Lizabeth's Story (4 page)

“Mother, what's wrong?”

“I
t's Tracy.” Mother's hand was at her mouth as if she wanted to hold back the words. “She has scarlet fever.”

“Scarlet fever?” Lizabeth repeated.

“It will be all right. I know it will.” Aunt Jean put her arm around Mother's shoulders. “The two Haley children in Cranberry came down with it, remember? In a week the fever broke and they were back to their normal mischief in no time.”

Rose took Lizabeth's hand. “My father said almost everyone in Cranberry recovered.”

“But some didn't,” Mother whispered.

“Tracy has always been a strong, sturdy little girl, the picture of health,” Aunt Jean said.

Mother took a deep, shuddering breath.

“She'll be fine,” Aunt Jean said.

Lizabeth looked from her mother to Aunt Jean and
back again. Mother panics too easily, she thought. Tracy will be all right. People like us don't get
seriously
sick. That happens to poor people who don't have good food and nice, clean houses.

“We're in quarantine,” Mother said.

“What do you mean quarantine?” Lizabeth asked.

“No one comes in or out of our house,” Mother explained. “Dr. Forbes has to keep Cape Light from an epidemic. Strict quarantine, he said. No contact with anyone.”

“Oh,” Lizabeth said. It would be hard to be stuck at home but if it was only for a short time…. Didn't Aunt Jean just say the fever broke in a week? “All right, let's go home. I'll cheer up Tracy.”

“Lizabeth, you don't understand. You
can't
come home.” Mother's voice broke. “I can't have you exposed.”

“But I have to go home. Where else—”

“I packed a suitcase for you,” Mother interrupted. “It's in the carriage. You'll stay with your uncle Jasper and aunt Mavis in Pittsfield. I'm taking you right now.”

“Not them!” Uncle Jasper was Father's eldest brother. Both he and Aunt Mavis were
ancient
and strict and gloomy! “Is Chris going there, too?”

“Chris is staying with Michael Potter in Cranberry.
He can't miss the last weeks of high school, all the tests and—”

“I can't miss the last week of school, either.”

“Lizabeth, please don't make a fuss.” Mother sounded exhausted. “I have to take you and get back to Tracy and—”

“Oh, the Strawberry Festival! I
can't
be in Pittsfield for the Strawberry Festival. It's May nineteenth!”

“Maybe Tracy will be well by then,” Amanda said.

“I bet she will,” Rose said.

Of course she will, Lizabeth thought. Scarlet fever wasn't
that
bad. Was it?

“Now wait a minute, Sue,” Aunt Jean said. “Lizabeth will stay with us, of course. Why even think of sending her so far away?”

Kat nudged Lizabeth. “We'll have the best time!”

“I didn't want to trouble you. You don't have room for her,” Mother said. “Jasper and Mavis have lots of extra space and—”

“Please, Mother,” Lizabeth begged.

“Oh, pooh. It's not a bit of trouble,” Aunt Jean said. “We'll put Lizabeth in Kat's room and the girls will have a lovely time. Now you just go ahead and take care of our darling Tracy until the roses are back in her cheeks.”

“Thank you but…are you sure?” Mother asked.

“Not another word about it,” Aunt Jean said.

“I suppose it could work out.” Mother glanced at Lizabeth. “You'll have to help Aunt Jean and not get in the way. And—”

“I'll mind my manners and be ever so good.” Lizabeth grinned at Kat. “And we won't get into any scrapes, will we?”

A week of sleeping over with Kat would be fun! Kat would help her get ready for the Strawberry Queen contest and she'd go there with the Williams family. If she won, that would cheer up Mother and Tracy and everybody.

“Lizabeth, come get your suitcase,” Mother said. She turned to Aunt Jean. “Thank you. I have to rush right back. Stanton is holding down the fort at home and making arrangements to stay out of the bank for the week.”

