"It don't surprise me," Tucker said.
They talked, from time to time glancing into the graveyard. Tucker was
waiting for Margery, Charlie realized. When she appeared, she was
walking slowly. Her head was up but her attention was dragging, as
though she were pulling part of herself left behind. She was nearly to
them before she focused. "Hello, Tucker."
"Hello, Margery."
"Good to see you," she said. "It's been a while."
"Yep. Since the service, I guess." Tucker straightened. He seemed
younger.
"Tucker lived up the road from us," she said to Charlie. "He made me
the most marvelous rocking horse. I think that was the nicest present I
ever got. When William--" She swallowed. "When--I'm sorry." She turned
away. "William loved it too," she said in a low voice.
There wasn't anything to say. Margery gathered herself and turned back
to them.
Tucker cleared his throat. "I was--thinking you might come over for a
bite to eat, for old times sake." Charlie expected Margery to decline,
but something in the old man's tone had caught her attention.
"Well, that's nice of you. You have time, don't you, Charlie?"
"Plenty of time." A few years earlier, she had shown him where she
lived, not far from the cemetery. "Ride or walk?"
"Ride," Tucker said. "I'll just put this shovel in the shed."
Tucker's house was a weathered collection of gray boxes that were
settling away from each other. A reddish dog got down from a couch on
the porch and came to meet them. There was white around her muzzle.
"Company, Sally. Margery Sewall and her friend, Charlie." The dog
received Tucker's hand on her head and greeted them, sniffing each in
turn. "Sally don't see as well as she used to--do you girl?" Her tail
wagged and she led them to the house.
"You've got bees." Charlie pointed at four hives that stood on 2x4's at
the end of a narrow garden.
"Yep. Good year, last year."
"The lilacs are even bigger than I remember," Margery said.
"They keep right on going." Tucker took them through the house and
kitchen to a screened back porch. Charlie and Margery sat at a large
table while he brought bread, cheese, pickles, salami, mayonnaise,
mustard, a bowl of lettuce, and a smaller bowl of radishes. He set
plates and three glasses. "I've got beer, water, and--a little milk."
"Beer," Charlie said.
"Margery?"
"Beer."
"Three sodas coming up," Tucker said.
He and Margery reminisced. "Jack had a taste for the good stuff,"
Tucker said. "Five o'clock, regular. Never minded sharing, did Jack."
Charlie ate steadily and accepted another can of beer.
"Not bad, Tucker," he said. He had noticed a small wooden horse on a
shelf when he first entered the porch. During lunch, as Tucker and
Margery talked, his eyes kept returning to it. He got up and walked
over to the shelf. "What's this?"
"Something I made."
"Do you mind if I look at it?"
"Nope."
Charlie carried the horse back to the table. It was carved from wood,
light colored, about five inches high, galloping across a base of
wooden grasses and flowers. There was an air of health about it. It
seemed to belong where it was. "Nice," he said. "What kind of finish is
that on there?"
"Nothing much. Linseed oil, thinned some."
"Mighty nice."
"It's beautiful, Tucker."
"I made it for your mother." It was a statement of fact, but it carried
something extra, like the horse. "You probably don't remember Mesquite,
Margery."
"Mesquite--" Her face began to open.
"Must have died when you were about four or five."
"I'm remembering, now."
"Mr. Randolph brought him back for your mom--Helen," he said. "Got him
at a show down south somewhere. He was a quarter horse, Mesquite. From
Oklahoma originally, if I remember right. Damn fine horse." Tucker
tilted his glass for two swallows. "I used to take care of him once in
a while--when the family was away, you know. Well, one day Helen was
out riding and I was walking along. It was in June. The flowers was all
out. Mesquite got to cantering and I run along to keep up. Never forget
it. The flowers all different, blurring together and flowing along like
I was running through a river all different colors. And Helen sitting
up tall--she had hair just like yours, Margery, short and thick, straw
colored, went with her blue eyes." Tucker slowed down. "Well, I had to
do something. I made the horse."
"Mesquite."
"Yep."
"Why didn't you give it to her?"
"It's a long story, I guess. Took me a while to make it. Your mom took
a fancy to Jack. What with one thing and another, I went in the Navy.
When I got out, I guess you was three years old already."
"Oh, Tucker."
"How's she doing? She still in Florida where they went?"
"St. Augustine. She's down to one lung. She lives in one of
those--assisted living places, they call them. She has her own space,
but there's help if need be. She gets around on a walker." Margery
paused.
"Tucker, why do we cling so to life?"
"Guess we ain't done yet."
Margery looked at him for a long moment, and they exchanged what could
be exchanged in small smiles. Tucker went inside the house and returned
with a heavy cardboard box. "While I'm at it," he said and began taking
out carvings and putting them on the table--more horses, deer,
squirrels, birds of all kinds, a woodchuck. Charlie held up a fox and
looked at it from different angles. Its tail was full, straight out
behind him, level with his back. His ears were sharply pointed, his
head tilted slightly, all senses alert. Charlie was sure it was a he;
the fox was elegant and challenging, superior.
"Damn near alive," Charlie said. "You could make money with these."
Tucker shook his head negatively. "Only do one a year. In the winter,
not much going on." He looked into the back yard. "Try to get it done
on February 15th."
"Mother's birthday."
"We used to talk about them a lot--animals and birds. Walk in the
woods, talk."
"Tucker, does she know about these?"
"Nope."
"But she should see them!"
"She'd like them, you think?"
"Of course she would. They're beautiful."
"I'm not much for writing,"
"I could mail them to her if you'd like." He looked at the carvings,
rubbed his chin, and inclined his head. A _why not_ expression crossed
his face. He pulled a twenty dollar bill from a scarred black wallet.
"Tucker, for heavens sake!" He insisted that she take it.
"Ask her, if she don't mind--I might take a ride down, say hello.
Probably get a train down there." He looked at Charlie.
"Amtrak," Charlie said. "Or you could fly."
"I like trains."
They finished lunch and put the box of carvings on the back seat of
the car. "I'll wrap tissue paper around them so they don't get banged
up. I'll mail them tomorrow," Margery said. "Tucker, thank you so much
for lunch. It was so good to see you."
"I thought I'd be seeing you again one of these days," Tucker said.
"We'll keep in touch," Margery said.
"Take care of yourself," Charlie said. "You want a ride back?"
"I'll walk."
They drove away slowly as Tucker and Sally watched. Tucker lifted one
hand in farewell.
"You just never know, do you?" Charlie said.
"Tucker Smollett," Margery said. "Good old Tucker."
Halfway back to Portland, Charlie looked over at Margery and asked
about her husband. "He cared for me," she said. "He just cared more for
someone else."
"Damn shame," Charlie said. Margery brushed the fingers of one hand
through the back of her hair. Charlie thought she was going to say
more, but she didn't. At the ferry, he helped her with the box and said
goodbye.
The next morning was again bright and sunny. Charlie returned to the
bench near the ferry and sat, savoring his coffee, croissant, and the
salty air. His brother Orson came to mind. Orson was a pain in the ass,
but he had a point--sometimes you have to make a move.
Two men wearing similar clothes--pressed jeans, T-shirts, white running
shoes, and sunglasses--walked up and took benches closer to the water.
One was older, softer, beginning to put on weight. He sat with his
elbows on his knees, looking across the harbor. The other, fitter one,
stretched full length on his bench, arms out flat behind his head, and
stared into the sky. Neither looked happy. They remained unmoving, as
though they were waiting for a delivery.
That is not the way, Charlie thought. He stood, dropped the empty bag
and cup into a trash can, and walked in the direction of the unknown
furled inside him.