments, her fears and anxieties, her simple need to love and be loved.
Nora watched as the water churned, boiling and frothing convulsively as it formed a perfect “V” in the wake of the boat. In the distance it dissipated and disappeared. For a long time she stood there, mesmerized by the constant motion, recalling bits and pieces of events related to the past few days. It would take weeks, even months or years, before she would be able to process it all and come to terms with what she had heard. Right now she couldn’t make up her mind if she admired the man in any way or even if she liked him. Her grip tightened as the boat pitched. She could certainly understand his rejection of the water; it was cold and inhospitable, constantly shifting, unpredictable and treacherous. She turned away and tottered back to the comparative safety of the cabin. Pat, at the wheel, was silent, scanning the horizon.
“All right?” He turned to look at her, concerned.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking, you know.”
“You’ll be anxious to see the old house. It’s lookin’ bad these days. Been picked over. Furniture stolen and the like.”
“Who would do the like of that?”
“Oh, youngsters out pokin’ about, nothin’ better to do. Sometimes people from away lookin’ for old stuff. Once a house is left empty, it don’t take long for it to fall apart. I’ll drop you to the wharf and you can follow the path around to Peg’s place. The graveyard is up over the hill. Nothing would do her, when Mr. Molloy died, but to have him buried right there on the island. I had to go dig a hole in the middle of November and the ground half froze, right on the spot she chose. Then she wanted a white painted rail all around it, and if that wasn’t enough, a special stone was ordered from St. John’s with some lines or other that he liked cut right onto the stone. You’ll see it above in the graveyard. In time it was all done as she wanted. He was to have a decent marker and that was all there was to it. I suppose she wanted it there in case, down the road when she was gone, the likes of you was to come lookin’ for the place he was buried.”
“You’re a good man, Pat. Peg is lucky to have you.” She fixed him with a straight honest look. “I’m grateful also. Thank you. I’m glad to know he didn’t leave the world alone and abandoned.”
He nodded and said no more but continued to scan the horizon. “There she is.” He was pointing.
“Where?”
“That way,” he said, “at two o’clock.”
She followed his gaze to the dark spot on the horizon. Like a mirage, the grey-black mound grew bigger and bigger. Nora stood, eyes glued to the spot,