Work Text:
Summer, 1935
In the back of the car the cherubs were singing.
My father was the keeper of the Edistone Light,
He courted a mermaid one fine night,
And from their union there sprang three;
A porgy and a porpoise and the other was me!
'It strikes me,' said Ken as the auto crawled along the busy road, 'that if we're detained at customs it's going to be on the grounds of sheer and utter madness.'
'What do you petition for?' asked Rilla, and raised her eyebrows. 'Abide with Me?'
'No!' said Ken, more forcefully than was strictly necessary. 'Then they'll want to know who's died!'
Rilla said 'Anthony, darling, daddy's casting asparagus on your singing,' which fazed Anthony not at all.
Ken, driving, half-registered the look Liam sent Jimsward, but it was a fleeting, secretive thing. It said that maybe they were glad they could joke about the asparagus now, that after all they had stumbled finally, right-side-up into what everyone said life was supposed to feel like. Here was a family out for a summer drive. Father at the wheel, Mum applying the a hint of colour to her lips by way of the car mirror. Oldest child between them. Younger children in the rear, singing lustily. A perfectly usual, even mundane thing. Ken reached across to squeeze Jims' knee, then Rilla's, smiling.
Jims groaned and said, 'Can't you save your impression of lovebirds until I'm not here to play gooseberry?'
'Right you are, Lieutenant,' said Ken, and raised that gentleman a salute.
On the far side of the car Rilla laughed heartily. Recovering, she said, 'Oh, go on. Aren't you supposed to be old enough to be wreaking havoc on the girls at dances yourself?'
There was more squirming from Jims. Of course there was; No boy wanted to impart the secrets of his love life to his mother, however beloved and motherly she was.
Anthony shouted over the others, 'Jims! We need you on the melody!'
Jims half turned so that he, too, could salute the cherub orchestrating all this madness, and joined lustily in on the chorus.
Yo-ho-ho, the winds blow free,
Oh for a life on the ro-o-oving sea!
Ken shook his head but forbore further comment. The Cherubs were happy. Jims was laughing. Yards upon yards of green scrolled past the windows, the rolled hay decking them like patchwork. The far-off, fraught past was, in fact, a thing of the past. So, the customs man would think they were a passel of escaped lunatics. Let him think it.
'Susan's furious, of course,' said Rilla over the din, but she was smiling, a rose-coloured, affair that was reminiscent of the Harbour Light, of shoreside talks and the lapping of the waves against the sand. This was observation, not condemnation.
'She would be,' said Ken. 'Whisking Little Kitchener and the Cherubs off to some Yankee country for a holiday! Quel Horruer!'
Jims broke off singing to observe that Susan didn't call the children Cherubs. They nattered a bit as to the whys and wherefores of this, The Edistone Light seguing into Rock Island Line. They were definitely going to be stopped on the grounds of perceived lunacy. Ken was fine with this.
In fact when they stopped it was for strawberries at a roadside stall. They were early this year, and brightly, eye-wateringly red. They bought two quarts, and then, because it was there and the Cherubs demanded it, ice cream, though Rilla shook her head and said they'd be travel sick for it. Somehow even that was all right with Ken. They sat down on a mossy log and nursed their ice creams in the June heat. It felt the way Ken imagined it would feel to sit baking under a grill, and it was good to be able to stretch his legs after the slog of the car-ride. He dobbed ice-cream on Anthony's nose and that particular cherub yelped indignation.
'Me too, me to!' chorused the others. So Ken dobbed Liam and Sissy, dark-haired hellion daughter of the house of Ford, ducked and wove as Jims tried to mark her nose, too. She shrieked with glee when he succeeded, and afterwards ran out, out across the fields, the cherry-red of her dress flapping like a flag against her knees. Off ran Jims after her, and then the little boys. Ken half-rose, recalled the car, and Rilla waved him on.
'Oh, go on,' she said. 'I'll watch the auto. I demand the long-armed-wailing monster round up my Cherubs.'
So Ken ran after them too, hands sticky with ice cream. He wiped them unconcernedly against his trousers and then tackled a squealing Liam to the ground where they wrestled amicably. Anthony piled on top, and then Sissy, Jims hanging back lest he crush them. Sissy noticed and called for him, but Jims said, 'Nah, I'm the referee!'
That placated the Cherubs and after that they somehow got back to Rilla, who was nibbling delicately on the strawberries, her fingers stained red with juice.
'I hope you left us some,' said Ken.
