The rain was coming down now at a fast, slicing pace.
“I think the sheets are already wet, Senator.”
“You’re probably right. Forget it.”
Ruth ran back to Mrs. Pommeroy’s house through the rain, which was now pounding down. She found Mrs. Pommeroy with her sister Kitty, upstairs in the big bedroom, pulling clothes out of the closet. Kitty, watching her sister, was sitting on the bed. She was drinking coffee, which Ruth knew to be spiked with gin. Ruth rolled her eyes. She was getting fed up with Kitty’s drinking.
“I should just sew something new,” Mrs. Pommeroy was saying. “But I don’t have the time!” Then, “There’s my Ruth. Oh, you’re soaking wet.”
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a pretty dress.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I’ve been invited somewhere.”
“Where?” Ruth asked.
Kitty Pommeroy started laughing, followed by Mrs. Pommeroy.
“Ruth,” she said, “you’ll never believe it. We’re going to a wedding on Courne Haven. Tomorrow!”
“Tell her who said so!” Kitty Pommeroy shouted.
“Pastor Wishnell!” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “He’s invited us over.”
“Get out of here.”
“I am getting out of here!”
“You and Kitty are going to Courne Haven?”
“Sure. And you, too.”
“Me?”
“He wants you there. Babe Wishnell’s daughter is getting married, and I’m doing her hair! And you two are my helpers. We’re going to open a little temporary salon.”
“Well, la-di-dah,” Ruth said.
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Pommeroy.
That night, Ruth asked her father whether she could go to Courne Haven for a big Wishnell wedding. He did not answer right away. They were talking less and less lately, the father and daughter.
“Pastor Wishnell invited me,” she said.
“Do whatever you want,” Stan Thomas said. “I don’t care who you spend your time with.”
Pastor Wishnell sent Owney to pick up everyone the next day, which was Saturday. At seven in the morning of Dotty Wishnell and Charlie Burden’s wedding, Mrs. Pommeroy and Kitty Pommeroy and Ruth Thomas walked to the end of the dock and found Owney waiting for them. He rowed Kitty and Mrs. Pommeroy out to the New Hope. Ruth enjoyed watching him. He came back for her, and she climbed down the ladder and hopped into his rowboat. He was looking at the bottom of the boat, not at her, and Ruth could not think of a single thing to say to him. But she did like looking at him. He rowed toward his uncle’s gleaming mission boat, where Mrs. Pommeroy and Kitty, leaning over the rail, were waving like tourists on a cruise. Kitty shouted, “Looking good, kid!”
“How’s everything going?” Ruth asked Owney.
He was so startled by her question that he stopped rowing; he just let the oars sit on the water.
“I’m fine,” he said. He was staring at her. He wasn’t blushing, and he didn’t seem embarrassed.
“Good,” said Ruth.
They bobbed on the water for a moment.
“I’m fine, too,” said Ruth.
“OK,” said Owney.
“You can keep rowing if you want.”
“OK,” said Owney, and he started to row again.
“Are you related to the bride?” Ruth asked, and Owney stopped rowing.
“She’s my cousin,” Owney said. They bobbed on the water.
“You can row and talk to me at the same time,” Ruth said, and now Owney did blush. He took her out to the boat without saying another word.
“He’s cute,” Mrs. Pommeroy whispered to Ruth when she climbed onto the deck of the New Hope.
“Look who’s here!” Kitty Pommeroy shrieked, and Ruth turned around to see Cal Cooley stepping out of the captain’s bridge.
Ruth let out a scream of horror that was only partly a joke. “For God’s sake,” she said. “He’s everywhere.”
Kitty threw her arms around her old lover, and Cal extricated himself. “That’s quite enough.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ruth asked.
“Supervising,” Cal said. “And nice to see you, too.”
“How did you get here?”
“Owney rowed me out earlier. Old Cal Cooley certainly did not swim.”
It was a quick trip to Courne Haven Island, and when they got off the boat, Owney led them to a lemon-yellow Cadillac parked by the dock.
“Whose car is this?” Ruth asked.
“My uncle’s.”
It matched the house, as it turned out. Pastor Wishnell lived a short drive from the Courne Haven dock, in a beautiful house, yellow with lavender trim. It was a three-story Victorian with a tower and a circular porch; bright blooming plants hung from hooks, placed three feet apart, around the entire porch. The slate walkway to the house was lined with lilies. The pastor’s garden, in the back of the house, was a little museum of roses, surrounded by a low brick wall. On the drive over, Ruth had noticed a few other homes on Courne Haven Island, equally nice. Ruth hadn’t been to Courne Haven since she was a little girl, too young to notice the differences between it and Fort Niles.
“Who lives in the big houses?” she asked Owney.
“Summer people,” Cal Cooley answered. “You’re lucky not to have them on Fort Niles. Mr. Ellis keeps them away. One of the many nice things Mr. Ellis does for you. Summer people are vermin.”
It was summer people, too, who owned the sailboats and the speedboats that surrounded the island. On the trip over, Ruth had seen two silvery speedboats darting across the water. They were so close to each other, the head of one boat seemed to be kissing the ass of the other. They looked like two dragonflies, chasing each other around, trying to have sex in the salty air.
Pastor Wishnell set up Mrs. Pommeroy to cut hair in his back garden, right in front of a white trellis of pink roses. He had brought out a stool and a small side table, where she placed her scissors and combs and a tall glass of water in which to dip the combs. Kitty Pommeroy sat on the low brick wall and had herself a few cigarettes. She buried the butts in the soil under the roses when she thought nobody was looking. Owney Wishnell was sitting on the steps of the back porch in his strangely clean fisherman’s clothes, and Ruth went to sit beside him. He kept his hands on his knees, and she could see the curling gold filaments of hair on his knuckles. They were such clean hands. She wasn’t used to seeing men with clean hands.
“How long has you uncle lived here?” she asked.
“Forever.”
“This doesn’t look like a house he’d live in. Does somebody else live here?”
“Me.”
“Anyone else?”
“Mrs. Post.”
“Who’s Mrs. Post?”
“She takes care of the house.”
“Shouldn’t you be helping your friends over there?” Cal Cooley asked. He’d come up behind them on the porch without making a sound. Now he lowered his tall body and sat next to Ruth so that she was between the two men.
“I don’t think they need any help, Cal.”
“Your uncle wants you to head back over to Fort Niles, Owney,” Cal Cooley said. “He needs you to pick up Mr. Ellis for the wedding.”
“Mr. Ellis is coming to this wedding?” Ruth asked.
“He is.”
“He never comes over here.”
“Regardless. Owney, it’s time to push off. I’m going with you.”
“May I go with you?” Ruth asked Owney.
“You certainly may not,” said Cal.
“I didn’t ask you, Cal. May I go with you, Owney?”
But Pastor Wishnell was approaching, and when Owney saw him, he quickly jumped off the steps and said to his uncle, “I’m going. I’m going right now.”
“Hurry,” said the pastor as he walked up the steps and onto the porch. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Ruth, Mrs. Pommeroy is going to need your help.”