If Father is actually staying home from the bank, Lizabeth thought, that sounds
serious
. She brushed that terrible thought away. No, it's because Father will be in quarantine like everyone else. But even so, it wasn't right to look forward to staying with Kat when the reason was that her little sister was sick. She felt a chill of fear.

But God wouldn't let anything happen to Tracy. She
never hurt anyone or anything. Why, she even felt sorry for the flowers when she picked them….

 

At dinner, eight-year-old Jamie and Uncle Tom moved over to make room at the round wood table. Lizabeth was squeezed in between Kat and ten-year-old Todd. Aunt Jean served a tureen of thick clam chowder and coarse bread. Ironstone bowls were passed around.

Everyone helped themselves with the big soup ladle.

“Jamie and I went clamming this afternoon,” Todd said proudly. “We got a big haul of quahogs down in the eelgrass.”

Lizabeth swallowed.
Eelgrass?

“And clams are free!” Jamie sang out.

Kat shrugged. “Chowder with milk, chowder with tomatoes, chowder with parsley…I get tired of it.”

“It's a good, healthy Cape dish,” Uncle Tom said. “Though the only proper way is with milk and potatoes, exactly like this. Anything else is criminal.”

Lizabeth moved her spoon around her soup. It was barely liquid, crammed with potatoes and heaven knew what else. “It's very good, Aunt Jean,” she said politely. She hated thinking that the clams in her bowl had been
pulled out of eelgrass by Todd and Jamie. That sounded too slimy! How she longed for Ada's clear consommé with nothing more than a slice of lemon floating in it.

“Have some more, dear,” Aunt Jean said. “You took hardly a spoonful.”

“It's as thick and filling as a stew,” Lizabeth answered cheerfully. “I'll have to leave room for the main course.”

Jamie laughed. “This
is
the main course!”

Oops, Lizabeth thought.

“Hush, Jamie,” Aunt Jean said. “Would you like something else, Lizabeth?”

“Oh, no. This is fine,” Lizabeth said. She chewed and chewed on a lump of dark bread. She'd been at Kat's a million times, she thought, for a million after-school snacks. But she didn't remember ever actually having
dinner
here. For Thanksgiving and Christmas, the Williamses always came to the Merchants' house. There was so much more room at the Merchants' and of course, there was help, and it was just…
nicer
. True, no one was arguing or angry at the Williams table, and Kat's father joked and laughed a lot. Still, there was a lot to be said for crisp white tablecloths and linen napkins. Lizabeth sighed.

She felt Kat's sharp glance and quickly arranged a
pleasant expression on her face. She was awfully glad she was here and not in Pittsfield.

And now Aunt Jean was serving apple pie, still warm from the oven, with slices of cheddar. “That smells wonderful, Aunt Jean!” Lizabeth could certainly fill up on that.

After dinner Lizabeth and Kat went to the lighthouse for Kat's evening shift. They climbed up the ladder to the tower.

Lizabeth looked out of the windows all around the circular room. The ocean was crashing on the rocks below, sending sprays of white foam high into the air. The setting sun colored the waves orange and red.

“It's beautiful,” Lizabeth said.

“It's different all the time,” Kat said. “That's why I keep doing seascapes.”

“Are you going to paint now?” Lizabeth asked. Kat would often paint here in the afternoons while Lizabeth, Amanda, and Rose talked. It was nice.

“No, it'll be too dark in a minute,” Kat said.

“So turn on the light,” Lizabeth said.

“Lizabeth, did you forget? The tower room only has the lantern.”

“Oh.” Lizabeth was used to electricity in every room.

The last of the sun's rays were sinking into the dark ocean.

“Well I'd better take care of it,” Kat said. Kat took the lantern from the shelf. She trimmed the wick, filled it with kerosene, and lit it.

The lantern was reflected in the windows. Past the circle of brightness around it, the room became dim.

Lizabeth looked at the deep shadows on the stone floor. “I guess we can't play jacks either.” It was strange how a place that was magical in the afternoon could become so uninviting when the sun went down. But she was determined to be cheerful.

