***
The
McAllisters sat together on the upper deck of the ferry, Allison and
Henry-Jay on the outside, the children - now twelve and seven - between
them. Henry-Jay turned to look at his wife and could not help but
chuckle at her grimace and green hue as the boat rocked back and forth
over the choppy lake. He looked at his children one at a time for a
moment before turning his concentration back to the grey blue water that
seemed to stretch on forever. He mused on the fact that the horizon of
Lake Huron was in some places like the horizon on the Atlantic Ocean
with sky touching water and no land in sight.
Henry-Jay
was now forty-two, and much softer than in his days as a Texas A&M
football star, but he still carried himself tall and straight, giving
off the aura of a certain strength still hidden beneath his finely
tailored grey wool suit. The truth was that twenty years of handling
millions of dollars for many important clients had made him tense and
wary of relaxation, but he had developed a certain way of sitting and
walking and speaking that made others feel that his slight rigidity was
nothing more than proper upbringing. Though he was not quick with a
smile, his smile was genuine and his blue eyes sparkled when such topics
as his children, his racehorses, or the current success of his Alma
Mater’s football team were brought up in conversation.
The
ferry touched in to the dock at Mackinac Island with a heavy thud,
jolting Henry from his thoughts. Allison gasped and grabbed Thompson by
the shoulder as the boat groaned and rocked. The ropes were thrown to
men waiting on the docks, who pulled them taut around the piles,
steadying the boat, before tying them off with loose half hitches. The
McAllister children peered over the side of the railing, watching as the
dock-men unloaded the horses and bicycles from the cargo area. When
the people sitting in the lower deck began shuffling from the boat,
Allison and the children stood. Henry-Jay sighed and stood as well.
“Why don’t you and the children go catch the carriage? I’ve got a few things to do before heading up to the hotel.”
Allison
nodded sullenly and escorted the children down the narrow stairwell.
Henry watched them step off the boat and walk up to the dock towards
the private carriage waiting for them at the road. Two Jamaicans were
already loading the family’s suitcases to the back of the carriage when
Allison and the children climbed inside. Henry-Jay walked down the
starboard side of the steering compartment and knocked on the back door.
An old man in a faded green cap reading “Arnold Transit” opened the
door grinning widely from under his bushy white mustache.
“Mr. McAllister, it’s wonderful to see you!”
“It’s Henry-Jay, Captain Morris. I’ve told you a thousand times if I’ve told you once”
The
old man clapped both hands around Henry’s as best he could, his right
hand gnarled from arthritis and years of pulling rope.
“Of
course, Henry-Jay. Wonderful, it’s wonderful that you’re here, always a
pleasure” the old man shook Henry’s hand vigorously. “How long will
you be staying this time?”
“I’m not sure yet Captain. I thought it best to remove Allison for a while from the temptations that New York presents to her”.
The
old man nodded and dropped Henry-Jays hand, his sunburned and creased
cheeks flushing imperceptibly at the earnest truthfulness of the man
standing at his cabin door.
“It
was good to see you again Captain Morris. Please don’t hesitate to
call on me if you find yourself on this side of the lake. I’d love to
have a drink with you”
The
old man nodded. This was their yearly conversation. Henry-Jay would
extend an invitation of drink to the ferry captain, and the old man
would nod. He had never taken Henry up on the invitation for fear of
damaging the young man’s reputation; men of his caste did not drink with
ferry captains.
Henry-Jay clapped the old man on the shoulder and smiled. “I mean it Captain…”
Henry
stepped off the ferry on to the dock and nodded to the boarding man
who, seeing that Henry had finally departed, unhooked the rope and began
taking tickets for the return trip to St. Ignace. He walked up the
dock to the main road and stopped, looking up and down the busy street.
The smell of lilac and horses intoxicated him. Henry-Jay closed his
eyes, letting the sun warm his face and shoulders, listening to the
clatter and jingle of passenger carriages pass him on the cobblestone
street. Henry crossed the street and turned left, following Main Street
with a spring in his step that none of his associates in New York would
have believed was possible. He turned another left on French Lane,
ducking in to the Pilot House Restaurant.
The
term restaurant was attached to the establishment in the hopes of
bringing in business, but in reality, the Pilot House had never been
able to shake the boy’s club atmosphere that tended to be the main draw
to its clientele. The Pilot House was on the first floor of the Fort
View Hotel, one of the smaller hotels on the island. The hotel did not,
in fact, have a view of the fort, as it was only three floors with the
bottom two built in to the hill. The walls of the Pilot house that were
built in to the hill were bare stone. Two dart boards which hung in
the far right corner and a large oil painting of Twenty Grand and his
Jockey Charley Kurtsinger, winners of the 1931 Kentucky Derby - both man
and horse brimming with pride - were the extent of the décor in the
Pilot House. Several overstuffed leather chairs were nestled in the
corner to the right of the door and a large standing ashtray overfull
with cigar ash in the center of the area lived between them.
Henry-Jay
collapsed comfortably in to one of the chairs closest to the door,
beside Benny Michaelson, an acquaintance he had known for many years in
New York but a friend when they were on the Island. Benny smiled at
Henry and waved the bartender over.
“Another
glass for Mr. McAllister, Joe.” Benny smiled knowingly at Henry,
lifting the open bottle of Scotch that sat on the well oiled wood table
between the men. He leaned forward, holding the bottle out towards
Henry.
