Ghost Point
Murder
and Thwarted Love – Potomac River Oyster Wars
Diane Scott Lewis
Chapter One
Colonial Beach, Virginia 1956
Luke questioned his sanity as he and
his crewmates rushed to slip the dredges over the sides of the high-powered
motorboat. The scoops splashed into the river; their cables squeaked along the
rollers amidships. The vessel rocked beneath his feet and he widened his
stance. With a grating sound, the dredges started to drag over the oyster bed.
The chains and iron teeth of the basket-like scoop raked the bed as it scraped
up oysters like a greedy shark. The peril of illegal actions.
The Potomac’s spray dampened Luke’s
face and hair. Frigid October wind seeped under his coat collar, and he fought
a shiver. River current sucked against Monroe
Sally’s hull as the boat hovered like a predator in the black night.
He grimaced. This was the first
season that he’d performed this nocturnal activity—but many watermen had been
forced into it to survive, and to defy.
He should have stayed with the legal
tonging. But dredging did in one hour what tonging did in eight—though the
scraping ruined the beds. Luke needed the money; he had a wife and his little
boy to support. A week in, he’d admitted the criminal work to Lena, yet never
told her that his father had urged him to ‘break the rules,’ saying it was his duty as a Virginian. “Do you want your
family to starve?” his pa had accused.
“Old man’s full of crap,” Luke
muttered. He should have told him where to go. Not that he didn’t love him, but
he had to stop letting his father intimidate him.
The boat creaked as it slowly
bobbed. The teeth scraped and tore at the beds.
His wife often said the same about
his pa, and Luke had to be the man of his own house.
A crack in the distance echoed over
the water. A rifle shot. Luke’s neck muscles tensed. The Maryland oyster
police, who held jurisdiction over the Potomac, must be after a dredger.
“Hope we’re not next,” Ernie said
with his goofy laugh, but his shoulders hunched.
“Don’t ask for trouble.” Luke swiped
his arm across his face to stifle a more agitated reply. With the way sounds
carried over the river, the police could be a couple of miles away.
Luke and Ernie scrutinized the
marker in the water: an inner tube in an upside-down bushel basket with a kerosine
lantern inside that showed a weak flicker. Captain Jim Spenser had pinpointed
the bed with this light, and they circled it as they dredged.
At the familiar tug of the cable and
the boat’s shudder, Captain Jim sped up the winder engine. Luke and his mates
engaged the winder clutches to reel aboard the catch.
Ernie and Luke manned one dredge.
Ernie’s younger brother Bobby and a colored man named Silas Hawes toiled close
by at the other. Their grumbles and curses thickened the air. The stink of sour
sweat poured off them. Luke’s muscles strained from shoulder to fingers.
As the pocket-like net bag swung
over the side, its frame banging the rail, nearly forty pounds of muddy shells
clattered onto the work deck. Captain Jim brought the boat around again and,
with a “heave ho,” they slid the equipment back into the water.
Their rubber-gloved hands culled
through the oysters. Each rattle of shells cut into Luke’s brain as he hurried.
The stink of the sea and slime filled his nose.
Suddenly a spotlight illuminated Sally and the crew stared into the
light, shading their eyes. Captain Jim gunned the stern’s Johnson motor and the
boat rumbled and jerked. The winder engine kicked in again. The men hoisted up
the dredgers as the police boat nosed its way through the mist to block their
escape.
“Damn
it all.” Luke jerked his dredger across the deck. His body tightened at the
dangerous possibility of arrest. How would he protect his family from jail?
“Stop!” the Maryland officials
shouted. A whip sounded as they tried to lash a line across their vessel’s bow.
Monroe Sally bumped alongside the
police boat. A shot exploded from beside him. The police captain staggered and
grabbed his shoulder. The officers aimed their rifles and shots whistled across
Luke’s head and right shoulder. He cringed and ducked down among broken oyster
shells and mud. Would this be his last night on the earth?
Their boat retreated into the fog at
full speed, hugged the shore, then slipped into a cove. Captain Jim cut her
engine. Lights off. The crew stayed crouched and held their breath, listening
for the growl of a pursuing motor. Silence enveloped them. Frogs grunted in the
rushes. Luke cursed to himself at whatever idiot on Sally had fired first.
* * *
Dawn light crept through the flimsy bedroom
curtains. Yelena wriggled her toes under the covers and stared at the creeping
shadows on the ceiling. Luke should be at Monroe Harbor by now, delivering
their catch to Land Curley. Her heart constricted. How she hated these long
nights, the dangers out on the Potomac since Luke had joined the illicit
dredgers.
Extra cash during hard times—the
long fading of Colonial Beach as a pleasure place after the war—except for the
flashy casinos—and defying Maryland’s ownership of the river, drove the Virginians
to anger and desperation.
The old-timers grumbled constantly
about these issues, especially the beleaguered watermen. Yelena struggled
between pity for her town, and the graver apprehension for Luke’s safety.
