“Robert, you’re a hero. Are you all right?” I asked.
“I am.”
I looked down at his sopping outfit. “I’m going to tell your parents how brave you were.”
He hung his head, his hair dripping. He’s a robust boy who has already absorbed many lessons of good character from his sturdy parents. He brought his feet parallel, so he was standing gracefully locked into a good posture.
“Snakes eat chipmunks,” he told Nan. Then he mimicked the action. She watched him and soon sat up. “The chipmunk is dead.” He sliced his hand across his throat. She looked at him quizzically.
“What about the snake?” I asked.
“It got a bath it didn’t expect.”
I laughed. When had he grown up enough to have such a sense of humor?
“It will go off when it warms up.”
“Oh.” I never like thinking of snakes in the meadow. He deserved a success, though.
He picked up the chipmunk and pointed toward the graveyard. “Shall we bury it?” he said to Nan. “Is it all right?” he asked me.
“Yes, go ahead, Robert. Put it in the pet section.” I looked at Nan. “Don’t pick up wild animals. They can hurt you.”
She nodded.
“Please tell me you understand.”
She looked at Robert—for help. He and I looked at each other, and I waited for a response or explanation. He’s a handsome boy now with a guileless mouth. His hair has already darkened. I suspect it will be a deep brown, like Hiram’s. Scottish hair.
“Miss Lee, she doesn’t talk much.”
“What do you mean?”
“She understands, but she doesn’t talk.”
“Is she deaf?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. He let go of her hand and walked around behind her. “Hello,” he said quietly. She turned and smiled at him. Smiled! The murderous little beast was flirting! He moved back beside her again and gave her a squeeze around the shoulders.
“Can she make sounds?” I asked.
“Yes. She knows a few words.”
“That’s odd. She should have a vocabulary by now. You did, when you were her age. I remember a discussion we had about the tides.” I told him the moon controlled them, and he wanted more information. I did what adults do and explained in spite of my ignorance on the subject, when I should have said I don’t know. Polly is better about questions, probably as a reaction to Dick’s know-it-all attitude. She takes her troop to the library when she doesn’t have an answer. That sets a good example. I must try not to feel so much shame when I don’t know something.
“I remember that, too, Miss Lee.”
“Why doesn’t she speak?” I asked. “Does it have to do with her father?” Maybe he had a problem, and that was why they hadn’t come to tea.
“He can speak,” Robert said.
The child was swinging her toe through the grass, tamping down a half moon.
“Nan.” I leaned down closer to her face. I pointed to myself. “I am Miss Lee.”
Next, I pointed to Robert and said his name. Then I pointed to her and looked quizzical. “Nan,” she said, though the second N was weak so it sounded like Nah. I repeated it. Continuing to point around our small gathering, “Nan. Robert. Miss Lee.” She said W for R, Wobert, then she said Miss Lee so beautifully I clapped.
Suddenly I said, “Now try Agnes.”
“Agnes,” she imitated.
“That’s also my name. My Christian name. Agnes Lee, and you are Nan Reed.” I turned to Robert. “You may call me Agnes, too.”
“Thank you, Miss Lee.”
I sighed. It isn’t going to be easy to implement a more egalitarian regime around here. I wish you could help me, Elspeth. If there were two of us, we’d be more convincing. Your certainty would disguise my impatience.
“All right,” I said, “for now. But I’d like you to consider it. Now tell me what else you know about her father.”
Nan reached for the chipmunk, but Robert pulled it away. “It’s dead, remember? We’re going to bury it now. May we be excused?” he asked me.
“All right, Robert. Your mother will put a snack out for the two of you on the porch. Please come eat when you’re finished.”
“Thank you, Miss Lee.”
“Agnes.”
He took the girl’s hand and they walked across the meadow toward the graveyard. I went back inside and asked Mrs. Circumstance to make a snack for the children. “Robert’s a good boy,” I said.
“I’d have picked him,” she said, “if I’d a choice. But you don’t know who they’ll be, and they come as themselves, fully formed.”
I headed upstairs and sat at my desk to write letters and pay bills, but my thoughts were jumpy and furious. It was one thing for Virgil Reed to be antisocial, but he should think about his daughter! If she can speak, she should be taught how. I have read about Chomsky’s theories of a universal grammar—her innate capability should be brought out. What Robert told me sounded like neglect. Had Polly and I allowed our manners and respect for privacy to blind us?
I looked across the meadow at the children. Robert had Nan kneeling and praying, which would have made me smile another time. Now I was both nervous and furious. I got up from my chair and was propelled up the road by rage. The tiny cabin loomed like a monster’s castle. Elspeth, I knocked on his door. It felt odd to do that, when I’d had free passage for so many years. I didn’t know what I was going to say to him, but I was ready to say something. No response. His car was parked on the road, so he must be inside. I knocked again. No answer. My thoughts raced and burst. I dug my nails into my palms. I knocked a third time. Silence. It had to be deliberate. I placed my ear against the door and listened for any sound of movement. Still nothing. So I spoke. “Mr. Reed, your daughter nearly fell into the sea. You should be watching her. I can’t be responsible.” As far as I knew I was talking to myself, but I gave my lecture anyway. I wished I’d brought a piece of paper, and a hammer and nail so, Luther-like, I could nail it to his door.
I finally gave up. When I returned to the house, Robert and Nan were sitting on the porch, eating sandwiches. I asked him to walk her home when they’d finished.
Now, dear sister, I’m too tired to write any longer tonight. I’ll leave you with the assurance of how happy I am to be in touch with you, and grateful to whatever good elf came while I was asleep last night to give me the idea of writing to you. You were with me today, racing off the porch. I felt your urgent need to do what is right.
Still September, a week later
Dear Elspeth,
I thought I knew Leeward Cottage completely, every nook and nuance, but now that I am doing an inventory it amazes me how much I stopped seeing or never saw. The house that I believed was a regular lived-in home turns out to also be a museum of the penchants of our ancestors. Nothing has been culled in decades. The drawers in the dining room and pantry are chocked with forks, knives, spoons, dozens of linen napkins, many yellowed and threadbare. Way too many sets of plates sit on the shelves, some chipped, some glued. The rooms and the attic are crammed with furniture—we must have walked an extra mile or two a day just circumventing the obstacles. There are drawers full of prints and photographs, never framed or put into albums, and tennis rackets, golf clubs, badminton and croquet sets, every single item in multiples. And mahogany! I loathe it. Now I can sell it if I like. I must decide how sentimental I am about family heirlooms. Not at all, I think.