Henry-Jay
took the bottle in his hands, looking the label over. He did not know
very much about Scotch, though men of his particular social class were
supposed to, so he smiled knowingly as well as he set the bottle back on
the table between them.
“1912…
good year” he smiled again at Benny as he watched his old friend take
the glass from the bartender, uncork the bottle and pour the caramel
colored liquid in.
“Very good year” Benny replied as he handed the glass to Henry, corked the bottle and placed it back on the table between them.
‘Of
course it was a good year’ Henry thought to himself. ‘Had it not been a
good year, Benny wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a bottle of it in a
place like The Pilot… arrogant bastard…’
Henry-Jay
knew that this was an offering from Benny to enjoy as much as he
pleased, and knew that he would not be leaving that chair for quite some
time.
Several
hours later Henry-Jay pushed through the front door of the Pilot House
and stumbled back against the door frame, surprised by the bright sun
still shining on him. He checked his watch through bleary vision and it
read 9:15. ‘Yes’ he thought, ‘it stays lighter here. We are very far
north’. Henry climbed in to the livery coach waiting for him on the
street. Joe, the bartender, had tried to call for a carriage from The
Grand Hotel, but Henry-Jay was not yet ready to go back to his wife.
“It’s still daylight” he called through the open window separating him and the driver.
“Yes, sir”
“I want to go to the Bluffs”
“Yes, sir”
“Can I smoke?”
“No, Sir”
The
coach pulled out and after a short while on the main roads, turned left
towards the water and began to climb. Henry-Jay leaned back in his
seat and closed his eyes, listening to the jingle of the harnesses and
the snorting huffs of the two large draft horses as they pulled the
coach up the incline.
“What kind are they? Clydesdale?”
“No, Sir. Irish Hackney”
“Irish Hackney” Henry repeated, making a note to look them over better when they reached the bluffs.
Henry-Jay
noticed the incline level and the road become worn and bumpy. One of
the wheels hit a deep divot and the whole coach bucked, sending Henry
over on to his side in the back.
“Terribly sorry Sir” the coachman called. “Are you alright?”
“I’m just fine” Henry laughed as the coach pulled to a stop with a “Ho there” from the coachman.
Henry slid from the coach, pulling a cigar from the breast pocket of his suit before tossing the jacket in the carriage.
“You want one?” He held the cigar up towards the coachman.
“No
thank you, Sir” The man shook his head, sliding a crushed pack of
cigarettes from his own shirt pocket, raising one to his lips and
lighting it. “I got my own vices” he smiled.
“You can go if you’ve got other fares waiting” Henry nodded towards the bluffs. “I might be a while”
The man looked Henry over. His hair was rumpled out of place and his tie was askew.
“No,
I don’t reckon I’m going to leave you up here Sir, on account that
walking back down to town at dusk is dangerous… you might get trampled…”
Henry
shrugged and walked towards the bluffs. The man watched him from his
seat at the front of the coach. He sucked heavily on his cigarette,
sighed, and hopped from the front seat, following Henry across the road.
“You’re
not gonna jump are ya? Because if you are, I’d like to know now. If
you’re not gonna need a ride back down, I’ll go back to work”
Henry
laughed at the coachman’s frank manner. “No, I’m not going to jump”.
Henry knew that the coachman was going quite far out of his comfort
zone in pursuing a stranger. People in these parts liked to stay out of
one another’s business as much as possible. Henry sat down fairly near
the edge of the bluffs and pulled a silver lighter from his pocket,
lighting the cigar before returning the lighter. He stared out at the
slow sinking sun over Lake Huron.
“Sit down man, have another smoke with me”The coachman sat about a foot to the left of Henry-Jay, removing another cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it. The men sat in silence, smoking for a while.
“I’m Henry” Henry-Jay finally interrupted the silence.
“I’m Dennis”
The men watched the sun sink past the far off Mackinaw Bridge and below the horizon of the lake.
“Well Henry, this was a fine way to end my day, I’ve got to admit” Dennis looked straight ahead as he spoke. “And I’m glad you didn’t jump. That would have put quite a damper on the effects” he laughed heartily.
Henry- Jay laughed as well, but his laughter was sad. “I wouldn’t ever jump Dennis. I love my children. Georgia and Tommy. They’re my whole life”
“Is your wife gone?”
“No… she’s here”
The men fell silent for another moment before Henry pushed himself off the ground.
“We should get going”
The men headed back to the coach, Henry climbing inside, Dennis onto the driver’s bench. Henry rolled down his shirtsleeves and pulled his suit coat back on as the coach began its route around and away from the bluffs.
“My wife cheats on me” Henry heard himself saying. Something about the noisy clatter of the harnesses and the wheels on dirt road allowed Henry to divulge the painful secret that had been roiling inside him. “She cheats on me with everyone. That’s why we’re here. I come here every summer to clear my head, to allow the children time to be children away from New York. She hates it here, but I can’t leave her in that city alone. I can’t leave her knowing that she will run all over town making a cuckold of me. So I brought her. And maybe I brought her to punish her, because I know she’s miserable here, but I don’t care. I want her to suffer. I have suffered for so long. I suffer and I work and I smile and I love her but only for my children”
Dennis heard everything, but did not respond. He wound the coach carefully down the steady decline, handling the hand break with care so as to not pick up too much speed on their descent. His heart ached for Henry and he wished that he had taken the long route. He knew Henry would have happily delayed his return to the hotel and the pain of seeing his wife, sitting down to dinner across from her, holding her hand and pretending he was still in love.