Her life always seemed teetering on
the edge, never advancing to something better. She chased around like clanging
pinballs what solutions she had the power to initiate. The strength to
raise her family into a securer, more comfortable environment. Perhaps she
could find a job, bring in income? Or was that a foolish idea?
Seger banged a toy truck on his
bedroom floor, in the tiny room across from hers. It came like shots through
the thin walls of their ramshackle cottage. She winced at the sound, though the
toy didn’t matter. She had bought the thing second-hand, rusty and scratched.
After a moment, the child appeared in her doorway, rumpled in his Mighty Mouse
pajamas.
“You’re up awful early,” she said
softly.
“Where’s Daddy? Not home yet?” he
asked, but sounded more a demand. He padded barefoot across creaking
floorboards to the window and peeked out. Standing on tiptoe, he trailed his
fingers over the glass. She tried not to mind the smudged fingerprints that
would remain there until she cleaned.
“He’ll be here soon, Champ. The boat
should be in dock.” She smiled as the boy crawled in beside her and snuggled
into the bed. His fresh child smell. Her Seger, four and a half years old, and
full of mischief. Still, she resented that name. A sweet, cherub-faced child
called Seger—it didn’t fit to her reasoning. She had wanted something more
poetic, but Luke said they should honor his father. Whiskey would have been a
more appropriate testimonial. Luke’s cantankerous old man delighted in swilling
alcohol and ordering people about, rather than caring about his kin.
She
kissed her son’s warm forehead under blond curls and thought how she used to
dislike her own name. Yelena. Named for a great-grandmother she’d never seen
who had lived and toiled in some Siberian hovel. She’d been curious to look up
Siberia at the library when old enough to read: a Russian wasteland where
temperatures plummeted to frigid depths. Many of her childhood friends had
teased her over this odd appellation. They’d chided her for a prissy name
unworthy of a true Virginian. But now, at twenty-four, she believed it gave her
a mysterious distinction.
A key scraped in the front door
lock. Seger wriggled from under the covers and scampered into the hallway.
Yelena pulled the blanket snug to her chin and waited as the door opened and
boots tramped in.
“Daddy, ’bout time you came home,”
Seger announced.
“Hey, Spat, why’re you up now?” Luke
asked when he reached their bedroom door. He pulled off his wool cap and swung
Seger into his arms. Her husband’s medium frame was slender but muscled, his
light brown hair tousled as he stood in the shadows. That fishy odor that clung
to his clothes clouded in, and after all these years she still noticed even if
she’d stopped wrinkling her nose.
“I’m awake.” Yelena forced a smile
over her qualms. When Luke trudged farther in, she refrained from complaining
about his filthy boots. “Did it go well tonight?”
Luke smirked, but it didn’t change
the troubled expression in his eyes. He shifted the child on his hip. “Spat,
you go play in your room.”
“Ain’t no baby oyster.” Seger poked
his father’s chest, his bottom lip stuck out. “I ain’t no spat.”
She sighed and despaired of breaking
her son from saying ‘ain’t.’
Luke carried the protesting boy
across the hall. Then he shut their bedroom door and looked down at his boots.
“Sorry, I mussed up the rug. I’ll go back outside and—”
“Is everything all right?” She sat
up, her breathing shallow. She sensed the anxiety that bristled off of him.
The sun brightened through the
curtains. A bird chirped, then another.
Luke’s body seemed to sag, as if his
bones had gone to rubber. His hazel eyes held too much distraction. “Nothing,
it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do this
anymore. I don’t know why you had to join in.” She’d made that statement too
many times to count since oyster season began. But this morning the increased
tension in her husband quickened her pulse.
He sank into a nearby chair and
unlaced his boots. “Lena, do you think I’d be doing it if I had something
better? Money’s tight enough.” He spoke so harshly, she clung to the hope he
regretted his choice, that soon he’d quit.
“If not this season, absolutely next
season…you can stop.” She wouldn’t know until then what he’d choose, how much
she could still influence him.
There was a loud knock on their
bedroom door. Seger squeaked it open and peered in, his plump mouth pouting.
“Don’t wanna play in my room no more.”
“The hell you say.” Luke laughed at
his son’s bold statement. “We’ll just have to see ’bout that.”
“Luke, please, no profanity in front
of him. We’ve talked about that.” She rose from the bed and shivered in the chilly
room. Slipping on her robe, she then pushed her feet into scuffed slippers.
“I’m hungry.” Seger opened the door
a few inches wider and stretched to his full height—as if that would impress
his parents
“Sorry, forgot the danged Queen was
here.” Luke glanced at her, shaking his head. “Where good ole swearin’ becomes
‘profanity.’”
His irritation unsettled her. A
queen, was she? A royal Russian empress living in a shack. “I’m just trying to
do what’s best. You should get out of those damp clothes.”
Seger squeezed through the door
opening and tiptoed in, as if no one would notice.
Luke hopped to his feet and kissed
her on the cheek. “I’ll wash and try an’ get some sleep.”
Yelena put her arms around her
husband. The smell of the river oozed from his clothes; his cheek felt like
ice. Now she’d smell fishy. Was she trying to find solace? “Would you like some
hot chocolate to warm up first?”
