Jubilee

  Did I know my mother? Not yet. Once, she was seventeen years old and didn’t know how to take care of a baby, and then a little girl.

  Amber, who didn’t cook, who was always late for work, who didn’t remember I needed to go to school.

  I did love her. Didn’t I?

  I sat on the edge of the bed looking out. High over the streetlights, thick dark clouds moved fast across the sky. A few drops pelted the window.

  I loved the rain on the island. If it rained on Saturday, Aunt Cora and I would put on our raincoats and dash out to the garden for supper vegetables.

  It had been cozy in Mrs. Leahy’s room, with the rain pattering against the window. Ms. Quirk’s room would be different, maybe even better.

  I pictured Saturday nights with Gideon. I saw his hands, his nails thick, showing me how to make rope knots on the boat, teaching me how to run the motor, telling jokes at the supper table that made Aunt Cora’s eyes crinkle up.

  Gideon, who didn’t know how I felt about him.

  Would he take Mason out on the boat in the rain?

  But that was all right too. More than all right.

  Something else. Something I’d done. It was on the edge of my mind. What was it? I knew it was important.

  Before she left for work at the bookstore on Saturday, Amber pulled boots out of the jumble in the hall closet. “A pair for you, a pair for me.” She waved her hand. “There’s a raincoat in the closet upstairs.”

  She put her arms around me. “Be careful if you go out.” We could hear the wind and rain getting stronger. “It’s so lucky that you’re on the mainland away from that windy island.” She hugged me and went out the door.

  Upstairs, I looked through closets filled with shirts and jeans, and pulled a raincoat off the hanger. The boots were too big; I put on an extra pair of socks, and my feet still needed to grow another inch or two.

  Outside, rain spattered on the hood of my rubber raincoat and splashed up against my boots; puddles rushed along the curbs.

  No one else was in sight.

  I hurried toward the water, watching the ferry pull away in the distance, going home. “Goodbye,” I whispered, even though I knew Saturday was Gideon’s day off.

  I wandered along the cement path, went closer to the edge, and crouched down to watch the water smash against the wall.

  Seaweed waved underneath, and I could just see a school of fish and some jellyfish waving underneath. Even the sand on the bottom swirled up in angry whirlpools.

  And then I saw it.

  Imagined it?

  But it was there, swimming along, slate-gray, speckled, the largest turtle I’d ever seen. Its head was stretched out, its neck wide, its clawed feet and legs moving forward deliberately.

  Going south.

  A leatherback turtle.

  It didn’t belong here. It had come from somewhere, on its way somewhere. Maybe it was going home, wherever that was. I watched it, my head close to the water, watched the turtle that almost belonged to Mason, and to me.

  Then it was gone.

  “Oh, Mason,” I whispered.

  He should have been with me to see it.

  What was I doing here on the mainland instead of home?

  On the island where I belonged.

  I stood still, the rain pelting me. And then I realized what had bothered me last night. I’d done to Dog what Amber had done to me. I’d just left him. How had I done that?

  Wrong. I put my fist to my mouth. I tried to see as the wind drove the rain across the water and great gray clouds turned the afternoon sky into night.

  Still, I didn’t have much time. The ferry would be back within the hour.

  I raced across the parking lot, ran back to the house, and threw open the door. I should have left my boots in the hall, but instead I left wet spots on the stairs as I clumped up to my bedroom.

  I tore a piece of paper out of my cartoon book and wrote I love you, Amber. I’ve been happy to be with you.

  That was true.

  Someday I’ll come again. But it’s time to go back to the island. My dog needs me. I know you won’t mind if I take the raincoat and boots. I drew a heart underneath and signed it Jay.

  I put the junonia shell and my cartoon book deep inside the raincoat pockets, but there was no time for anything else.

  I took the stairs down two at a time, one hand sliding along the banister. I left the note on the hall table and went out the door.

  The streetlights were on now, guiding me to the ferry slip. As I ran, the warning sound of the horn blared.

