The Shipbuilder of Bellfairie Read online

  “Sorry.”

  “Black tea needs a little something. You used to have yours with so much sugar your mother called it liquid candy.”

  “She did? I did?”

  “Sit down, Quark. You make me nervous, hulking like that.”

  “Hulking?”

  “You’ve no real sense of your size, do you?”

  Quark, long aware of how people misjudged him based on his physique, had struggled much of his life to correct such misperception. He was disappointed Mrs. Winter didn’t know that about him. He set his mug on the table near her hat then retrieved a chair from the plank table to squeeze into the tight kitchen space. He hoped a little discomfort might hurry her mission to conclusion. He knew this was mean and felt bad about it.

  “Now. What were you going to say? Before the tea kettle interrupted?”

  “I’m afraid I forgot.”

  She paused in mid-dunk to stare at him. “Remember when you were a boy, how you liked to break stones?”

  As though memory itself was a stone her words had broken, Quark suddenly recalled the hammer, the chisel, the unremarkable gray shell of a glittering world.

  “This is important. I want you to understand. I know Thayer wasn’t easy to live with, but you mustn’t doubt he loved you. He tried to do the right things to keep you safe. His struggle was not with you, but for you. Sometimes things look one way on the outside, but that is not what it really is. On the inside, I mean. How he was.”

  Quark did not like to argue and wouldn’t have known where to begin, anyway.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Rather than risk confrontation, he nodded.

  Mrs. Winter sighed. “Well, for now let’s stay focused on the girl. When did you first see her?”

  “Phoebe?”

  “I’m trying to help. I hope you realize.”

  Quark tossed the tea bag, which reminded him of a skinned bird’s craw, towards the sink. Never a good shot, it landed on the floor with a plop. Ashamed, he glanced at Mrs. Winter, so absorbed in her own dunking ritual she didn’t appear to notice his failure.

  “The first time I saw her was at the diner.”

  “Go on.”

  “She was working and I paid her.”

  “On the way to my house?”

  “On the day of my return. When I first arrived. I was quite early so I went to the diner.”

  “Well, what does that have to do with anything?”

  That was his point. Nothing he could share had to do with anything that mattered. Hoping to offer something of value, he said, “She looked like Snow White.”

  “Yes. I remember. You called her that. You said you saw her on the way to my house. That’s what I’m interested in.”

  Quark relayed how he’d seen the girl struggling against the wind and rain, asked if she wanted a ride, her blunt response.

  “That’s it?”

  He sipped his tea, which was pleasantly bitter. It wasn’t coffee, but it wasn’t terrible.

  Mrs. Winter, who had begun tapping her fingers again, stopped. “Are you sure? You’re certain she was alive when you last saw her, Quark? This is important.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “I have seen some spirits, myself,” she said, her expression stern, as if daring him to disagree. “Not everyone can, you know. See them. I remember when you were a boy how your mother walked beside you.”

  “She did?”

  “And?” she asked. “Has he hung around?”

  “Who?”

  “Why, Thayer, of course. Don’t play games with me, Quark. I am far too old for such nonsense.”

  He felt unwilling to share the personal details of his life. It wasn’t much, but it was his.

  “I am not sure why you ask.”

  When Mrs. Winter’s brows lowered he was reminded of an old cat he’d worked on—a particularly grumpy looking tabby, loved by her owner, an elderly gentleman who thanked Quark so profusely for his work he briefly felt as if he’d brought the feline back to life when, in truth, he’d accomplished so much less.

  “It’s not really something to smile about, you know.”

  “I never…I didn’t mean…” How difficult it was to explain himself. He’d had little need of trying for most of his life. He was not prepared for the enormity of the task.

  “She is only fifteen years old.”

  He would have guessed older. A fly buzzed into the kitchen and swirled above them.

  “This is important. I have to know if she was alive when you saw her last.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you certain? How can you be sure?”

  He pondered this for a moment. “She was wet!”

  “I’m afraid I—”

  “Ghosts don’t get wet,” he said, holding his body so still he even held his breath.

  She frowned, tapping the table until, with an abrupt nod, she stopped to sip her tea.

  Quark exhaled, louder than he intended, judging by the way Mrs. Winter paused to peer at him over the mug’s rim.

  He hadn’t meant to lie, exactly. He had no way of being certain about the origin of those mysterious puddles that had been showing up in the house. Should he tell her? Would she stop liking him?

  Mrs. Winter set her mug down with resolve. Quark thought she was preparing to scold him but, instead, she lifted the teabag out by its string, rolled it into a small ball and, with a sly grin, tossed the wet sac over her shoulder.

  Quark wasn’t sure what to make of such behavior until she winked and cackled loudly. Laughing with someone, he discovered, was very nice. He’d seen others do it, both in real life and in movies, and had always wondered what it felt like. After the laughter stopped they sat in silence, which he found quite pleasant until she set her mug down with abrupt resolve. “You have to tell Healy.” She reached for her hat. “It’s the right thing to do. It proves what I’ve said about you all along.” She stood to slip into her coat. “Who knows? Maybe Phoebe will show up the way Thayer did. Everyone gets overwrought so quickly these days. Remember that boy? What was his name? The one who supposedly sailed away in an old bathtub?”

