At the Water's Edge

  He beamed expectantly at us. When neither of us answered, his smile fell away. His eyes darted suspiciously between us.

  "Oh, come on," he groaned, before glancing at the ceiling in despair. "Are you two at it again? Let me guess. Ellis said something totally stupid, and now you're not talking to him. Hell, you're not even looking at him. Is this what marriage does to people? No wonder I want nothing to do with it. Neither one of you is an ounce of fun anymore." He sighed and turned back toward the bar. "Now that one over there, she looks like an ounce or two of fun..."

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  At eight on the nose, twin brothers from Halifax dropped to their knees and presented matching engagement rings to their sweethearts. When the blushing girls said yes, the remaining lumberjacks burst into song, serenading the brides-to-be with "O Canada." No sooner had they started than old Ian Mackintosh nipped across the road and returned with his pipes, striking in and accompanying the young men as they followed up with a heartfelt rendition of "Farewell to Nova Scotia."

  Ellis sipped his whiskey steadily and continued to stare at me like he wanted me dead.

  Halfway through "A Ballad of New Scotland," I could stand it no longer and rushed upstairs, locking myself in my room. I leaned against the door, panting.

  Not two minutes later, with the pipes still blaring on the main floor, I thought I heard something and pressed my ear to the door. Ellis was swearing and stumbling in the hallway and sure enough came straight to my room. When he found the door locked, he began to pound it.

  "Maddie! Maddie! Open the goddamned door!"

  "Go away!"

  I dove onto the bed, pulling my knees to my chest.

  "Open the goddamned door! I'm fucking serious!"

  I knew he was using the side of his fist because of the way the door jumped in its frame. I wished I could light a candle so I could see if it was in danger of giving, but my hands were shaking too hard to strike a match.

  "Maddie! If you don't open the goddamned door right now, I swear to fucking God I'll break it down--do you hear me?" he roared, renewing his assault.

  I curled into a ball and pressed my hands to my ears. I couldn't scream for help--there was no possibility anyone would hear me over the booming of the pipes--but where the hell was Hank? Surely he'd noticed we'd both disappeared, and surely he'd been at least vaguely aware of the state Ellis was in.

  Over a period that felt like centuries, the thumping slowed to an uneven staccato and, finally, stopped altogether. I heard a soft clunk as Ellis slumped against my door. He began to weep.

  "Maddie? Oh, Maddie, what have you done? You're my wife. You're supposed to be on my team. Now what am I supposed to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?"

  His fingernails scraped against the wood as he slid to the floor. He continued crying, but that, too, eventually petered out. A few minutes later, all I could hear was my own ragged breath.

  Just as I began to believe he was out for the night, I heard shuffling on the carpet, then a pause.

  I held my breath.

  A terrible, primal scream preceded a massive blow to the door, followed by another, and then another, as he repeatedly rammed it with his body.

  When the wood started to crack, I scrambled off the bed, fumbling in the dark until I found the grate and the fire irons. Then I crouched behind the chair, clutching the poker and crying.

  There was another tremendous blow to the door, and the clatter and thud of a body falling, followed by copious swearing.

  Then I heard Hank. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "I need to talk to my wife!"

  "Get up, you moron," Hank said calmly.

  "I need! To talk! To my!" Ellis huffed and puffed, but could not seem to come up with the final word.

  "You can't even stand up. Let's get you to bed."

  "I need to talk to her," Ellis insisted, although he sounded suddenly out of steam. He moaned, then began sobbing again.

  I crept over to the door, still clutching the fire iron.

  "Good Lord," said Hank. "You're a complete mess. Give me your hand."

  Ellis mumbled something incoherent.

  "No, you didn't dislocate your shoulder. If you had, I wouldn't be able to do this."

  There was a sharp holler of pain, followed by whimpering.

  "See? But if you had dislocated it, you'd have fucking well earned it for being a knucklehead. Give me your hand. All right, upsy-daisy. Now, give me your key and don't move."

  There was a crash against the wall right outside my door.

