The snow began in the middle of October. It was going to be an early winter. The men pulled their traps out of the water for good much earlier than they liked to, but it was getting harder to go out there and deal with the ice-caked gear, the frozen hands. The leaves were off the trees, and everyone could see Ellis House clearly on the top of the hill. At night, there were lights in the upstairs rooms.
In the middle of November, Ruth’s father came over to Mrs. Pommeroy’s house. It was four in the afternoon, and dark. Kitty Pommeroy, already blindly drunk, was sitting in the kitchen, staring at a pile of jigsaw puzzle pieces on the table. Robin and Opal’s little boy, Eddie, who had recently learned to walk, was standing in the middle of the kitchen in a soggy diaper. He held an open jar of peanut butter and a large wooden spoon, which he was dipping into the jar and then sucking. His face was covered with peanut butter and spit. He was wearing one of Ruth’s T-shirts-it looked like a dress on him-that read VARSITY. Ruth and Mrs. Pommeroy had been baking rolls, and the shocking-green kitchen radiated heat and smelled of bread, beer, and wet diapers.
“I’ll tell you,” Kitty was saying. “How many years was I married to that man and I never once refused him. That’s what I can’t understand, Rhonda. Why’d he have to step out on me? What’d Len want that I couldn’t give him?”
“I know, Kitty,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “I know, honey.”
Eddie dipped his spoon into the peanut butter and then, with a squeal, threw it across the kitchen floor. It skidded under the table.
“Jesus, Eddie,” said Kitty. She lifted the tablecloth, looking for the spoon.
“I’ll get it,” Ruth said, and got down on her knees and ducked under the table. The tablecloth fluttered down behind her. She found the spoon, covered with peanut butter and cat hair, and also found a full pack of cigarettes, which must have been Kitty’s.
“Hey, Kit,” she started to say, but stopped, because she heard her father’s voice, greeting Mrs. Pommeroy. Her father had actually come over! He hadn’t come over in months. Ruth sat up, under the table, leaned against its center post, and was very quiet.
“Stan,” Mrs. Pommeroy said, “how nice to see you.”
“Well, it’s about the fuck time you stopped by and saw your own goddamn daughter,” said Kitty Pommeroy.
“Hey, Kitty,” Stan said. “Is Ruth around?”
“Somewhere,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “Somewhere. She’s always around somewhere. It is nice to see you, Stan. Long time. Want a hot roll?”
“Sure. I’ll give one a try.”
“Were you out to haul this morning, Stan?”
“I had a look at ’em.”
“Keep any?”
“I kept a few. I think this is about it for everyone else, though. But I’ll probably stay out there for the winter. See what I can find. How’s everything over here?”
There was an attention-filled silence. Kitty coughed into her fist. Ruth made herself as small as she could under the large oak table.
“We’ve missed having you come by for dinner,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “You been eating with Angus Addams these days?”
“Or alone.”
“We always have plenty to eat over here, Stan. You’re welcome any time you like.”
“Thanks, Rhonda. That’s nice of you. I miss your cooking,” he said. “I was wondering if you know what Ruthie’s plans might be.”
Ruthie. Hearing this, Ruth had a touch of heartache for her father.
“I suppose you should talk to her about that yourself.”
“She say anything to you? Anything about college?”
“You should probably talk to her yourself, Stan.”
“People are wondering,” Stan said. “I got a letter from her mother.”
Ruth was surprised. Impressed, even.
“Is that right, Stan? A letter. That’s been a long time coming.”
“That’s right. She said she hasn’t heard from Ruth. She said she and Miss Vera were disappointed Ruth hadn’t made a decision about college. Has she made a decision?”
“I couldn’t say, Stan.”
“It’s too late for this year, of course. But her mother said maybe she could start after Christmas. Or maybe she could go next fall. It’s up to Ruth, I don’t know. Maybe she has other plans?”
“Should I leave?” Kitty asked. “You want to tell him?”
“Tell me what?”
Under the table, Ruth felt queasy.
“Kitty,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “Please.”
“He doesn’t know, right? You want to tell him in private? Who’s telling him? Is she going to tell him?”
“That’s OK, Kitty.”
“Tell him what?” Stan Thomas asked. “Tell me what in private?”
“Stan,” Mrs. Pommeroy said, “Ruth has something to tell you. Something you’re not going to like. You need to talk to her soon.”
Eddie staggered over to the kitchen table, lifted a corner of the tablecloth, and peeked in at Ruth, who was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest. He squatted over his huge diaper and stared at her. She stared back. His baby face had a puzzled look.
“I’m not going to like what?” Stan said.
“It’s really something Ruth should talk to you about, Stan. Kitty spoke too freely.”
“About what?”
Kitty said, “Well, guess what, Stan. What the hell. We think Ruth’s going to have a baby.”
“Kitty!” Mrs. Pommeroy exclaimed.
“What? Don’t holler at me. Christ’s sake, Rhonda, Ruth doesn’t have the guts to tell him. Get it the hell over with. Look at the poor guy, wondering what the hell’s going on.”
Stan Thomas said nothing. Ruth listened. Nothing.
“She hasn’t told anyone but us,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “Nobody knows about it, Stan.”
“They’ll know soon enough,” Kitty said. “She’s getting fat as all hell.”
“Why?” Stan Thomas asked blankly. “Why do you think my daughter’s having a baby?”
Eddie crawled under the kitchen table with Ruth, and she handed him his filthy peanut butter spoon. He grinned at her.
“Because she hasn’t had her period in four months and she’s getting fat!” Kitty said.
“I know this is upsetting,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “I know it’s hard, Stan.”
Kitty snorted in disgust. “Don’t worry about Ruth!” she put in, loudly, firmly. “This is no big deal!”
Silence hung in the room.
“Come on!” Kitty said. “There’s nothing to having a baby! Tell him, Rhonda! You had about twenty of ’em! Easy breezy! Anyone with clean hands and common sense can do it!”
Eddie stuck the spoon in his mouth, pulled it out, let forth a delighted howl. Kitty lifted the tablecloth and peered in. She started to laugh.
“Didn’t even know you was there, Ruth!” Kitty shouted. “Forgot all about you!”
EPILOGUE
Giants are met with in all the higher groups of animals. They interest us not only on account of their absolute size, but also in showing to what degree individuals may surpass the mean average of their race. It may be a question whether lobsters which weigh from 20-25 pounds are to be regarded as giants in the technical sense, or simply as sound and vigorous individuals on whose side fortune has always fought in the struggle of life. I am inclined to the latter view, and to look upon the mammoth lobster simply as a favorite of nature, who is larger than his fellows because he is their senior. Good luck has never deserted him.
– The American Lobster: A Study of Its Habits and Development Francis Hobart Herrick, Ph.D. 1895
BY THE SUMMER OF 1982, the Skillet County Fishing Cooperative was doing a pretty good business for the three dozen lobstermen of Fort Niles Island and Courne Haven Island who had joined it. The office of the cooperative was located in the sunny front room of what had once been the Ellis Granite Company Store but was now the Intra-Island Memorial Museum of Natural History. The cooperative’s founder and manager was a competent young woman named Ruth Thomas-Wishnell. Over the past five years, Ruth had bullied and cajoled her relatives and most of her neighbors into entering the delicate network of trust that made the Skillet County Co-op successful.