"She don't know, an' Mama said for you not to bother your head about it."
Filene knocked the chair away from the desk, and Ben scurried off.
8
WHY, HE COULD NOT exactly say, but the next day Ben tried to stay away from home as much as possible. Maybe it was because they had a stranger in the house, especially the female variety. Maybe it was because the excitement of the wreck was over. He didn't know.
After he'd asked her how she felt in the early morning, he didn't have anything else to inquire about because there was no answer. She'd just stared. Then he caught her looking at him when his back was turned. It made him nervous.
Perhaps it was because the girl looked so funny with those circled eyes and dead-white skin. Besides, he truthfully didn't know what to say to her. How do you talk to anyone who doesn't talk back? Who doesn't have a name? It was like trying to talk to a scared rabbit.
Maybe she was crazy, Ben thought. They could have been bringing her up from somewhere to put her in an insane asylum. They had one in Raleigh, he'd heard.
Ben worked a couple hours for Mr. Burrus out behind the store in Chicky, cleaning hen pens, and then filled a sugar barrel with ducks, head down. They'd go on to Elizabeth City to be iced up; then to Norfolk.
After that, he took Fid, the tackie, and went up to Big Kinnakeet village for no reason at all and then wound up at Heron Head to talk to Mark Jennette and Jabez about the wreck.
It was Friday, always a dull day at the station. The crew practiced first aid and resuscitation that day; then did routine things. Ben knew the schedule by heart. Monday it was drill with the beach apparatus and overhauling the boats; Tuesday, drill with the boats in the surf; Wednesday, practice with the international flag code signals; Thursday, drills with the wreck pole; Friday, practice pushing water out of victim's lungs. Saturday, housekeeping.
Tuesdays and Thursdays were the best days. Saturday was awful and Ben never went to Heron station on Saturdays. Filene was worse than a fussbudgety woman. He had the men rake the sand even though there wasn't a leaf to fall. The decks were dean enough to roll bread dough on. He refused to call them floors.
Ben waved at Luther Gaskins up in the lookout. On dear days the men on watch peered at passing ships with the long glass, logging them down as to time of passage and direction.
Then he found Jabez and Mark in the equipment room. They didn't seem to be doing much, except keeping out of Filene's way. Jabez asked about the girl.
"Hasn't said a word," Ben replied.
Mark shook his head in dismay. "Hmh."
"I think she's crazy," Ben said.
"Mebbe she's plumb scared to death. She took a beatin' in that surf," Jabez said.
"If that had been a boy, I think he'd of swum on in; kept his head off the bottom," Ben said.
Jabez answered, "I'm not sure o' that, Ben. Wattah that rough, hard for anybody to swim. I got knocked ovah when the Peggy Neylan broke up. If it hadn't been for your papa, I'd of never made it. He took a boat hook an' gaffed me like a shirk. Put a hole in me, he did. But better that hole than bein' e't by the shirks an' crabs. I think she done right well. That toide was settin' south somethin' fierce." Jabez always pronounced tide as "toide."
Ben had often heard the story of Jabez getting knocked overboard when the Peggy Neylan grounded, and it changed a little each time. This was the first time he'd heard that John O'Neal actually put a hole in Jabez Tillett.
"Well, anyway, I'd a sight rather have had a boy wash up," Ben said.
Mark laughed. "Put six years on you, an' you'd rather have a woman wash up. One 'bout eighteen, with good legs."
They all laughed.
Ben stayed away until almost dark and when he got home there she was, still in bed, staring out from eyes that were pouchy and nearly black around the sockets. He'd never seen a girl with black eyes. They'd turned from the circles to berry color during the day.
Ben gave her a slight wave and went on into the kitchen. "How is she?"
"I think she's better."
"Her eyes blacked up."
"If someone hit you acrost the head with a postie, so would yours."
"She wasn't hit with a postie."
"That sand's just as hard as post wood at the surf line. Where you been all day?"
"Up at the store."
