Under the Wide and Starry Sky

CHAPTER 58

The front door of the Taylor Street apartment building was open when Fanny found the address. A pigtailed girl sat at the bottom of the heavy door, holding it ajar with her back. Fanny went into the hallway and looked at the mailboxes. Strong,  3rd Flr. She lifted her hem above muddy boots discarded on the steps. Going up, she smelled the ammonia odor of cat urine in the second-?oor hallway. On the landing of the third ?oor, she leaned against a wall to calm her heart, which was racing like a hummingbird’s. There were four di?erent apartments on one ?oor in this cheap-looking place. Which was Belle’s? And if Fanny could ?gure out the correct door, would her daughter even open it? Eight years it had been. Fanny  heard  a  child’s  chattering  through  one  of  the  doors.  She  drew  herself  up  and knocked on it.

Belle’s mouth fell open. “Mother,” she gasped when she saw Fanny’s face. “I didn’t know you were coming. You didn’t write …”

I gave up trying, Fanny thought. “I’m in San Francisco for a couple of weeks. I wanted to see you.”

They stood apart and silent for a few moments. Belle studied her mother’s face and the feathered hat on her head. Fanny took in her daughter’s weary eyes and her upper arms, which were plump as sausages underneath her print dress.

Belle glanced over her shoulder into the apartment, then turned back to Fanny. “Come in,” she said.

In the threadbare parlor, a boy sat on the floor cutting paper with a scissors. “Austin, this is your grandmother.” The boy looked up, momentarily puzzled, then smiled
openly.

Fanny gazed into the eager, homely little face. He’d apparently just had a bath, for his hair was wet and combed back. It was blond, and the few strands that were dry were straight and ?ne as cornsilk. She longed to hug the boy but feared frightening him. He didn’t know her, after all. Seven years the child had been her grandson, and they didn’t know each other.

“Nice  to  meet  you,  Austin,” she  said.  “I  have  a  little  something  for  you.” She  ?shed around in her bag and pulled out a cloth sack ?lled with tin horses. “I brought them all the way from London. Each one is a little different.”

“Thank you, “ the boy said, looking almost alarmed by his good fortune. “Thank you!” Fanny felt her knees go weak and buckle to the ?oor. “Come to me,” she said, stretching
her hands out to him. “Will you come to your grandma?” The boy stepped gingerly over the toys on  the ?oor and came close. She swept him into her arms and nuzzled her cheek against his damp hair. “Mmmm,” she said, “I love the smell of clean boy. There’s nothing better.”

Austin laughed and wriggled away. Fanny stared in wonder as the boy’s hands set the horses gamboling around the floor.

“Joe is not here,” Belle said. “He sent us over here when there was talk of a revolution in Hawaii.”

“I heard that,” Fanny said, pulling her eyes away from the boy. “Dora told me.” Belle appeared to summon her dignity and gestured with one arm around the tawdry
apartment. “We’re going back as soon as possible. This is only temporary.”
“Why don’t I take you both to lunch?”

“The lady across the hall is having a birthday party for her daughter, who is Austin’s best friend. Mrs. Grady will keep him until I return.” Belle looked down at her worn dress. “Give me a minute to change clothes.”

“The boat is called the Casco,” Fanny explained. They were sitting at a table by the front window of a sunlit café. “It belongs to a doctor named Merritt who lives in Oakland. He has agreed to lease it to us for a six-month cruise, complete with captain and crew.”
“Where will you take it?” Belle asked.

“The South Seas—the Marquesas Islands ?rst. After that, the low islands of the Paumotus and then  Tahiti.  Eventually,  we  will make  our  way  to  Hawaii.  We’ve  discovered Louis thrives when he is at sea.”

Belle looked at her cautiously. “But you don’t. Six months?”

“Ah, well. How bad can it be?” Fanny leaned back in her chair and felt her daughter’s presence wash over her like warm milk. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said.
Belle dropped her head and began to cry. Fanny bent forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “The past is past,” she said. “I want you in my life. I want to be a proper grandmother to Austin.”