“We can always talk.” Lizabeth settled into a chair and smiled. “That's what we do most of the time anyway.”

“I have some things to do first.” Kat started up the second ladder that went high into the very top where the light was. Lizabeth remembered seeing the cramped space up there and she didn't like it at all. It was impossible to turn around without bumping into the stone walls.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lizabeth asked. “Should I…um…help?” Help with
what
, she wondered. Anyway, there probably wasn't room for both of them up there.

“That's all right, I'll just be a minute,” Kat called down as she disappeared.

“What are you doing?” Lizabeth called up to her.

“Winding the spring that makes the light revolve.” Kat's voice bounced off the stone walls and took on an echo.

The light came on. Beyond its rays, everything was suddenly pitch black.

Kat climbed back down the ladder and picked up the shovel leaning against the coal stove.

“What are you doing now?”

“Ma always cleans out the ashes at the end of her morning watch. It's my job to stoke the new coals.”

Lizabeth watched as Kat shoveled in lumps of coal. “That's too messy! Why do you have to do that, anyway? It's May!”

“It still gets cold up here at night.” Kat wiped her hands off on a rag, but Lizabeth could see that they weren't really clean.

There's nothing like soap and running water, Lizabeth thought. She scooted her chair back out of touching range. But she suspected that coal dust was flying all around.

“What's the matter?” Kat asked.

“Nothing. Just that this is my new shirtwaist….”

“Fancy white linen isn't the best thing to wear for a lighthouse shift,” Kat said.

“When I got dressed this morning, how was I supposed to know I'd be stoking coals by nightfall?”

Kat raised her eyebrows. “You weren't exactly
stoking
it.”

“Hmmm, that's true.” Lizabeth had to laugh. “I guess I was
mentally
stoking it…to keep you company.”

Kat laughed, too. “Oh, well. Thanks.”

“Seriously, I'll help you with…whatever,” Lizabeth said. She sat up straight, all set to get to work. “So now what?”

“Now we watch.” Kat sat down next to Lizabeth and scanned the horizon. Lizabeth looked out the window, too. She watched the light revolve. Its rays covered miles in all directions. There wasn't a thing to see.

“You just
watch
?” Lizabeth yawned. “But nothing's happening.”

“That's the point. We pray for nothing to happen,” Kat said. “I'm on watch in case something does. We can talk, Lizabeth, but I'm supposed to be alert.”

Lizabeth squirmed restlessly in her chair. “There aren't even any stars to look at.”

“If I'd known you were coming, I'd have arranged for them to come out.”

Lizabeth tapped her foot. “So you just sit here for hours, watching
nothing
?”

“What did you think a lighthouse shift was?” Kat's tone was sharp.

“Well, I didn't know,” Lizabeth said. “It's boring.” The tower room was their special place, but it wasn't much fun tonight. She stifled another yawn.

“If you're tired, you can turn in,” Kat said. “You don't have to stay.”

“It's too early to go to sleep,” Lizabeth protested.

“Then go play with Todd and Jamie!”

“Are you mad, Kat? What are you mad about?”

“I'm not
mad
, but…” Kat sighed. “This is what I do and you don't have to act like it's so awful.”

“I didn't say it was awful,” Lizabeth said. “I just didn't know what a shift is like. I mean, it's different when we're here in the afternoon relaxing with Amanda and Rose. For goodness' sake, Kat, I was just
asking
.”

“All right, I'm sorry I jumped on you,” Kat said. “We can talk like we always do. The only difference is that I'm looking out the window.”

Lizabeth didn't feel much like talking anymore. She
was busy thinking. How could she have forgotten, even for a minute, that the cottage had no running water? Tonight, she'd have to use the
outhouse
! And there was one bed—a narrow cot—in Kat's room. Where would she be sleeping? She hoped it wouldn't have to be on the floor!