“Nope. I just gotta grab a little
thief.” He kissed her quickly on the lips, then turned and scooped up the
child, who squealed, and swung him in the air. “Come on, boy, help me fill my
bath.” He tramped back out into the hall with Seger under his arm like a bushel
of oysters.
As
she watched him go, she felt only a remnant of that soft twisting in her
abdomen. The feeling she’d had that first day she’d laid eyes on Lukas
Trowbridge at Colonial Beach High School. It had faded, their expectations
moving apart. Her once secure anchor pulled free from its mooring. She clutched
her robe close. The idea frightened her.
Chapter Two
Luke gripped the sheets, the bed
wavering beneath him like the bob of a boat. He came fully awake in the
dark-paneled bedroom. He’d done oyster work since fourteen, yet it never seemed
to matter—the movement of the river swayed in his dreams. Generations of
oystermen fished in his blood, the rugged watermen were his family.
The house was quiet. Lena must have
gone out with their boy. She was annoyed with him. Disappointed more like it;
he saw it deeper in her eyes each day. The pretty blonde-haired girl he’d
always struggled to impress. A girl who’d won a math award in their senior
year. Math!
He left the warm blankets and pulled
on his jeans and a sweatshirt. In the kitchen he heated water in a pot on the
stove and scooped the instant coffee into a mug. When the water boiled, he
poured it over the grounds, making a muddy liquid. A quick stir and sip. He
frowned at the grainy taste, an off-brand. The higher-paid people drank Nescafe.
His wife should be here, percolating a good brew.
He glanced at the clock on the wall.
Almost noon. He’d have to make his own lunch, too.
Luke stared out the kitchen window
to the marsh, the drying rushes. The last of the season’s mosquitos waited in hunger
for the dip of the sun. An inlet off the bay on Virginia’s Northern Neck, the
land was a peninsula between the Potomac River and Monroe Bay. His entire
world, nearly seventy miles south of Washington, D.C.. A place he’d never
visited.
Lena wanted to take Seger to the
capitol, teach him about history, government. The boy wasn’t even in school
yet. There was plenty of history right here at the Beach. Hell, George
Washington was born not far from there.
Luke’s battleground was here,
stretching from the bridge where busy route 301 crossed the Potomac into
Maryland, then twenty-five miles downriver to the Chesapeake.
Fingers gripped on the mug handle,
he should tell Lena about the shooting incident. That news would get back to
her sooner or later, but he hated to worry her more. She had to understand this
was business and for now he must make a bigger profit. Packing house owner Land
Curley paid well for the larger catch.
It did bother him to ruin the beds.
The oysters not being able to reproduce would eventually destroy their
livelihood. His mama had once explained it to him. His mama… Dammit, he was
caught in a terrible position.
He glanced down and touched rough
splinters. The window needed repairs, the wood rotting on the frame. Saltwater
air did that to a house. He’d have to fix it. The landlord would take forever.
Another sip of coffee tasted bitter down his throat.
He jerked open the fridge that
hummed louder than a wasps’ nest. Peanut butter and jelly seemed his best
choice for a sandwich. Where was his wife?
His heart bunched like a fist. How
could he fix things with Lena? Put a smile back on her face, the brightness in
her eyes that first attracted him. He needed her gentle presence.
Luke smacked the fridge door. Other
sinister activities were happening out on the Potomac; stuff he could never
tell her about. Crimes he was repulsed to believe.
* * *
Pam moved ponderously around her
tiny kitchen, cleaning up the lunch dishes of tuna sandwiches. Huge and
pregnant with number four, her swollen ankles bulged over worn slippers. “Look
exhausted, Lena. You getting no sleep?”
“I’m up too early. You’ll be the one
needing the sleep, sis. Are you trying to start a fishing crew of your own?”
Yelena smiled to distract the question and sipped coffee at the table with its
torn plastic yellow cover.
“Think if I had my druthers I’d be
doing it again? Probably. Matt likes his women full-bodied.” Pam peered into
the front room. “You kids get off the sofa with your shoes! And no jumping.”
She sat at the table with a thud.
“My Seger keeps me running enough. I
guess I haven’t gotten loads of sleep lately.” Yelena absently stirred the
sugar around in Pam’s chipped green sugar bowl. Agitation kept her off balance,
as if she should be doing something important, but exactly what she needed to
figure out. The job idea kept repeating in her head.
“Anything the matter? Things all
right with you and Luke?” Pam bent over as far as her belly would allow and
tossed a piece of Moon Pie at the dog. Chocolate and graham cracker crumbs
scattered around her feet. The matted-haired terrier gobbled the pastry in loud
snuffles. “Fool dog eats whatever you throw in his face.”
“Dogs usually do. The chocolate
might make it sick.” Yelena averted her eyes as the mutt nosed the crumbs,
combining them with other debris on her sister’s floor. “Me and Luke? I still love him, care about him. His eyes
always make him look sad, vulnerable. But I…I just can’t understand what I’m
about lately.”