Late next morning, Doc Meekins and the British consul, who wore a derby hat and had what looked like muskrat fur on his coat collar, paid a visit, along with Filene Midgett and the district assistant inspector from the Lifesaving Service, an important man named Timmons. The consul, down from Norfolk, didn't appear to be very-happy and walked over the sand like it was swamp mud.
Ben listened to him for a minute. It was certainly strange talk. The consul looked all around, outhouse to Fid's lean-to, and said, "Ext-traaaaaaaward-e-nary."
They'd all boated in, and the sounds can be chilly in November. The consul's oval face was pink from wind and his nose kept dripping. But there was no other way to get to the Outer Banks. Only by boat. Filene had collected them all at the Chicky dock. Jabez Tillett was minding Filene's cart for the doctor.
Ben stayed outside near Jabez while Meekins checked the girl over in his mother's presence. They never let Meekins tend a female unless another one was present. The women said Doc had "evil hands."
Leaning against the station's wagon, the men talked about the wreck of the Malta Empress, but they didn't say anything, in Ben's hearing, that wasn't already known. The consul said he was trying to find out her last port o' call; get a passenger and crew list, if one existed. He said he'd notified, by mail, Lloyds of London.
Ben whispered to Jabez, "What's that?"
"Insurance people."
About thirty minutes later Doc Meekins came out to say, "Girl has had brain damage, I'm reasonably sure. She may be sufferin' from catatonia or worse." He was a stubby man with mutton-chop sideburns and usually smelled of whiskey. He reminded Ben of a hairy peg. He'd doctored Ben once for a broken ankle.
"Catta-what?" Filene asked.
"She may be catatonic. It's another word for confusion and worse. I don't know much about psychiatry. I'm not a brain man, either."
"What causes it?" Filene asked, very much alarmed; shaking his head, his mossy brow furrowed.
Ben had never heard of it, either. But it sounded bad.
"Shock of one kind or another. It can be temporary or permanent. If she has brain damage, fare the' well. She'll be a vegetable. Better you ought to have left her in the surf, Filene."
A vegetable? Ben couldn't believe it. But despite the fact that no one liked him very much, Meekins always seemed to know what he was talking about. He'd gone to school in the North. A place called Harvard.
"How do you cure it?" Inspector Timmons asked.
Doc Meekins rammed some snuff in under his lower lip and sniffed what was left on his stained finger. "You don't. She'll have to, if she can."
Ben wondered how she'd do it.
They all went inside and began to ask questions. Mosdy, it was the British consul. What was her name? When did she come aboard?
Meekins said, "You're wasting your time."
Where did she live? What was the last port of the Malta Empress?
Ben hung back by the door.
Although the girl seemed much better this day, except for the purple traces beneath the eyes, he could tell she was frightened with so many people around. The consul, who was dressed fancy enough to go to a wedding, was beside himself because she couldn't answer.
Finally, Rachel walked up from the back of the room. "Now, jus' stop, all of you. That's enough."
They quit pestering her and went back outside.
Ben listened again as they talked about what to do with her. It almost sounded like she was a piece of wreckage that no one would bid on at vendue. Jabez looked disgusted and spit a big cud of Ashe's Best Black. That was sweet plug from Statesville. Reuben chewed it, too.
The British consul said he'd have to w
ait for instructions from the embassy because no one clearly knew if she was British, American, or what she was.
Mr. Timmons said he could probably make arrangements to put her in a charity home in Norfolk temporarily.
Doc Meekins said she could probably travel in another week, whether she spoke or not.
Filene didn't say much of anything in the presence of Inspector Timmons now that it had reached this point.
Rachel had come out and had listened for a few minutes. She fumed at them from the stoop. "Never in my life have I heerd grown men talk in such circles. She'll stay right here until she knows who she is."
Doc Meekins cleared his throat as if that circumstance might take a long time. They all looked over at Rachel.
Only Filene was brave enough to answer. "Now, Rachel, don't go aggravatin this. We all have our official reports to make out..."
