Despite all their criminality, Homer felt a little sad for Slick and Huddie. They obviously had poor ju-ju. “You must live beneath an unlucky star,” he said.
“Quite honestly, I believe our bad luck is knowing you and that alligator. You both therefore have to die. Huddie, let us take care of business.”
Huddie nodded and both men raised their machetes and came forward. Homer blocked the first swipe of Huddie’s blade with his mop handle but then the giant raised his machete for a killing blow. Homer, his back to the sea, had no choice but to dive into the water. After he plunged in, he heard another splash and saw Albert had joined him. Slick and Huddie were left behind on the Theodosia to helplessly wave their machetes and curse, both of which they accomplished with exceeding zeal.
Albert swam over and Homer grabbed hold of him, and then both watched until the two boats, smuggler and federal cutter, drifted out of sight. The sun began to set amid a burst of flamboyant pinks and purples and blues and Homer drew Albert closer, fearful of spending another night on a dark, cold, and dangerous ocean. But then a distant hull drew near, nearer, and found them.
It was the Dorothy, whose captain, first mate, and supercargo named Elsie and a rooster with no name had come after their orphans and miraculously found them, coal miner and reptile, which was followed by great rejoicing by some but not all.
35
ELSIE SOUGHT OUT GRACE IN THE MORNING, FINDING her as always in her room. The sun had penetrated the parted curtains behind her and she seemed but a shining wisp in the streaming light. “You are leaving,” she said before Elsie could open her mouth.
“Yes,” Elsie said. “I am here to say goodbye, Grace, and to thank you for showing me how to properly run a boardinghouse.” Elsie looked past the woman toward the swash, which was a-shimmer with sunlight. “My God, how I love this place!”
“Yet, you are going.”
Elsie rushed to explain. “It is clear I have broken Captain Bob’s heart. I don’t want to continue to cause him pain. That and he has put Homer ashore and won’t allow him to work as a fisherman anymore.”
Grace cocked her head and said, “Homer could work on other boats and my brother could be contained. He is a good man—although lonely—but another woman will come along for him by and by. No, Elsie, I believe you are leaving because you know it is time for you to go. Your journey is not yet complete. There is much for you to see and do before you can return.”
Elsie’s eyes were wet and her voice choked with emotion. She hated to leave but knew she must for the very reasons Grace had said. “Do you think I will ever come back?” she asked her friend.
“Of course. But before you go, I think you should walk the beach, the big beach, not the one on the sound, and contemplate what will come and what it is that will bring you back to this place when the time is right.”
“Oh, I will!” Elsie cried. She moved forward to give Grace a farewell hug.
Grace held up her hands and backed away. “Please understand. It is not proper to embrace me for my condition makes me untouchable. But it is time for you to turn about and go. Know that I shall be watching you as time goes by and waiting for you to return. Someday, Elsie, you and I will walk the big beach together, the one that goes all the way to the tip of the peninsula. Do you understand? Now, give us a smile and be off.”
Elsie gave Grace the requested smile and went off, thence to climb into the Buick, which was, at Captain Oscar’s insistence, loaded up with food and drink in the trunk. In the back seat, Albert slept in the washtub lined by Homer’s mother’s quilt and the rooster sat on the alligator’s head. On Homer’s side of the car stood Captain Oscar, who wore a sad smile. On Elsie’s side was Rose, who was crying softly, her tears dripping into the sand.
“Well, goodbye, goodbye,” Captain Oscar said.
Rose leaned in the window and wrapped her thin arms around Elsie. “I shall miss you forever,” she said.
Elsie hugged her tight. “I hope you’ll be here when I come back.”
“She will if I have anything to say about it,” Captain Oscar said. “This place couldn’t operate without Rose.”
Rose ducked her head and smiled. “Thank you, Captain. I will stay and work for you for as long as you like.”
Homer shook Captain Oscar’s hand and turned to his wife. “Well, Elsie,” he said, “let’s get going if we’re going.”
