Despite his sorrow over the loss of Nell, Lucius was plagued in this time of loneliness-plagued disgracefully, in his opinion-by a desperate attraction to Owen Harden’s wife. Sarah loved her husband, he felt sure: she was mainly upset because Owen had been eking out poor fishing seasons by working part-time with Crockett Daniels, who had now acquired a local reputation as “the last of the plume hunters”; Speck Daniels shot egrets wherever he could find the scarce and scattered birds and smuggled the plumes to foreign markets by way of Cuba.
Because Lucius had prevailed on Owen to give up plume hunting, Sarah made him her confidante in her campaign to return her husband to a lawful life. Almost daily, she sought his counsel, wandering barefoot down the beach to his bachelor’s shack with fresh fish or spare greens and once a week a small basket of his laundry. She also provided endless anecdotal information on the Island families, all the more useful now that he had resumed bad-weather work on his two books.
By her own account, Sarah had married Owen in rebellion against the prejudice in her own family, in particular those kinsmen on Chokoloskee Bay who made life disagreeable for the Hardens. Sarah’s outspoken disdain of redneck ignorance-“They ain’t just redneck, they are no-neck!”-had stirred a lot of old-time meanness back to the surface, until finally his own family chided Owen for not bridling his wife’s sharp tongue. This had led to quarrels with her husband, confessed Sarah, unrepentant, even gleeful.
Though Sarah made no secret of her admiration for Owen’s educated friend-and certainly no effort to hide her visits-the fact that she turned up mostly in the daytime when her husband was off somewhere in his boat made Lucius uncomfortable: Lucius, not Sarah, was the guilty one because he, not she, hid an impure heart that leapt every time he saw her coming, this slim small-breasted girlish woman, in her thirties now, flaxen hair bound up in braids with deerhide thongs, small brown feet skipping light as fishes in the tide shine at the water’s edge.
Sarah Harden was inquisitive and indiscreet, thin-skinned, scrappy, blunt, yet easily hurt or angered. Her unhappiness about Owen’s associates led her to nag her quiet husband, comparing his prospects as an “outlaw” with those of his educated neighbor down the beach. Owen’s resentment had already seeded vague suspicions and having foreseen this, Lucius tried hard to avoid those moments when through door or window of their cabin he’d glimpse Sarah naked or half-dressed-a crisis that was ever pending, since the unself-conscious Sarah wore little in the humid heat except soft faded overalls gone slack in the front or light cotton smocks with nothing underneath, at least so far as he was able to determine from his unwilling and unstinting study of her curves and shadows. In Sarah’s mind, she had no neighbors, therefore no peepers, only the harmless bachelor a hundred yards away, who in fact had longed to peep on her from the first day she had leaned into his window to ask how his work was going and he saw nestled between the loose blue straps of her overalls those untethered and confiding small brown breasts as warm as fresh-laid eggs.
One day coming and going they collided clumsily in his doorway, and his hand, bearing a paper, brushed an erect nipple. Like a demon’s wand, the touch unleashed them; they embraced and kissed with a common moan of joy and consternation. Sarah gasped, “Oh my God!” and fled. Without thought, he rushed after her, calling her name not once but twice before seeing Owen, who was just docking his boat. Lucius halted abruptly and abruptly waved; Owen paused a moment, staring after the disappearing Sarah before waving back.
Called Owen, “She forget her drawers? Or ain’t she wearin any?”
He was joking, of course. Owen enjoyed wryly outrageous jokes. But also he was not joking, and Lucius’s laugh, to his own ears, rang hollow and deceitful. It was time to leave Lost Man’s Beach. His disloyalty to Owen was no longer to be borne and his Island life was no longer enough and he missed his studies and library research. Excited by fresh ideas about how to shape the unfinished history and the roughed-out biography, he had lawman started a new set of notes.