Luke’s gazes once tied her up tight
inside, with a crooked smile that quickened her breath. Now, she couldn’t
describe the hollow feeling that crept up on her of late. Did she love
him as much as in the beginning? She wanted more, but how to explain that to
Pam.
“Vulnerable? Where do you get your
fancy words? Baby sis, you love to talk above us rank and file. Too much book
reading if you ask me.” Pam put both elbows on the table, her mug of coffee between
her hands. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “And your year
at college.”
“For what good it did me.” Yelena
wished she could take that statement back. She’d attended the business college
in Fredericksburg, an hour away, until she discovered she was pregnant with
Seger. She and Luke had married, as they’d always intended, but not so quickly.
“Not that I regret my beautiful son.”
“You’re a good mom. But you’ve got
your head in the clouds. You get that from Daddy. I know you love your man, but
your life isn’t what you expected.” Pam sat back and studied Yelena with her
round green eyes above puffy cheeks. “Don’t frown at me, it’s the truth.”
“I don’t think I’m so above anyone.
At least I try not to behave that way.” Yelena had been voted most popular girl
in her senior year and graduated with straight A’s. But what had she accomplished in her life? She’d
hoped to be a bookkeeper; she was good at math. She might still find something
like that to help out her family.
The sound of wrestling came from the
front room; children’s laughter and shouts, bumps against the wall.
“Settle down in there,” Pam warned.
“I got cookies for good little kids.”
Seger ran in, cheeks flushed. “Mama,
I want a cookie.” He grabbed her hand and she twirled him then squeezed him
close, feeling his warmth and energy. He laughed.
“Sweetie, not yet, and please
behave.” She caressed his plump cheek. He blew her a kiss and ran back to where
his cousins played.
“Your boy always behaves the best.”
Pam rubbed her mound of a belly. “You could use more cookies; you’re too
skinny.”
“I’m trim, that’s all.” Yelena gazed
at the dusty kitchen window with its jars of wildflowers on the sill. A sprig
of lavender would sweeten the air. She turned back to her sister. “You enjoy
being the world’s mama, don’t you?”
“Our mama couldn’t be
bothered so much. She was too distracted. So someone had to do it.” Pam cocked
her head; the earth mother—warm and comfortable like a well-worn sweater. “Say,
you been out to visit them lately?”
“Don’t be so hard on Mama. She
had…problems later on. It wasn’t her fault.” Yelena twinged with guilt at her
neglect. She glanced again at the floor, but resisted the urge to ask her
sister where she kept her dust broom and pan. “I haven’t been out for a while.”
A Slinky flew into the room and
boinged into the cupboards. The dog ran out with a yelp.
Pam rose, moaned, and waddled to the
cupboard where she kicked the toy out of the way. “Knock it off in there!” She
sighed. “We have a crazy mama, all right. Except she doesn’t run screaming down
the street trying to stab people like a proper lunatic. She hides in her house
and won’t come out for hell or high water. A cowering mouse. That’s why Daddy’s
gotten so quiet. He’s turning into her.”
“Don’t be harsh. I pity them. Everyone
has issues. Is your life so perfect? Don’t tell me, it is, isn’t it?” Yelena
finished her coffee in one probably too-dainty a sip. “Luke called me the Queen
this morning. Is that what you all think, I put on airs?”
“You expect too much, that’s all.
You married Luke for fevered passion, but nothing stays fevered.” Pam winked as
she brought out a cookie jar shaped with the pink face of Porky Pig. “Then you
dig in for the long haul.”
“You do know me better than anyone.”
Yelena wanted to steer the long haul in a better direction. She stood and
smiled at her sister. A person she’d always counted on, five years her senior.
She shouldered her basket, an item she’d bought at a flea market. She enjoyed
the idea of shopping like a colonial. Another ‘air’ of hers, she supposed.
“Thanks for lunch. I better get to the grocers.”
Pam fetched several Oreos from the
jar, leaving dark crumbs on her Formica counter. “Reminds me, have you heard
from Nancy?”
“Not for a few weeks. Why?” Yelena
thought of their wild, red-haired cousin. Loud and crazy and fun.
“She came by the other day.” Pam
laid the sweet-scented cookies on a plate. “She says her Jerry is dredging out
on the river, dodging the Oyster Police. They’re getting shot at.”
Yelena froze, her mind tumbling.
“Shot at, are you sure?”
Pam shrugged. “You know how she
exaggerates. Luke isn’t involved, is he?”
“Of course not.” She regretted lying
to Pam. Was her husband being fired on, too? Or knew others that were? Chills
rippled along her neck. “Can Seger stay and play till I’m through shopping?”
“Sure he can.” Pam’s eyes sharpened
for a second as if she read minds. Yelena suspected she did. “You okay? You
look pale.”
Yelena turned her face away. “I’m
fine, stop mothering.”
“You’ll tell me later.” Pam moved
close and grinned. Her cheeks ballooned out further. “When are you having
another? Seger needs a brother or sister.”
Yelena stared at her sister’s wide
hips in gray maternity pants and her bloated bosom. She squeezed her close, a
pillow of flesh against her. “One is quite enough for now. I won’t be long.”
