7

As the ferry rounded the mainland’s final point, the passengers could see the island in the distance. It was the last expression of land before the vast ocean spread out away from the mainland. The island itself was big enough to be impressive, but still small enough that most of the passengers who weren’t from Tranquility could consider it something exotic, like a cinematic escape from reality.

Over the side of the ferry, the passengers could identify fish swimming in pools through the waves, and overhead, seagulls and other smaller birds darted through the sky. The salt water splashed up the side of the ferry as it cut through the water, and a few of the visitors closed their eyes while inhaling the salty breeze. It was picturesque, like something they had only imagined in their dreams and not like something that they would ever have believed to be a real spot on the map. 

Approaching the island, the first mate pointed out the mansion on the top of a cliff, a narrow set of stairs leading down to a rocky shore below, certainly cut intentionally with no other means of accessing a small cove below. The structure was grand enough that the tourists snapped pictures of it with their phones or personal cameras, the luxury of the mansion like something out of a historical brochure. It seemed imposing, even high above them in the distance, with its high windows and ornate parapets. The travelers took notice, turning to each other to ask what kind of person would have the money and pride to build such a home out to sea. All of them would have if they had the funds to do so but it was easier to judge those they didn’t know, and they shook their heads as the ferry veered away from the cliff. 

The first mate explained that they would take another fifteen to twenty minutes to get around the island to the side where the ferry could dock. As the boat motored on, the passengers saw the occasional building through the trees which were densely packed together the whole way to the perimeter of the island, with no usable shore in sight. High on the cliff, they saw the outlying fences of what Noah said was the only farm on the island, providing a significant portion of the produce and other fresh ingredients to the lone grocery store on the island. Those in the boat could see the occasional farm animal stroll by the fence, and they even caught sight of a man on a tractor. He caught sight of the ferry and waved, exciting the tourists who heartily waved back. 

As the ferry rounded the northern tip of the island, the tourists all took closer inventory of the lighthouse. Someone was taking the time to keep that portion of the island well-manicured and clear of brush. The light strobed from the uppermost portion of the lighthouse, and a few more pictures were snapped. As the lighthouse was set on a rocky beach with steep inclines to the water, Noah explained that no boats could get closer to the island on the northern point, but that the tourists from the luxury liners would most likely congregate there to watch for migrating whales over the course of the next week. 

Periodically, tufts of smoke rose through the trees, and interested passengers caught bits and pieces of the first mate’s explanations about who lived in different places through the outskirts of the island. Most of the town’s active population worked in the town, and lived in houses throughout the woods toward the other end of the island where the lighthouse stood as a warning toward the ocean side of the island. As the ferry motored south, Noah explained that the dock served as the main entry point onto the island for everyone. This was where the ferry was headed, and the only place that larger boats could put passengers ashore. 

The ferry was forced to take a wide turn around the tip of the island, and now straightened in deeper waters. Someone saw a pod of dolphins, and excitedly pointed them out to the others. As the passengers turned to look, the ferry hit a rough patch of water, with some of the choppy water splashing over the bow of the boat.  A few of the newcomers looked like they might be sick, and the first mate dug into a cooler in the stern of the boat for a few complimentary bottles of water. 

Noah refused to make eye contact with the captain, who glared at him over the deck of the bridge. The captain didn’t love it when the water bottles were given out too quickly, wanting to keep the expenses down so that the profits would be higher. He had told the first mate to wait and see who got sick before providing them free beverages. The first mate always just shrugged when the captain glared at him, knowing that the fewer passengers who got sick, the less clean up there would be on the tail end of their trip that night. The captain certainly wouldn’t be spending any of his extra time swabbing the deck. 

8

Down the hill walked the hunched old woman. She’d been canvassing this island for seventy straight years, raised by a pair of Tranquility natives who had fallen in love in the back of their ninth grade classroom, which had also been their classroom from kindergarten through twelfth grade. Her father had been the owner of the cafe and her mother had been the assistant librarian. Together they had instilled in their daughter a love for the island, but she had pursued her mother’s interests in terms of books and learning. 

After a brief foray to the mainland to pursue a college degree, Isabelle Headle had returned to the island to fill the spot recently vacated by her now-deceased school teacher. A bout of poor health and bad luck had taken both of her parents twenty years before, and she’d had to sell the cafe to settle all of their bills, but she didn’t really mind. She was already embedded in the DNA of the island as the educator on the island.

