Anchors, Part 2

The day after dawned bright and cold. Fall was coming. Mama asked me to milk our goat.
        “That’s Nate’s chore. I won’t do it.” I told her.
        She looked at me, sighed and then went outside. Little Paul trailed after her.
        That goat is disgusting, I thought with its stringy fur and mean little eyes. Let them do it. But as I cleaned Johnny’s face I heard Little Paul’s voice through the open door. “Look Mama, I’m doing it!”
        As soon as Johnny and Tommy were playing happily together, I crept to the door and peeked out. Sure enough Mama had her back to me, and Little Paul was sending jets of warm milk from the goat into the cracked wooden pail. I slid out the door and down the trail towards the ocean.
        That night when I finally came home and the boys were all in bed, Mama told me to come with her.
        She took me outside where we stood together. The night skies loomed over us. Beside Mama I felt tall; her head came to my chin. It made me feel strong.
        “Hope,” she said, grabbing me by both arms and looking into my eyes. “I need your help. Before, I had you and Nate. Now, if you keep running off and shirking your duties, I don’t know what I’ll do.” She reached down to lay a hand on her stomach.
        I hated when she made me feel guilty. I couldn’t meet her eyes as I answered her. “Yes Mama.”

        Months passed. I washed bowls, did some of the mending, and fed the fire. But every time I didn’t have a specific task set for me, I fled. I went to the beach and jumped between the ice cakes, or huddled at the base of the leafless trees Nate and I had always pretended were masts. Little Paul kept caring for the goat, and Mama taught Tommy how to feed the chickens.
        One cold day in January I left Mama sitting by the fireplace looking exhausted, teaching Tommy his letters. I wandered down to the shore and walked among the barnacle encrusted rocks. The air was so crisp and clean I could see the trees on the Marblehead Peninsula to the south. That was about the furthest I’d ever been from home. We’d gone there two summers before with Papa.
The wind whipped around me, tearing at my shawl and I jumped off the rock I had been standing on and stood behind it instead. It broke the wind for the moment. I stared at my protection, it was flat and grey. From my apron pocket I pulled out a bit of charcoal, I rolled it between my fingers letting it blacken them.  I drew a couple of scratchy lines, the charcoal crumbling against the rock.
“Hope!” I heard someone yell my name.
I added a few more touches, but my hands were getting too cold to draw.
“Hope!”
I peeked above the rock. Oh, it was just Tommy. “Come look at the parrot I drew.” I waved him over, but he didn’t move. His hands were on his knees, and he was breathing hard. Dropping my charcoal I dashed across the rocks and sand that was between us. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he gulped; tears were streaming down his little face. “Mama just told me to come get you.”
I swallowed too. “Where’s Little Paul?” he was the one Mama usually sent for me.
He looked at me, his hazel eyes, watery.
“Ok. Let’s go.” I said, he didn’t look like he could run any farther so I boosted him onto my back.
When we got home, Mama was standing leaning against a chair, her face pale.
“Mama.”
She looked up, her dark eyes tight in her face. “Good you’re here. Paul went to town to get the midwife.”
I let Tommy slide to the floor. Johnny sat nervously on the edge of the bed, his chubby face worried.
“The baby’s coming.” Mama grimaced again.
“What do I do, Mama?” I was old enough to remember when Johnny was born, but it had been in the summer and Papa had been home. Nate and I had brought the little ones on a picnic and when Papa came to bring us back we had a new baby brother.
“Put some water onto boil, it’ll be fine.”
I stumbled out to the well, slopping water across my skirts in my haste. Time ticked by and still the midwife hadn’t come. If only I had been there, I run faster than Little Paul. I wiped my nose with the corner of my shawl, and looked at Mama. She was as calm as the waves before dawn. “I’m sorry Mama” I whispered.
Just then, she tensed her whole body, her knuckles went white around the back of the chair.
I shooed my little brothers up to the loft, they usually weren’t allowed up there.  I tried to make it seem like a treat, but I think they could feel the fear in my words.
“When she gets here, I want you to take them all back to Ipswich, you can stay at Aunt Mary’s.”
I would have agreed to almost anything. “Yes, Mama.”