G
etting ready for bed was much harder here. There was the trip down the dark path to the outhouse. Kat carried a hurricane lamp to light their way. The bushes rustled and there was the constant buzz of insects. Lizabeth prayed she wouldn't have to go again during the night. There was a chamber pot in Kat's room, but who was supposed to empty it?

The girls had to carry water in from the well and heat it on the kitchen stove and carry it upstairs. Lizabeth started to give Kat a hand with the bucket.

“It's so
heavy
,” Lizabeth said.

“That's okay,” Kat said. “I've got it.”

There was just enough water for one bath and it certainly wasn't the best bath Lizabeth had ever had! And then she felt guilty. She didn't realize.

“Sorry,” Lizabeth said. “Did I use it all up? I didn't mean to.”

“Don't worry,” Kat said. “I'll take mine in the morning.” She spread a bedroll on the floor. “You can have the bed.”

“Are you sure?” Lizabeth asked halfheartedly.

“It's fine. I've slept on the bedroll lots of times.”

Lizabeth wondered if she should offer to take the bedroll, but Kat didn't seem to mind. After her prayers, Kat tunneled comfortably under her quilt with Sunshine curled up next to her.

Lizabeth closed her eyes. She was used to smoothly ironed bed linens scented with lavender. Kat's sheets were coarse. The mattress was much thinner than hers at home—and lumpy. Whichever way she tossed and turned, she found new lumps. She thought of the story about the princess and the pea. Well, she wasn't a princess, but…

Lizabeth giggled. “Are you testing me, Kat?”

“What?” Kat mumbled sleepily.

“You didn't put a pea under the mattress, did you?”

“A pea? What are you talking about?”

“The story…Never mind, it just struck me as funny….” Anyway, it didn't feel like a pea. More like a big bunch of turnips. It would be a lot to put up with for a whole week.

She heard Kat breathing softly in her sleep.

Lizabeth wished Kat was still awake. She felt lonely and far from home. She missed the soft glow of the outdoor gas lamp shining through her curtains. She missed her embroidered pillowcase. Every house has its very own nighttime creaks, she thought. The creaks at the cottage were unfamiliar. She longed to be at home, in her own bed.

She stared into the dark. She couldn't fall asleep. Why did everything seem so much worse at night? In the black silence she couldn't keep worrisome thoughts away.

Dear God, she prayed, bless Mother, Father, Chris, and Tracy, my friends and neighbors and all the ships at sea. That was her nightly prayer. Now she added: And please, God, keep Tracy safe tonight.

Lizabeth caught her breath and sat up straight in bed. The last time I was with Tracy, she thought, I screamed at her over some stupid ribbons!

“Lizabeth?” Kat murmured sleepily.

“I love Tracy.”

“So do I.” Kat reached up to take Lizabeth's hand. “She's my own little cousin. I prayed for her tonight.”

“Thank you,” Lizabeth said. “I did, too.” God wouldn't
let anything hurt Tracy. Anyway, it wasn't something terrible like tuberculosis or cholera….

“She'll get better soon.”

“I know. Ada will know exactly what to do,” Lizabeth said.

“Good night,” Kat said. “Sleep tight.”

“Good night.”

Their hands stayed clasped together for a long time.

 

When Kat woke her the next morning, Lizabeth felt as though there were pebbles under her eyelids. She looked around the dim room.

“Isn't it awfully early?”

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Kat said. “There are chores to do before school.”

“
Chores
before school? What now?”

Kat's look told her she'd said the wrong thing again! Couldn't Kat appreciate that she was
trying
? It wasn't that easy to fit in with the Williamses' ways!

“For goodness' sake, Lizabeth. Don't you have to do
anything
at home?”

“We have Ada and the maids—though that new one seems lazy—and the laundress,” Lizabeth said. “And I'm not going to feel guilty about it, either. I'm glad they're
there. What good would it do anybody if I did their work and took their jobs away?”

“I guess that's true, but…” Kat looked thoughtful. “You should at least know what needs to be done. And who does it. So you'll respect their labor.”

