“It could be done,” I insisted, “if he were very quick. Cut the old me’s throat and drop the scalpel. I think I saw the scalpel when they cleaned up.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
I cranked the mixer hard. “If you’d gotten ahead of him momentarily?”
Millie shook her head. “That didn’t happen. Rose walked beside him, arm in arm. I walked behind them both. I would’ve seen it.” She paused. “Do you know how the old you lost his arm?”
“I think I do. I think Adah Fevre cut it off.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. She’s up and down. Do you know about that?”
“He’s talked about it.”
“When she’s up she goes around with a butcher knife in her belt. I think she got angry with the old Ern, hacked his arm, and sent him back. No doubt the library got a doctor for him, but the arm couldn’t be saved.”
“Or she cut it off entirely and threw it away. Now whip that cream.”
I whipped. “Talking about all this brings me to why Adah wanted an Ern A. Smithe from Spice Grove, and not the Continental Library or someplace else.”
“Because you might have talked with Rose and me?” Millie was eyeing the cream.
“Nice try, but I’ve got a better one.” I whipped away. “Because I might have been checked out by faculty members and heard faculty gossip about her husband. Also there was a chance that I might have been checked out by her husband, and be willing to talk about it.”
“That’s whipped enough.” Millie straightened up.
“Does she know about Rose?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it.”
“Are you going to fill me in on that faculty gossip? Just what would they be gossiping about?” Millie had been cutting cake; she stopped now, the cake knife raised. “What or who?”
“Not now. Later, maybe.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Perhaps not, but it’s prudent.” Three generous slices of cake already lay on three small plates; I said, “What do you say I spoon some of this whipped cream onto those and carry them in?”
Millie nodded and went back to cutting. “Good idea. I’ll bring in the rest.”
I carried in three pieces, serving Dr. Fevre, our host, and Rose. By the time I had reclaimed my seat, Millie was bringing in four more for the old woman, Audrey, me, and herself.
Dr. Fevre yawned as soon as we had finished our cake, and Audrey and I excused ourselves. I found that new boots and two pairs of wool socks improved the cold, the snow, and even the dark, starry night enormously. Perhaps it was the wine that had improved Audrey; when we had passed the first few dark houses, she began to sing: “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…” She knew all the ancient, authentic words, which was ten times more than I did; but I hummed along whenever she lost me.
When she had finished, I said, “You’re rushing it. It must be almost a quarter year away.”
“Everybody rushes it, remember? Lights and sweaters and everything before Halloween.”
“Trees and mistletoe…” I was remembering.
“Time to start addressing cards. The last time, I was on that damned island and couldn’t have sent any.”
I said, “Or gotten any, either. I’ll bet your mailbox was jammed when you got back.”
“I didn’t get back, Ern. I drowned. I told you about that.”
I think we were both quiet for a few houses after that, then Audrey said, “Tomorrow we’ll be looking at dozens of bodies. Some Christmas!”
“Halloween,” I told her.
“They don’t celebrate that anymore. Or Thanksgiving or Christmas. Only New Year’s. Everyone’s supposed to get drunk.”
“Give it a thousand years, and maybe they’ll discover Christmas again. Look at the Olympic Games. Those were gone for more than a thousand years.”
“Do you daydream, Ern?”
I nodded. “Of course I do. Everyone does.”
“Me too. Sometimes sailing keeps you so busy you wish you had two heads and six arms; but sometimes the wind is fair and the sails are exactly right, and you can just lash the wheel and skim over the water.”
I nodded again.
“I used to daydream for hours then. Someday I’d get married. Maybe I’d have children.” Audrey was quiet for a dozen steps. “My husband wouldn’t have to be handsome; but he’d be steady and practical, and smoke a pipe. Not a lot, just once or twice in the evening. You know what I daydream now?”
“No, but I’d like to.”
“That somebody buys me and gives me as a present.”
I never would have guessed that one, and I said so.
“They’d have a birthday party for somebody who loved books and sailing, and there I’d be in a gorgeous gown—or else in sailing clothes. Maybe I’d be carrying one of my books, too. That changes, depending.”
“I’ll bet the title changes, too.”
“You’re right. Mostly it’s A Woman Sails Alone. But it can be other things, too.”
I nodded, trying to picture it.
“Sometimes it’s a book I wanted to write, but never even got to start. Anyway, everybody would sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ and then the one who had paid for me would take my hand and lead me over to my new owner. Sometimes that’s a woman, but sometimes it’s a man.”
I said, “I’m glad to hear that,” which was the simple truth.
“If it’s a man, he has a lovely groundcar, not huge but luxurious; only when it’s a woman, it’s usually a bicycle built for two. She sits in front and pedals and steers, and I sit behind her and pedal too. Together we skim along like the wind.” Audrey laughed, happy but a little embarrassed. “We weave through traffic. Sometimes she has a penthouse, but usually she lives on her boat.”
Maybe we said more than that before we got to the house where they were putting us up, but I have forgotten it if we did. For a minute or two I worried that the door would be locked. Later I found out that nobody on the island locked doors, and your neighbors would be mad at you if you did. They could just walk in anytime they wanted, and you could just walk into their houses. Probably hardly anybody did that late at night, and if you could tell they were busy in bed you snuck back out. I do not know, but I think that’s probably the way it is. If I ever walked into anybody’s house except that one, I’ve forgotten it.
There was a candle there in a candlestick, or whatever you call those things. They are like a saucer, only there is a handle like a teacup’s and a socket for the candle; on that island, everybody used them. One time I asked about candle making just to make conversation. There is a kind of wax you got from pressing seeds. The rest of the seed was seedcake; you fed that to horses or pigs. Then you mixed the wax with a little seal fat to make it burn brighter. Tie a pebble on a string and keep dipping it into the hot wax until the wax was as thick as two fingers. Cut the string at the bottom and the top, leaving enough at the top to light, and there’s your candle.
Which is probably a lot more than you wanted to know. Anyway, Audrey lit our candle in what was left of the fire, then we went up to bed, her first and carrying the candle. I had not figured her as somebody who could climb a ladder carrying a candle, but she did fine. When I got up into the loft, she passed the candle to me. I wanted to blow it out when she started undressing, I do not know why, because I had seen her on the boat. She said I could look as long as I didn’t say anything. I told her anything I said would be complimentary, and she told me just keep my mouth shut.