"No, Laddie," she said quietly. "It’s just one of those things that can't be helped."
He took a deep breath, beginning to feel better.
At least she understood, she hadn't condemned him.
"What are we going to do, Mother?" he asked.
She looked into his eyes.
"The first thing we have to do is let Rina know we understand. The poor child must be frightened out of her mind."
He reached forward and took his mother's hand, pressing it to his lips.
"You're so good to us, Mother," he whispered, looking gratefully into her eyes.
They were the last words he ever spoke.
For just at that moment, the squall came roaring in from the starboard side and capsized the boat.
Rina watched stolidly as the lobstermen brought the pitifully small bodies to the shore and laid them on the beach.
She looked down at them. Laddie and Mother.
A vague spinning began to roar inside her. A cramp suddenly seized her groin and she doubled over, sinking to her knees in the sand beside the still figures.
She closed her eyes, weeping as a terrible moisture began to seep from her.
8.
MARGARET BRADLEY LOOKED DOWN WEARILY AT the papers on her desk.
They were covered with the hen-tracked hieroglyphics of the girls who trooped through her science classes.
Abruptly she pushed them to one side and got to her feet. She walked over to the window and looked out restlessly.
She was bored, tired of the never-ending, day-in, day-out routine.
Looking out into the gray dusk of evening, she wondered why Sally's letter hadn't arrived yet.
It had been more than two weeks since she'd heard from her and usually letters came regularly twice a week.
Could it be that Sally had found someone else?
Another friend with whom she could share those intime whispered secrets?
There was a hesitant knock at the door and she turned toward it.
"Yes?"
"A special-delivery letter for you, Miss Bradley." It was the quavering voice of Thomas, the porter.
Quickly she opened the door and took the letter.
"Thank you very much, Thomas," she said, closing the door.
She leaned against it, looking down at the letter in her hand. She began to feel brighter. It was Sally's handwriting.
She crossed to her desk and rapidly tore open the envelope.
Dear Peggy,
Yesterday I was married…
The knock at the door was so low that at first she did not hear it. It came again, a little louder this time.
She raised her head from the desk.
"Who is it?" she called in her husky voice.
"Rina Marlowe, Miss Bradley.
May I see you for a moment?"
Wearily the teacher got to her feet.
"Just a moment," she called.
She walked into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, her lipstick slightly smeared.
She looked older than her twenty-six years.
She turned on the tap and cleaned the make-up from her face with a washcloth.
She stared at herself. For ten years, she and Sally had been inseparable. Now it was over.
She replaced the washcloth on the rack and walked out to the door.
"Come in," she said, opening it.
Rina looked into the teacher's face.
Miss Bradley looked as if she had been crying.
"I'm sorry if I disturbed you," she said. "I can come back later if you like."
The teacher shook her head.
"No, that's all right," she answered. She crossed to the small desk and sat down behind it. "What is it?"