Sea Escape (Heartsong Presents #314)
By Lynn A. Coleman
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One
Alex's senses tingled from the swirling salty breeze. Perched on the upper deck of the ferry, she leaned forward into the wind, taking in a deep breath. Her nostrils flared at the exotic, briny air. Across the vast expanse of the sea she saw in the distance the land rise before her. Gentle slopes with tawny beaches hugged sandy cliffs crowned with captain's houses. Mated together, they presented a glorious picture of God's handiwork. Never had she seen anything like it. Chilled, she rubbed her bare arms, feeling the sea spray drying on her skin. This was such a different sight from the vast farmlands draped across Kansas.
Martha's Vineyard, a small island off the coast of Massachusetts. Alex smiled. She remembered researching the island in the encyclopedia when she was eight. "You're finally here," she said into the wind, squinting at the sun.
She watched a sea gull gliding alongside the boat. How can it maintain that speed for so long without a flap of its wings? she wondered. The gull seemed to be watching her as much as she was watching it. Some small children ran up to the rail, holding out crackers. Alex opened her mouth to correct them, but as soon as she did the gull swooped down and took the treat. The children bounced up and down shouting, "Look at that, look at that, it took it!"
The girl in the trio, maybe around nine? Alex guessed, cried out, "Jonathan, let me have a turn."
"Wait, Sarah!" the older boy asserted himself. "I want to do it again."
Alex snickered to herself as Sarah stood her ground. She swung her hands to her hips and said, "Mom said, we all could feed the birds."
The older boy seemed to be judging whether or not his sister would tell on him. Reluctantly, he pulled out another cracker and handed it to her. "Here."
The girl's eyes twinkled. She reached out past the rail, standing on her tip-toes. Without hesitation the gull flew to the hand holding out the cracker.
She dropped it.
"See, I knew you couldn't do it," the older boy teased. "Watch me!"
The younger boy meanwhile had figured his own strategy; he grabbed a deck chair and pulled it up to the rail. He asked his brother for a cracker, stood up tall, and thrust his arm out over his head.
Instinctively taking a step forward, Alex wanted to grab the boy from the rail. He was teetering dangerously over the edge. Or so she thought. Out of the corner of her eye she observed a man, whose hair matched the boys', watching them with paternal intensity. He beamed when the youngest had achieved his quest.
"Daddy, did you see that?"
"Sure did, Timmy. Good job, but it's time to get down, okay? Your mother is waiting for us."
"Okay."
The little girl pouted, "I got scared and dropped mine."
Alex watched the interchange between father and children. A smile curled her lips, but a dull ache of longing buried deep within struggled to the surface. Would she ever have children of her own? Oh Lord, how long do I have to wait? How soon will I come to terms with the fact that I'm not to have a husband or children of my own? Isn't that why I'm still single, Lord?
"Daddy, can I try again?"
"Sure, one more time. Jonathan, give your sister another cracker."
"That's no fair, I get another cracker too," the younger boy protested.
The girl stood tip-toe, right hand on the rail, the other arm stretched out. A gull swooped in from her right for it's treat. The young girl's eyes bulged with expectancy.
Plop! "Eww, Daddy, the bird pooped on me!"
Alex laughed out loud. Bridling her laughter, she turned so as not to embarrass the child.
The boat's horn blasted mere inches from her. She jumped at the spine-jarring assault and covered her ears. Realizing they were entering Vineyard Haven Harbor, she decided to make her way down below to the car. Scanning the sky for any more miscreant birds, she headed for the nearest bulkhead.
Two decks down, she rejoined her car. Every vehicle was packed in bumper to bumper, impossibly tight. She remembered her fear when the stewards kept signaling her to come forward. When she got out she'd gasped, seeing only a four-inch clearance.
Alex opened the door, maneuvering her body sideways, and slid into the driver's seat. Weary after the long drive from Kansas, she moaned and fastened her seat belt. Her only stops along the way had been in Indiana to visit a cousin, and again in New York to visit an elderly aunt.