Headle had taken over the one-room schoolhouse for the students of Tranquility Island, and taken on the responsibility of caring for the school-age children. She taught everything from mathematics to typing, even if it was still done on old typewriters, because the people of Tranquility had never felt the need to upgrade technologically, happy to keep things simple. Simple was what worked for Headle, and simple it was. If truth be told, she was someone that anyone who’d learned under her watchful eye could turn to no matter how old they became. 

Headle upped her pace down the hill from her house toward Main Street. Her diminutive size forced her to take twice as many steps as the next person, but she was used to the inconvenience. Her activity level hadn’t dimmed much as she’d aged, and she always credited that to her relationship to the younger generations of the island. She loved them, and most of them loved her back. They were all her children, and they always would be. 

The town crept into view as she crested the last little rise and angled around the bend where Martin and Sue Brown lived. She knew that she would have a few minutes to slip into the Chapel and give it one last review before heading to the dock. The new pastor was supposed to be on that boat and she didn’t want to make him wait. They had been without a real pastor for months, and attendance was starting to slide as people got tired of listening to their friends tell the same stories from the pulpit that they always did. Headle knew it was time for some direction. She also didn’t want anything to be out of order when he got there so she had to look it over one last time. 

In the Chapel, Headle did a quick spin through the sanctuary, the kitchenette, and the pastor’s apartment. Everything seemed to be in order. The fresh flowers she had placed the day before still looked vibrant, so she added a few more ounces of water to the vase from the kitchenette sink. There was enough food to tide the pastor over until she had a chance to find out what he really liked to eat. She was satisfied that she had tidied up the place as best could be done without major renovations.

As the head of the Chapel Guild, Headle believed it was her job to have everything just so. She wanted the Chapel to be the vibrant place it had once been, and she hoped that the new pastor would be full of the kind of passion that other people would find attractive. She had read his letter dozens of times, where he talked about how much he had enjoyed seminary and looked forward to implementing the things he learned in the life of a church. He seemed like he could help them recover from the months of time they had been limping along without a pastor. 

Now, she just needed to hope that he could survive the ferry ride over from the mainland. Some of the seminary students they had been sent over the last fifty years couldn’t handle the ride and didn’t make it more than a few weeks before heading back home. Headle didn’t know if it was the reality of the island’s isolation or the next generation’s need for technology that kept the seminarians turning over and over. 

9

Behind the wheel, ferry Captain Drake wiped the sweat from his eyes, and pulled hard on his cap. His longish hair was streaked with gray but to most folks, he was still a young man. The wind and the rain had weathered his face, but he’d adapted to the life on the water and couldn’t imagine life any other way. 

The salt spray was whipping all around him, and although the sun was shining brightly over the water, the chop of the water belied any false expectation of a calm sea. He had made this run thousands of times, but transporting passengers just ahead of an incoming nor’easter was always his least favorite. Tourists were always the most whiny about travel conditions, and they couldn’t handle their dinner. This run was bound to cost him extra cleanup, given the pier food he’d seen these people consuming on their way to the ferry. Seriously, who ate like that if they didn’t know if they would get motion sick or not?

Through the dirty glass windshield, he’d seen his first mate handing out bottles of water to the passengers on the benches inside the bow of the boat, and a few pats on the back. He thought he’d overheard one of the tourists ask if there were other options to drink, like wine or beer, and if nuts would be provided. At least that person won’t cause me a mess, he thought. But they expect options on this little ferry! Do we look like flight attendants? 

Behind him, the captain could hear the sound of a few more passengers retching. He hoped it was all over the side, but he doubted he could be that lucky. He’d eyeballed a few of them as they boarded the ferry, and he just couldn’t hold onto hope. He was tired of those aspects of the ferrying: swabbing the deck, cleaning up trash, dealing with whiny customers. The sea was his friend, and he could’ve made the trip from the mainland in his sleep. Another rough patch forced him to tighten his hold on the wheel, and brought him out of his reverie.

Of the dozen or so passengers on the ferry, only one or two were still standing after the last wave had sent the ferry lurching sidewise. The captain patted the steering wheel with some affection, and continued to motor straight ahead. He’d poured sweat equity into the ferry, having bought out the previous owner after working for him until his retirement. He’d nicknamed the ferry ‘The Panther’ for her ferocity, even though he figured it would have been more appropriate if he had considered naming her something aquatic like the manatee or hippo based on how she plowed through the water. That just wasn’t sexy though. Who wanted a ship named after something fat and slow?

