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"Putting in whale-oil lanterns," Cofflin said, to Alston's look of inquiry. "The field clearing and planting's done, most of it; Angelica can get the grainfields sown in a day or two with her machinery-they're ready and waiting. We've got a little leisure for other things."
"Too much," Coleman said grimly. "How many suicides did you have, Captain?"
"One… wait a minute."
Coleman smiled bleakly as he saw the woman blink at the implications. "We've had over a hundred and fifty," he said. "In a population of less than eight thousand, that's… quite a few. Plus a rash of depression. The work was good for that. The suicides have tailed off, thank God, but there's still a few every week. I'm afraid of what might happen if everyone has much time to think."
Cofflin sighed. "It just seems to hit people, particularly when they have a chance to sit down and think," he said. "Did me, for a while."
A whole day when he could not summon the energy to get out of bed or answer the insistent voices, and nothing seemed real. The memory still haunted him, worse than things he'd seen in his naval service, and not just because it was more recent. This had been a failure within himself, a failure of his will. A failure of the thing that kept him going, and if your will could fail you, what could stand?
"I noticed something similar on the Eagle, but we were extremely busy… and a ship's company is a self-contained group anyway," she said. "Hmm. I'd give odds that most of the suicides were adults, and not many of them were Council members."
Coleman looked at her in surprise. "Average age thirty-eight, and no, only one of the selectmen killed himself," he said.
"It makes sense," Alston said. "Upward mobility's great for your self-confidence."
"None of us wanted this catastrophe!" Cofflin said.
"Didn't say that; I'd rather it hadn't happened too. But you, me, the others who've… taken charge, for us the catastrophe has meant scope for our talents."
"Everyone's been stretched to the limit."
"Planting potatoes, fishing; hard labor, for people who aren't used to it, mostly. The whole world lost, even the little things-morning TV, hot water from a tap, hamburgers. We, though, we've been suddenly promoted from lower middle management to president-Cabinet-Joint Chiefs level. Everyone's life depends on us, and that's a burden to crack your back, but you can't put it down."
Cofflin's anger faded. "You may be right," he admitted. "That's what pulled me out of it, I think-knowing that too many people were depending on me."
"I definitely think you're right," Coleman said. "But how should we apply the knowledge?"
"Keep people busy. The Lord knows there's enough to do," Alston said. "Beyond that, I'd try to get them involved in the pla
Coleman laughed aloud. "Fu
"More mouths," Cofflin grumbled.
"More hands, eventually," the doctor replied. To Alston: "And along the lines you suggested, the Chief's been pushing this Project Night thing…"
"Project Night?"
"Sort of like a suggestion box," Cofflin explained. "I figured there must be a lot of good ideas out there about things we should be doing. Had Martha Stoddard over at the Athenaeum screen out the crazies, and God but there are enough of those. Then, I figure, once a month the serious ones get to do a presentation, and the month after that the Town Meeting votes which projects to tackle. Martha had a good one herself-have Angelica Brand turn part of her greenhouses over to growing orange trees, lemons, that sort of thing. We had the seeds, after all. Even got some coffee plants-ornamentals, but they'll grow coffee beans, right enough."
"Not enough yield to be worth the trouble, surely?"
"Ayup, not here-but we keep sending the Yare down to the Caribbean for salt, anyway. They can plant seedlings, leave 'em, and let them grow wild. Martha tells me explorers used to do that, whenever they touched at a newfound island. In a few years we'll have the fruit."
"Now that is clever," Alston said respectfully.
"Martha's a clever lady," he said. They had come to where Main Street veered to the left, forming a Y-fork with Liberty. "It's along here. Right here, as a matter of fact."
He enjoyed the look of well-hidden surprise on Alston's face. The house was one of the Three Bricks, a big Federal-style mansion with two white pillars on either side of the entrance. There was a flagpole above it, now bearing the Coast Guard's ba
"Ah…" she said. "Chief Cofflin, Ah did have thoughts 'bout a big house with white columns as a girl, but isn't this a bit… grand?"
Cofflin laughed. "It's also Town property, since the owner didn't make the voyage with us. Don't worry; we're turning it over to you as your headquarters, as well as someplace to store your toothbrush ashore. Room for some of your officers, as well."
"Thank you kindly," she muttered, craning her head up at the facade and accepting the key ring.
"I'll be off," Coleman said as they opened the door. "While I can still do some good." The humor left his seamed, elderly face as he pushed his bicycle to a start.
"Definitely a little grand," Alston said, looking around the lobby.
There was a curving staircase to the upper floors, rising from an entrance papered in Empire style with gold medallions against cream. Two large sitting rooms flanked it on either side, each with a black marble fireplace and eight-foot windows; the colors were gray and green and beige, picked out with coral and yellow. The furniture was quietly sumptuous, Persian rugs on the wide-plank floors, pictures…
"I'd hate to have to dust all this… Does the doctor have a problem?"
Cofflin nodded somberly. "Things ru
"I… see."
"He's trying to save some of the diabetics with special diets and exercise," Cofflin said. "Martha dug out an old treatment, a tea made from parsnip leaves, believe it or not-lowers the blood sugar."
"That won't work for most of the Type Ones," Alston said clinically.
Cofflin felt anger flare again, and throttled it down. Make sure he said what you think he said, his father had always told him. Almost as many fools ruined by their ears by as their lips.
"You're a cool one, aren't you?" he said.
Alston caught the tone and faced him. "Chief Cofflin," she said quietly, "practical is what I am. I try to do what I can, and that takes all I've got, so I don't wail and beat my breast over things I can't do an earthly thing about. It's what's kept me sane through this… thing. I hope that's all right with you, because I have no intention of changing. Gave up tryin' to make myself over to other people's patterns when I filed for divorce."
Cofflin spread his hands. "I can't argue with that." A wry smile. "Or with someone who does their job. Too few of 'em."
Alston returned the smile. "Too right," she agreed. "Look, we do have a lot to talk about. Let's get to it. Does this place have a kitchen?"
Blue collar reflexes, he thought-like him. They walked through a dining room under a brass-and-crystal chandelier. The kitchen beyond had been thoroughly modernized, in a meticulous-restoration style. Much of the equipment was of the latest and completely useless with only a thin trickle of rationed electricity available, and that earmarked for the clinic and machine shops, but there was a big black cast-iron wood stove as well. Alston's eyes lit up at the sight of it.