Elsie and Rose shared another hug, and then Rose stepped back and looked away while trying unsuccessfully to hide the awful sadness on her face and her unabated tears. “Look after Grace, honey,” Elsie said to her. “She acts like she doesn’t need anything but she enjoys conversation, I think.”
“Wait just a minute,” Captain Oscar said. He stared at Elsie with an expression of dismay. “What did you just say about Grace?”
Elsie was confused by the anxious manner in which the captain asked the question. “Just that Rose should look after her,” she answered.
“You’ve been talking to Grace?”
“Nearly every day since I’ve been here.”
Captain Oscar took off his cap and worried it between his hands. “Elsie, my daughter has been dead for three years.”
Elsie looked into the captain’s eyes and saw that he was not joking. She looked through the Buick’s back window and saw the faint outline of a human figure in Grace’s bedroom. “I’m sorry, Captain,” she said in an attempt to comfort him. “I have always been told I have an overactive imagination. Of course I couldn’t have possibly talked to her.”
Captain Oscar looked back at the house. Whether he saw the figure in the window, Elsie didn’t know. He reached across Homer and grasped Elsie’s hand, then let it go. “I wish you’d stay,” he said.
“I just can’t,” Elsie replied evenly. “Grace said . . .” She took a breath. “I have come to understand I’m on a journey that is more than a journey. It has to have an end but this isn’t it. Not yet, anyway.”
Homer, not understanding anything of this, pressed the gas pedal and drove to the highway. “I need to go to the beach,” Elsie said before he could make the turn.
Homer looked as if he wanted to argue but then turned in the direction of the sea. “Whatever you want,” he said, quietly.
At the beach, Elsie got out of the Buick and took off her shoes. “Wait here,” she said, dropping the shoes onto the floorboard. Without looking back at Homer, she threaded a path through the sea oats to the ocean’s waves and the vast strand of sand that went for miles until it ended at the tip of a peninsula.
Elsie breathed in the tangy sea air. She walked to the water’s edge, picking up shark’s teeth and sea glass. When she felt someone beside her, she thought it was Homer, but when she looked up, it was Grace.
Startled, Elsie dropped the teeth and the glass. “Why are you here?”
“I love the beach.”
“No,” Elsie said. “I mean why are you here?”
“You mean why am I not in heaven?”
“Yes.”
“I am, Elsie. And when the time comes, this will be your heaven, too.”
Elsie took a deep breath and watched the seagulls wheeling overhead and sandpipers running across the sand. On the horizon of the otherwise crystal blue sky, puffy white clouds lay like strewn cotton balls. God, she thought, it’s so beautiful I want to be here forever! She turned to tell Grace how she felt but discovered she was alone again. When she turned around, she saw only one set of footsteps, her own.
Pushing any thoughts out of her head except the beauty of all that surrounded her, she stood for a while, looking out to sea, then followed her footprints until she reached the Buick. She pulled open the door, waking Homer up.
“Did you see anyone else on the beach?” he asked as Elsie sat down on the front seat and pulled the door closed. She shook her head.
“Are you ready to go to Florida?”
Elsie nodded.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
“What ca
n I do?”
“You can drive.”
The rooster jumped up and nestled on Homer’s shoulder, and Albert, coming awake, provided his yeah-yeah-yeah happy sound. Homer, still without a map, drove to the nearest highway, put the sun on his left, and headed tenaciously south.
I was nineteen, a student at Virginia Tech. A friend of mine who had his pilot’s license took me flying in a small one-engine plane. It was a windy day. After flying over the beautiful spring countryside around Blacksburg, he made his approach at the airfield. As we landed, a powerful crosswind pushed up a wing. The other clipped the ground and we nearly cartwheeled. We were lucky to survive and knew it. “Hope nobody saw that,” my buddy said.
My heart was stuck in my throat. “Me, too,” I croaked.
The next time I saw my mom was when she was passing through Blacksburg, on her way to the house she and Dad had bought on the peninsula of Garden City Beach, just a little north of Murrell’s Inlet. She sent word she was in the dormitory and I came down to see her.