She couldn’t bring another child into her uncertain world.
* * *
The Potomac Riverfront of Colonial Beach
was tumbled down and weathered by years of rough river, winds, and neglect.
Hurricane Hazel, two years before, had badly damaged the boardwalk and it was
just now getting back to normal. The old Colonial Beach Hotel with its two grand balconies, up on a slight, grassy
hill, anchored the area. Ice cream shops and other concessions that would
thrive with people in the summer were boarded up. The small amusement park sat
quiet to the right.
As a little girl, Yelena had found a
wild, rustic ambiance here that she couldn’t have explained to anyone. The
Potomac appeared wide enough to be an ocean that stretched to Europe, and she’d
felt on the edge of the world—an exciting and daunting prospect. She missed
that childhood fantasy.
Now she thought of the river as the
place where her husband defied the Maryland Tidewater Fisheries Commission and
every night risked arrest. Shot at? She shivered. It was October, barely
weeks into the season, and she dreaded the long months ahead.
She continued to walk and glared at
the casinos situated on the wide piers over the Potomac: “Little Reno,” “Monte
Carlo,” “Jackpot” and “Little Steel Pier.” These garish places awaited the
crush of summer tourists eager to gamble. The gaming dens did little to help
the local economy. All taxes were paid to Maryland, who had jurisdiction over
the Potomac. Colonial Beach had to provide food and lodging, which garnered
some revenue. But they also had to increase their police force to tame the
drunken sore losers or celebrating winners who poured from the clubs.
Avaricious Maryland snatched everything in profit.
A seagull screeched as if
disapproving of her dark thoughts. The smell of brine and fish filtered through
the air. She watched the water slurp around the pier pilings. The river swept
along the shore as the Potomac rushed toward the huge Chesapeake Bay that
flowed into the Atlantic Ocean—surging free.
Yelena blew out her breath, crossed
the street, and entered Denson’s market on Colonial Avenue. The grocery store
had just expanded into a larger place. Picking among the fruits and vegetables,
she pondered her other talk with Pam. She loved her husband, even if the
passion had dimmed, as Pam said it would. But she always counted on him to give
up being a waterman, to do more with his life.
Five years from now would she be as
frowsy as her sister—content to breed while expanding to grotesque proportions?
No, she shouldn’t think that way about Pam.
She dropped potatoes into her
basket. The beets looked fresh, but Seger wouldn’t eat them. She sorted through
the long green beans.
Yelena glanced down at her crisp
white blouse. She hadn’t gained too much weight with Seger and lost most of it
afterwards. She tried to style her pale blonde hair appealingly, iron her clothes
so she was always presentable. The men appraised her as she took walks around
town.
She bypassed an expensive ham and
sirloin steaks and derided herself for such vain thoughts. But she was never a
flirt. She probably inherited that caution from her poor mama.
And beleaguered Ruth Morrison was a
decent, God-fearing woman. Was it her fault her nerves were never in good
order? Pam shouldn’t scorn her like she did. Yelena sighed as she studied a
half-priced bruised apple, because she was just as critical of Luke’s father.
Family could be so exhausting, she mused with a shake of her head.
She read the advertisement on the
wall for Twinkle Copper Cleaner. Quick-as-a-wink
with Twinkle. The cartoon woman held up a sparkling pan, as if this was the
crowning achievement of her life.
Yelena wedged a box of Cheerios in
her basket. The basket did give her limitations on what could be easily
transported.
Larry, the pimply-faced store clerk,
gave her his usual sloppy grin when she paid for her purchases. She stepped
outside onto the crumbling sidewalk. The area along Colonial Avenue was an
unattractive mixture of small homes and seedy storefronts. She went to cross
the street when a turquoise and white Bel Air screeched around the corner and
pulled up to the sidewalk, cutting her off.
Yelena backed to the curb and
bristled with irritation as the car’s door opened. “The audacity of these
out-of-towners,” she said to herself.
A tall man with broad shoulders
stepped out. He appeared to be in his thirties. With his piercing blue eyes and
full-lipped mouth in a frown, he looked a little menacing.
“You shouldn’t race down the streets
like that, Mister. It’s dangerous.”
“I am sorry, Miss. Fast driving is a
bad habit of mine.” He stared her up and down in a way she found invasive. “I
didn’t mean to startle you.” His speech was crisp, with a foreign inflection.
He removed his fedora hat, revealing straight yellow hair, and made a curt bow.
“Please accept my apology.”
She stiffened and wondered if he
ridiculed her. “It’s just unsafe, your driving so fast, when children play
around here.” She shifted her basket of groceries from one arm to the other. “I
hope you’ll be more careful next time.”
“I will from now on, with your
advice. My name is Mr. Sachs. I’m new to the area.” He smiled and, to her surprise,
it brought warmth to his face. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking
with, Miss?”
“Mrs.