“Where is Sammy?” Belle asked, blotting her face with a handkerchief.

“It’s Lloyd now, remember? He’s here in town, helping me provision the boat. We’ve been  running  around like  crazy  people,  laying  in  supplies.  He  wants to see  you,  but  I needed to see you alone first.”

“Is he going with you?’

Fanny  nodded. “So  is  Louis’s  mother.  And  a  French-Swiss  girl  who  works  for  us.
Valentine.”


The corners of Belle’s mouth fell, as if she were crushed not to hear her own name in the passenger list.

“How is Joe doing?”

Belle hesitated. “He had a lot of commissions from wealthy people when we arrived in Honolulu ?ve years ago. A big sugar baron hired him to paint landscapes of Hawaii. The king put him to work, too. We became quite friendly with the Hawaiian royal family, as you may have heard.”

“Dora wrote to me about that.”

“I am planning to go back soon. Joe is respected there …” Belle’s brave voice trailed o?. She looked out the window. “His work is very spotty now,” she said softly. She pressed her fist into her cheek. “Some days I don’t know how we are going to get through.”
Fanny breathed in, waited.

“Do  you  remember  at  Grez  how  Bob  Stevenson  taught  us  to  squint  when  we  were painting a landscape?” Belle asked. “He said that if you squint, you can get the essence of a scene without being distracted by a lot of details. It helps you see exactly where the light is.”

“I remember,” Fanny said.

“I wish I could just squint at my life and see the light. I have tried so many ways to make things better. But I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Is Joe sick?”

Belle nodded, choosing her words. “You never got to know Joe, really. When he is well, he is one of the kindest men on earth.”

“So he’s drinking.” Fanny didn’t mention the opium smoking.

Belle drew in a deep breath. “Last I saw him, yes. Ultimatums don’t work. Back home in Honolulu, he’s gone all night and sleeps all day. It’s an affliction.”

“Sometimes the only thing to do is go away.”

Belle met her mother’s gaze. “I am away at the moment, and that’s not the answer.” Her voice was cool now. “We have a child. Austin adores his father.”

They fell silent. Fanny glanced at the table next to them, where four women were having lunch. They leaned forward as they spoke, sharing con?dences, laughing at once. She’d never had much of that—lunches with women friends. It struck her that she and Belle had served as each other’s best friend for many years. Why had she let the estrangement from Belle go on  so long? Pride? Distance? How absurd it seemed now. All the demands on Belle’s part for money, and the withholding of it on Fanny’s part, seemed to be much less about dollars and much more about a desire for love and respect.

“You poor little soul,” Fanny said, stroking her girl’s hand.  “Come down to the Casco, Belle, what do you say? Lloyd so wants to see you.”

Belle’s  breathless  enthusiasm,  the  girlish  prattle  she  fell  into  when  she  was  excited, returned the minute they reached the dock. “It’s practically new! Ninety-?ve feet? It looks even bigger. And the brightwork!” On deck, Belle reached out to touch one of the freshly varnished spars that gleamed amber in the afternoon sun. Inside the cabin, she ran her palm along the brass fittings, the velvet curtains and cushions.

Fanny introduced her daughter to the crew working on deck. It was thrilling to watch them polishing and scrubbing and scrambling around the magnificent two-masted schooner. “It’s too nice to be taking out on the ocean,” Belle observed.

“Don’t be misled by the trappings,” Fanny said. “Louis is gambling every nickel he has on this trip. He believes it’s his last hope to avoid the undertaker. He has been deathly ill for —”

“Belle?” Lloyd’s deep voice came from behind them. “Is it really you? Because it looks like you from the back.”

Fanny watched as her daughter turned and jumped at the sight of her twenty-year-old brother. Belle ?ung her arms around Lloyd, who lifted her up o? her feet. “You’re such a big thing now,” she said, sobbing again. “And you talk British.”

After  a  while,  they  sat  together  at  the  table  in  the  cabin  and studied a  map.  Lloyd showed Belle  the  route  to  the  Marquesas.  “June  twenty-sixth  we  depart.  If  all  goes  as planned, it will be four weeks before we see land again.”

