The Shipbuilder of Bellfairie Page 4

  He tried to smile. “I come in peace,” he said.

  She squinted, her head at a tilt. “Quark? What are you doing here? Wait. You’re not obligated to tell me anything. Everyone knows memory is unreliable.”

  “I am sorry to disturb you. I didn’t realize you live here. Mrs. Winter was my substitute teacher. She knew the history of Bellfairie so I thought—”

  “Oh, you came to see Aunt Charlotte?”

  “I know she can’t still be alive, but—”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that. Quick, come in. I don’t want anyone to see us.”

  Once his eyes adjusted to the change of light, Quark found the room, stuffed with books, an over-sized chair and a saggy red loveseat near the hearth (the small fire providing a great deal of heat) pleasantly ordinary. No singing plants, self-lighting candles, mysterious mirrors, or sorting hats. No bones or boiling cauldrons. No cobwebs or swooping bats. No children’s fingers in glass jars, or generations of Bellfairie’s missing pets, though a three-legged white cat did saunter across the oriental carpet, her narrow tail erect. The ceiling was quite low. He found he could reach up and, without even fully extending his arm, touch the wooden beam.

  “Sorry. Old house, you know. People used to be shorter. How tall are you, anyway?”

  “Six foot, ten inches. Last I looked.” She did not seem to understand he had made a joke, so Quark forged on. “Is that your wedding dress?” Coral glanced down at the drape of white lace pooled around her bare feet, and he steadied himself against the sarcasm sure to follow. What a stupid question!

  “I thought it would look better. Ever since I was little, my mother said I could wear it, but now I’m not so sure.”

  The sleeves draped over her hands causing her to look amputated, the waistline—which landed at her hips—added pounds, and the chest area puckered in a most unfortunate manner. Yet, the lace reminded Quark of pigeon featherings and the neckline, which gaped widely as though she had been swallowed by the garment, revealed an attractive clavicle.

  “I know a little about sewing. For my work. It just needs a few adjustments. It will look very nice.”

  “You think? Are you a tailor?”

  “Taxidermist,” Quark said, eyeing the three-legged feline, his professional assessment awakened.

  Coral bent over and scooped up the cat who glowered at him beneath a lowered brow. “I’ll see if she can talk to you. We’re pinning the dress, but—”

  “Oh, I don’t want to disturb anyone.” He began to back towards the door. “Don’t bother, I’ll—”

  “Quark. Stop. Just wait, I’ll be right back.”

  He was very hungry. Famished, really. It had been a bad idea to undertake such a visit before breakfast. Could he leave without saying goodbye, he wondered as he watched her walk down the hallway, the white cat, tucked under her arm, switching its tail. She looks like a good witch, he thought, even if ineffectual. This was what happened in Bellfairie. Already he was being sucked into its crazy.

  “Well. You finally returned. Still shaking your head against the world?”

  “No, I…” Quark felt himself flush. Stop shaking your head, he thought and, after several more beats, did.

  “I don’t recall you being so tall.”

  He didn’t know how to respond. He had long thought his memory of her elfish statue had been compromised by fancy. How old was she? She looked ancient.

  “I suppose you’re here about Thayer.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Heard he confessed to murdering half the town.”

  “Is this a bad time to talk?”

  “Who said it was a bad time? Oh.” She glanced over her shoulder. “They don’t need me. They just include me to make me feel like I matter.”

  Quark wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “This is where you say, ‘don’t be silly, of course you matter.’”

  He felt his face flush.

  “That’s what I always liked about you, even as a boy you were unusually sincere.” She shook her finger at him. “No bullshit. I like that. Come on now, why are you here?”

  He nodded. That was the question, wasn’t it? Why was he here? “I remembered how you used to tell us the true stories about Bellfairie. I thought you might know something. A clue. To find him.”

  “Thayer?”

  “Or if you know anything about my mother. I don’t remember much. In general.”

  “Still? After all these years, you still don’t remember Starling?”

  Quark closed his eyes, but all that came to him was a distant melody, a flash of light and the subtle sound of wings in that initial moment of flight.

  “What’s the old saying? She was the sail of her father’s ship. A darling child, the sweetest dimpled girl this town knew. Ever since she could safely watch for traffic she roamed the streets like a cat. She used to stop by for my ginger cake and cream. How that child loved cream! I used to call her Kitty! Oh, my darling girl.” She dabbed the corner of her eye with a crooked finger. “Thayer was in mourning you know, after the tragedy, and never fully recovered.”

  “The shipwreck? He talked about that many times.”

  “Oh, I forgot about that one. So many tragedies, Quark. Well, obviously, your family is cursed.”

  “Cursed?”

  “Stop. I can’t tolerate this new fashion of repeating single words as a parlay in conversation. It’s an insult to my intelligence. Are you listening or not?”

  “I haven’t eaten breakfast and—”

  “Surely someone told you about the curse?”

  “I don’t believe in such things. Anymore.”