  “Wayne?”

  “Yes. That’s right. Wayne.”

  “What about him?”

  “Oh. Just how upset everyone was. How sure they were he’d been kidnapped by our cat killer or something like that while, in truth, he spent most of the time sitting in my kitchen, eating blueberries.”

  “What?”

  “You weren’t the only boy who needed a reprieve.”

  The last button closed, she cocked her head, the birds trembling in the tilt. “Get your hat. I’ll give you a ride.”

  Quark didn’t believe she would take no for an answer so he donned his hat and double-checked that the burner was off. He considered guiding her by the elbow as they walked across the muddy drive but worried how to go about doing so and, before he could figure it all out, she was perched on a pillow in the driver’s seat. Scrunched uncomfortably on the passenger’s side looking through the twin peaks of his knees, they didn’t speak further until exchanging goodbyes in front of the sheriff’s office, which was fine with Quark. He liked to sit in silence and watch Bellfairie through the glass as though it were encased in one of those globes, the kind that shakes snow from the ground to the sky and he, unaffected by the turbulence.

  *

  “So, you say she crossed the street to get away from you?” the sheriff asked.

  “She crossed the street, but I was not threatening her in any manner.”

  Healy’s pen, a manic little instrument ever since Quark announced he’d come to talk about the missing girl, hovered above the page. “Well now, no one said anything about a threat.”

  Quark wasn’t sure what to make of the comment. Was he expected to respond? Why did the sheriff keep his office so hot, anyway?

  “You all right, son?”

  He nodded. He was fine. Just doing his civic duty. Trying to help.

  “
Thirsty? Want a coke? Water? Chocolate soda?”

  Quark hadn’t had a chocolate soda in years. He suddenly realized he’d missed them very much, but had no desire to prolong the exchange. “Not at this time. Thank you,” he said, which for some reason caused Healy to scrawl across the page as if he knew it was a lie.

  “Anything else you want to say?”

  “There is nothing else.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” Quark nodded for emphasis. How had he forgotten the existence of chocolate soda? The question brought to mind the more difficult material he’d set aside for a while, all the things he didn’t remember about his mother, for instance. “Can I go?”

  “You’re free to leave at any time.”

  He didn’t understand why, but learning he did not need to stay compelled him to remain seated, in spite of his hunger. If only Mrs. Winter hadn’t insisted on this foolish confession he’d already be at Sushi’s eating his beloved number five. “I am sure she’ll show up soon.”

  “Yeah? What makes you think so?” Healy paused in his note taking to watch Quark answer.

  He tried to shrug, though it felt awkward, like a puppet on strings worked by parties in dispute. Certain of his own innocence, he nonetheless felt guilty, as if he’d done something to that girl with those lips red as a wound. He was not surprised by the sensation. After all, he’d felt guilty for simply offering her a ride. In this way, he suddenly realized, he was like the Old Man, always seeking absolution.

  “You look like you just remembered something.”

  “No, I…” Quark shook his head. “May I go?”

  “Already said. Nothing’s keeping you.”

  “Yes, well, thank you for your time.”

  Forgetting the chair was on wheels, he planted his feet firmly on the floor causing himself to roll away from the sheriff whose usually stoic expression revealed a small light of amusement, or perhaps derision. Quark had developed, over his lifetime, a practice of feigning ignorance when placed under scrutiny. Frequently the best avenue for escaping uncomfortable situations, he had learned long ago, was to pretend they weren’t happening. He left the chair where it landed several feet from the desk—as if that had been his intention all along—tipped his hat, and was almost to the door before Healy spoke.

  “You were one of the last people to see her. Anything you noticed might be of assistance. Even some small thing. I know you are a good person. I know that’s why you came here today.”

  Quark was struck immobile by doubt. Was he a good person? He wasn’t sure he was. The girl had looked at him like she knew he wasn’t, those bright lips of hers skewed in a smirk.

  “I don’t think it matters.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge?”

  “She had a way of looking at people.”

  “Oh, yeah? Could you be more specific?”

  “Like she thought she knew things.”

  “Knew things?”

  “I imagine if she looked at the wrong person like that she might have made him angry.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It’s just a theory.”

  “Ok. So let me make sure I have this straight. Did she look at you like that? Like she knew things? About you?”

  Quark felt uncomfortable. The office was too warm and he was very hungry.

  “What things?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’m not…what do you mean?”

  “What things did she know?”

  “I wouldn’t…I have no idea.”

  “But you just said she looked at you like she knew things and I’m trying to understand what you thought she knew.”

  Quark had a bad feeling. His childhood had taught him about the traps of inquiry. All he had to do was take two steps, and he’d be out the door.

  “What was this expression, then? Can you tell me that? This look on her face? Can you describe it?”

  “Yes. Well. Her lips were very red. Like a wound.”

  “A wound?”

  “Like Snow White,” he hastened to add. “The first time I saw her I thought she looked like that girl in the fairy tale. That’s what I mean.”

  The sheriff, busy writing, asked what she looked like, the last time Quark had seen her.

