Show Me a Sign: Chapters 13–19

I wash and dress slowly as a snail, as I fear what Mama’s stiff manner might mean. Is my reckoning nigh for haunting in the woods?

I wash and dress slowly as a snail, as I fear what Mama’s stiff manner might mean. Is my reckoning nigh for haunting in the woods?

To make matters worse, Nancy appears to have lost none of her spite.

“Do you understand that blasphemy means not only speaking against Our Lord but also committing acts of impiety or godlessness?” he asks us.

We both nod earnestly.

“On the night my grandmother Edith died, I received a visitation at the foot of my bed. Her lustrous glow lit the room. Before passing on, she wanted to convey a message of love to me. I was moved that she thought of reassuring me before her soul ascended.”

Mary has been deeply troubled by her only brother’s untimely death.

Finally, he signs, “Well, well. I can see you have thought a great deal about your sin. I am relieved to know that you realize God observes you and divines your true intentions at all times.”

“If you agree never again to call to the dead on land the Church has not consecrated, we can let the matter rest.”

We nod somberly and cross our hearts.

She’s sullen but not bitter.

I imagine our shores overrun by observers, stomping through our farmlands and asking impertinent questions.

“It’s too bright,” she chastises.

I have no choice but to wear all my winter garb on this frosty day.

But when he uses a paring knife to take a sample of the bark of an apple tree, Nancy is so indignant at the defilement, I have to grab her and hold her back.

Rounding a bend, there are a handful of people who make us less conspicuous.

If Sally is neglecting her duties at the Skiffe household, Nancy will become belligerent.

“We’ve been following him,” I admit.
Nancy scowls at my disclosure.

“Thanks for your help. I’ll keep you apprised of further developments.”

Sally smiles at my jest.

After the monotony of sweeping, Mama asks me to polish the pewter.

It sits about halfway between our farm and the Meeting House on a parcel of land that borders the Lees’ modest family farm.

I try to merge with the side of the parsonage and discreetly look out.

A clergy collar! I am mortified to realize that I am standing in Reverend Lee’s bedroom.

I will have to forget all this when I next see him standing at the pulpit.

Try to ingratiate yourself with the natives.

It will make the study of their inherent deafness and idiocy more pleasant.

“Don’t play coy with me, Mary Lambert,” she signs aggressively.

I am still brooding over the missing map and not ready to go inside.

“He, not the Church or the Commonwealth, is the only one who gave us a deed to the island. He taught us to be partners with it in respectful stewardship.”

He guzzles his ale, then wryly replies, with a piercing look, “I have noticed.”

Nancy and I were not quite as covert as we had hoped.

“My hypothesis,” Andrew says rather loftily, “is based on Cadwallader Colden’s work on the epidemic of yellow fever. In 1743, he published essays explaining how filthy living conditions were related to high incidence of the disease in New York City.”

I stifle a giggle.

Mr. Pye signs and speaks, “If we clean our water supply and other foul living conditions, assuming there are any in Chilmark, do you mean for the deaf to disappear? Is it your opinion that deafness is a scourge to eliminate, like yellow fever?”

He signs, “My wife prepared a delicious repast..."

As I watch him fade ahead, I remember George’s book with my map of memories inside of it! Has Andrew absconded with it?

His face in a cold rage, he laughs a mirthless laugh.

I scrabble in the sand, trying to push myself up.

I am close enough that I can see the lobster traps stacked ramshackle beside Ezra Brewer's shack and smell the wood smoke from his stove.