Luke Trowbridge.” She disliked her defensive tone of voice, but still moved
back a step. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Sachs.” His formal, smooth way of speaking
unnerved her, though she wasn’t certain why. He seemed out of a movie, a Nazi
intimidating a female, who turns agent. She almost laughed at that idea. She
would prefer being Grace Kelly, who since April of this year was an actual princess—if
not a queen. “Excuse me, I must be on my way now.”
“You are a proud married woman, I
see. What does your husband do, Mrs. Trowbridge?” Sachs’ penetrating gaze took
her in once more. “In such a small town, he is either a fisherman or works for
tourism?”
Why did he want to know? His
question appeared more than nonchalant. “He is an oysterman.” Her words sounded
too revealing, as if by this admission she exposed Luke’s nightly shenanigans
on the river. She clenched her fingers around the rough basket handle. “Good
afternoon, sir.”
He smiled again and tipped his hat
in a suave manner. “I hope we may meet again.”
She strode the remainder of the way
across the street toward the corner, her blue skirt swinging with each step.
“Good gracious, what a nosey immigrant,” she whispered under her breath. She
chided herself. Now she sounded like Pam!
Her chin lifted like a queen, she
was about to turn toward Lafayette Street and her sister’s home to retrieve her
son and hurry home to demand the truth from Luke about gunfire. And look in the
want ads under employment? Only then did she glance back, and Mr. Sachs still
stood there, watching her.
Chapter Three
The river’s current swished along Monroe Sally’s hull; a night bird called
in the rushes. Luke stared down into the murky water, listening to the
dredger’s teeth scrape over the oyster bed accompanied by the boat engine’s low
growl. Visibility was next to nothing. The chilly air frosted his nerves and
flesh under his oilskin, the weather unusually cold for this early in the season.
He bit back a grunt. A few quick
runs, a good payoff, and he’d inform Jim that he wanted no more to do with it.
The hell with his father’s nagging. And Lena tonight, asking about any
shootings. He’d denied it since no one shot at them. Silas was the one
who fired on the police, but that was their secret.
“Luke, take the wheel for a minute,”
Captain Jim called. The older man opened his oilskin, pulled out a pack of
cigarettes and fumbled several times to light one. In his forties, Jim Spenser
was weathered, sturdy, and column-shaped, like a pier piling. “A damn shame we
have to function this way on what should be our own river. Virginia watermen
shouldn’t be taxed and not Maryland, too. Ain’t fair.”
The captain had spoken this like a litany
since January when Maryland re-enforced their export tax on all Virginia
Potomac oystermen. Ruthless Maryland had even acquired a seaplane to chase down
offenders, which forced angry Virginia watermen like them to come out at night
to dredge. Jim was a man who risked much for the funds to keep a son in
college.
“Maybe Richmond should fight a
little harder for us.” Luke declined the offer of a cigarette. He steered the boat around the marker as the
dredges clawed. His pa and grandpa, and farther back, had worked this river,
and he hated to be scared off by Maryland’s bullying tactics. Even Virginia had
marine police who were supposed to stop the illegal dredgers, but they often
ignored Virginia boats. Most Virginians thought of it as protecting their livelihood
rather than spiting the oyster police, as Luke’s father had proclaimed.
Semi-retired because of back
problems, his pa disdained the tonging, the long-scissored shafts with metal
rakes on the ends which gently plucked up the oysters. The dredger machines his
old man supported, though more successful, scraped the beds too low. Then silt
deposited making it difficult for the oysters to attach themselves and
reproduce. Lena had read such stories to their boy. Luke’s guilt resurfaced.
Captain Jim took back the wheel and
sped up the winder engine. The crew reeled up the equipment and clumps of
oysters spilled over the work deck. Luke and Ernie culled through their batch.
In sharp clicks, they broke off dead oysters from live ones with their culling
hammers. They then pushed oysters too small to keep, empty shells, beer bottles
and other fishy-smelling debris in a clatter off the deck and back into the
river.
Far off their port side, an engine
rumbled. A spotlight beam hit the water in the distance. Another dredging boat lit up in the mist. The
light bent in a weird refraction in the stew, the other ship a ghostly glowing
shape.
Luke fisted his hammer. The oyster
police!
“Christ, it looks like the Little Craig’s been spotted!” Jim groused.
Monroe Sally’s wary crew watched the spotlight move closer to the
highlighted fifty-foot former German Navy powerboat, and heard a crash that
reverberated off the water. This was followed by shouting, then the Craig’s powerful engine roared.
“We’re outta here.” Jim gunned Sally’s engine as the Little Craig sped by. Her wake knocked
them about, their gunwales almost colliding. Shots fired from the police
boat—the sound snapped over the river. Captain Jim ordered his crew to secure
everything and they rumbled off, out of the way of the on-coming marine police.
Bullets buzzed over their boat. Ernie cried out and grabbed his upper arm.
Luke sucked in his breath and pulled
his friend into the low cabin as their boat heaved and splashed down the
Potomac.
Bobby tumbled in to see how his
brother was doing. “Don’t die on me, Ern. The police’s engine’s stalled,” he
said with a nervous wink. “They can’t chase no one now. Bastards.”
