Western Wind by Paula Fox

with scorn. “You think they’d leave him alone? Maybe when he’s fifty.”
    Gran began to wash the breakfast dishes.
    â€œI’d like to come,” Elizabeth said.
    â€œBe down at the dock in an hour,” snapped Deirdre, and left the cottage at a run.
    â€œShe wouldn’t let herself pet Grace,” Elizabeth observed.
    â€œShe’s fighting a war.”
    â€œWhat war?”
    â€œTo show there is nothing in the world that pleases her,” said Gran.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know why.”
    â€œIs it because they like Aaron so much more than her?”
    â€œWhat makes you think that?” Gran asked sharply.
    â€œThey don’t pay attention to her except to tell her to stop whatever she’s doing and leave Aaron alone. But they’re all over him.”
    â€œIs it your opinion that five pounds of attention equals five pounds of love?”
    At Gran’s words, a fire seemed to flare up inside Elizabeth’s skull, burning her cheeks. “They sent me away when that baby was born!” she cried out. She sat down on a chair so hard it rocked.
    â€œThat baby,” echoed Gran. She was drying a cup. After a moment, she spoke. “They did not send you away. They sent you to me,” she said in a steely voice.
    The hour, at the end of which she was to go to the Herkimer dock, was nearly up before Elizabeth spoke another word.
    â€œAre you coming?” she asked.
    She had been reading one of Gran’s art magazines with desperation, trying to blot out a sense that her outburst had let loose some ungainly, mortifying thing that would now inhabit the cottage like a hobgoblin.
    But Gran replied genially, as though nothing bad had happened, “Oh, no! I’ve always hated sailing … all that shouting—‘coming about … hard to lee …’ And you have to fling yourself from side to side so the boom won’t decapitate you. Oh, no!”
    â€œWell, I’ll be going,” Elizabeth said.
    â€œHave a lovely time, my dear,” Gran said with warmth. “I’ll miss you.”
    By the time Elizabeth arrived at the dock, the Herkimers had gathered. On the top of Mrs. Herkimer’s head rose a straw hat like a tepee. Several paper bags were at her feet. Aaron wore an orange life jacket, a sun hat, and long pants. Deirdre watched her father in the small sailboat as he bailed water that had collected in the cockpit with a rusty coffee can.
    â€œThis is a family tradition,” Mrs. Herkimer announced to Elizabeth. “Every summer, we have our picnic at Little Bear Island. This will be Aaron’s first time. Did you remember to bring the thermos, Deirdre?”
    Deirdre, one arm around the mast, nodded.
    â€œAnd I’ve made biscuits,” said Mrs. Herkimer.
    â€œFor ballast,” said Deirdre.
    â€œBiscuits are traditional in our family,” Mrs. Herkimer continued as though Deirdre hadn’t spoken.
    â€œâ€˜Over the sea in a pea-green boat …’” chanted Aaron.
    â€œReady. Let’s go,” called Mr. Herkimer. “Give me the picnic stuff. Where’s the blanket? Deirdre, let go of the mast. Helen. You first, then Aaron, then Elizabeth.”
    A fresh wind plucked at the loose ends of the sail. As both Mr. and Mrs. Herkimer reached for Aaron to lift him from the gangway, the boat swung wildly.
    â€œNo!” he wailed. “Let me get in by myself!” But his protest was drowned out by his father shouting that they wouldn’t go at all if Aaron was going to misbehave.
    Though they were still anchored, their voices were caught by the wind and flung out onto the bay. Elizabeth felt a sudden excitement. She was glad Gran hadn’t come. She was glad the Herkimers were so noisy and crazy.
    The sail was let out. With a great smack, it caught the wind. They were off.
    â€œWhat happened?” Gran asked as Elizabeth burst through the door several hours