“You’re going to Hawaii?”

“At some point,” Lloyd said.

“I should be back there by the time you arrive in Honolulu. You’ll need di?erent clothes, Mother,” Belle said. “It’s blazing hot in the islands. I know a tailor.”

“Belle has next to nothing.” Fanny lay with her head on Louis’s shoulder. She had gone up by train to Sacramento the day before to meet him and his mother and Valentine. They were  all  ensconced in  the  Occidental  Hotel,  waiting  for  the  moment  when  they  would depart.

“You expected that.”

“I stocked her kitchen while I was provisioning the boat. How long will that last, two weeks? She should stay in California and divorce him, but I can tell she’s not going to. She’s too proud.”

“Did you give her money?”

“A little.” Fanny sighed. “Although it just sustains the disastrous marriage, I’m afraid. But I can’t bear to see her so down.”

Outside, a trolley car squealed past the hotel. “I gave money to someone else, too,” she said. “Who?”

“Paulie, Sam’s wife. She came by the hotel a week ago. She’s almost stone deaf and poor as a church mouse. He left her with nothing when he disappeared.”
“Is he dead or just gone?”

“Who really knows? But do you know what she said to me? ‘You were right about that man,  and I  was wrong.’ I  couldn’t help  feeling  sorry  for her,  and I  kept thinking, If it weren’t for Louis, I would be in her shoes right now.”

Fanny lifted her face to look at his.  “I love you, Louis Stevenson. Even if you forget wedding anniversaries.”

He rolled over on his side and propped his head on his hand. “I know a man is supposed to remember his wedding date. I remembered, and then I forgot again.” He ran a ?nger along the ridge of her nose. “The truth is, other days stick better in my mind. Such as the day I looked through the window at the Chevillon and saw you sitting there. That was the day  I  nailed my  colors to the mast.  It was twelve  years ago. Shouldn’t that be the real anniversary day?”

She  slid her  leg  over  him.  Their  lovemaking  had a  rhythm and a  history,  a  ?ow  of whispers and cues. It brought them together even in the worst of times. It was where they started after they had shouted cruelties at each other, when no words could ?x a rift. There were no whispered intimacies at those times, just bodies moving in tandem and serving as proof that they could still connect.

In the past when they had been away from each other, as they had been for two months, their  reunions  were  frenzies  of  passion  followed  by  gentle  togetherness.  Now,  though, Fanny sensed a reticence in Louis. Was he still angry at her over the ?ght with Henley? Was he withholding his trust? Or was she only imagining a coolness in him?

“They’re called holokus,” Belle said. “You wear a little chemise with a ru?ed hem under it. That’s called a muumuu.”

Fanny, Aunt Maggie, and Valentine were standing with Belle in the Chinatown shop of a tailor named Yee Lee. He was holding up tropical dresses for the women to try on. The loose lawn dresses were gathered above the bosom and flowed out in folds from the yoke.
“‘Mother Hubbard’s is what we used to call them,” Fanny said. “Good Lord, they’re like altarboy-costumes.”

“Certainly just as chaste,” Belle said when Valentine tried on a holoku. The French girl moaned at her reflection.

“I must say,” Aunt Maggie remarked, turning left, then right in front of the mirror, “I am one queer-looking customer.”

“Goodbye, corsets!” Fanny shouted gleefully.

The  women  moved  on  through  the  narrow  streets  of  Chinatown,  past  the  stands displaying pickled foodstu?s that were unrecognizable to Fanny. She had already bought kegs of dried beef, sides of bacon, tinned fruit and vegetables, ?our, lard—vast amounts of essentials for the ship’s pantry. Now she sought out pawnshops, where she gathered an assortment of old gold wedding bands for trading with natives.