  Only one pickup truck and a van were in the parking lot. Who would be going to the island in this weather?

  Only me. Going home.

  The ticket taker’s hair was soaked. “Crazy rain, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You live on the island, don’t you? I think I’ve seen you. You’re catching the last boat. We’re shutting down.”

  So lucky that I’d made it!

  I went downstairs to sit at one of the massive windows. I swiped at it, trying to see out. Where was the leatherback turtle now?

  The ferry was like that turtle, lumbering along, steady even in this storm. I’d left everyone I loved: first, Aunt Cora and Gideon, and Dog. Especially Dog, who needed me.

  My mother would be gone again someday. But I knew her now. I understood. But I’d never leave the people I loved again.

  I remembered something Mr. Kaufmann once said to me: “You’ll feel better when you understand yourself.”

  My face was reflected in the glass as the rain ran down the window. A wavery cartoon face.

  I’d run to the house, to Aunt Cora, and put my arms around her wide waist.

  Then, at Mason’s house, I’d kneel on the muddy ground while Dog whined and kissed my face.

  I took out my cartoon pad. I drew the leatherback carefully, showing the massive head and the short neck. I drew the tail, shorter than the legs.

  On top, I wrote, Heading for warmer waters, heading for home.

  I couldn’t wait to show it to Mason.

  The trip seemed to take forever, but, at last, the wooden walls of the slip loomed closer, screeching as the ferry edged in against them.

  Moments later, I slid down the ramp and ran along the muddy road, my huge boots holding me back. The wind blew the rain in my face and pushed against me, almost as if it didn’t want me to reach home.

  Arms out, I went up the back path and circled the flattened garden.

  There were no lights on the porch. But I knew the electricity would be out. I opened the door, banging on the side of the wall so Aunt Cora would know I was home.

  I could only hear the rain pounding on the roof. I went from room to room, up and down the stairs in the dark. She wasn’t there.

  I sank into a kitchen chair and pushed back my hood. The ends of my hair dripped on my shoulders, the curls tight to my head.

  Had she gone to the mainland? Would she have left the island?

  Never.

  Then it came to me. The church! That was where everyone would be. The generator would give them light and warmth.

  I dried my hair with a kitchen towel. I’d never been so thirsty. How strange, with all the water I’d just come through.

  I smiled, thinking of Gideon reciting an old poem in his deep voice: “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”

  I peered into the dark refrigerator. A glass bowl filled with syrupy fruit was on the top shelf. I pulled it out and held it to my mouth, gulping down the juice.

  I pulled a spoon out of the silverware drawer, not even having to look. How well I knew this kitchen.

  Home.

  Dog and I would be together soon. If only he was all right!

  I ate the pale grapes, the purple berries, and the orange slices, feeling them slide down my dry throat.

  The wind moaned. It was almost as if I heard someone wailing with it. But I couldn’t wait to go to the church.

  As I went outsi
de, the wind pulled the door out of my hands and slammed it against the wall. I wrestled with it, closed it, and tried to run up the road.

  Like the kitchen door, I was captured by that howling wind; I zigzagged across the road.

  At the church, a dim light beamed through the red and blue stained glass windows. The doors were closed and heavy, almost too strong for me, but someone opened them for me and I slid into the vestibule.

  Sophie held the door.

  I looked over her shoulder, searching for Aunt Cora, Gideon, Mason.

  And where was Dog? Was he lost outside?

  The pews were filled and people stood in the aisles, singing a hymn Aunt Cora loved, about angels. Bowls of rust-colored leaves filled the altar: Aunt Cora’s favorites.

  Sophie’s cheeks were chapped; her eyes were filled with tears. “Travis is gone,” she said. “My father’s out there, and my cousins. They’re searching along the water, the wharf, the ferry slip. My mother is still at the hospital on the mainland. She couldn’t leave her patients.”

  She raised her shoulders. “I tried looking, but he always hides from me.” Her finger pointed at my chest. “He loves you better than me….”

  I shook my head, shocked.

  “He said he wished you were his sister, never yelling at him.”