  “You don’t believe? Anymore?” She turned her head to give him a sideways look. “Well, aren’t you funny? He was cursed twice. It seems hard to accept that such a thing can happen, but the world is capable of multiplying grief just as surely as joy, alas. So we can only guess—and I would rather not—at the dark corners of his life. Your grandfather carried that corpse right through town as if he didn’t mind what anyone thought. And who knows? Maybe he didn’t. What difference does one more curse make to a man already suffering under another?”

  “A corpse? What corpse are you referring to?”

  “Why the albatross, of course.”

  “Oh, I thought you said my grandfather. That is why I was confused. I never met him.”

  “What? What’s gotten into you? Why are you talking nonsense?”

  Quark mustered all the benevolence he could access. After all, Mrs. Winter had been good to him when he was young and dearly needed it, surely he could return that kindness.

  “Did he hit you in the head once too often? Is that it?”

  “Who? What…I don’t even—”

  “Your grandfather. Thayer!”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Winter, but Thayer is my father.”

  “Come here. Come closer. Give me your hand. Look at me.”

  Quark, towering over the old woman, still felt like a child looking down into her uncompromising gray eyes.

  “You were my favorite boy. Not like those others. Like I said. Sincere.”

  She squeezed his hand. Quark was surprised how well he could distinguish the fragile bones beneath her thin flesh.

  “Everyone knows he was changed by the tragedy. Broken. Made stranger. But I had no idea he never told you. Listen to me. Thayer is your grandfather.”

  He didn’t realize he was trying to pull free until he felt her clasp tighten.

  “Stop. Stop shaking your head. You’re not going to have one of your fits, are you? All right. Good boy. Don’t be angry. I’m sure he had his reasons for letting you believe otherwise all this time, or maybe he didn’t, but here you are. Thayer is your grandfather and that’s a fact.”

  “If he is not my father, why did he raise me? If he’s not my father, who is?”

  “Everyone loved Starling. She was popular with all the boys, but Thayer—”

  “My grandfather?”

  “Yes, Quark try to
keep up. I know you’ve had a shock, but this is important. And who knows? I might not be here next time you return with questions. I’m not immortal, you know. In spite of what some folks say. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. He doted on her.”

  “On my mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Winter are you saying that my…that he had an improper impulse toward—”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying Thayer doted on his daughter, Starling, and there was nothing improper about it. Who would have guessed he would be such a good father? But he was.”

  Quark hated Bellfairie. The place was full of meanness, superstition, and God-fearing atheists. The sort who looked up at the sky to ask for help whenever there was trouble then spit in the wind for luck, the kind of people who’d make a kid feel special—cared for, even—while knowing secrets about that child’s life, like how his father was really his grandfather and his mother…. “What changed him?”

  “Maybe you should sit with your head between your knees.”

  He did sit, perched at the edge of the loveseat so low to the ground his knees obscured the view of Mrs. Winter who sat in the overstuffed chair across from him, her short legs extended into the room revealing the purple soles of her pointed shoes.

  “Thayer never cared for your father, Quark. It’s hard to imagine he would have cared for anyone. After his wife died…you do know about your grandmother, don’t you?”

  “I do not.”

  “How extraordinary! What a peculiar life you’ve had! Well, I’m afraid I don’t have a lot to share. Your grandfather, Thayer—born and raised in Bellfairie—was always an outsider in his own way. It’s just how your people are, Quark. You are all Isolatoes, as my old friend Melville would say. It stood to reason Thayer would marry a woman who couldn’t talk to anyone else. She carried a basket atop her head to market and wore sheets she dyed in a big kettle in the backyard. He got shipwrecked and came back with her. I am quite old now, but even after all this time, I remember how handsome he was. Oh, you didn’t know? Not movie star looks, not like that, and it is true he is on the short side, but he had so much presence. Those eyes! Well, time dimmed them, of course. But when I was young, we girls used to say if we were ever caught in a storm we’d want him to be looking for us because his eyes were like lanterns in the dark. Or I said it, at least. This was before his unfortunate experience, obviously.

  “He was never much of a talker, himself. I was quite old before I realized I’d filled his silence with a deep discourse of things imagined. I fashioned a perfect companion out of his reticence. In truth, it’s only in the past decade that I’ve gotten to know him, and you know how he is. All mixed up. He believes in the old ways and doesn’t. Makes no sense but that explains a lot.

  “Where was I? Oh, yes. Your grandmother. What did he call her? I can’t remember. Maybe it will come back to me. Then again, maybe it won’t. I suppose she was lonely. She did not speak our language. Never indicated any interest in learning it, from what I saw. You have not heard about this? How extraordinary!”

  “How did they communicate?”

  “Well, whatever they said to each other, from what I observed, seemed to involve a good deal of gazing and touching. I thought then that what I wanted was someone with whom I could share a secret language, though I changed my mind, of course, for the obvious reason.

  “I spied on them, you know. Oh, don’t look so shocked. I am sure you have done some spying, yourself. All quiet people do. They danced in the cove with the only music the waves. As soon as they started kissing, I left, of course. After the first kiss, at least.

  “Forgive me. I seem to have gotten ahead of myself. Or behind, as it were. An old woman’s memories have no sense of order, you know. Where was I? Oh, yes, the shipwreck. He washed up on shore, and the first thing he noticed was how sweet it smelled. Like—”

  “Oranges.”

