The next morning, it was still raining. Victor could see by his wife’s face that the house and the weather were a drain on her strength. Most of us are inured to the inconveniences of a summer house in a cold rain, but Theresa was not. The power that the iron bedsteads and the paper window curtains had on her spirit was out of proportion, as if these were not ugly objects in themselves but threatened to overwhelm her common sense. At breakfast, their hostess suggested that they take a drive in the rain. “I know that it’s vile out,” she said, “but you could drive to Camden, and it’s a way of killing time, isn’t it, and you go through a lot of enchanting little villages, and if you did go down to Camden, you could go to the rental library and get The Silver Chalice. They’ve been reserving it for days and days, and I never find the time to get it. The rental library is on Estrella Lane.” The Mackenzies drove to Camden and got The Silver Chalice. When they returned, there was another chore for Victor. The battery in Helen Jackson’s car was dead. He took it to the garage and got a rental battery and installed it. Then, in spite of the weather, he tried to go swimming, but the waves were high and full of gravel, and after diving once he gave up and went back to the house. When he walked into the guest room in his wet bathing trunks, Theresa raised her face and he saw that it was stained with tears. “Oh, my darling,” she said, “I’m homesick.”
It was, even for Victor, a difficult remark to interpret. Their only home then was a one-room apartment in the city, which, with its kitchenette and studio couch, seemed oddly youthful and transitory for these grandparents. If Theresa was homesick, it could only be for a collection of parts of houses. She must have meant something else.
“Then we’ll go,” he said. “We’ll leave the first thing in the morning.” And then, seeing how happy his words had made her, he went on. “We’ll get into the car and we’ll drive and we’ll drive and we’ll drive. We’ll go to Canada.”
When they told Helen Jackson, at dinner, that they were leaving in the morning, she seemed relieved. She got out a road map and marked with a pencil the best route up through the mountains to Ste. Marie and the border. The Mackenzies packed after dinner and left early in the morning. Helen came out to the driveway to say goodbye. She was wearing her wrapper and carrying a silver coffeepot. “It’s been perfectly lovely to have you,” she said, “even if the weather has been so vile and disagreeable and horrid, and since you’ve decided to go through Ste. Marie, would you mind terribly stopping for a minute and returning Aunt Mary’s silver coffeepot? I borrowed it years ago, and she’s been writing me threatening letters and telephoning, and you can just leave it on the doorstep and run. Her name is Mrs. Sauer. The house is near the main road.” She gave the Mackenzies some sketchy directions, kissed Theresa, and handed her the coffeepot. “It’s been simply wonderful having you,” she called as they drove away.
The waves at Horsetail Beach were still high and the wind was cold when the Mackenzies turned their back on the Atlantic Ocean. The noise and the smell of the sea faded. Inland, the sky seemed to be clearing. The wind was westerly and the overcast began to be displaced with light and motion. The Mackenzies came into hilly farmland. It was country they had never seen before, and as the massive clouds broke and the dilated light poured onto it, Theresa felt her spirits rising. She felt as if she were in a house on the Mediterranean, opening doors and windows. It was a house that she had never been in. She had only seen a picture of it, years ago, on a postcard. The saffron walls of the house continued straight down into the blue water, and all the doors and windows were shut. Now she was opening them. It was at the beginning of summer. She was opening doors and windows, and, leaning into the light from one of the highest, she saw a single sail, disappearing in the direction of Africa, carrying the wicked King away. How else could she account for the feeling of perfect contentment that she felt? She sat in the car with her arm and her shoulder against her husband’s, as she always did. As they came into the mountains, she noticed that the air seemed cooler and lighter, but the image of opening doors and windows?doors that stuck at the sill, shuttered windows, casement windows, windows with sash weights, and all of them opening onto the water?stayed in her mind until they came down, at dusk, into the little river resort of Ste. Marie.
“God damn that woman,” Victor said; Mrs. Sauer’s house was not where Helen Jackson had said it would be. If the coffeepot had not looked valuable, he would have thrown it into a ditch and driven on. They turned up a dirt road that ran parallel to the river, and stopped at a gas station and got out of the car to ask directions. “Sure, sure,” the man said. “I know where the Sauers’ place is. Their landing’s right across the road, and the boatman was in here a minute ago.” He threw open the screen door and shouted through his hands. “Perley! There’s some people here want to get over to the island.”
“I want to leave something,” Victor said.
“He’ll take you over. It makes a pretty ride this time of day. He don’t have nothing to do. He’s in here talking my ear off most of the time. Perley! Perley!”
The Mackenzies crossed the road with him to where a crooked landing reached into the water. An old man was polishing the brass on a launch. “I’ll take you over and bring you right back,” he said.
“I’ll wait here,” Theresa said.
Trees grew down to the banks on both shores; they touched the water in places. The river at this point was wide, and as it curved between the mountains she could see upstream for miles. The breadth of the view pleased her, and she hardly heard Victor and the boatman talking. “Tell the lady to come,” the old man said.
“Theresa?”
She turned, and Victor gave her a hand into the boat. The old man put a dirty yachting cap on his head, and they started upstream. The current was strong, and the boat moved against it slowly, and at first they could not make out any islands, but then they saw water and light separate from the mainland what they had thought was a peninsula. They passed through some narrows and, swinging around abruptly?it was all strange and new to them?came up to a landing in a cove. Victor followed a path that led from the landing up to an old-fashioned frame camp stained the color of molasses. The arbor that joined the house to the garden was made of cedar posts, from which the bark hung in strips among the roses. Victor rang the bell. An old servant opened the door and led him through the house and out to the porch, where Mrs. Sauer was sitting with some sewing in her lap. She thanked him for bringing the coffeepot and, as he was about to leave, asked him if he were alone.
“Mrs. Mackenzie is with me,” Victor said, “We’re driving to Quebec.”