  No-Talk Girl.

  Right now, I wished I could call him, yell for him like a true sister.

  I turned. From the vestibule window, I saw the beginning of the path that wound up Windy Hill. I imagined tree branches cracking and splitting.

  I’d never been so afraid. But I ran out the door into the driving rain. I knew my way; I could picture every rock, every tree, every turning.

  A No-Talk Girl who’d wandered all over the island by herself.

  Fallen power lines and trees crisscrossed the road. Rivers of muddy water ran down the hill.

  Travis wasn’t on the path. His hiding place under the trees was filled with water.

  Why had I been so sure I’d find him?

  Then I remembered the sandy shoe print in Ivy Cottage. Travis’s print?

  I went up the hill, bent over, holding on to whatever I could grab, a rock, a branch, until I reached the cottage.

  I ducked through the door, trying to catch my breath. The rain drummed against what was left of the roof and ran down the walls. One end of the hall was a waterfall; the floor was covered with a slime of mud.

  But then I heard…

  over the howl of the storm…

  a whine.

  Not Travis.

  A dog.

  I slid along the caved-in hallway, arms stretched against the walls for balance, my heart beating somewhere in my throat.

  Please let it be Dog.

  And yes! He was curled up in the corner. His head came up, his flag of a tail thumped the slightest bit, and there was welcome in his great dark eyes.

  He didn’t come bounding toward me as he usually did.

  Because wrapped around his neck was a small hand, fingers splayed out.

  Travis lay behind him, asleep.

  Oh, Dog. I’d never leave him again.

  I curled up with them for a moment, my arms around them. Dog ran his rough tongue over the side of my arm, and Travis moved a little to get closer to me.

  How had Dog found him?

  Why wasn’t Dog with Mason?

  No matter. They were here with me.

  Safe!

  Sitting there with the wind howling, and the ferocious rain over my head, I’d never been happier.

  I leaned against Dog’s silky fur, his back warm, his thick tail still thumping.

  By now Amber would know that I’d gone back to the island. I hoped she’d understand; I hoped she would.

  My eyes were heavy. I closed them, just for a moment, remembering the old song Aunt Cora used to sing to me at bedtime. Something about a sandman.

  I sat up. This was no time to sleep.

  I had to bring Travis back to Sophie.

  I rubbed his arms and pushed the hair off his face. He whispered, “Sophie,” then opened his eyes. “No-Talk Girl.”

  I smiled and pulled him to his feet.

  How could he go out there in jeans and a sweatshirt that didn’t even cover his wrists?

  I pulled off my raincoat, shook it out, wrapped it around him, and closed the Velcro strips.

  The hood half covered his face.

  “Superman!” He raised his arms, the sleeves dangling, and I hugged him to me, listening to the wind and the rumble of thunder underneath its howl.

  But I couldn’t be afraid. Sophie was waiting. Her family was searching for him.

  I took Travis’s small hand. Dog shook himself, sighing. He was at my side as I made my way down the slippery hall.

  I held Travis tighter and went outside. His eyes were almost hidden under the hood, but he was smiling.

  “An adventure.” He grinned, showing the space where his new tooth would come in.

  More than an adventure. It was a miracle he and Dog had somehow reached the safety of Ivy Cottage.

  On the way back, a small tree crashed in front of us, bouncing up, leaves quivering. Rivulets of muddy water filled with small branches and leaves coursed down the side of the road.

  I planted my feet carefully in my boots, watching each step so I wouldn’t fall or lose Travis’s small hand.

  Heads down, we trudged toward the lights of the church. We climbed the three steps and managed to push open the massive doors.

  Sophie shouted, “Travis!” She wrapped her arms around him in that wet raincoat. Then she looked at me.

  As he shrugged out of the coat, Sophie said, “Thank you forever, Judith.” She was crying so hard I almost didn’t hear what she said. “I hated that he loved you best.”

  I touched her arm. I shook my head. I wished I could say You’re his sister. How lucky you are! But maybe she’d know it now. He hugged her as if he’d never let go.