  "Jesus. Can you at least try not to fall over while I get your door open? Do you think you could handle that?"

  Ellis was drawing heavy, wheezing breaths, so close it sounded like he was in the room with me.

  The door to his bedroom opened, and Hank came back.

  "All right. One foot in front of the other."

  After a few seconds of clunking and shuffling, I heard the violent screech of bedsprings. It sounded like Hank had tossed Ellis into his room from the doorway.

  "Stay put," said Hank. "If you don't, I swear to God, I'll tie you to the bed."

  The door shut, and a moment later there were three polite raps on my door.

  "Maddie?" said Hank.

  "Yes?" I said, still crouched with the fire iron.

  "Are you sitting by the door?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you okay?"

  I didn't answer. My heart was thumping so hard I was sure he could hear it, and I was shaking uncontrollably.

  After a pause, he said, "Okay, I get it. You're mad at me, but what was I supposed to do? Knock the bottle from his hand?"

  "Yes."

  He sighed, and I heard him scratch his head. "Yeah, you're right. This won't happen again, I swear. By the way, I locked him in. Want the key?"

  "No. You can have it."

  "Get some sleep," he said. "He won't be bothering you again tonight. And Maddie? I really am sorry."

  He waited awhile before going away, hoping, I suppose, that I'd tell him it was okay.

  But I couldn't. Things weren't even remotely okay, and with Ellis out of pills, they could only get worse. Why, oh why, had I flushed them?

  --

  When Ian Mackintosh's pipes finally stopped, the gathering downstairs exploded with applause; they cheered, whooped, and stamped their feet until the whole building shook.

  Within minutes, the younger crowd had gathered in the street and gone on to the Public Hall, but even after they left, the men who remained at the bar--the older men, the locals--spoke and laughed in raised voices, excited by their participation in the impromptu ceilidh.

  I made my way to the window, still in the dark, pulled out the Blackout frame, and opened the sash.

  I heard accordion and fiddle music coming from the Public Hall, along with laughing, singing, and animated conversations, including a few that sounded like arguments. Despite the icy air, I knelt by the window and rested my head on the sill, listening.

  I felt a terrible pang of longing. Less than half a mile away, young people--people my age, people in love--were planning futures together, futures that would include all the perks of truly loving each other: intimacy, passion, children, companionship, even though there were sure to be trials along the way. Some of the couples might even end up mismatched and miserable, but at that particular moment they were as happy and joyful as the rest, and no matter how mismatched or miserable they turned out to be, I could almost guarantee that none of them would end up with a marriage like mine.

  Footsteps came up the road, and I heard a man and a woman talking. They stopped at the house opposite the inn, and went silent for what I could only assume was a good-night kiss. He whispered something, and she went inside, giggling. He waited a few seconds after the door closed, and then whistled as he headed back down the road.

  Eventually, I replaced the Blackout frame, and went to bed.

  --

  "You liar! You whore!"

/>   A man's angry shouting jolted me awake, and I initially thought Ellis was back. Then I heard Meg crying and realized the man was Rory. They were in the hallway.

  I jumped out of bed and lit the candle on my dresser. Then I stood with my ear to the door.

  "I swear by everything that's holy, I'm telling you the truth--"

  There was a smack, followed by Meg's sharp cry.

  I grabbed the fire iron, which was still leaning by the door.

  "You worthless, lying slut! Tell me who he is! Tell me!"

  "There is no one else," she pleaded.

  "Then why can't you tell me where you got the stockings?"

  "I did tell you, Rory--"

  "You want me to believe they 'just magically appeared'? What kind of a fool"--another smack, another cry--"do you take me for? What else has he given you, or did you earn them? Is that it? Have you turned professional? What's your price, then? What does a pair of stockings buy a man?"

  "Rory, for the love of God--"

  "Is it that flat-footed bastard? I've seen how he looks at you. What room is he in? Tell me! Tell me!"

  When Meg screamed, I yanked my door open and rushed out. The only light was coming from the candle behind me, but it was enough for me to see him haul back and punch her in the side of the face. She dropped to her knees, clutching her cheek, sobbing. She was completely naked. He was in an open shirt and underpants.