'Only the inferior ones, naturally,' she said and grinned the Blythe grin at him. It was a rare inheritance in her, that, but it surfaced now as they piled the Cherubs back into place and set off again, but not before Ken stole a kiss that tasted of strawberries. The Cherubs squealed Susan-calibre horror until Anthony got them all singing again. Rock Island Line had become The Erie Canal. Liam was travel-sick and they pulled over again. Afterwards Rilla dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief but did not say I told you so, so Ken said it for her.
'You were right about the ice cream.'
Rilla shook her head, never mind. Jims said, 'You promised to hold off on the lovebirds impression until I wasn't around to watch!' and they all laughed. Anthony began to lead them in The Golden Vanity. Ken groaned.
'Cheer up, Cap,' said Jims and elbowed him playfully, 'The Cherubs could have the banjo in the mix.'
Ken groaned theatrically, then joined right in with the Cherubs, singing, Five thousand pounds and my daughter for his bride/ if he sinks them in the low – if he sinks them in the lonesome sea.
'Course,' said Ken, 'it would take an awful lot more than that to let you go, Sissy.'
Rilla snorted and he went right back to harmonizing a tenor line for the children. It seemed the safer option.
The country slid by, green mile after green mile. When even Anthony couldn't sing any more Jims made a game out of the signage, competing with them to see who could spot words A-Z in passing fastest. There were an inordinate amount of rules, so far as Ken could tell. You couldn't, for instance, skip a letter. If you passed a Zoo but had not yet found a Y then that was hard luck. You'd just have to hope another Zoo came up or else that there was another word in zed proximate. It wasn't long before they were all playing, Jims wantonly breaking his own rules and recanting whenever the Cherubs caught him out, laughing all the time.
They passed days like that before finally drawing up at the much-discussed, much-reviewed Inn at Lake Devine. There was a rounded sign in cursive script featuring an Adirondack chair in the background that they soon came to realise was ubiquitous with the place. They climbed out of the car gratefully, Cherubs still singing. By now it was Poor Little Girls of Ontario, and if Rilla could have joined in without laughing, Ken was sure she would have.
It was good to be out of the car. The air was cooler by the lake, and smelled of pines. There was no need to bother with cases for the time being; They left them in the auto and went to finalise details on the cabin they'd booked. It wasn't big, just the two bedrooms and a sunny sitting room opening onto a veranda. But the boys were used to sharing, and Sissy had refused in the original negotiations for the holiday to sleep with her parents. Anyway, the prospect of bunk-beds thrilled them, and the weather was good. It seemed unlikely they'd be indoors much, in any case.
They weren't. Almost directly they had arrived then they were shimmying into swimming costumes and racing out to the water. The dock was a novelty that heretofore Jims and the others had only heard tell of through the Wandering Merediths. Mandy particularly had great love for one, and Jims, racing to keep up with the Cherubs, thought he understood why. He already loved the wet smell of the wood, the way it was warped with years of water, and faded and bleached by the sun. It was worn smooth by what must have been generations of bare feet, with no chance of splinters to worry over. He followed the Cherubs' lead and jumped heedlessly off the edge, and was surprised by the warmth of the lake. It wasn't cold like the Island water; He came up with no headache, temples distinctly unaffected by the temperature. He lapped lazily out towards a floating buoy, and Sissy got wet arms around his neck and clambered up onto his back. Jims swam on gamely, then flipped over without warning to see what she'd do. Sissy came up spluttering, laughing and splashing. Jims splashed back, and the boys joined in. Sissy dove underwater and came up like a whale, streaming water from her mouth.
'Don't let Mum catch you at that,' said Jims, but too late. Mum was there on the shore, waving and shaking her head. She didn't seem to mind. Indeed, she settled in one of the red Adirondack chairs with a book and that was the end of that, so far as Jims could tell.
'Bet we could fish off the dock,' said Liam speculatively as he treaded water. 'Think they have eel, Jims?'
Jims splashed a generous portion of water Liam-ward. Liam retaliated with aplomb. Anthony climbed up onto the dock, and legs swinging, began to sing a lusty rendition of Go Tell Aunt Rhodie. The lifeguard, a gangly, long-legged chap sat down next to Anthony and turned it into a cannon, idly conducting with his blue-corded whistle.
He turned out to be called Berry, the tall, lifeguarding lad. At least that was his last name and he guarded his first jealously. Even bossy Ingrid up at the big house didn't know it, or purported not to. They made a game of guessing, getting more outrageous by the day. Berry just laughed and slathered his arms in balsam gum against the mosquitoes. He did it for Jims and the others too, before helping Jims galvanise the others into excursions. There were other children and other families holidaying at the Inn at Lake Devine and they all joined forces after that first day, racing alternatively by rowboat (the rowing, inexplicably was always Jims' job, to judge from the attitude of the Cherubs), or swimming out to the buoy. There were three-legged races, and canoe outings to nearby islands. Jims, who had once lived on an island made these out to be more nearly largish rocks but forbore to say so. It seemed bad manners given how generous Berry was with his time. Liam had no such scruples; More than once he muttered to Jims, or Sissy, or whoever was nearby, 'It's not a patch on our Island, is it?'