A year's sabbatical. She sighed. "Lord, You know how much I need this year off just to get my head on straight." And what a better way to relax than to search out my family roots?
Her thoughts drifted back to her patients. She had left her practice in the care of another pediatric physician. They had worked side by side the whole summer, allowing her patients to meet the new doctor. Many of the children said how they would miss her. Giving hugs and kisses, several whispered, "I love you, Dr. Alex."
Alex brushed a tear from her eye. She was losing perspective. Her own desires to have a family, compounded with working with children day in and day out, only magnified the ticking of her biological clock. Seven years in her own practice, seven wonderful but lonely years.
Even the Bible spoke of taking the seventh year off. No, she knew it was the right decision. Fear and uncertainty about her future loomed in front of her, and yet excitement and a sense of urgency to explore the land and history of her own family roots already seemed to provide the solace for which she searched.
The car rocked as the steel ferry bounced off the pilings. Alex gripped her steering wheel, wondering if the captain had misjudged. She looked at the others around her. No one seemed a bit concerned by the ricocheting off of the pilings, nor with the creaking they made.
Easing her grasp, she settled back in her bucket seat. The noisy cranking of metal cables and the clanging rush of steel chains broke her reverie as the heavy ramp leveled off to meet the ferry's deck. She released her pent up breath, unaware she had been holding it.
Drivers turned their engines on; she did the same. One by one, passengers drove off the boat. Amazed by the speed of their exit, she kept a sharp vigil, awaiting her turn.
Brad and Phyllis Trainer's directions lay on the other seat. Her friends owned the beach front property that would be her home for the next year. Noting that the first turn was almost immediate, she scanned over the paper one more time. When you get to Five Corners, you take a right.
"Five Corners, what kind of a place is that?"
"Yo!" A man tapped her hood. Alex jerked. "Come on, lady, get a move on."
She popped her car into gear and it bucked forward. Her cheeks flushed. She followed the line of traffic down a roped-off path through the parking lot. The street immediately before her continued on, but the sign said, "Do Not Enter." She turned left with the rest of the traffic. Stopping at the intersection, she counted, then snickered at herself. Sure enough, five corners.
Alex relaxed in her seat, turned on the directionals, and slowly worked her way forward. There was no traffic light. How could there be for a five-way? she reasoned. Besides, the thought of traffic lights certainly would take away from the charm of the area. She drove on, picking up the directions again.
"What?"
Stay on this road following signs for Chilmark; but, when you reach the first bend where there are two signs, both having directions for Chilmark, take the right. This will allow you to stay on State Road. She checked the directions again.
"Phyllis," she complained to her absent friend, "I should have had Brad write the directions. I can't understand these."
Alex continued to drive, certain she was completely lost, when she rounded a bend and saw the signs for the town of Chilmark confirming her progress. This island's not so small as the encyclopedia made it seem! Thirty minutes had gone by since she left the ferry.
Phyllis's directions said there would be a huge red buoy marking their street. She slowed. Her tires bit into the dirt road and grumbled along, but her Ford Bronco made relatively smooth work of it, she noted with gratitude. Charmed by the grassy mound growing in the center between the well worn tire treads, she drove deeper into the woods.
An unfamiliar place, the growing darkness, the week-long travel from Kansas, left her exhausted. She needed a good night's rest, but not until she took a long, hot shower.
Finally pulling up to a saltbox structure, she turned off the engine. Her body vibrated. She got out, stretched her back, hoisted her overnight bag onto her shoulder, and headed up the deck stairs. Brad and Phyllis had talked so often about the pleasure of sitting under the stars on their deck and hearing the surf. Alex now found herself straining to listen for distant breakers. Was the ocean really out there in the darkness?
The gentle rhythm of the waves whispered through the brush, filling her with anticipation for what the morning light would unmask. The smell of salt in the breeze soothed her travel-weary bones. Yes, she was here. She was finally here, to track down the seafaring Captain Luce, the grandfather of Alex's distant grandmother, Elizabeth Luce O'Connor, who'd left the Island in 1858 to join the man of her dreams. They had gone west to Kansas to find their fortune with an offer of free land.