“How long before we’re all shot,”
Luke whispered after Bobby hurried back out on deck to help Jim and Silas. Luke
removed his glove and pressed it to the wound. Blood and torn flesh, his nausea
rose up.
“Dang, that hurts!” Ernie jerked and
groaned. “This is more real than I care for.”
Eventually, Sally caught up with the Little
Craig in a secluded cove where her captain, Wilson ‘Bozo’ Atwell was
laughing. At twenty-nine, Atwell was tall and rangy and fearless.
“Hey, Jim,” Atwell called out, loud
enough for Luke to hear. “I took a hatchet to the lines when they tried to lash
our boat. Then the stupid police captain was fired on and injured by his own mate, so one of the crew shouted.
They act like we’re kidnappers or something, for fishing our waters.”
“Crazy times, Bozo. We got an
injured man here,” Jim replied. “I’ll see you over at Curley’s.”
“Aye, aye.” Bozo gunned his six
cylinder Hall Scott engine again and roared off.
“That Bozo’s insane. He’ll ruin it
for the rest of us.” Luke checked Ernie’s arm below the shoulder in the cramped
cabin that smelled like coffee and bacon—and now the iron stink of blood.
Luke’s glove was smudged with red.
“Yeah, remember when the police
chased Bozo up a creek, and he pulled out his hunting rifle and threatened to
kill ’em until they backed off? And they
did.” Ernie gave a weak, sputtering
laugh, but his tension leaked through. He and his brother had fished the river
since able to walk, according to Ernie. Same as all the men in his family.
“It’s a scary life.”
The wind picked up, howling around
the boat, rocking her further. Rain splattered the cabin.
“If Maryland don’t let up, you
wonder how much longer we’ll get away with this,” Luke said as Monroe Sally’s engine revved and their
boat left the cove. He shed his glove and retrieved a cloth to press it on
Ernie’s upper arm. Warm blood dampened under his fingers through the cloth then
stopped. Until tonight, Luke tried not to think of the dire consequences of
this venture. His jaw clenched. Staying alive should be more important
than bringing in extra money.
* * *
Yelena opened the back door to let
out the cook smoke. The mist had cleared and the bay beyond their marsh rippled
with the reflection of the rising full moon wavering on its surface. How
innocent the water looked. She shut the door, the air too cold, and stabbed at
the potatoes frying in the pan. They’d be burnt to a black mess by the time
Luke got up. But he’d gotten home so late that morning, she hadn’t yet awakened
him. His mood decidedly gloomy, they had spoken little, yet she suspected there
must have been trouble out on the river.
Before he’d left for the boat, he
insisted there’d been no gunfire. Was he lying to her?
She waved smoke from her face. The
exhaust fan on the wall above the stove had cut out minutes ago. The cottage
was falling apart.
She bit her lip, angry at herself
for worrying. He was a grown man and capable of handling himself. Still, she
couldn’t help but think Old Man Trowbridge had influenced his son to go along
with this ‘night’ business. And a bullet cared little about a man’s strength of
purpose.
The fillets of fish sat in a pool of
butter on low heat. After another stir of the potatoes through the melted lard,
the greasy fried smell sharp, she stopped to listen for her husband and boy.
Seger played with his building
blocks in the front room, quietly, to her surprise, as she’d requested. How
could Luke allow any danger to come near their precious child?
She must look for work, to
supplement their income, even if Luke would object. The want ads in the local
paper had yielded nothing so far.
A heavy footfall from the hall broke
apart her thoughts. She snapped off the gas burners, slid the iron skillet to a
cold burner, and wiped her hands on her threadbare apron. When Luke walked in,
expression glum, her breath stilled, but she tried not to act concerned. Seger
scampered in at the same time, his plump mouth in a grin.
“Daddy, you’re up. ’Bout time.” He
ran to his father, who gathered him into his arms. Then Luke put his arm around
his wife and hugged her tightly.
They stayed like that for a moment.
He smelled of the soap he’d used to wash before he went to sleep.
“Are you feeling all right, honey?”
She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, then drew away. Here she was, acting
the good little wife—for the moment. “Sit, your supper’s ready. I’ll fetch you
a beer.”
“Why’d you let me sleep so long?” he
asked in a sleepy drawl, rubbing a hand through his hair.
“I thought you needed the extra
rest.” She fought the urge to caress the dark circles that had formed under his
eyes. He’d already turned away from her.
“Yeah, maybe I did.” Luke sank down
in his chair at the table, their boy on his lap.
“I want beer.” Seger thrust out his
chest.
“You get milk, young man.” Yelena
opened the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon, popped the
cap, and set it on the table before her husband. “So, how did it go last
night?” She tried to keep it casual as she busied herself serving the greasy
potatoes and fried croaker along with boiled green beans.
“I’m starved, thanks. Too bad I
slept away the day.” Luke shoveled food into his mouth.
Her heart twinged at his avoidance
of her question. “The exhaust fan is broken.”
Luke nodded and continued eating.
Seger wiggled to be free, but his
father picked up a crispy potato slice and poked it in his mouth. The child
giggled as grease dribbled over his lips.