“I  should  have  written,”  Belle  said. “Joe  told  me  not  to  write.”  She  and  Fanny  stood together on the sea wall. Nearby, a party celebrating the Casco’s departure was in progress on the boat. Friends and crewmembers mingled with newspaper reporters.
No man  could  ever keep me  from  writing to my mother,  Fanny  wanted to say,  but  she

managed to hold her tongue. She could imagine the su?ering that lay behind and ahead of her girl. Shame ran through her once again when she remembered the stupid, cruel things she had said long ago about Belle having a baby.

“I have my own regrets,” Fanny said. “I wanted for you things I didn’t have. You always used to say that I lead with my temper. I have a pent-up volcano inside me that has to erupt sometimes.” She shook her head.”When the anger builds like that, it seems I’m not myself until I’ve made the world around me black with smoke and ashes. But oh, Belle, the remorse that follows. No one knows how I regret.”

“Oh, I know, Mama. Your children know. So does Louis.”

Of course they knew. What was she thinking? They had all seen her su?er for things that ?ew out of her mouth. They’d seen her near paralyzed while she went over and over some falling-out with a loved one. “You make people out to be perfect saints,” Louis had chided her. “And when they fall o? the pedestal, then you turn on ‘em.” It was an ugly truth about her nature that she hadn’t wanted to hear.

Belle was blood; Fanny loved her ?ercely, however estranged they had become. And she would love Austin as utterly.

“Will  you  go  back  to  Bournemouth  after  the  trip?”  Belle  had  asked  during  lunch. “Perhaps,” Fanny lied. She never wanted to set foot in England again. Henley and the others had made sure of that. By now word of her supposed plagiarism was surely making the rounds in London’s literary salons. Henley hated her enough to spread such calumny. A return to Skerryvore was unthinkable, at least for now. They took my home right out from under me, she wanted to tell Belle. But she didn’t.

There were many things that went unsaid. Such as the fact that Fanny had been in town for weeks before contacting Belle. When she arrived in San Francisco and visited her old doctor, she’d learned she had a throat tumor and had undergone an operation. Until she knew the tumor was benign, she believed she might be dying. When writing to Louis back in Saranac, Fanny pretended she was quite recovered from the hurt of Henley’s insult, so as not  to worry  her  husband any  further.  In  fact,  the  mere  thought  of  it  sent  her  into a torment. How can  I even  defend  myself?  To write  about  the  matter  to Fanny  Sitwell or Sidney Colvin would be to exacerbate the situation. Surely they knew of the mess.
She had lain in a San Francisco hospital bed, feeling desperately alone and devastated by the cruelty of the London liars. It was all she could do to keep from reaching for the bottles

of arsenic and morphia that stood on her bedside table and ending the agony with a couple of swallows.

Louis had a sense of loyalty to old friends that bordered on the ridiculous. These monsters were the very people he had named as heirs in his will! Would he change it now that he’d been betrayed? Not likely. When she began to heal, her rage had grown. She wrote an angry  letter  to  Baxter  about  her  will,  cursing  Henley  and Katharine  as  slanderers  and murderers, knowing full well that he was a friend to them, as Louis had been. While they eat their bread from my hand—and oh, they will do that—I shall smile, wish it were poison that might wither their bodies as they have my heart.

She had exploded righteously and, when she cooled o?, sent a calmer second letter to Baxter. But she was done with  the London  crowd. Whom would she miss among  those people? Only Fanny Sitwell and Sidney Colvin. And Henry James, God bless him. A note had arrived this very morning that made her love him all the more. I wish I could make you homesick and somehow persuade you to return, he’d written to them.

Fanny thought about what lay ahead. She hated and feared the sea. She would never say so to Louis; of course. She had secured the schooner knowing full well she would be sick and terri?ed every  day  of  the voyage.  They  were betting  much  of  their money  on  the chance that a six-month cruise might save his life. Now there was nothing to do but wait and let the hand reveal itself.

At ?ve A.M. on June 26, a tug pulled the Casco out through the Golden Gate to open sea. “See you in Honolulu!” Belle shouted from the dock.

Fanny  waved  and  waved  at  the  ?gures  of  her  daughter  and  grandson  until  they disappeared in the foggy morning. Then she turned her back to the shore and faced the wide ocean.