In the moonlight Alex counted the silver gray shingles, two down from the door knob and over three. Pulling the shingle, the silver key plopped into her hand. As she entered the house, Alex tossed the key on the table. Moving into the still darkened hallway, she groped for the wall switch. With the flick of the switch, she quickly found the electrical panel and the breakers for the hot water heater and stove.
In the living room, her hand glided over a tea wagon, the wood well worn from the years. On the top of the wagon lay a white crocheted doily with a complete fine china tea set. The work on the floral pattern, so delicate and intricate, of pink and white apple blossoms with green leaves, was set off with gold leaf on the handle. The cup was extremely thin, almost translucent.
Gently she grasped it, turning it over in her hand. Her eyes widened as she read, Havilland Limoges, made in England/France. From what Alex knew of classic antiquities, she estimated this was made around the 1850s, about the same time her ancestor Elizabeth Luce O'Connor had left the island.
After a brief tour of the Trainer home, she unpacked her overnight bag. She pulled out a long flannel night gown and went into the bathroom, praying the water was heated. It was and she showered, but she quickly exhausted all the hot water.
Grumbling, she made her way to the kitchen, fixed a cup of tea, and opened the sliding glass door facing the surf. The cool ocean breeze penetrated her robe. She grabbed a woolen blanket folded over a chair in the living room. Snuggling deep into a chaise lounge, her fingers curled around the warmth of the mug, and she sipped her tea.
The stars peppered the sky with shimmering brilliance, and the ocean lured her into tranquillity. She rested her head back, closed her eyes, and drifted between awareness and sleep. Words from her grandfather's journal came quickly to mind. The sea sings the sweetest lullaby.
"Aye, Grandpa Luce, I see what you mean." Alex grinned and tried to picture the old sea captain in all his glory. There were no photographs of him, no paintings she had ever seen. And yet she pictured him clearly, skin well leathered from the sun and sea, a barrel-chested man wearing a deep blue wool coat with large black buttons going down the front, wind-blown brown hair, and a reddish-brown beard.
The morning broke bright and crisp. Alex slithered back under the bed covers. Wrapping the warm blanket and sheet up to her chin, she nuzzled the pillow and tried to stay asleep. The trip from Kansas had taken a week, after all; she deserved of day of rest.
But the nagging sunlight drew her from her cocoon. Once dressed, she made herself a cup of tea and strolled out to the deck. The ocean lay before her in all its glory, the blues and sea-greens meshing with the play of light reflecting off the waves. Alex followed the path from the deck to the shore, and discovered the land fell away abruptly. She was on a cliff. A steep, narrow stairway led down to the beach. The wood, well weathered from salt, was gray with sparkles of silver.
The sun was so bright, the air deliciously warm, that Alex decided to test the September water. "Man, that's cold." She jumped back to avoid the roll of the next wave. She touched the water with her hand, bringing her fingers up to her lips. A slow smile formed. It was salty, just like the air.
She walked the shore for a while, noticing various shells, stones, seaweed, and sponges. I'll have to purchase a book that will tell me what all this stuff is, she thought.
Aimlessly, she headed down the shore, not caring about the time. For once, she had no schedules or appointments to keep. She was free, free to do as she wanted. No longer a med-school student pushing herself, or an intern doing her time. No longer Dr. Alex always on call, always needed by others but never needed intimately. Never needed as a person.
This is going to be an incredible year. Just what the doctor ordered to put my life back on track...to accept God's leading about being a single woman...to not be jealous or resentful toward my patients who have children-wanted or unwanted ones. Here Lord, I'll learn to relax.
She headed toward home and came upon the boat house the Trainers had mentioned. Their caretaker was building a boat, she had been told, and now she saw its wooden ribs arched toward the sky like the skeleton of a beached whale. Alex calculated it to be twenty-four feet long and maybe eight feet across at its widest point. The bottom hull was already boarded, plus a couple of rows up the sides. What a lot of work! She pondered the skeleton boat, curious about the man who would want to make such a thing. Surely it would be a whole lot easier just to buy one. She shrugged her shoulders and continued back to the house.
