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17

Cadence

1942

W e all wore what Bess called our funeral faces as Margaret drove us to Menemsha to give Winnie and pals the bad news. I sat in the back seat, imagining the looks on their faces. Win and the Putnam ladies would be crushed by my inability to join them, and would exclaim that no one could sell the project as I could, and would insist on giving me a rain check for another time.

Why did some German have to wash up on our beach at that moment? His story seemed bogus. He’d suddenly embraced his deep Mennonite values and staged his own death in order to reunite with his supposedly sick grandmother and daughter? It wasn’t a stretch for him to assume Gram was a church lady. He’d made it all up to prey on her sympathies. And they all bought it so easily. I tried to picture the German, with his slender build and scraggly beard, in the simple clothes of the Mennonite faith, but it was hard to imagine. He was there for some other nefarious reason and would be the ruin of us all.

I watched Margaret as she drove. Would she blab about Peter to someone at the drugstore? We barely knew her. Though, as we drove, she didn’t seem all that concerned about the Peter situation and had seized the opportunity, with us trapped in the car, to review in detail the pros and cons of choosing Madame Bovary as our next month’s book-club pick. Bess, eager to stop her, tried turning the radio up, but Margaret just spoke over it.

“I know it’s a racy book and Ginny may not vote for it, but it’s a true classic, and I’d love to reread it and discuss.”

“We’ve all read it already,” Bess said.

“But that’s the beauty of it. We don’t need multiple copies. We can just discuss it. I do enjoy Flaubert.” She looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Did you know he used to yell the sentences he wrote, at the top of his lungs, to make sure they sounded right?”

“His neighbors must have enjoyed that,” Bess said.

“I’ve put together something for us to play called ‘book bingo,’ with so many good questions. Like: What annual event does Madame Bovary have in common with Martha’s Vineyard?” She paused. “The Agricultural Fair, right? Though not this year, of course, on account of the war, but isn’t that fun?”

“Eyes on the road, Margaret, dear,” Bess said.

I tuned them out, raking through my own difficulties. I wouldn’t be going to New York City on the yacht anytime soon, or at all. It had been a stupid pipe dream to begin with, since Gram needed a heart operation and, naturally, any extra funds had to go toward her procedure at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, not to me for running around Manhattan. Even if we didn’t have a German in our boathouse.

At least Briar was finding out more from Captain McManus and we would be done with Peter soon. I was desperate to have it behind us. With our property crawling with Army commandos, we played a dangerous game by harboring him, even for one day.

For moral support, I brought Bess and Margaret with me to the dock. I waved to Winnie as she walked toward us, sandals clacking, from the direction of what must have been the Putnam yacht, the seventy-foot cruiser parked alongside the distant dock.

“Wow, look at that,” Margaret said, gazing out at the yacht.

“Nice,” Bess said, unimpressed.

But I could barely breathe, confronted with all that seafaring magnificence. With her sleek white hull and teak deck, and Never Moor painted in gold leaf at her stern, that boat was a beauty and stood in almost comic contrast to the run-down swordfishing and lobstering boats around her.

Winnie was dressed for travel, in a yellow sundress, chic tortoiseshell sunglasses, and a navy-blue, polka-dotted silk scarf keeping her hair back, knotted at the nape.

She made it to us, and I introduced Bess and Margaret.

“Where’s your valise, for heaven’s sake?” Winnie asked me.

I handed her the booklet prototype and told her I wouldn’t be coming due to Gram’s ill health.

“Well, family comes first,” she said, taking the booklet. “I’m just along for the ride, but I’ll make sure Celia and Dolores know. They’ll be disappointed. No one can sell it the way one of you can.”

I smiled at that. “Thank you, Winnie, but—”

Margaret raised her hand. “I’ll go.”

We all turned to consider her. While I appreciated the gung-ho attitude for the cause, Margaret hadn’t conferred with Bess and me. And the thought of her taking my place on my dream trip didn’t sit well atall.

Bess perked up at that. “Great solution,” she said, clearly happy to be rid of her.

Winnie looked Margaret over and shrugged. “All right, then.”

“But you don’t have your overnight bag,” I said, part of me hoping that might derail the plan.

“Oh, we’ll pick up a few things for her,” Winnie said. “And don’t worry, we’ll have her back next week.”

“No rush,” Bess said, probably happy she didn’t have to play book bingo.

I took Margaret aside. “With the Peter situation…”

She held up her hand in a Boy Scout salute. “Mum’s the word.”

Winnie started off toward the yacht. “If you’re done saying your goodbyes, we need to get going. Chef’s making Welsh rarebit and says terrible things in French if it’s allowed to get cold.”

I watched Winnie and Margaret amble to the Manhattan-bound boat that I longed to be aboard. Even with the flashy upholstery.

The two of them turned and waved to us.

So much for the ladies being sorry not to have me. Now Margaret would be the hero, selling the book.

I waved back to them. “Sell it hard, Margaret,” I called out, ruing the day Margaret Coutinho joined our club.

—

The mercury had hit ninety degrees by the time Bess and I returned to the farm. We craved a swim but found Major Gil’s commandos training on the beach in the distance, doing some sort of relay races. There would be no swimming for us, with them down there all day. Perhaps it was better, after all, since the doctor had told Bess to relax. Not that she had been following his orders. She needed to do more reading and less weeding.

Determined to continue the appearance of normalcy while we waited for Briar’s information from Captain McManus, Bess and I convened a book-club meeting in the cool, dark living room. As soon as Briar returned, we could turn the German in and get back to normal. Finding out about Peter would send Peaked Hill into a tailspin. Major Gilbert would certainly be surprised—the hick farm girls found a German spy. We’d be heroes, until they realized we’d been harboring him.

Gram hurried in the front door, holding the white basin. “He’s coming along.”

“Oh, good,” Bess said. From the way she fawned over Peter, you’d think he was her long-lost lover. Perhaps she was replacing Tom with him in her mind.

“Once Briar gets back, we’re making the call,” I said. “We just need to work out the details.”

“You could do the Christian thing,” Gram said. “Go down to the boathouse and check on him now and then.”

“We have book club, Gram,” I said. “And he’s probably happy for the time alone to rest. Are you joining us?”

Gram went to the kitchen without a reply, and I opened my copy of The Song of Bernadette .

Bess stood and went to the window. “Hold on. We have company.”

A knock came at the front door and Major Gilbert stood there, his form dark against the screen. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude.”

It was good to see him. He’d clearly had a good workout that morning, and I forced myself not to look at how the perspiration made his T-shirt cling to his chest.

But I needed to make it quick, having a German in our boathouse and all.

“We’re having book club,” I said.

“Just wanted to tell you that your boat is at risk of floating away down at the beach. Tide’s coming in, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, no. My sister left it there.” Briar had failed to use the sand anchor again.

“My men are holding it, but they can’t do it forever.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I said. I stepped out into the front yard. “I’ll go get the sand anchor from the boathouse and bring it to you.”

He followed me. “No need, Miss Smith.”

“I don’t want your men holding our boat from the tide all day.”

He started back down to the beach. “Oh, I sent Private Jeffers round to get it.”

“You what ?” I called after him, a dull buzz in my head.

“I sent Jeffers to the boathouse for the anchor. He’s getting it now.”