He got a glare back for his efforts. "Well, you go right ahead an' make 'em out. Meantime, leave her be. Leave her bel Filene, I'll never get over you cormin' down here yestiddy with those two dead bodies for her to identify..."
"Calm down, Rachel," was Filene's embarrassed reply.
Mr. Timmons broke in. "I think we should accept Mrs. O'Neal's kind offer."
The British consul seemed relieved.
So the girl stayed on at the O'Neal house.
They all left, Jabez Tillett driving Doc Meekins in the station cart to his other calls down island. The doctor never came over for just one call. Somebody always had a rupture or the red sprangles—fevers and rashes of one kind or another.
Still outside the house, watching them go, Ben said to his mother, "You hear what Doc said? She may be crazy. He used a word for it. Her brain's hurt."
"He told me 'fore he told them. We'll try to cure her, Ben. Her body's all right. Nothin' was broken."
"He said she might be a vegetable. I've never heard a human called a vegetable."
Rachel took a deep breath. "Ben, she can't talk jus' now. I'm sure she can think, in a matter o' speakin'. She knows when she's bein' talked to. I've noticed that. We have to work with her."
"How?"
Rachel's laugh was hollow. "I don't know. But I do know this. If it was a hurt animal, we'd try to help. Boo Dog don't speak, but if he hurts hisself we try to help. Same with her. And more."
Ben shrugged. If she was loony, an asylum would be the best place for her.
They went inside. She was staring up at the ceiling.
Soon, the girl got her name.
It was at the end of dinner—the first square meal she'd had—squeteague, which was gray sea trout, fried, and a boiled potato, milk on the side.
Rachel was trying to be natural. "We do have to call you somethin'," she said, without making too much of it. "Is there any name you want to be called?"
The girl just sat, head down.
They waited. There was no answer.
"Ben?"
He didn't know what to call her. Then he thought of what Filene had said on the beach. It was as good a name as any for now. "Teetoncey."
"That's no name for a girl," his mother protested.
"It's a Banks name."
Rachel laughed, shaking her head. "Well, if that's what you'd like to call her..."
Tee became her name.
After dinner, and after she'd had her sponge bath in the tin tub, Ben ordered to sit outside during it, Rachel said, "While I dean the dishes, I want you to talk to her. Jus' talk natural."
"About what?"
Why talk when she wouldn't answer? Why talk when they didn't even know she could hear? Her brains were mommicked and that was it.
"I don't want to talk to her."
"Ben, I'm not askin', I'm tellin' you."
He felt the fool but sat down on the end of the bed and told her about the lighthouses, the whalebone fences at some of the houses at Kinnakeet and Chicky; the snow geese that came to winter on Pea Island; how the Hatterask Indians had been the first to live here, the Poteskeets up at Kitty Hawk; how the pirate Blackbeard had been cutlassed by Cap'n Maynard not thirty miles from their dock; how the damn Yankees' ironclad Monitor foundered off Hatteras.
However, he didn't mention the wrecks and the ghosts that walked the beach at night figuring that might disarrange her more than she was already.
Although she did look at him several times, it was all useless.
He went into the kitchen. "I might as well have talked to a log."
He was disgusted.
9
TEETONCEY was built like a well-made hairpin.
Rachel whipped up a nightgown of cotton cloth for her and Saturday morning Tee opened the front door when the sun was far to east, just to look out. It was the first time she'd done that. Ben and his mother watched, wondering what she had in mind. It almost seemed she was afraid to look out.
She was framed a minute in the strong light and Ben could see she had very little meat on her.
Rachel said, absently, "We'll fatten her up, if nothing else." That could be accomplished with hominy grits and juice from slab bacon.
Tee closed the door and went past them into Ben's room and slipped into bed. It had been moved back there.
Ben said, "Think I'll go on up to the store."
Rachel was looking toward the small bedroom. She could see the girl staring out the window. "You know there's nothin' for you to do till next week."
That was true, unfortunately.
Rachel said, "See if she'll take to Fid."
