Ruth’s husband and her father were making a fortune fishing together. Owney was Stan’s sternman for two years; then he bought his own boat (a fiberglass boat, the first one on either island; Ruth had talked him into it), but he and Stan still shared profits. They formed their own corporation. Stan Thomas and Owney Wishnell made a dazzling couple. They were fishing wizards. There weren’t enough hours in the day for all the lobsters they were pulling out of the ocean. Owney was a gifted fisherman, a natural fisherman. He came home to Ruth every afternoon with a sort of a glow, a hum, a low buzz of contentment and success. He came home every afternoon satisfied and proud and wanting sex in the worst way, and Ruth liked that. She liked that a lot.
As for Ruth, she too was content. She was satisfied and enormously proud of herself. As far as she was concerned, she pretty much kicked ass. Ruth loved her husband and her little boy, but mostly she loved her business. She loved the lobster pound and bait dealership, and she was pleased as punch with herself for having put together the co-op and for having convinced those big strong lobstermen to join it. All those men, who’d never before had a good word to say about one another! She’d offered them something so smart and efficient that even they had seen the worth of it. And business was great. Now Ruth was thinking about setting up fuel pumps on the docks of both islands. It would be an expensive investment, but it was sure to pay off fast. And she could afford it. She was making a lot of money. She was proud of that, too. She wondered, more than a little smugly, what had become of all her horsey classmates from that ridiculous school in Delaware. They’d probably just got out of college and were getting engaged to pampered idiots at this very moment. Who knew? Who cared?
More than anything, Ruth had a big sense of pride when she thought of her mother and the Ellises, who had tried so hard to drive her away from this place. They had insisted that there was no future for Ruth on Fort Niles, when, as things had turned out, Ruth was the future here. Yes, she was pretty content.
Ruth got pregnant again in the early winter of 1982, when she was twenty-four and David was a quiet five-year-old who spent most of his day trying not to get clobbered by Opal and Robin Pommeroy’s enormous son, Eddie.
“We’re going to have to move out of the apartment now,” Ruth said to her husband when she was sure she was pregnant. “And I don’t want to live in any of the old crappers down on the harbor. I’m sick of being cold all the time. Let’s build our own house. Let’s build a house that makes sense. A big one.”
She knew exactly where she wanted it to be. She wanted to live way up on Ellis Hill, way up at the top of the island, above the quarries, looking out over Worthy Channel and Courne Haven Island. She wanted a grand house and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She wanted the view and the prestige of the view. Of course, Mr. Ellis owned the land. He owned pretty much all the good land on Fort Niles, so Ruth would have to talk to him if she was serious about building up there. And she was serious. As her pregnancy went on and the apartment began to feel smaller and smaller, Ruth grew even more serious.
Which is why, seven months pregnant and with her little boy in tow, Ruth Thomas-Wishnell drove her father’s truck all the way up the Ellis Road one afternoon in June of 1982, finally seeking a meeting with Mr. Lanford Ellis.
Lanford Ellis had turned a century old that year. His health was hardly robust. He was all alone in Ellis House, that massive structure of black granite, fit for a mausoleum. He hadn’t left Fort Niles in six years. He spent his days by the fireplace in his bedroom, with a blanket around his legs, sitting in the chair that had belonged to his father, Dr. Jules Ellis.
Every morning, Cal Cooley set up a card table near Mr. Ellis’s chair and brought over his stamp albums, a strong lamp, and a powerful magnifying lens. Some of the stamps in the albums were old and valuable and had been collected by Dr. Jules Ellis. Every morning, Cal would make a fire in the fireplace, no matter the season, because Mr. Ellis was always cold. So that was where he was sitting the day Cal Cooley ushered in Ruth.
“Hello, Mr. Ellis,” she said. “It’s nice to see you.”
Cal directed Ruth to a plush chair, stirred up the fire, left the room. Ruth lifted her little boy onto her lap, which was not easy, because she didn’t have much of a lap these days. She looked at the old man. She could hardly believe he was alive. He looked dead. His eyes were shut. His hands were blue.
“Granddaughter!” Mr. Ellis said. His eyes snapped open, grotesquely magnified behind enormous, insectoid glasses.
Ruth’s son, who was not a coward, flinched. Ruth took a lollipop from her bag, unwrapped it, and put it in David’s mouth. Sugar pacifier. She wondered why she’d brought her son to see this specter. That may have been a mistake, but she was used to taking David with her everywhere. He was such a good kid, so uncomplaining. She should have thought this out better. Too late now.
“You were supposed to come to dinner on Thursday, Ruth,” said the old man.
“Thursday?”
“A Thursday in July of 1976.” He cracked a sly grin.
“I was busy,” Ruth said, and smiled winningly, or so she hoped.
“You’ve cut your hair, girl.”
“I have.”
“You’ve put on weight.” His head bobbed faintly all the time.
“Well, I have a pretty good excuse. I’m expecting another child.”
“I’ve not yet met your first.”
“This is David, Mr. Ellis. This is David Thomas Wishnell.”
“Nice to meet you, young man.” Mr. Ellis stretched out a trembling arm toward Ruth’s boy, offering to shake hands. David scrunched against his mother in terror. The lollipop fell out of his shocked mouth. Ruth picked it up and popped it back in. Mr. Ellis’s arm retreated.
“I want to talk to you about buying some land,” Ruth said. What she really wanted was to get this meeting behind her as quickly as possible. “My husband and I would like to build a house here on Ellis Hill, right near here. I have a reasonable sum to offer…”
Ruth trailed off because she was alarmed. Mr. Ellis was suddenly coughing with a strangling sound. He was choking, and his face was turning purple. She didn’t know what to do. Should she get Cal Cooley? She had a quick and calculating thought: she didn’t want Lanford Ellis to die before the land deal was settled.
“Mr. Ellis?” she said, and started to get up.
The trembling arm stretched out again, waving her away. “Sit down,” he said. He took a deep breath, and the coughing started again. No, Ruth realized, he wasn’t coughing. He was laughing. How perfectly horrible.
He stopped, at last, and wiped his eyes. He shook his old turtle head. He said, “You certainly aren’t afraid of me any longer, Ruth.”
“I never was afraid.”
“Nonsense. You were petrified.” A small, white spit-dot flew from his lips and landed on one of his stamp albums. “But no longer. And good for you. I must say, Ruth, I am pleased with you. I am proud of all you’ve accomplished here on Fort Niles. I have been watching your progress with great interest.”