over the prow of the boat and tumbled onto the sand. Several of the men from the White Rover had frozen their feet through and later had to have them amputated. John Hontvedt appears to have survived intact.
“Mommy, will you take me swimming?”
Billie tugs at my sleeve and rolls her head back and forth in the crook of my arm. I set my book down and lift her onto my lap. A small bit of crayon wrapping is stuck to her bottom lip, and I pick it off. She smells of shellfish and of sunblock.
“I don’t know, Jean,” calls Thomas from the cockpit. “It’s awfully deep out there. I said she had to ask you. I don’t especially want to go in again myself.”
“She’ll be all right if she wears her life jacket,” says Rich, emerging from the engine compartment. “Anyway, I need a swim. I’m disgusting. If we both take her, she’ll be OK.”
“Please, Mom.”
I look at Rich, whose hands are covered with grease, and then I look at Billie. “Sure,” I say “Why not?”
I am able to get over the side of the boat, but I am pretty sure they will never get me back in. Rich has left the swim ladder, which was being repaired, in his van at the dock. Billie cannonballs into the water and bobs straight up, her hair covering her face. I swim close to my daughter, never more than an arm’s length away, while Billie flails her arms, barely keeping her mouth above water. The water is, at first, shockingly cold, but after a few minutes I begin to get used to it. From the waterline, the prow of the sailboat seems massive — that of an ocean liner. In the distance, without my glasses, the islands are indistinct shapes of gray and brown.
I give Billie a shove toward Rich, and she “swims” between her uncle and myself — a wriggly fish with no fear. Her mouth fills with seawater. She swallows it and she seems surprised by the taste. She begs Rich for a ride on his back, and when they swim near to me, Billie slides off and clutches me around my neck. Rich’s leg is momentarily slippery against my own, and I grab onto his shoulder to keep from going under.
“Careful, Billie,” I say, loosening her grip around my neck. “I don’t have a life jacket on like you. You’ll sink me.”
From the bowsprit, Thomas watches us. He has a glass in his hand. I see him turn away and smile. He says something I cannot hear — it must be to Adaline.
When I let go of Rich, he dives deep into the water. He comes up about thirty feet away from me and begins to swim hard, his arms beating a rhythm to his kick. Billie and I paddle around each other until I see that she is tiring. Thomas reaches down, and between us we are able to get Billie easily back into the boat. As I anticipated, however, I am not strong enough to haul myself up and over, and there is an embarrassing and awkward pulling on arms and legs before I am able finally to flop into the cockpit. Billie wraps herself in a towel and sits, shivering, next to Adaline. When I stand up and put my glasses on, I see that Rich has swum all the way to Smuttynose and is sitting on the beach.
The Isles of Shoals derives its name not from the shoals surrounding the islands, but rather from the Old English word for school. As in schools of fish.
During the American Revolution, the Isles of Shoals were evacuated. Because the Shoalers had been trading with the British, the colonial leaders of New Hampshire and Maine ordered all residents off the islands. On January 5, 1776, eighty houses were dismantled, shipped to the mainland, and reconstructed all along the coast, from Massachusetts to Maine. A number of these houses are still standing.
“Loss. Abandonment. Castration. Chauvinism…”
“But think of Tom Moore, the charm.”
“Melancholy. It’s all melancholic,” says Thomas. “Kavanaugh, Frost, MacNeice.”
“You’re forgetting Yeats. The celebration of the human imagination, the magician.”
“Donnelly. Hyde Donnelly. Do you know him? Gray light thieving, mother’s grief I Steals by hedgerows—”
“You’re indicting an entire race,” Adaline says lightly.
Thomas takes a long sip of scotch.
A thick, peasanty scent of fish and garlic spreads and settles over the cockpit where Adaline and Thomas and I are sitting. Rich is holding a plate of mussels he has just steamed.