Yelena set down his Mighty Mouse cup
of milk and the matching plate with his supper.
“I thought there might have been a
problem with the boat, since you were so late.” She softened her speech to matter-of-fact
as she made a plate for herself.
Luke took another bite, then stared
hard at her. “We’ll talk about it later. I’d like to eat.”
“Seger, sit at your own plate.” Her
appetite now faded, she scrubbed the messy stove with a Brillo soap pad, throwing
potato peels into a can with a sharp clink.
“I wanna sit with Daddy.” The boy
squirmed on his father’s knee. When she wiped her hands then attempted to clean
his chin with a dish cloth, he pushed her hands away. “Don’t need a napnik.”
“Do as your Mama says.” Luke picked
up the child and put him in the chair beside him. “Please sit down, Lena.”
She sat across from her husband
finally, and they ate in silence, forks scraping across plates. The food
churned in her stomach.
Twenty minutes later, after she
cleared away the supper things, Luke offered to put Seger in his bath. He was
obviously avoiding more conversation.
Luke came back out twenty minutes
later, the front of his shirt wet. “He’ll play a while, but I washed him down
good.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, Luke.” She
said it tenderly, moving up close to him. These actions had always worked
before. “I know something is bothering you. You shouldn’t hide things from me.”
His eyes searched hers, his sigh
deep. “They fired on us. Ern caught it this time. Damn!” He hugged her against
him, his shirt dampening her breasts.
“What? Are you serious?” Her stomach
clenched. Her worst fears. “I can’t believe—”
“Shhh, don’t scare the boy. Let’s
not talk about this now.” Luke tried to kiss her, but she pulled back.
“Maamaa!” Seger’s voice echoed from
the bathroom. “Come see!”
“In a minute,” she called, then back
to her husband, “Was Ernie hurt badly?”
“Mostly a flesh wound. We ran him
over to Doc Baker’s.”
“I want you to stop this. Please.” She clung to his shoulders, almost pinching
them. “I’d like to work, to help out. I’ll ask Pam’s husband about jobs on the
navy base. You go back to tonging. You did it before this mess with Maryland
started again. Why did you decide to take up this illegal business?”
“Enough, Lena. You got our boy to
care for. You don’t need a job.” His order was a low grumble and he moved away
from her. “I want more for us, that’s my job. The truck needs fixin’.
And I ain’t no coward from the fish police.”
“No one said you were.” Her voice
quivered with frustration. She’d seek employment and not tell him until she had
it. “Isn’t Maryland just trying to keep the natural resources that protects the
beds? You once believed in that.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“But to shoot people—that’s going too far. My cousin Nancy’s husband said they
were fired on.”
“Jerry? He talks too much. Go see to
our boy.” He walked away, his shoulders bunched, chin down like a bull, and she
knew his hackles were up.
She nearly choked on her accusation
that his father had something to do with Luke’s jump into dredging. An ornery
man who should be ignored. Luke was becoming a little like him. Her skin
prickled.
Once Seger was in bed, she joined
Luke on the sofa where he drank a second beer. She sipped an RC Cola, slowly;
the sweet beverage fizzed in her stomach. The silence spread out, pushing at
the wooden walls, though The Lone Ranger blared with cowboys and
Indians on the television in front of them.
She fidgeted on the worn cushion,
her questions bubbling up. “Luke, if we could—”
“Give me some peace, Lena.” He said
it gently, his voice tired. “It will all work out.”
She forced a smile. “I hope so.” She
trailed her fingers along his arm, wanting him to listen. “I knew you were a
good man when I first met you. I believe all this bothers you, too.” Her anger
at his evasion circled around her fears that he could be injured. “It’s the
hard times that make people dishonest. And now shooting?”
“If I was so danged good, I’d quit
now, tonight. But I can’t, not yet. You and Seger should have nicer stuff. We
need things. No more arguing, okay?” He faced her and kissed the protest from
her lips. He tasted of grease and beer. Easing back, Luke studied her. “Ain’t
ashamed to say I won the prize in you, Lena. The prettiest girl I ever saw,
still are. And probably too smart for me.”
“Don’t ever think that.” She touched
his mouth, remembering the attraction that had lured her in high school. Her
mother warned her she was marrying beneath her, but she’d ignored her. “I want
you safe. Have you ever thought of changing your—?”
“Let’s put these problems to
bed...before I have to go out again.” He rose and pulled her into his arms.
After inserting her diaphragm, she
joined him in the confining bedroom where the lumpy bed took up most of the
space. Luke peeled off her clothes, his hands eager on her flesh. She
unbuttoned his shirt, sliding her fingers down his lean, muscled chest. His
caresses sent her skin simmering; his kisses consumed her.
Her breath rasped, yet it was over
before she had time to explode in sparks. She clung to him, trying to entice
him to stay. But her husband was dressed and gone while she stared at the
ceiling. She wondered if it was her anxiety for him—or her determination to
find ways to rescue her family—that made her feel so dissatisfied.
If you’d like to read this book it
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