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Captain Stone called for Emma-Lee shortly before ten o’clock Saturday
morning.
From
the cabin window, she watched him saunter down the sandy road from the
docks, his hands stuck in his pants pockets, cap pushed back on his
dark, curly hair, puckered lips whistling “Sweet Adeline.”
Strolling up to the front door, the captain knocked three short raps.
Emma-Lee started toward the door but was surprised to see Aunt Augusta
emerge from her bedroom wearing an ivory blouse and a pearl gray skirt
instead of the usual faded, brown gingham housedress she wore around the
cabin. The sapphire broach she’d purchased for weddings, funerals, and
“important occasions” was at her throat. Her hair was brushed and
carefully pinned into her usual tight topknot, but there was something
different about her face. Could that be a bit of lip rouge?
Emma-Lee watched, amazed, as Aunt Augusta paused before the closed door
to smooth her skirt and straighten her blouse. She removed her reading
glasses and folded them neatly into her skirt pocket.
“A
beautiful mornin’ to ya’ Miss Lemstarch,” the captain’s bass voice
filled the cabin as Aunt Augusta opened the door, her right hand
lingering on the doorknob. “And don’t ya’ be lookin’ as lovely as the
sunrise yourself, ma’am?” He swept the cap off his head and held it in
front of him with both hands. “Is the little lady ready for our outing?”
Aunt
Augusta’s face colored at the captain’s compliment and she turned to
find Emma-Lee’s round eyes staring at her. Aunt Augusta, looking as
jittery as cornered squirrel, pulled the doorknob so hard it popped off
in her hand.
“Well, I’ll be lambasted, will you look at that?” said the captain as
Aunt Augusta stood glaring at the knob in her palm like it was a river
rat. “Whale of a grip ya’ must have there, ma’am. I’d be happy to fix
that if ya’ have a few tools handy.”
With
a horrified look on her face, Aunt Augusta wordlessly fled the room,
leaving the captain and Emma-Lee staring after her. As if drawn by an
invisible magnet, their eyes found each others.
“Do
you reckon she’s gone to fetch some tools?” Captain Stone asked in a
subdued tone. He bent toward Emma-Lee and spoke behind his cap, as if
sharing a deep secret. “I hope I didn’t say anything wrong. Never did
have a way with the ladies, no siree, especially a fine, cultured lady
like your aunt. Just can’t fathom the way they think.” He dropped his
cap to his side and straightened. “What do we do now?”
At
that moment, Aunt Augusta bustled back into the room carrying a small
wooden toolbox, her angular cheekbones highlighted with crimson
splotches. “These are all the tools I have, Captain Stone. I thank you
for your kind offer to repair the doorknob. It’s been loose for”—she
paused, her eyes searching the ceiling—“quite a long time now. Why, a
stiff breeze could have blown it off.” She averted her eyes as she spoke
and placed the toolbox on the floor.
That’s funny, Emma-Lee thought. I’ve been in and out that door a dozen
times since I got here and the knob didn’t feel loose to me.
“Yes,
ma’am. I’d be happy to lend a hand.” Captain Stone handed his cap to
Emma-lee and knelt on one knee beside the door. He extracted a
screwdriver from the toolbox and went right to work. Within minutes, he
had replaced the doorknob and seemed satisfied with its stability.
“There ya’ go,” he said, standing with the toolbox gripped in one large
hand. “That should hold it. Would ya’ like me to put these tools away,
ma’am?”
“Oh,
no Captain, I’ll take them,” Aunt Augusta said in her schoolteacher
voice as she held out her hands. He started to hand the wooden box to
her but lost his grip and it slipped and nearly fell. As they
simultaneously reached for the tools tumbling out of the box, their
hands collided and they both jumped back as if burned. Aunt Augusta’s
face flushed the color of ripe tomatoes as the tools clattered to the
floor. Emma-Lee found this incredibly funny and for the first time in
weeks, she laughed aloud as Aunt Augusta stood clasping and unclasping
her hands, fretting, “Dear me, dear me.”
Captain Stone rooted around on his hands and knees at her feet,
gathering the elusive tools like they were wild rabbits trying to escape
a hungry hawk.
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