  "Stop!" I cried. "She's telling the truth!"

  He glanced over his shoulder. Our eyes locked. He turned deliberately back to Meg, grabbed a handful of her hair, and kicked her full force in the ribs. The sound of the blow was a terrible muted thud. She made an oof noise as the air was forced out of her.

  "I gave them to her!" I shrieked.

  He kicked her again, still holding her by the hair, then tossed her aside. She collapsed and made no effort to move, like an unclothed porcelain doll dropped in a nursery. As he pulled his leg back to deliver another kick, I raised the poker and tore down the hallway.

  Before I could get there, Angus charged out of the stairwell and in a single motion had Rory pinned against the wall by his throat, dangling him so his feet were above the ground. Rory's hands swatted at and finally grabbed the hand around his throat, but he didn't make a sound. Angus's other arm remained at his side, his fingers splayed.

  "What the fuck is going on?" said Hank, peeking out of his room with a candle. When he saw, he ducked back in.

  I dropped the poker and rushed to Meg. She was conscious, but barely. I dragged her toward her room and crouched beside her, wrapping my arms around her, shielding her nakedness. She whimpered and covered her head with her arms.

  There was a rhythmic thumping across the hall. I looked up, expecting to see Angus throwing punches. Instead, he continued to dangle Rory with one hand. The thumping was Rory slapping the wall behind him with open palms. His eyes bulged and his tongue protruded, and while the light was faint, his face was clearly not the right color, and getting darker quickly. The slapping got slower, and finally ceased. A wet patch appeared on the front of his underpants, and urine trickled down his leg, over his foot, and onto the floor.

  It felt like an eternity, but it was probably only a few seconds later that Angus dropped him. He crumpled to the floor and remained utterly still. I was sure he was dead, but after a few seconds he jerked violently and clutched his throat, gasping for air. It was a terrible sound, grating and rasping.

  Angus stood beside Rory, hands on hips. He was in blue striped pajama bottoms, but no shirt. Not a one of us was properly covered, least of all Meg, and it made the horror of the moment somehow more real.

  Angus poked Rory with his foot. "I don't suppose I need to tell you what will happen if I ever find you darkening my door again," he said.

  Rory writhed on the floor, drawing ragged, scratchy breaths, and still grasping his throat.

  "I'll take that as a no," said Angus, leaning over and lifting Rory by the armpits. He turned and threw him into the stairwell.

  I held my breath during the series of bangs and thuds as Rory fell down the stairs. I was sure I'd just witnessed a murder, but moments later I heard the front door open and then click quietly shut.

  Chapter Thirty

  Angus scooped Meg out of my arms as though she weighed nothing.

  "Pull back the bedclothes," he ordered, sending me scrambling across the floor. "And you," he said to Hank, who'd appeared in the doorway with a candle, "bring that in and light the others."

  Angus laid Meg on the bed and drew the covers over her pale, naked form. She rolled onto her right side, crying quietly. Her left cheek was bloodied, her eyelid ballooning. Blood trickled from her nose, and her lip was split.

  "Where else did he hurt you, m'eudail?" Angus said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stroked the top of her head as though she were a child. She just wept.

  "He kicked her in the ribs," I said. "Hard."

  Angus swung his head around. "And what were you doing out there? You could have been hurt as well."

  "I was going to kill him."

  He stared at me for several seconds.

  "I'm going to get Dr. McLean," he said, standing up. "There's a first aid kit in the kitchen. It's tucked in behind the--"

  "I know where it is," I said. "I'll get it."

  Angus nodded and turned to Hank, who had by then lit the other candles.

  "You--fetch some logs from the peat stack downstairs and get a fire going in here. And light the hall lamps. It's going to be a long night."

  I ran down the stairs, feeling my way in the dark to where I knew there was a flashlight. I located the white metal tin with the red cross and knocked down the soap flakes in my haste to grab it. As I sprinted back upstairs, I passed Hank on his way down.