Over the next couple of days, Alex found the local grocery store, post office, and gas station, the basic necessities of life. A map she had purchased now lay sprawled out across the dining room table. Soft rays from the late afternoon sun slanted through the window onto the map as she plotted her course to Edgartown, where the Vineyard Museum and the old Historical Society were located. Tomorrow she would go down island and begin tracking her roots.
After supper, Alex decided on a long bubble bath, something she rarely treated herself to. She poured the scented oils and the thick lather piled high up over the edges of the tub. Slowly, she stepped in. "Hmm," she moaned, "heaven on earth." She slid down under the bubbles, their tiny popping noise bringing a smile to her face. The bubbles, so rich and thick, heaped inches high above her shoulders. She fastened her hair up on her head and lay back, closed her eyes, and relaxed.
The water quickly went cool, however. Alex stomped out of the tub, dried herself off, and calmed her frustrated nerves. What was it with the hot water in this house?
In her room lay an assortment of frivolous purchases she had made that day-a mud mask to rid oneself of worry lines, cleaners, clarifiers, and an assortment of things she wasn't even sure how to apply. She read the instructions and applied the mask heavily on her face. Wrapped in her robe, she lay on the bed, applied cucumber slices to her eyes, and relaxed.
Jared worked his jeep over the rough mounds of his driveway, mumbling to himself about his need to repair them. Having been off the Vineyard for the past week, visiting family and purchasing supplies for the Cat Boat he was constructing, he was glad to be back home. Next to him on the seat sat his notebook, containing the figures for the craft, which he'd rechecked at the Cotuit Historical Society. While he loved crafting something with his hands, he liked getting it right the first time.
As he passed through the last thicket of trees, a light to his right caught his attention. "What on earth?" He scanned the dark hillside. Sure enough, someone had a light on in the Trainers' home. He took the right fork just before his cottage and ground his way up the cliff toward the Trainers' house. The house seemed still and undisturbed except for the lone light on in the kitchen and master bath.
Concerned the house had been looted in his absence, he crept silently up the deck stairs. Cupping his eyes with his hands, he peered through the sliding glass doors . . . everything looked to be in order. He walked around the side to the kitchen door. Locked. Instinctively he went to the shingle where the key was kept.
"What's going on here?" he mumbled to himself.
The key was missing. Whoever had broken in found the key, he figured. His fingers slid down the door jam, checking, just to be sure, for signs of a forced entry. Flustered and confused, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own set of keys. Fumbling in the moonlight, he at last produced the one he sought.
The smell of a spaghetti sauce greeted his nostrils. Muscles tense, he scanned the shadows in the living room, grabbed a poker from the fireplace, and stealthily worked his way through the house, determined to find the intruders and boot them out. Someone was setting up house; his suspicions were confirmed by a large tee-shirt and a pair of jeans draped on the stuffed settee in the living room. The master bedroom door was slightly ajar. He moved past it, down the hall, checking each of the other bedrooms. Nothing had been disrupted. Walking back to the living room, he noticed the main bathroom door was shut. Beneath it, the glow of a warm light radiated softly.
Jared grinned. Caught ya, he thought.
Drawing his body up to the door and raising the poker, he listened. Not a single sound. Tired of the game, he turned the knob and flung the door wide open.
Nothing!
Confused, he scratched his head. Someone was in the house, or had been recently. The fresh scent of roses coming from the bathroom and the small mounds of bubbles in the tub made it obvious.
He stood back in the hall, and again he noticed the bedroom door. Cautiously, he crept forward. The door flew open with a thud, a woman shrieked.
Was it a woman? What on earth is on her face?
"Who are you and what are you doing in here?" he demanded of the green-faced apparition.
Again the woman screamed, but this time she threw a pillow at him as she jumped up from the bed. Flustered, he yanked the door shut.