Show Me a Sign

his mood is still foul. Mrs. Skiffe, who looks like a grown, dour version of her daughter, sits quietly watching her husband.
My best friend is uncommonly still. I try to catch her eye, but her gaze is aimed at the floor. Not even her feet are swinging.
“That’s not business for this meeting,” Mr. Pye signs and speaks. “The Supreme Court in Boston has made a decision.”
“I am sympathetic to John’s predicament,” Mr. Butler signs. “Who knows what will be taken from us next. Our ancestors purchased the land. That is not in dispute.”
It is uncommon for women to speak, but when Miss Hammond raises her hand, Mr. Pye cedes the floor to her.
“Is it not?” Miss Hammond stands. “There is the question of whether or not those land dealings were fair, and if we took more from the Wampanoag than was offered.”
“Ridiculous!” Mr. Skiffe sneers. “A woman would take a softer view of the matter. Haven’t we all worked hard and even fought to make this island community our own? I will not be responsible for the alleged sins of the fathers.”
Nancy nods. Is she proud of her father’s bigoted notions?
“We could begin negotiations with the Wampanoag of Gay Head,” Miss Hammond suggests.
“Preposterous,” Mr. Butler declares. “We don’t recognize them as a sovereign nation. You would have us open the door to compromise? That’s the way to lose everything we’ve gained.”
“I do believe in compromise,” Miss Hammond replies.
Mr. Skiffe and Mr. Butler make dismissive gestures toward her, but I find her ideas more sensible than theirs.
“Just a moment,” Mr. Pye intercedes. “It is our custom for all recognized persons to be heard. Are there any further grievances that can be resolved at this meeting?”
No one stands or raises a hand.
Mr. Pye signs and speaks, “Neighbors we are and shall remain. In times like these, it is best not to bear resentments, but rather to work together through the challenges our community faces.” He bangs the gavel to close the meeting.
It’s obvious from the foot stomping and sour faces that some people’s feelings are still raw, and they are unhappy with the lack of resolution about the land disputes.
I glance back. Andrew Noble is sitting ramrod with his legs crossed. He looks amused by the proceedings. Is he silently mocking us?
Reverend Lee rises and folks begin to quiet down again.
Ezra Brewer stands beside him. He doesn’t consider himself churchgoing folk, but he likes to interpret Reverend Lee’s spoken sermons into sign language in front of the congregation.
Reverend Lee recites, “You are to bring into the ark two of all living creatures, male and female, to keep them alive with you. Two of every kind of bird, of every kind of animal …”
Today, it is the story of Noah and the Flood.
Ezra Brewer is having good sport imitating the wind and sea that rocked Noah’s Ark, just as a storm batters the windows and shakes the rafters of the Meeting House now. He is very lively in his interpretation of the birds and beasts.
I look around me. Other parishioners are not as appreciative of his creative performance. Andrew looks like he swallowed a bad oyster. Why should Ezra Brewer’s sign telling sicken him?
When Ezra Brewer stomps his feet like an elephant some of my hearing neighbors wince. He swings both arms like a trunk and raises them high. He must trumpet loudly because people cover their ears.
I smile when I remember the time Miss Hammond let us put our hands on her throat while she imitated an elephant’s cry.
I look to see if Nancy is smiling too, but she only stares ahead soberly.
Then come the frogs, wolves, whales, and crows. Ezra Brewer is quite partial to crows. Reverend Lee pauses until he is finished with his animal signs and calls. He seems unbothered by Ezra Brewer’s interpretation. And while half the congregation looks prim and unamused, the other half, including me, seems to find the sermon, in all its parts, quite enjoyable.
Reverend Lee continues, “It was man’s inability to repent that brought on the Flood and God’s wrath. He saw mankind’s greed and discord. This is not just a story of old. It echoes the inability to sympathize with one another that we see around us today. Even the best person can be tempted into bad deeds. Remember that. I say to thee, amen.”
Was I tempted into a bad deed? I feel ashamed.
I look to Nancy again, but her parents whisk her away, which is fine because I have no idea what I would say to her.
In her absence, I am trapped by Sarah Hillman and Carrie Tilton. We have not seen each other much since school finished at the end of the summer. I believe Carrie also longs for better education for girls. She is the best mathematics student in our class. With the right training, she could rival the boys at Edgartown Academy.
“I am learning candle making with my dear mother,” Sarah signs and speaks. “Have you made candles?”
I shake my head.
“I have,” Carrie signs. “We use the tallow from our sheep. Once it is heated, we pour it into molds.”
“I have seen Mama do that,” I tell Carrie.
“Maybe she will show you,” Carrie suggests.
I think that would be tedious for me and Mama, but I don’t say so.
“We don’t use tallow anymore,” Sarah says, with an air of superiority. “We use oil from sperm whales now. It produces the best candles.”
That is the newest way to make candles. But not everyone has sperm oil in their house or whalers in their family. Manners prevent me from saying what I think about her sperm oil candles.
“Oh,” Carrie signs, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t know.”
I smile at her before I excuse myself to look for Papa.
I watch Reverend Lee introduce Andrew to Miss Hammond and Mr. Pye. He interprets for Andrew and tells them of his intention to discover the cause of the deafness on our island. I notice Papa is watching him too.
What exactly does he mean, he will find the