It wasn't, but it was nice just the same. Well, mostly it was nice. Now and then Ingrid of the big house would drop leaches on unsuspecting limbs to gauge how her guests reacted, or skim a rock off someone's ankle, but it was purportedly all in good fun. Only Anthony really minded about the leaches, and even he got over the worst of it once Berry showed them the trick with the sand to get them off.
Meantime, the rocks were sun-soaked, and they grew slippery with water the longer they sat there trading sandwiches and jokes, now and then growing daring and diving into the water. It had a clear sandy bottom, and Jims loved to try and circle the rock of the day without surfacing. He made out he was a sea-monster and Berry played along, even joined him once or twice, their combined shadows making the Cherubs and their summertime friends shiver and squeal with delight.
In the evenings they met up at the big house and played everything from Hearts to a game called Monopoly. This was new, and novel, and full of interesting little tokens for moving across the board. They all had tokens they favoured. Jims was the little metal auto, and Ingrid, who was related to the owners of the Inn at Lake Devine, favoured the thimble – a choice which frankly baffled Sissy. Sissy was always the lantern, though she wasn't averse to battling Jims for the auto. Anthony favoured the rocking horse and Liam the top hat. Berry regularly took the shoe, and just as regularly decried the lack of a whistle.
'We should add one,' said Ingrid one evening, after he'd said this for the nth time. 'That's half the fun of the game, adding your own pieces. And we must have a spare whistle.'
They agreed to investigate, and Berry was placated. It didn't help him win, though; Liam was still beating them all by a country mile. Jims could never decide if there was some pact between Ingrid and Berry to let the guests be the victors, or what. He supposed it didn't matter.
Either way, they were the popular topic of conversation in the little shared room with the double sets of bunk-beds. They were a fascination to Sissy on the basis that according to the daughter of long-term visitors the pair were engaged.
'Really?' said Jims, sleepily, the first time he heard this.
'Yes,' said Sissy, 'Patty Norwood says her Mum says so.'
'I suppose she'd know,' said Jims.
He couldn't see it, himself. Ingrid was…Well, she could be irritating, that was the thing. Perfectly pleasant one minute, and then she'd turn ad drop a leach on one of the Cherub's legs to watch them squeal, or try to skim a stone off the water fractionally too carelessly, too close to an idle person. She was that sort of person. Sissy began to prattle about the engagement, what Patty had told her, the crickets humming in the background. Jims could hear them through the window screen, buzzing away through the night.
Jims tried to picture the wedding, while Sissy chattered on about what else Patty Norwood knew by way of her mother. It would be in the Lake Devine chapel, Jims supposed, with the local choir. Shame, of course that Ingrid wouldn't be able to join in, because of the ceremony – and she liked singing, too. She had that in common with Anthony. They'd given the assembled company some outstanding duets on their island excursions; It was one of Ingrid's rare good points. Jims thought again of the leaches and the skimmed stones. He supposed it served her right. Sissy chattered on, over the crickets buzzing, and still he tried to picture this quiet protestant service. It couldn't be that different from the kind of thing the Rev Meredith said during weddings. That was all right. But then Jims' imagination drifted, and the picture got sort of the wrong way round, so that he was kissing Berry instead. That wasn't right though, not really, so Jims hastened to adjust the picture with Ingrid in Berry's place, but he couldn't imagine further after that. He supposed it was because of that awful habit of hers with the leaches.
'Jims?' said Sissy in the stuffy little room. 'Are you listening?'
'Sorry Sissy,' he said. 'I meant to. I'm just sleepy, honest. Tell me again.'
Sissy told him again with all the impatience of youth and younger sisters everywhere, and Jims made a concerted effort to listen. It was hard, because his mind kept drifting back to that wrong-way-round wedding picture, and Berry smiling and smartly dressed. Drifting too to the aunts, and their easy, comfortable intimacy. Aunts don't argue, he and Liam had supposed once, long ago of the women who lived on St George St, who loved the Cherubs and each other. But that couldn't be right, Jims thought now, hot and prickly under his log cabin quilt. Because nothing was that easy.
'G'night, Sissy,' he said.
She said it back and there was a shuffling overhead as she turned on her side to sleep. Jims just lay there, staring at the ceiling and wondered how anyone ever got to that easy, comfortable place. Especially the aunts. He'd tried to ask them once – what had Cass said?
