Her little garden was suffering.
Ruby liked to think it was on account of the invasion in France, that this living, breathing thing she’d cultivated with her own two hands was showing the sympathies of the world. In truth the explanation was far more practical. They were in the middle of a drought. Ruby prayed the dying vines didn’t portend things to come.
On another continent the fighting raged on. Though the Allies demolished the vaunted “Atlantic wall,” there were miles left to go. Homebound nerves were frayed and fried but everybody plodded on. Citizens visited the Red Cross to donate blood and purchased war bonds at unprecedented levels, minds forever locked on the sons, husbands, brothers, fathers, and friends fighting in France. As for Ruby, she had in mind a “sister,” too. Mary was now overseas, sworn into the army, same as P.J. Ruby wondered if their paths might cross.
“Any news?” Daddy would call and ask.
It was now up to Ruby to collect the bad and pass it out like sugarless cake. Daddy was sick, so very sick, his voice skinnier by the day. She’d been ginning up a plan to get him out to the island but Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. He had nurses and books and a mighty fine radio, all he really needed, he claimed. Ruby wasn’t comfortable leaving Cliff House so couldn’t go see for herself.
“Don’t stew a single second,” he’d said. “You enjoy the summer in Sconset. I hear the acting colony is flourishing, the Nantucket Players at full bloom! Have fun and I’ll see you back home in the fall. Meanwhile, please call me with any news.”
Any news?
Not today, Daddy. Thank God. Granted, it would’ve been nice to have some word that all was nifty with her loved ones, but Ruby had to think they dealt the bad business first. She was A-OK to wait.
Ruby spent the morning in Nantucket Town, visiting shops and friends and delivering the paltry spoils of her garden. A little food was better than none but good gravy it was all a twig compared to last summer’s bounty.
Despite the world-changing enormity of the invasion, Nantucket looked the same as it had months before. Bicycles were everywhere. Women helped guide boats into their slips. Every afternoon when the fishing fleets came in, people swarmed the docks, banding together to ice down the catches. The only detectable change was in the service flags in the homes.
If a family had someone fighting, they placed a flag in the window, a blue star for each person away. The blue stars turned to gold when a life was given. On Nantucket more gold cropped up every day. The Cliff House flag was still three blue, Ruby unable to make the change or changes required. Never mind the gold stars, Mary deserved a blue one of her own.
“Here’s my batch of goodies,” Ruby said to the man at the CDVO. “I apologize for its dearth.”
It was hard to accept how much her spoils had shrunk and withered.
“It’s getting worse each day,” she added.
“Sure is,” the man grumbled.
He had two sons in the service, Ruby recalled. She offered him a sympathetic smile.
“Hang in there,” she said. “They’re doing what they can and so are you. There’s a lot to be proud of, all the way around.”
He nodded and then signaled for the next gardener.
Ruby turned and walked back toward the Downyflake, where she’d hitched her bike. And just her luck, the Coffin sisters were lolling about, chomping on penny candies. Ruby grimaced. She wasn’t keen on chatting them up but the time had passed for scurrying off.
“Hello, ladies,” Ruby said, trying to kick up the tenor of her voice. “Hot as the devil’s tail today, isn’t it? Sure wish it would rain.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” they said, exchanging pointed looks.
Devil’s tail. Ruby couldn’t have ordered up a worse visual from a catalogue of sin.
“Will they have the Fourth of July tennis tournament this year, do you think?” Ruby asked, and lunged up onto her bike.
Buoyant was the vibe she was going for, even if it fit funny nine days out from Normandy. Nonetheless, Ruby aimed to pull out all her la-la girl tricks. It was the only way to cope.
“I’ve gotten out on the courts, here and there,” Ruby babbled on. “But my serve is just bananas. I really need to tune my game. Anyhow, toodle-loo!”
Ruby gave the pedals a push and chugged off, glad she couldn’t hear Celery and Turnip’s scuttlebutt stirring in her dust.
*
Ruby unlocked the front door, glancing at the service flag as the latch clicked. Three blue stars. Inaccurate multiple ways and no doubt criminally unpatriotic. Truth be told, she was scared to make a change, as if righting the stars would invite ever more loss. It was silly, but Ruby wanted to hold to the losses they’d already had.
“Hello?” Ruby called, her voice echoing through the entryway.
She looked at the clock. Two hours she’d been away. Ruby’s eyes skipped to the stairs, then down toward the kitchen, her feet and heart unsure which way to tread.
“Hello?” she said again.
Footsteps pattered on the wood.
“Hello, Mrs. Packard.”
Mrs. Grimsbury appeared before her. The woman was back at Cliff House full-time on Daddy’s insistence, even though he didn’t know the half of it. Ruby protested but was pleased to have old Mrs. G. around. The woman didn’t talk much, but it was less lonely knowing she was in the home.
“Hi there,” Ruby said. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught up in town. How is everything?”
“Just fine. Nothing of note in today’s post. I saw the Western Union man but he made no stops on Baxter Road.”
“Thank God.”
Ruby exhaled. That they might live another day.
“I’ve made some tea,” Mrs. Grimsbury said. “And put out some cheese bobbies.”
“Thank you,” Ruby said. “And is—”
“In the library. Hasn’t moved all morning. Won’t give me a word.”
“I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for the rudeness.”
“Think nothing of it,” the woman said. “I understand.”
Some miracle, that. Mrs. Grimsbury was a pious sort. Ruby thanked her lucky stars for the woman’s mercy, for her penchant for acting like there wasn’t a problem beyond stubbornness and a touch of grump.
“Thank you,” Ruby said again.
She ventured toward the library, though she would’ve rather retreated outdoors. Oh, to spend the afternoon lounging in the veranda’s shade, sipping Mrs. Grimsbury’s superb tea.
At the library’s threshold, Ruby rapped gently on the door frame. The room was warm, dark, and still. Ruby knocked a second time. The lump on the chaise twitched in response. Her stomach tightened.
“Sweetheart?” she said.
Sam rolled over and turned toward his wife.
“Hi there,” she said with a smile.