  “I already said.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I already told you.”

  Healy nodded as he scratched behind his ear. “Right. I’m just trying to understand. When you saw her last did she still remind you of Snow White? Or maybe some other storybook character?”

  Quark did not know how to answer the odd question. He had assumed the sheriff knew what he was doing, but the conversation’s course caused him to suspect the girl would never be found.

  “Just Snow White.”

  “Her lips like a wound?”

  Why did he keep repeating it? The man had no original thoughts. There had been so few moments in Quark’s life when he’d felt superior—or at least not inadequate—he wasn’t sure how to proceed. The conversation had become absurd. He decided it was best to leave without further comment. He had done all he could to help. He’d done his best. To show he harbored no ill feelings, he tipped his hat before stepping out of the stifling office onto a sidewalk uncharacteristically populated with people wearing bright orange vests, “Search Team” printed on the back. Quark thought most of them looked too confused to be of any use to the mission. A large dog, also wearing a vest, lunged at him. Not generally nimble, he nonetheless skirted away from the animal. The girl’s smiling face was tacked to telephone poles and taped to storefront windows. It wasn’t a good likeness. She looked friendly.

  When he arrived at Sushi’s, Quark was startled to discover the place packed.

  “Can seat ya in at the counter,” Dory said, squeezing past, a food-laden tray hoisted above her shoulder.

  He hesitated. He wasn’t next in line, but he was very hungry. “Pardon me,” he muttered, working his way through the crowd.

  A child gasped, “Look, a giant.” Several people turned then looked away as if he were invisible.

  He sidled onto the stool, and opened a menu, peering over the rim at the crowd reflected in the mirror. Dory rushed past with a plated doughnut. The other waitress—he never could remember her name—cleared a table while a small clan hovered nearby. All dressed in city flannel they carried an aura of authority no one in Bellfairie assumed, not even Healy. Thinking of the sheriff and the girl whose fate was tied to his incompetence, Quark sighed.

  “Sorry,” Dory said, suddenly standing before him. “Doing the best I can.”

  He tried to explain. He was not dissatisfied with the service. In fact, he appreciated how she’d directed him to the only available seat.

  The cook rang the bell, and a man seated nearby said, “Can we get someone to take our order, here?” The other waitress rushed past. Dory leaned closer, almost resting on the counter to ask if Quark had heard the news.

  He said he hadn’t. When she repeated what he already knew about the missing girl, he didn’t try to correct the impression he’d given of knowing nothing about it. Later, much was made of this, but it was an innocent misunderstanding.

  “Why weren’t all these people looking for Thayer?” he asked.

  Dory scrunched up her face like one of those old dolls named after a cabbage. “Well, it isn’t really the same thing, is it?” She pulled a pencil out from behind her ear as if from the air, which reminded Quark of that brief period in his childhood when he’d been a magician, believing he’d drawn a lightning bolt from the blue sky and made people disappear.

  “The usual?” she asked.

  He nodded then pointed at the empty cup. “When you get a chance.”

  Dory spun away, but quickly returned with the coffee pot she poured without spilling as she continued along the counter, filling cups with one hand, setting tabs down with the other. Quark didn’t generally like crowds, but found it interesting to watch the strangers in huddled conference. So many rosy cheeks, so many shining eyes
! Why was it, he wondered, that people came most to life when reminded of its temporary state? Not that he was judging. He felt it too. It wasn’t excitement, exactly, more like wonder.

  “Heya are. Number five. Not sweet.” Dory announced the plate as Quark drew his elbows off the counter. “Didn’t mean offense about Thayer. It’s just no one ever believed he murdered anyone, or that he was in real danger. We all figured he’d turn up, eventually. That’s all I was saying.”

  Quark nodded. He hated it when his food got cold. He wanted to eat in peace. “Yes. All right.”

  “She’s just so young,” Dory sighed, her voice cracked at the end.

  “I’m sure she’ll show up,” Quark said.

  “Oh, yeah? What makes you say so?”

  He was surprised by the way she looked at him, as if he were the sort of person who could provide solace. “Hope, I guess.”

  “Hope?” Dory said the word like a curse, and without further comment, turned away.

  He didn’t even realize he was shaking his head until the other waitress, the one whose name he never could remember said, “Something the matter, Quark?”

  In some ways she reminded him of the missing girl though she wasn’t young, nor her lips so red, but her face—like the girl’s—was pale and round as a plate.

  “More coffee?”

  “Actually, do you have chocolate soda?”

  She looked at him as if he’d spoken an unknown language but before he could understand what he’d said wrong, she nodded.

  “I would like to order one. Large. To go. With a straw, please.”

  Quark didn’t know when he had forgotten about chocolate soda, but was quite pleased to have access to the refreshing drink, fondly recalled from his childhood. When the waitress returned to hand him the cold plastic cup, he unwrapped the straw and stabbed it through the lid, maneuvering through the crowd on his way to the cash register, startled by the grim man where the girl usually stood. He had just paid his bill when a siren sliced the air between them. Suddenly, as though cast under a spell, everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the squad car scream past, spinning red over their stunned faces.