“How have you been spending your days lately, Ruth?” Mr. Ellis asked.
Wanting no instructions from him at all tonight, Ruth decided to divert him. This was a new tactic, a bold tactic. But she had been drinking and, as a consequence, felt bolder than usual.
“Mr. Ellis,” she said, “do you remember the elephant tusk we brought you?”
He nodded.
“Have you had a chance to look at it?”
He nodded again. “Very well,” he said. “I understand you have been spending a great deal of your time with Mrs. Pommeroy and her sisters.”
“Mr. Ellis,” Ruth said, “I wonder whether we can talk about that elephant tusk. For just a moment.”
That’s right. She would be the one to direct this conversation. How hard could that be? She certainly did it with everyone else. Mr. Ellis raised an eyebrow. That is to say, he raised the skin below where an eyebrow would be if he happened to have an eyebrow.
“It took my friend several years to find that tusk, Mr. Ellis. That young man, Webster Pommeroy, he’s the one who found it. He worked hard. And my other friend, Senator Simon?” Ruth pronounced the name this time without a hitch. She felt dead sober now. “Senator Simon Addams? You know him?”
Mr. Ellis did not respond. He found his handkerchief again and made another pass at his nose.
Ruth went on. “He has many interesting artifacts, Mr. Ellis. Simon Addams has been collecting unusual specimens for years. He would like to open a museum on Fort Niles. To display what he has collected. He’d call it the Fort Niles Museum of Natural History and believes that the Ellis Granite Company Store building would be suitable for his museum. Since it is vacant. Perhaps you’ve heard about this idea? I think he has asked your permission for years… I think he… It may not seem like an interesting project to you, but it would mean everything to him, and he is a good man. Also, he would like the elephant tusk back. For his museum. If he can have a museum, that is.”
Mr. Ellis sat in his wheelchair with his hands on his thighs. His thighs were not much wider than his wrists. Under his suit jacket, he wore a thick, black sweater. He reached into an inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a small brass key, which he held between his thumb and forefinger. It trembled like a divining rod. Handing it to Ruth, he said, “Here is the key to the Ellis Granite Company Store building.”
Ruth gingerly took the key. It was cool and sharp and could not have been a greater surprise. She said, “Oh!” She was astonished.
“Mr. Cooley will bring the elephant tusk to your house next week.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ellis. I appreciate this. You don’t have to-”
“You will join me for dinner on Thursday.”
“I will. Yes. Terrific. Should I tell Simon Addams… Um, what shall I tell Simon Addams about the building?”
But Mr. Ellis was finished talking to Ruth Thomas. He shut his eyes and ignored her, and she went away.
Ruth Thomas went to the other side of the tent, as far as she could get from Mr. Ellis. She felt sober and a little sick, so she made a quick stop at the card table that served as a bar and had Chucky Strachan mix her another glass of whiskey and ice. Between Pastor Wishnell and Mr. Ellis, this had been a day of strange conversations, and now she was wishing that she had stayed home with the Senator and Webster Pommeroy. She found a chair in the corner, behind the band, and claimed it. When she put her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, she could hear her pulse in her head. At the sound of applause, she looked up. A man in his mid-sixties, with a blond-gray brush haircut and the face of an old soldier, was standing in the middle of the tent, a champagne glass raised in his hand. It was Babe Wishnell.
“My daughter!” he said. “Today is my daughter’s wedding, and I’d like to say some words!”
There was more applause. Somebody shouted, “Go to it, Babe!” and everyone laughed.
“My daughter isn’t marrying the best-looking man on Courne Haven, but, then, it isn’t legal to marry her father! Charlie Burden? Where’s Charlie Burden?”
The groom stood up, looking agonized.
“You got yourself a good Wishnell girl today, Charlie!” Babe Wishnell bellowed; more applause. Somebody shouted, “Go get her, Charlie!” and Babe Wishnell glared in the direction of the voice. The laughter stopped.
But then he shrugged and said, “My daughter’s a modest girl. When she was a teenager, she was so modest, she wouldn’t even walk over a potato patch. You know why? Because potatoes have eyes! They might have looked up her skirt!”
Here, he pantomimed a girl, daintily lifting her skirts. He fluttered his hand about in a feminine way. The crowd laughed. The bride, holding her daughter on her lap, blushed.
“My new son-in-law reminds me of Cape Cod. I mean, his nose reminds me of Cape Cod. Does anyone know why his nose reminds me of Cape Cod? Because it’s a prominent projection!” Babe Wishnell roared at his own joke. “Charlie, I’m just playing with you. You can sit down now, Charlie. Let’s have a hand for Charlie. He’s a pretty goddamn good sport. Now, these two are going on a honeymoon. They’re going to Boston for the week. I hope they have a good time.”
More applause, and the same voice shouted, “Go get her, Charlie!” This time Babe Wishnell ignored the voice.
“I hope they have a hell of a good time. They deserve it. Especially Dotty, because she’s had a tough year, losing her husband. So I hope you have a hell of a good time, Charlie and Dotty.” He raised his glass. The guests murmured and raised their glasses, too. “Good for them to get away for a while,” Babe Wishnell said. “Leaving the kid with Dotty’s mother and me, but what the hell. We like the kid. Hiya, kid!”
He waved at the kid. The kid, Candy, on her mother’s lap, was as regal and inscrutable as a lioness.
“But that reminds me of when I took Dotty’s mother on our honeymoon.”
Someone in the crowd whooped, and everyone laughed. Babe Wishnell shook his finger, like tut-tut-tut, and continued. “When I took Dotty’s mother on our honeymoon, we went to Niagara Falls. This was back in the Revolutionary War! No, it was 1945. I was just out of the war. World War Two, that is! Now, I’d gotten stove up pretty bad in a wreck in the South Pacific. I’d seen some pretty serious action over there in New Guinea, but I was ready for action on my honeymoon! You bet! I was ready for a different kind of action!”
Everyone looked to Gladys Wishnell, who was shaking her head.
“So we went to Niagara Falls. We had to take that boat, The Maid of the Mist. Now, I didn’t know if Gladys was the type to get seasick. I thought she might get all woozy on me under that waterfall, because you go-you know, you go right under the goddamn thing. So I went to the pharmacy, and I bought a bottle of-what’s it called? A bottle of Drambuie? What’s it called that you take for seasickness?”
“Dramamine!” Ruth Thomas called out.
Babe Wishnell peered through the darkening tent at Ruth. He gave her a stern, perceptive look. He didn’t know who she was, but he accepted her answer.