The water was boiling; I took it off the fire and poured it into a waiting pan. I went out to the well again, I didn’t know what else to do. When I came back inside the midwife was just running up. She took off her shawl as she walked in the room, hanging it over the back of the door. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun.
“You lie down,” she ordered Mama, and then turned to me, “Go fill the wood box.”
“Yes, ma’am” I murmured, and went outside again. Tommy came to help me, half the time I stumbled over him as he walked through the doorway but I didn’t want to make him stop. Moving helped. Some. As soon as we finished, I got Johnny down from the loft, and held him on my hip, he squirmed at first, wanting to get down, but I wouldn’t let him, he was comforting in my arms. I took Tommy by the hand and together we walked the trail to Ipswich.
We spent that long day with Aunt Mary and her children. I drew pictures of trees, and dogs, and babies to amuse my brothers and cousins. Finally, in the morning, all of us went back home. Aunt Mary came with us, to see Mama.
        The new baby was a girl. Mama named her Sadie. She was green-eyed and healthy. Mama was not. The day after Johnny was born Mama had been out of bed, almost back to her normal self. Not this time. She hardly left her bed. Aunt Mary came over when she could, but it wasn’t often.
Three weeks later Mama was still in bed, she looked so pale, lying there with Sadie’s dark hair shadowy against her arms. I stood there watching them sleep. A lot of the chores had fallen to me. I cooked the meals, and sent the boys outside when they got too noisy. I swept the floor, and chopped the wood. Once after a big storm, I spent a whole morning shoveling paths to the well and the animals. Mama’s eyes fluttered open. “Hope.”
“Yes Mama.”
“You’re a good girl.” I brought her a bowl of soup. She sat up, leaning against the wall. She handed Sadie to me, and began to eat.
“Mama, are you gonna get better?”
She smiled. “Course I am; I’m just tired.”
“If Papa were home he’d know what to do for you.”
“You’re doing perfect. Besides,” she winked at me “your Papa doesn’t know anything about making soup.”
        “Mama, how do you do it?” I asked surprised at her continual good nature.
        “Do what?”
        “Papa’s gone all the time. You know, for months. Don’t you miss him?”
        She closed her eyes, “Yes.”
        “Oh.” I turned away, enjoying Sadie’s warmth in my arms.
        “It’s hard.” Her voice startled me; I’d thought she was falling asleep again. “Every time he leaves, it starts all over, the waiting. After my brother, your Uncle Will, was lost at sea I wasn’t sure I could ever let your Papa go again. But I did.”
“But it’s boring here. Nate gets to do all sorts of things. He gets to explore. Didn’t you ever want to go with them?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that. “You did? But, but you always seem so happy at home...” I trailed off, and sat on the edge of her bed. Mama opened her eyes again and reached out towards me. I passed Sadie back to her. Mama cooed at her for a moment then abruptly spoke.
“Sadie, you and Hope and I are the womenfolk here. You’re going to grow up and be left behind too.” Sadie gurgled.
“But Mama, how do you do it?”
Her gaze shifted back towards me.
“Work hard, and hope they come back. And then they do, mostly.” Her voice fell, as if she was far away, lost somewhere inside of herself. “When Will first went to sea I wanted to go with him, just as much as you wanted to go with Nate. But then I realized: who would take care of the goat and chickens and my mother and sisters. Who would take care of home? Someone has to be their anchor.” She touched the necklace at her throat.
Johnny tumbled over to us from where he had been playing by the door. “Ope, is Nate big like you?”
My nose tingled as I looked down at my little brother. As Mama fell asleep again I told him about the time Nate and I gathered shells for him. Someone had to help Mama raise these little boys.

Only a week later Mama was up and about. But I didn’t go back to escaping every chance I got. Mama taught me how to make bayberry candles. We put the first one in the window facing towards the sea.  

* * *

        The seagulls call raucously as I finish tying my own braid with a ribbon. Sadie and I stand up. The sun shines down on us, but the constant breeze keeps it cool.
        “I just want them to come home soon.” Sadie sighs.
        Johnny runs towards us “Come on Sadie, let’s go play.”
        She looks at me. I nod, “You can go.” She runs off. She doesn’t get it yet. But she will. I hear Johnny say something about climbing masts. Sadie claims the crow’s nest.
        I walk down the little path towards the cottage. Mama stands in the doorway, her hair tied back in a gray knot. We share a quiet smile as she fingers the tiny ivory anchor at her throat.