  Out on the steps, Dog hesitated. Maybe he knew he wasn’t allowed in church. But I’d rather stay on the steps myself than leave him. I gave his collar a gentle tug, and he bounded inside.

  A woman in the last pew turned. Her mouth opened: A dog in church? A girl dripping on the floor?

  There! I caught a glimpse of Aunt Cora and Gideon.

  Aunt Cora’s hands went to her face.

  People were crowded in the aisle between us. But they managed to move around everyone.

  Then they were holding me, the three of us together, rocking in back of the church.

  Dog wanted to be part of us; he nosed in around our legs, while people sang another hymn, “Amazing Grace.”

  Amazing…

  Because Sophie’s father had come into the church now, and I heard him crying as he called, “Travis!”

  Mason somehow ducked between arms and bodies, until he stood in front of us, a mess as always. “Dog,” he whispered. “Where have you been?”

  He looked at me. “And you too, Jude. Where have you been, anyway?”

  Maybe I’d be able to tell him someday. But for now it was enough to grin and raise my wet shoulders in the air.

  —

  We stayed in the church for the rest of the night. A few people went downstairs to stretch out in the activities room. Others leaned against each other in the pews, trying to sleep. We sat with them, Dog at my side. Aunt Cora and I held hands.

  The next morning, a pale light beamed through the stained glass. I raised my head over Aunt Cora’s shoulder.

  Something had changed.

  The rain was slowing, barely making a sound against the roof.

  Aunt Cora stirred. And Gideon whispered, but his voice was deep. “Rejoice.”

  People moved, gathering up packages, purses, and themselves. Someone opened the door, and one by one, they began to leave.

  We walked home together, our boots covered in thick mud. Dog’s fur was matted the way it had been the day I’d found him.

  “Devastating,” Aunt Cora sa
id, stepping over a piece of tile from someone’s roof.

  “But we’re here,” Gideon said. “We’ve come through it.”

  Behind us, feet sloshed through the massive puddles. Mason called, “See you later, Jude. See you, Dog.”

  Dog turned and looked at Mason. I turned too. I knew Dog would stay with me. But he loved Mason too. If only I could say that to Mason. If only I could say Thank you forever, the way Sophie had.

  Tucked into the pocket of the raincoat was my small cartoon pad. I couldn’t wait to show Mason that leatherback heading south, heading home.

  “School will be closed tomorrow,” Aunt Cora said.

  I yawned, still so tired, but a little disappointed, because the junonia was in my raincoat pocket, a gift for Ms. Quirk. I was sure Amber wouldn’t mind.

  Poor Ciro, the janitor, would have to wash and scrub after the storm, dragging his pail behind him.

  Gideon left to run the ferry across to the mainland. “I have miles to go before I sleep,” he called back, words from a poem he loved.

  But Aunt Cora and I went to sleep, and Dog slept at my feet.

  How strange to be under the covers in the daytime!

  I awoke starving. Aunt Cora broke eggs into a bowl to scramble and put bacon on to fry.

  She shook her head. “All the herbs are ruined. No chives for our eggs, no basil. But I’m not complaining. It’s a jubilee to have you home.”

  I ate the soft eggs, drank the apple juice and even a half cup of coffee laced with milk while Aunt Cora talked. “I couldn’t come to you. I had to give you time with your mother. I’m glad she’s home. I’m glad you were with her.”

  I pulled out my pad, but there was too much to say.

  “I know,” Aunt Cora said. “But now that she’s just a ferry trip away, we’ll make sure you see each other.”

  I pushed my chair back and went around to her, resting my head on hers. I didn’t have to say anything. She knew it all.

  But I had things to do. I tapped the molding to say I was going out.

  Dog looked up at me and shut his eyes slowly. Nap time. He was worn out.

  I patted his head, then went outside. Aunt Cora called after me: “Be careful.”

  Mason was at the wharf, watching the ferry lumber toward the mainland. He hadn’t changed his shirt; it still had smears of mud.