With a tremendous leap of faith.
But, Jims had said, that sounds terrifying.
And Cass, smiling in the fading sunset of another time, another evening years ago in Toronto, Yes, but it's worth it.
Maybe it was, thought Jims idly as the crickets hummed under the sill and he counted the knots in the wood of the overhead bunk. But it still sounded terrifying, and anyway, it would be madness to take such a leap here, by Lake Devine. Berry would marry Ingrid. This was a fact. Patty Norwood had it from her mother who had had it from Ingrid's mother, who ran the Inn at Lake Devine. So that was that. Jims punched his pillow and rolled onto his side. He wished rather desperately that the aunts were here, that he could talk with them. He thought he'd like to ask them again, just to see if there was anything more to it after all. A tremendous leap of faith, they had said.
But how do you know? He shifted, and rolled onto his back, shoulder stiff from bearing the weight of the rest of him. The crickets went on humming.
Sissy said drowsily, 'Jims, can I come down?'
'Course, Sissy,' he said, and promptly shuffled over against the wall and drew the blankets back so that she could climb in beside him. She was entirely too hot, and Jims was still warmer for having her next to him. Her hair spilled massy and heavy across the shared pillow. It smelled outdoorsy up-close, of pines and freshwater and lemon juice.
'Can't you sleep either?' he asked as he stroked her hair.
'Too warm,' said Sissy.
'Definitely,' said Jims, because that was true, and because it was easier to agree than to try and ponder the incommunicable with Sissy for confidante. He missed the aunts like a heartbeat.
But how do you know?
'Sing something?' said Sissy, and snuggled tight under his arm, so that her breath came warm against Jims' shoulder.
'Anthony's the singer,' said Jims. But of course he sang anyway; it was Sissy. He'd held her in his arms once and promised her anything in the world. Together they stared up at the knotted wood of the bunk overhead and he sang lazily and imperfectly; My father was the keeper of the Edistone light…
They were both asleep long before he got to the end.
The days after that were sticky ones to Jims. Not so much because of the heat, which was tempered by the lake, but because his brain – which was plainly heat addled or something – kept intruding the wrong-way-round picture on him at the most inconvenient of times. When they were out swimming by the docks and Berry was watching from his obligatory place as lifeguard for instance. Or as they raced across to this rock or that for a picnic lunch. He was convinced it must be obvious to the others, the wrong-way-round picture, Jims kissing Berry and all that, but if it was, no one said so. They went on with the picnic excursions, and Ingrid kept on with the leaches, and every evening they played Monopoly in the sitting room of the big house, Liam winning more than the others, each with their preferred token. Ingrid; thimble, Jims; auto, Anthony rocking horse, Berry; whistle, and so on and so on.
It was life as usual. Mum sat in her pet red Adirondack chair and watched them with half an eye, her progress in her lakeside book minimal. Cap came and shaded her, leaning over the back of her chair, his big hands carding through her hair. They played tennis with Ingrid's parents, their party making a regular four on the court. Or they played lawn boules, or croquet, sometimes even calling the Cherubs and company up from the dock to join in. They went into town just the once on the last day, and bought their own Monopoly set as a memento.
'I won't be the thimble,' said Sissy derisively.
'Don't be daft,' said Jims. 'You're the lantern. It's tradition now.'
'I might like to be the lantern,' said Cap, and Sissy stuck her tongue out at him.
'You're the thimble,' said Jims and grinned wickedly. 'Someone has to be.'
'I'll claim it,' said Mum. 'I refuse to be the iron.' She was looking critically at the box. Cap affected an air of great hurt. He said, 'Doesn't anyone want me to play?'
'You can be the shoe,' said Jims. He was relieved he could still do this. He had thought that maybe his brain might have misfired in this, too, that he would no longer be able to rib Cap as before.
But that was nonsense, he thought, climbing back into the car. Had to be, because Aunt Persis could tease Cap better than anyone and get away with it, too. So perhaps, after all…well, soon they'd be in Toronto again and Jims could run down to St George St any time. He'd have to wrangle it without the cherubs, and that would be tricky, but he hadn't just taken a degree in engineering to be outmanoeuvred by cherubs. Though if anyone could do it…he twisted round and eyed Sissy warily.
Mum said, 'Wave goodbye, Cherubs,' and so they waved, the cursive sign with its Adirondack chair slipping into the middle distance, and then vanishing completely.
Anthony had taken care to have the banjo within reach this time. He struck up Coast of the High Barbary. Cap affected to groan and grimace, but then he rounded out the harmony and they were bound for Toronto, and that wonderful, ineffable thing – aunts. Oh, it would be good to see them again.