Boxed In(50)

“Just a trick I picked up along the way,” said Cecil. “Steers and cows hate gadflies, so I buzzed at Milton when Charlie and I’d had enough of him, like this.” Cecil emitted a buzz so authentic that it made Annie’s skin itch. “He hightailed it.”

“I wish we’d known that trick,” said Todd, shaking his head. “Would have saved my favorite hat.”

“And Mom a lot of gray hairs!” Ian said, laughing.

“Look starboard, Annie,” Cecil said. “A humpback feeding.”

Annie had learned that starboard was to the right of the boat, when facing the bow. A ring of aqua water, as bright as any she had seen in the Caribbean, bubbled. She gasped as the surface split, the giant knobby mouth of a whale rising up as it opened like a giant oyster. As it reached the crest, the mouth snapped shut and fell back into the water.

“There goes a hundred pounds of herring,” said Todd. “Bit of a snack, that.”

Annie leaned over the dashboard, keeping her eyes on the surface of the water. “I’ve read many times about the size of whales, but seeing one in front of me. Whew!” She reached in the pocket of her coat for her small digital camera. “Do you think it will come up again?”

“Takes more than a hundred pounds of fish to make a meal for a humpback,” said Cecil. “There’s a good chance he’ll be up again. Just look for the bubble ring.”

They didn’t have to wait long before the surface turned that dazzling aqua again. Annie lifted the camera, snapping as many shots as she could. Before the next splashdown she remembered that her camera had capabilities for short videos and captured it. “John is going to be speechless. Well, no, he’ll probably chatter about it to anyone who’ll listen.”

“Sometimes there are fin whales not too far from here. Are you OK with us moving along?” Todd asked after they had watched the feeding for a while.

Annie nodded, snapping a last couple of shots before the boat moved past the humpback. She kept her eyes roaming, scanning the surface of the water. A few minutes passed with no sign of more whales, so she relaxed her search, trusting that the three Maine natives would spot anything she shouldn’t miss seeing.

“Cecil, I almost forgot to tell you,” Annie said. “The Milton story wasn’t the only thing I found while I was organizing Grey Gables’s library this week. I found the last stanza of the poem I told you about, signed with the name of the author! Her name is Clara Stewart, and she dated the poem 1904.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Cecil nodded, still standing ramrod straight with no signs of tiring. “If you contact the reservation in Point Pleasant, they can tell you if the name is registered with the tribe. If it is, there may be more information they can share with you. I was born in 1934. From the poem, I would assume that she had moved away from her people before she wrote it, well before my time.”

“That’s my assumption, as well,” said Annie. “I’ll go tomorrow.” Then remembering how some agencies had been needing to cut their hours of operation, she added, “If they have regular operating hours tomorrow, that is.”

“They will,” Cecil assured her. “The tribal government follows the typical days of operation. They’re closed for major holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day.

“Do you visit the reservation often?” asked Annie. She was surprised how at home she now felt on the boat as it plowed through the light chop. They might have been having a visit in her living room at Grey Gables.

“I try to, when Martin or Nataline are going. Nataline’s only daughter, Macey, lives there now, and we visit her as often as we can, for dance days or weekends.” Cecil scanned the horizon line, a faint smile playing around his mouth. “Feisty one, she is. Went to business school for medical transcription. She always wanted to live at Sipayik as a kid. Nataline would challenge her about what kind of job she would find there. So she researched about jobs she could do from her home and found one. Her grandmother Rose was feisty too. Strong spirit. Weak heart, though.”

Thankful for the sea spray that mingled with the tears forming in her eyes, Annie nodded her understanding. Wayne had been stronger than his heart too. “Did Gram and Grandpa know Rose?” she asked.

“They were both good friends to Rose and me. Many times when Rose was in the hospital, I’d come in to find Betsy sitting by her bed, cross-stitching and keeping Rose informed on whatever was happening.”

“Cecil and Rose used to live in a cottage near where Wally and Peggy live,” said Ian. “I used to detour past their place just to smell Rose’s cooking. If I timed it right and made enough noise as I went past, sometimes I’d score a dinner invitation.”