“How long are you going to be around?” he asked.
“Until the second week of September.”
“That’s right. That’s when they-you-always leave.”
“That’s right.”
“I want to see you again,” he said.
She laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I’m going to want to do this again. I like holding your hand. When can I see you again?”
Mary thought silently for a few minutes and then said, in an open way, “I’d like to see you some more, too, Mr. Thomas.”
“Good. Call me Stan.”
“Yes.”
“So when can I see you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’m probably going to want to see you tomorrow. What about tomorrow? How can I see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Is there any reason I can’t see you tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said, and turned to him suddenly with a look of near panic. “I don’t know!”
“You don’t know? Don’t you like me?”
“Yes, I do. I like you, Mr. Thomas. Stan.”
“Good. I’ll come by for you tomorrow around four o’clock. We’ll go for a drive.”
“Oh, my goodness.”
“That’s what we’re going to do,” said Stan Thomas. “Tell whoever you have to tell.”
“I don’t know that I have to tell anybody, but I don’t know whether I’ll have time to go for a drive.”
“Do whatever you have to do, then. Figure out a way. I really do want to see you. Hey! I insist on it!”
“Fine!” She laughed.
“Good. Am I still invited inside?”
“Of course!” Mary said. “Please do come inside!”
They got out of the truck, but Mary did not head up the walk to the grand front door. Dashing through the rain, she went around the side, and Stan Thomas chased her. She ran along the granite edge of the house, under the protection of the great eaves, and ducked inside a plain wooden door, holding it open for Stan. They were in a back hallway, and she took his slicker and hung it on a wall peg.
“We’ll go to the kitchen,” she said, and opened another door. A set of spiral iron stairs twisted down to a huge, old-fashioned cellar kitchen. There was a massive stone fireplace with iron hooks and pots and crevices that looked as though they were still being used for baking bread. One wall was lined with sinks, another with stoves and ovens. Bundled herbs hung from the ceilings, and the floor was clean worn tile. At the wide pine table in the center of the room sat a tiny middle-aged woman with short red hair and a keen face, nimbly snipping beans into a silver bowl.
“Hello, Edith,” said Mary.
The woman nodded her hello and said, “She wants you.”
“She does!”
“She keeps calling down for you.”
“Since what time?”
“Since all afternoon.”
“Oh, but I was busy returning all the chairs and tables,” Mary said, and she rushed over to one of the sinks, washed her hands in a speedy blur, and patted them dry on her slacks.
“She doesn’t know you’re back yet, Mary,” said the woman named Edith, “so you may as well have a cup of coffee and a seat.”
“I should really see what she needs.”
“What about your friend here?”
“Stan!” Mary said, and spun to look at him. Clearly, she had forgotten he was there. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to sit here and warm up with you, after all.”
“Have a cup of coffee and a seat, Mary,” said Edith, still snipping the beans. Her voice was commanding. “She doesn’t know you’re back yet.”
“Yes, Mary, have a cup of coffee and a seat,” said Stan Thomas, and Edith the bean-snipper flashed him a sidelong look. It was a fast snatch of a look, but it took in a whole lot of information.
“And why don’t you have a seat, sir?” Edith said.
“Thank you, ma’am, I will.” He sat.
“Get your guest a cup of coffee, Mary.”
Mary winced. “I can’t,” she said. “I have to check on Miss Vera.”
“She won’t die if you sit here for five minutes and dry off,” Edith said.
“I can’t!” Mary said. She flashed past Stan Thomas and Edith, right out the kitchen door. They heard her quick footsteps fluttering up the stairs as she called out, “Sorry!” and she was gone.
“I guess I can get the coffee for myself,” Stan Thomas said.
“I’ll get it for you. This is my kitchen.”
Edith left the beans and poured Stan a cup of coffee. Without asking how he took it, she added a splash of cream and did not offer any sugar, which was fine with him. She made herself a cup of the same.
“Are you courting her?” she asked, after she sat down. She was looking at him with a suspicion she made no attempt to mask.
“I only just met her.”
“Are you interested in her?”
Stan Thomas did not answer, but he raised his eyebrows in ironic surprise.
“I don’t have any advice for you, you know,” Edith said.
“You don’t have to give me any advice.”
“Somebody should.”
“Somebody like who?”
“You know, she’s already married, Mr.-?”
“Thomas. Stan Thomas.”
“She’s already married, Mr. Thomas.”
“No. She doesn’t wear a ring. She didn’t say anything.”
“She’s married to that old bitch up there.” Edith thrust a thin yellow thumb at the ceiling. “See how she scampers away even before she’s called?”
“Can I ask you a question?” Stan said. “Who the hell is she?”
“I don’t like your mouth,” Edith said, although her tone did not suggest she minded it all that much. She sighed. “Mary is technically Miss Vera’s niece. But she’s really her slave. It’s a family tradition. It was the same thing with her mother, and that poor woman only got out of the slavery by drowning. Mary’s mother was the one who got swept off by the wave back in twenty-seven. They never found her body. You heard about that?”
“I heard about that.”
“Oh, God, I’ve told this story a million times. Dr. Ellis adopted Jane as a playmate for his little girl-who is now that screaming pain-in-my-hole upstairs. Jane was Mary’s mother. She got pregnant by some Italian quarry worker. It was a scandal.”
“I heard something about it.”
“Well, they tried to keep it quiet, but people do like a good scandal.”
“They sure like a good one around here.”
“So she drowned, you know, and Miss Vera took over the baby and raised that little girl to be her helper, to replace the mother. And that’s who Mary is. And I, for one, cannot believe that the people who watch out for children allowed it.”
“What people who watch out for children?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t believe it’s legal for a child to be born into slavery in this day and age.”
“You don’t mean slavery.”
“I know exactly what I mean, Mr. Thomas. We all sat here in this house watching it come to pass, and we asked ourselves why nobody put a stop to it.”
“Why didn’t you put a stop to it?”
“I’m a cook, Mr. Thomas. I’m not a police officer. And what do you do? No, I’m sure I know. You live here, so of course you’re a fisherman.”
“Yes.”
“You make good money?”
“Good enough.”
“Good enough for what?”
“Good enough for around here.”
“Is your job dangerous?”
“Not too bad.”
“Would you like a real drink?”
“I sure would.”
Edith the cook went to a cabinet, moved around some bottles, and came back with a silver flask. She poured amber liquid from it into two clean coffee cups. She gave one to Stan. “You’re not a drunk, are you?” she asked.
“Are you?”
“Very funny, with my workload. Very funny.” Edith stared at Stan Thomas narrowly. “And you never married anyone from around here?”