Mom wasn’t much for hugging. She waved me to a chair in the dayroom. “What’s this about you being in a plane crash?” she demanded as I sat down in the chair across from her.
“Who told you that?”
“You think I don’t have my spies down here? I know everything you do. Tell me what happened.”
“Crosswind on landing,” I said. “It wasn’t the pilot’s fault.”
“How would you know? Did he apply downwind rudder and opposite aileron?”
I studied her. “How do you know anything about flying?”
She tilted her chin. “Oh, I could tell you a few stories about things I know that you don’t know that I know.”
“You’ve already told me more than a few,” I pointed out.
“Don’t get snippy,” she warned, then relaxed into the chair. “I’ve missed our talks, Sonny. Since you’ve been in college, about the only people at the house I can talk to are the cats. Your dad . . .” She shook her head. “Well, you know. He’s always busy at the mine.”
For the first time in the entire history of my life, I thought my mom looked a little pathetic. Maybe it was because she was getting older. She was all of fifty, after all. “So tell me how you learned about airplanes,” I urged.
She instantly warmed to the task. “It was in Georgia,” she said, “and we were still carrying Albert home. . . .”
PART VI
How Albert Flew
36
ELSIE THOUGHT THE SIGN ON THE GEORGIA BORDER WAS the biggest, gaudiest sign she had yet seen announcing a state. It had a gigantic peach-colored peach on it, a smiling blond woman holding a basket filled with what appeared to be more peach-colored peaches, and curving atop the sign the words:
WELCOME TO GEORGIA
OUR MOTTO: WISDOM, JUSTICE, AND MODERATION
Elsie read the motto, tried to make sense of it, failed, then closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But sleep didn't come. Instead, she thought about what was going to happen next and concluded she just didn’t know. She’d threatened to kill a man and risked her own life on the sea to save Homer (and also Albert, of course) but she still didn’t know how she felt about her husband. She kept hunting through her heart to find a shimmer of love, but it just wasn’t there. But maybe, she thought, that was because she didn’t know what love was. Homer was a good man, despite his overly logical inclinations and tendency to criticize her, and other women would probably be grateful to have him as a spouse. So why didn’t she? Maybe, she thought sadly, it was all because of Buddy. Buddy had spoiled her for Homer, perhaps for all other men. Buddy was so handsome and fun and, every time she’d been with him, he’d made her feel good about herself. But Buddy was gone, gone to New York and maybe Hollywood, gone to fame and fortune, and gone to women with big blue eyes and platinum hair. She allowed a long sigh. So sad, so sad. What is to come of me?
On the other side of the bench seat, Homer occasionally sneaked looks at his wife and smiled inwardly. She loved him, he knew that now for certain, because why else would she have forced Captain Bob to look for him and then got aboard the Dorothy herself to make certain the job was done right? This thought caused his heart to soar and made him want to drive through Georgia as fast as the Buick would go, across the border into Florida, thence to Orlando. He had some money in his pocket—pay from Captain Bob—and there was food and drink from the boardinghouse in the trunk. If he could just keep going, he figured they’d be across the Florida line in a day and a night, maybe less, and then only another day to Orlando to drop Albert off in a suitable swamp. After that he’d make as straight a shot as he possibly could to Coalwood, where he would beg the Captain for his job back. Because, after all, when a husband and wife were in love, what did it matter where they lived?
As the hours passed, the countryside became flatter and Homer saw cotton bushes in fields, row upon row. Wood frame houses, their tin roofs glittering in the hot sun, could be seen set far back from the road. No towns, big or small, appeared, nor did many traffic signs except occasional ones that identified the number of the road. Without a map, the numbers didn’t mean anything, so Homer kept driving by instinct, choosing the best road that appeared to be heading south.
When he got hungry, he turned off the paved road and took a narrow dirt road that led beneath some shade trees. On the other side of the trees, he was pleased to find a lovely expanse of green grass and, upon it, a fine-looking, well-proportioned horse grazing on the grass. He drove up under a tree and touched Elsie’s shoulder to wake her. “I’ve found us a fine spot for a picnic.”