“You don't need to preach to me, Kat. I respect Ada. She just about raised us.”

“It seems odd to call a grown-up woman by her first name,” Kat said.

“Well, that's what we do.” Lizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “Anyway, I'll help out. So let's go do
chores
.”

When they were dressed, Kat led her to the chicken coop behind the cottage. Before breakfast!

“It smells!” Lizabeth said before she could stop herself.

“Here, feed them while I collect the eggs.”

“
Feed
them?” Chickens were pecking at Lizabeth's shoes and she backed away.

Kat laughed. “Pull yourself together, Lizabeth. All you need to do is scatter the seed!”

Lizabeth dropped some seed on the ground and that attracted more chickens to her feet. They were crowding around and clucking at her. They were aggressive!

Lizabeth took another step away and, oh, no! Her nice high-button black patent shoes were sinking into the disgusting
droppings
!

“Kat! Where are you? Get me out of this!”

The droppings were slippery and Lizabeth spread her arms to keep her balance. She couldn't fall into
that
! Her flapping arms made the chickens flutter away in all directions and feathers flew. Frantically, Lizabeth waved feathers away from her face.

“Stand still, you're scaring them!” Kat's voice came from somewhere behind her. Lizabeth whirled around and banged into Kat—and into the basket in Kat's hand. Broken eggs oozed all over the ground.

“Oh!” Lizabeth said. “Oh, I'm sorry.” Yellow yolks dotted her black patent shoes.

Kat rolled her eyes. “Well, we won't have eggs for breakfast. Or anytime soon.”

“I'm sorry. I meant to help.”

Kat sighed. “I suppose you did.”

It was all Lizabeth could do not to hang her head. “I'm sorry.” Why, oh why, couldn't she do anything right at the Williamses'?

All the Williamses had breakfast together at the round table. Hotcakes. They were good. Actually,
Lizabeth preferred hotcakes to eggs. So maybe the morning wasn't such a disaster.

When Lizabeth was finished, she started for the door. She realized Kat wasn't following her and she turned back.

Everyone was busy: Jamie clearing the table, Kat washing dishes, Todd drying, Aunt Jean scrubbing the griddle, and Uncle Tom cleaning coals out of the stove. How very odd for Kat's father and brothers to be doing women's work. It had to be humiliating for them. Maybe that's what happened when people didn't have servants.

“Um…do you want me to do something?” Lizabeth asked.

There was a knock on the cottage door.

“I'll get it,” Lizabeth said. Here was a chance to be helpful without getting her hands too dirty.

She opened the door and gasped in horror. Crazy Mary was on the threshold! The long gray hair blowing wildly in the wind made her even more grotesque. Close up, her bony face was a spiderweb of wrinkles. She extended a clawlike hand. Reaching for her!

In the nick of time Lizabeth slammed the door. She leaned against the closed door, her heart thumping. Thank
goodness she'd reacted fast and kept a madwoman out! Maybe that would make up for everything else.

“Lizabeth? Who was it?” Aunt Jean asked.

“Crazy Mary! I just managed to…” Lizabeth was still catching her breath. She looked at the Williamses, expecting praise.

“You slammed the door on her? Why did you—” Aunt Jean went to open the door. She looked out and sighed. “Too late. She's running down the path.”

“But it was Crazy Mary!” Lizabeth said.

“She comes by sometimes, and I wrap up some food for her,” Aunt Jean said. “You shouldn't have turned her away like that.”

“If she came here, she was hungry,” Uncle Tom said. “I wish you'd asked us. She's just a sad old woman.”

“I thought…I thought keeping her out was the right thing to do.” No matter what Lizabeth did, she was getting everything wrong! It was embarrassing.

“She never comes in,” Kat said. “She takes the food and runs away.”

Now the Williamses thought she was uncharitable. But Crazy Mary was filthy and revolting!
And
crazy, which certainly could be dangerous. Maybe it was the Williamses who were wrong this time.