Among the bundle were several of Hattie, Topper having expertly captured her beauty and light. She was at the beach in one, looking as though she were floating and not walking along.
Another was up close of Hattie’s face, seconds after she stepped out of the ocean, saltwater glittering between her lashes. Ruby got the puzzling notion that Topper was the reason Hattie hadn’t come out this season. Perhaps deep down it was him, not Ruby, who was last summer’s featured star.
Gummed up with nostalgia and love, for Hattie and Topper and the other familiar faces, Ruby wormed her way to the bottom of the drawer. Then, something caught her eye. A photograph. Something … strange. And a few more just like it. Heart floundering, Ruby studied them, her mind unable to piece together any semblance of sense.
“Ruby!” shouted a voice, followed by the thumping of feet. “Ruby! Where are you?!”
It took Ruby a minute to realize the sound was not in her head.
“Mary?” she said, confused.
Ruby peeked out into the hallway, where she saw Mary stampeding her way. She had on her full warden outfit, white helmet, black armband, and all.
Suddenly, an alarm began to sound.
“There you are!” Mary said.
It was an air raid drill, which was why her sister-in-law was too wound up to question Ruby’s presence in that room.
“I need to patrol the streets,” Mary said.
“I’ll come with you. Give me a moment to, uh, collect myself.”
Ruby turned and scurried back over to Topper’s desk. She dropped the photographs into their hideout and slammed the drawer closed.
“Come with me?” Mary said. “I’m the warden.”
“I know, I just thought…”
“No, you need to turn off all the lights,” she said over the whirring siren. “And put down the blinds. The warden’s house has to be in tip-top shape.”
“Okeydoke, consider it done,” Ruby said, grateful for the task.
Mary left for her patrol and Ruby set to pulling down the blackout shades, all the while Topper’s pictures flashing in her mind.
Those were Topper’s pictures, yes? Or they weren’t. Ruby still couldn’t decide exactly what she’d seen. And so she concentrated on her duties—a good distraction for now. Alas, between the drill and the events that followed, the images would fade almost completely away. It’d be silly to worry about a bunch of pictures when, by nightfall, Ruby’s entire world would transform once more.
38
Island ACKtion
GEOTUBES APPROVED!
May 23, 2013
Tonight the Board of Selectmen voted to approve the installation of geotubes along Sankaty Bluff. In a last-ditch effort to save the receding shoreline along Baxter Road, the board voted 3–2 to enter into a memo of understanding with the Sankaty Bluff Preservation Fund to support and help fund the geotube project.
“What bull*#*,” says lifelong Sconset resident and commercial fisherman Chappy Mayhew. “Complete and utter crap. I can’t believe those idiots voted for it.”
This news comes mere days after the selectmen struck down a hard armor measure, citing it as excessively detrimental to Nantucket’s shoreline. Naturally, town pot-stirrer Cissy Codman refused to take “no” for an answer. So while most of Nantucket thought Cliff House and its neighbors were down for the count, Cissy deployed the ever-popular “we’ll sue the pants off you” measure. It worked.
“I didn’t threaten to sue anyone,” she insists. “I simply had an attorney enumerate Nantucket’s legal responsibility to run utilities to that part of the island. The collapse of the bluff would cut off plumbing and electricity to most residents on Baxter Road. But, thanks to the wise decision of our esteemed selectmen, that won’t happen. I look forward to working together to ensure a successful geotube installation.”
In case the indomitable Mrs. Codman hasn’t gotten a hold of you by phone or by bike, geotubes are large sand-filled jute “burrito bags,” which will be installed in a terrace-like fashion along nine hundred feet of bluff. They’ll be held in place with anchors and covered in sand.
Proponents say geotubes not only protect the bank, but are compatible with the existing beach. As opposed to seawalls, they also minimize harm to downdraft beaches and do not adversely affect marine wildlife. What’s more, geotubes aid with storm damage prevention and flood control, enhance the view, and preserve recreation trails and public access to the glorious Siasconset beaches.
That’s what Cissy tells us anyway.
Shortly after the meeting, Mrs. Codman was seen at the Yacht Club drinking champagne with various cohorts including her sister-in-law Polly Bradlee. Noticeably absent was Cissy’s daughter Bess, who has reportedly taken up with a local. Mr. Codman wasn’t there but he never is. We here at Island ACKtion assume he’s still alive.
Listen, I’m the last person who would rain on Cissy’s parade. I don’t want to end up tied to concrete blocks and rolled into the harbor. But while the geotubes sound great and all, isn’t it ridiculously too late?
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ABOUT ME:
Corkie Tarbox, lifelong Nantucketer, steadfast flibbertigibbet. Married with one ankle-biter. Views expressed on the Island ACKtion blog (Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, et al.) are hers alone. Usually.
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39
Friday Morning
Bess and Palmer sit on a bench in the hallway of the casino, surrounded by the club’s famed latticework. They’re donning their choicest of tennis whites, as white must be worn on these courts. It’s a rule.
Palmer is gently kicking at her racquet while surveying the damp red clay outside. She’s in a one-piece dress, which is both retro and stunningly modern. Bess has on an old skirt and a top borrowed from Cissy. On this trip she did not pack for sport.
As Palmer sighs, Bess checks her watch for a fifth time, and then a sixth. It’s been raining steadily all morning. Though the club boys stand ready by the door, poised to brush the courts as soon as the weather breaks, Bess is certain there’ll be no tennis today. It isn’t the worst development. She’s not really in the mood for getting beaten.
“Should we go?” Bess asks. “The weather doesn’t look too promising.”
“Let’s wait a teensy bit longer,” Palmer says. “I’m dying to play! It’s been ages. Golly I miss it.”
Bess fiddles with her pullover. This she brought from California, though she originally purchased it here. A decade or so old, it bears the Sconset Casino insignia: two crossed racquets with a seagull above. SCA, EST. 1899. It’s one of Bess’s favorite pieces of clothing, because it reminds her of Cliff House, of Sconset, and of her family. Grandma Ruby had the same one. The girl at the reservation desk does, too. They haven’t changed the style since forever.
“I guess we can wait,” Bess says. “But I have a crapload to do back at the house.”
“Understood. But come on!” Palmer nudges her leg. “We’ve barely spent any time together. What are you doing when you’re not helping Cissy pack anyway?”
“Waiting for tennis courts to dry?”
Palmer rolls her eyes, an act as rare as a pink dolphin.