Ben sighed and went out to find the sand pony. He was about a quarter mile away, down near the sound, eating long grass. Ben threw a leg over, grabbed his mane, and said, with irritation, "Let's go to the house."
Fid was more interested in eating and Ben jerked one of his ears to get his attention, and then kicked him in the ribs. The pony wheeled around and began trotting home.
Ben had noticed that Tee had taken to Boo Dog, and he had taken to her. He was on the floor around that bed most of the time now. But there was no secret to that. You rub a dog off and on all day, he'll take to you. Pony might be the same.
Rachel had opened the window and had a handful of com. "Bring him on up," she said.
Ben traveled him to the window and watched.
Fid stuck his head in to get the com, naturally.
Rachel said, "Pet him, Tee."
The girl's eyes brightened, Ben noticed, and she reached over to rub his nose, and between his ears. Ben jumped off and put his back up against Fid's rump to hold him there.
"What's she doin', Mama?"
"She knows it's an animal."
"She sayin' anything?"
"No."
In a minute, Fid pulled his head back out and Ben rapped him on a flank. The pony took off for the marshes.
"It's encouragin," Rachel said, pulling the window down.
What was encouraging? For someone to pet a pony? Ben shook his head.
His mother was making soap from lye, ashes, and grease that day and he was of no further help. So he went to Chicky. He gladly stayed until the boats came in and the catch was unloaded. It was shipped to Elizabeth City on a big sharpie.
Sunday was rainy but it was falling softly. Rachel got dressed in a dotted swiss and felt hat to go up to Mrs. Farrow's and read Bible with the other women from around Chicky. The nearest church was in Hatteras village and it was just too far to go unless there was a revival meeting. Then everyone went.
Ben knew he'd have to be alone with Teetoncey for three or four hours, but that was better than sitting in Mrs. Farrow's and listening to round-robin Bible; singing, "Jesus, Lover of My Soul." Those women didn't have a pump organ, but sang anyway. Mrs. Farrow used a tuning fork to get the right starting key. The men slapped their sides about that.
After his mother left on the sand cart, wearing an oilskin and sou'wester over the felt hat because of the dampness, Ben roamed around the house for almost a half hour, then decided to try to talk to Tee again. There wasn't anything else to do.
/> He went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. She was sitting on the opposite side, staring out of the window; watching the rain.
She turned when he said, "I'll tell you some things."
She looked back at him, almost without blinking, as he began to talk about things that he knew. Whales or white porpoise or laughing gulls or eating-sized turtles. He told her that deer scratched themselves on the bark of old trees during tick season and that you could always tell when a raccoon had gone up a berry tree by the daw marks. He discovered that the worst thing in the world to talk about was fish. You catch and eat them and there is nothing else to say.
Then he ran dry and sighed, "C'mon."
He took her by the wrist into his mother's bedroom and showed her the pictures on the dresser. "That's John O'Neal and my brother, Guthrie."
She looked at them but the blank expression didn't change.
He took her to the opposite wall to show her the gold Medal of Honor, with its crossed oars. "Government gave that to my papa. He was a hero, Teetoncey."
Nothing.
Ben said, "Whew."
He led her back into the living room and sat her down on the couch. She folded her hands.
Then he thought about that British professor who'd come out to investigate all the words that didn't sound so strange to the Bankers at all. If the words were from Devon, maybe she'd know them.
He pulled a chair up. "If someone tells you they caught a slew of feesh, that's many. Slew is many.
"Mama is couthy. That means she's capable."
He pointed out the window. "That timber out there for the laundry line is a postie. An' we get waspies an' nesties in our chimney summers.
"Disremember is to forget an' disencourage means what it says. Mindable is payin' attention an' studiments is lessons...
"We traveled him to you means we brought him to you...
"Swayzed means it moved aroun'...
"Fid an' Boo Dog are critters ... I'm a youngun'...
"Fleech means to flatter..."
Offhand, he couldn't think of any more that the professor had gotten so all-fired excited about, but it didn't make any difference. He might as well have been talking to a postie.