Inklings 2020

POLLY TUCKERMAN: A CHARACTER STUDY Talia Berler Ms. Tuckerman was a strange neighbor to have, and rumors had always flown around the beach town about where she came from. Her family, a blueblood, American dynasty with two daughters and a son all crowned with thick golden hair came to the Vineyard many, many years ago. The two older girls’ jade-colored eyes would sparkle as they played on the beach while their little brother frolicked in the pebbles and sand. They were a perfect little family, led by an athletic, broad- shouldered patriarch whose golden-haired wife hung on his arm in town. That was years ago, and that was all we knew. How she got to be the Ms. Tuckerman of today, no one could guess. She floated around the town like a ghost. She whispered around corners and down the dirt roads without disturbing a stone. Her neighbors, living in semi-secluded homes sparsely placed along the private beach road, rarely saw her. When they did, they’d offer a polite “hello” to which they would often receive a curt wave or a one-word response. Besides her past, another mystery was her age. Her linen clothes and beach sandals or raincoat and galoshes on those foggy Massachusetts days gave away nothing. Her skin was weathered and tanned, like well-used leather. This could have been from many years of life or from a habit of hers that faintly wafted from her clothes. In fact, it would have been easy to assume she was eighty years old if not for her eyes and her bob of shiny grey hair that looked as healthy as a Pantene model’s. With every step, it bounced along from under her wide-brimmed hat. And then there were her eyes. Most people never got close enough to look, but those who had were struck by their sharp jade color, like those of her daughters, striking yet not harsh. The eyes of a person who has suffered in life: there was a fragile strength to them.