  “That’s right. So you do know this story?”

  “Only some of it,” Quark said. “He talked about the screams. And the oranges, but not much else. Oh, and the horse.”

  “The horse? Well, I never heard anything about a horse. He said he awoke on the beach to the sound of birdsong. So many birds. He thought he was dead. He often said he should have stayed there. He wondered if things would have been different if he had. Well, obviously, right? One small change can make such a big difference. He thought it would have been better, but who knows? The choices we don’t make remain unsullied by reality. When a ship was blown off course and dropped anchor for a night, he saw his chance. Homesick, he said.

  “She died in childbirth. Your grandmother. That doesn’t happen so much anymore, but it wasn’t unusual back then. She took part of him with her when she left. It doesn’t always go that way, but it did with them. Left behind just a shell, like a mollusk. Funny thing is, that’s how they met. Your grandfather washed ashore where your grandmother was collecting seashells. Don’t let time fool you. Whatever it gives, it takes away. But what can be done about it? What is the alternative? Wait. What are we talking about?”

  “My mother?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “He used to take that little newborn—your mother—and pace the cliffs, crying like a baby. Some folks worried he’d throw himself and her over. Don’t look so distraught, Quark. Obviously he didn’t.

  “Instead, when Starling was about three years old, Thayer started planting acorns. He got them sent in the mail because, as you know, oaks don’t generally grow around here. He dug the holes and let her drop the nuts into them. Half the time, when I saw her those days, she had dirt on her hands and face. He said he wanted to give her something that would last.

  “Folks thought he let her go wild but I always believed he did things right. Some children, if you hold them too close, their spirit breaks, and it can take a lifetime to recover. Some never do. He was a very good father.”

  Quark had to remind himself to breathe. He’d come for his story, hadn’t he? What was he so upset about? This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

  “Are you all right? Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Clearly, he should have eaten before undertaking his investigation, but there he was, and it was futile to wish he wasn’t.

  “Please. Go on.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that your father, your birth father I mean, was one of the lost. He was searching for stars. No. Wait. He was ‘observing the stars,’ that’s how he said it. We used to think that was hilarious. Observing stars as if they were capable of going any place or doing anything interesting at all—”

  “Well, actually—”

  “Of course. But he made it sound like they might stop existing if he didn’t keep watch. That’s what I mean. He was arrogant, to be honest. He had no sense of how to behave with Thayer who, I suspect, wouldn’t have been kind to any boy that courted Starling, but your father, with his strange occupation and his odd ways made a particularly easy target.

  “They got married in the little forest she and Thayer planted. You might have called it a grove back then. It was spring, and the leaves were pink with a touch of silver as if fairy folk had painted them. Everyone agreed it was a special setting.

  “I couldn’t see what she saw in him, and neither could Thayer, but that’s not really the point, is it? He was quite tall by the way, in case you ever wondered where you get your height.

  “They found his body in the cove the very next summer, before you were born. There was some of that star-gazing equipment of his up top and evidence of a fall he fought against. Some say it was because of the curse, as if a man’s fall was never caused by reaching too far. Some even tried to blame me for it. Oh, don’t look so alarmed. I know what they call me, and I know what I am. Your mother wouldn’t hear of it. Neither she nor Thayer. People are always finding ways to blame others for their troubles, as I’m sure you’re aware. I have been saying for years we need to erect a fence up there but everyone says that would spoil t
he view and people would just go further down the coast to tumble into some other town’s cove. Who knows? Maybe they’re right. Oh, he gave you your name. That might be of some interest.

  “I was baffled why anyone would name their child after a cheese, but I didn’t want to be rude. I don’t care so much about being polite anymore, but back then I did.

  “Anyway, I had no interest in shaming him. I waited until we had some privacy to ask why he’d chosen it. First, to make him comfortable, I told him what I’d seen when I was a girl, about the bird folk. You remember don’t you, Quark? Yes, I thought you might. You were an extraordinarily good listener back then. I shared how I had always expected Starling to continue her family tradition and name her children after birds. You know, like Robin, Dove and Crane. He listened quite intently, I must say, and I liked him a bit more for it. When I finally got to my point and asked about your name, he laughed. He had a surprising laugh, heartier than I expected from one so slender.

  “Not cheese at all, he said. A star! A very special star. I wish I could remember everything. It was a fascinating conversation. Oh, listen to me, going on! Do you already know about your name?”

  “I do not.”

  “How odd. I would have thought you’d be curious. You were quite curious, in your way, as a boy. Oh, I remember! It just popped in my head again like a wren in a bird house!

  “To begin with, no one is even sure if a Quark exists. I rather like that, don’t you? It speaks to the existential, I think. Now, this star, your star, is formed inside a larger star as it breaks down. Isn’t that interesting? And that’s it. The wren flew away again. Well, I’m sure you can research this further if you have any interest. The important thing for you to know is that it has nothing to do with cheese. In case you worried about that. Your father gave you a spectacular name. It’s a name you can be proud of.”