  I sat on Meg's bed, flipped open the lid, and soaked some cotton wool with iodine.

  "Oh, Meg, I'm so sorry. This is going to sting," I said, before dabbing the gash on her cheek. She didn't so much as flinch.

  Her left eye had shut completely in my short absence--the flesh above the socket had expanded and rolled over, creating a grotesque new lid. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth to the pillow, and, with a fresh wave of horror, I wondered if she'd lost any teeth.

  Hank returned with an armful of logs.

  "I have to get some compresses," I said. "She's swelling badly."

  I got two large metal bowls from the kitchen and took them out back, leaving the door wide open. I fell to my knees on the frozen ground and scooped up snow, throwing it into one of the bowls and punching it down until ice crystals formed and tore at my knuckles. When I couldn't pack it any harder, I ran back inside, pausing just long enough to kick the door shut with my bare foot. I paused at the sink to fill the second bowl with water, set it on top of the first, and dropped a pile of clean rags into it.

  When I appeared in the doorway with the stacked bowls, Hank turned his head, but otherwise didn't move. He'd managed to get a small fire going and stood awkwardly in front of it.

  "Hank, the hall lamps," I said.

  He sprang into action.

  I set the bowls on the bedside table, wrung out a cloth, and draped it across Meg's forehead. I folded another and laid it on her cheek, right under her eye.

  Then I sat beside her, stroking her tangled hair and making shushing noises until I realized my fingers were sticky with blood. When I investigated, I found that a chunk of her hair was missing, leaving a patch of bright red scalp exposed.

  I cleaned that as well, before covering it with yet another cold cloth. Meg didn't react to any of it.

  As I waited for Angus to return with the doctor, there was nothing I could do but sit with her, swapping out the compresses when they were no longer cold and watching the water turn pink. I'd never felt so helpless in all my life.

  --

  Dr. McLean banished everyone while he examined Meg, so the rest of us went downstairs to wait. As far as I could tell, Ellis had slept through
the entire thing. That, or he was dead, but I saw no reason to check. If he was dead, he'd still be dead in the morning.

  Hank and I sat by the dampened fire. Angus lit a lamp and paced. He'd pulled on a sweater before heading out into the night, but I knew Hank had already seen his scars. They were impossible to miss.

  When Dr. McLean finally emerged from the stairwell, I leapt to my feet.

  "How is she?"

  The doctor set his bag on the floor and adjusted his glasses. "I've given her morphine, so for the moment she's comfortable, but she's taken a very serious beating. Do you happen to know the brute responsible?"

  "Aye," said Angus. "And he's taken a wee beating himself."

  "Will she be all right?" I asked.

  "She has a concussion, a great number of contusions, bruising of the spleen and kidney, and at least three cracked ribs. She lost the top molars on the left side, and the bicuspids are loose, although they might take hold again."

  "We need to call an ambulance," I said. "Surely she needs to go to the hospital."

  "Ordinarily I'd agree," said Dr. McLean. "But under the circumstances, if there's any possibility she can be cared for here, I think that would be preferable."

  "What circumstances?" asked Angus.

  "The hospital is in Inverness," the doctor explained, "which is suffering from a fuel shortage and an outbreak of respiratory illness. Chest congestion is the last thing the poor girl needs with cracked ribs, so I'd strongly prefer not to expose her. But if you do keep her here, you'll need to watch her very closely."

  "What do we do?" I asked.

  After a pause, I realized everyone was staring at me. I turned to Angus.

  "I know you're busy elsewhere during the day, but between Anna and me, I'm sure we can manage. Maybe Rhona can come back for a while."

  "Maddie," Hank said slowly. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

  "I know exactly what I'm doing...Angus?"

  It was the first time I'd addressed him by his Christian name in front of anyone else. He looked hard into my eyes.

  "Maddie..." Hank said in the background.

  "Please," I said to Angus. "The doctor said she'd be better off here, and I'll hold up my end. I promise."

  He turned to Dr. McLean and nodded. "She'll stay here."

  --

  Hank sat quietly as the doctor gave instructions for Meg's care.