Elsie looked around. “Where are we?”
“Still in Georgia.”
“Oh, yes, the state that intends to provide us with wisdom, justice, and moderation.”
“A fine purpose,” Homer said, “and so far, it appears to be a lovely state. I think you also know that Georgia shares a border with Florida, so we only have to get across it and then, before you know it, we’ll be in Orlando, where we can let Albert go and drive back to Coalwood!”
Elsie reached over the seat and patted Albert’s snout, then presented a forced smile. “Well, isn’t that wonderful,” she said.
By her forced smile, Homer suspected his wife didn’t think his comment was wonderful at all. “What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly regretting the question.
“Nothing,” she replied.
“Are you sure?” Homer asked, also regretting that question.
“Well, actually, there’s something we need to talk about.”
At this declaration, Homer recalled some instruction from Captain Laird. “When a woman tells a man there’s something they need to talk about,” the great man had advised, “my advice is to avail yourself of the nearest door.”
The nearest door in this case was the car door and Homer fingered the handle, then let it drop. He would hear her out. “What would those things be?” he asked.
“When we get to Orlando, I’d like to stay awhile,” she said.
Homer relaxed and breathed out. “Well, sure. You’ll want to visit your Uncle Aubrey.”
“More than that,” she said, “I’d like to stay for . . . as I said, a while. A good while.”
“What do you mean a good while?” Homer asked, then felt something nudge his elbow. Startled, he looked up to see the horse had come over and was nuzzling his arm with its big nose. “Shoo, horse,” he said.
Elsie opened the door and got out. “It’s got a saddle and a bridle. It must have escaped from somewhere.”
“It’s not our responsibility, Elsie,” Homer said. “What do you mean a good while?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a cowgirl,” Elsie said, and before Homer could say anything else, she swung up in the horse’s saddle with practiced ease, although, as far as Homer knew, she’d never been in a saddle before. She clicked her tongue, and the horse walked ahead and then broke into a trot with Elsie looking like she knew exactly what she was doing.
She must have
learned in Orlando, Homer said to himself and then allowed his imagination to go into overdrive as his wife urged the horse into a gallop and he imagined the glamorous bachelorette Elsie Lavender and the oh-so-smooth Buddy Ebsen as they rode together along some romantic and tropical path in deep and decadent Florida. He found himself clenching his fists and was on the verge of chasing after Elsie, pulling her out of the saddle, and demanding how she knew how to ride, and whether “a good while” meant she had no intention of ever returning to Coalwood. Angry and sad at the same time, he told himself that now was the time to finally get the truth out of his wife on why they were really on this journey.
But he didn’t get the truth because there came from the sunlit sky a gigantic bird swooping low over the Buick, the rush of air from its wings knocking Homer to the ground, and then continuing on to dive at Elsie and the horse. The horse responded to this unexpected attack by bucking.
Homer, looking up from the grass, realized it wasn’t a bird at all but an airplane and actually a vintage biplane. He climbed to his feet and watched the double-winged aircraft as it pulled up in preparation for another run. Then he saw that Elsie had been bucked off and, afraid that she was hurt, ran to her. “Are you all right?” he anxiously asked, going down on one knee and taking up her hand.
Elsie pushed herself up on one elbow. “Of course I am,” she said, although she looked a bit dazed, her eyes slightly unfocused.
Homer ran his hands along her arms and down her legs.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Feeling for broken bones.”
“I don’t have any broken bones,” she said, and climbed to her feet to prove it just as the aircraft came whooshing over again, this time inclining its path and slowing enough to land in the field.
The plane’s engine sputtered, coughed, and died. Then a man wearing a brown leather cap, black goggles, brown leather jacket, forest green jodhpurs, and brown boots climbed out of the aircraft and walked over to Homer and Elsie. He put his hands on his hips. “Were you stealing my horse?”