The captain knew the old girl would always be seaworthy, thanks to the regular upkeep he maintained with a bit of help from Noah. He never worried about her in the midst of the day-to-day transportation, and even the prequel of the nor’easter wasn’t enough to get him worked up. He chuckled, watching the tourists discomfort on the benches ringing the ferry. 

The folks from the mainland were fit to be tied when the water wasn’t as flat as a Formica top. They were paying for a short convenient commuter trip, not like one of the pleasure cruises that the tourists would arrive over the course of the next week. After an hour ride out to the island, some of them expected to get a five-star treatment like it was their personal vehicle. Wait until they realized that he’d been taking the long way around the island to avoid the cruise ships. An extra thirty minutes on the ferry when the island was in sight would drive some of the tourists to complain, and he’d just grit his teeth and kept moving. The high side of the island led into deeper waters and he wasn’t interested in getting stuck on a shoal when the waves receded.

Shaking his head, the captain turned the ferry toward the slip with the easiest access to the dock. Selfishly it was conveniently also the one to bring him closest to the Ocean’s Spray Grille, his happy place on the island. No more than a bar with foods that would coat arteries and antagonized unsuspecting stomachs later, Ocean’s Spray was a fine place to refuel before taking whatever passengers showed up for the return trip later that afternoon. 

The captain knew that his wife would give him the side eye if he showed up drunk for dinner, but what was a little nip here and there midday when he could’ve steered the ferry home with both eyes closed? She’d already poured out all of the alcohol he had hidden in spots around the house, and pretty soon she’d discover he was visiting their one-car garage too frequently. She was sure to find his stash out there as well, and then he’d have to make do with what he could get at the Ocean’s Spray.

The sound of more retching shook him out of his reverie. A single woman, dressed sharply, had just emptied her stomach of whatever foods she had purchased back on the mainland. A pity, thought the captain, watching as she tried to dab and blot the marks off of her shoes. If she had just leaned a little over the side, he wouldn’t have to spend an extra thirty minutes washing down the deck. At least he could push that one off on the first mate. The woman looked like she wasn’t finished, and the captain saw movement out of the corner of his eye. 

The latecomer wearing the black suit approached her, offering her a handkerchief. The captain knew the guy was trying to be a gentleman but things like that had a way of backfiring out on the water. The young woman declined, waving him away with the back of her hand and barely looking at him, just moments before vomiting on herself and on his shoes, too. That looked like it might make the man vomit himself, a thought that made the captain chuckle wryly. But the man just sat down next to her, patted her on the back and held the handkerchief out to her again. This time she accepted it, and began sipping water from a bottle provided by the first mate. 

The tourists, at least those who weren’t clutching napkins to their mouths, cheered when they saw that they were at their final destination. Those who could still focus were wide-eyed with excitement, and even the motion sick passengers started to stir as they realized that their torture was almost over. The scents on the wind, the salt air and some kind of fried food, wafted over the ferry and made most of the passengers forget how awful they had felt just moments before. 

Just a few moments later, the ferry pulled in with a less than gentle bump of the dock, reminding the captain that he should pay better attention to their approach but he was entirely focused on the meal and beer he was about to consume. The first mate, used to his unattentiveness, had them tied to the dock quickly, and had pulled out the simple gangplank to give the passengers free access to the ground they so desperately wanted to stand on. A few of them almost pitched off of the floating dock into the water on the other side as they disembarked, unaware that it too moved. Visitors to the island were a chief form of entertainment to everyone who was milling about the streets above the dock as town inhabitants just tried to stifle grins behind their hands. 

The captain and mate grabbed all of the luggage from the waterproof storage container behind the cabin, slinging it onto the dock. The work for the trip was almost over, they thought, until they realized that they still had the toddler’s stroller strapped to the ferry. With a groan, the captain jerked a thumb in the direction of the stroller, and trudged over. The captain and the mate struggled with the stroller, finally dumping it on the dock next to the family’s other belongings. It was amazing what people would bring on the ferry to spend two days on the island: floor fans, refrigerated coolers, spare shoes for every occasion, etc.  

The first mate doffed his cap once or twice when a braver soul thanked him for the trip, appreciating the generosity that they showed with a tip no matter how small. The captain chuckled behind his beard at a few of the less eager souls, still struggling to put one foot in front of the other, as they dragged their belongings up the ramp to Main Street. They were a little shaky, not having ever achieved their sea legs and now forced to adapt again. It would take them a few hours to sleep off their maiden ferry voyage, and they most likely would subsist on saltines and ginger ale for a few meals.

“Benjamin Francis Drake,” said a stern voice behind him, and he turned, already cringing. “Yes, Miss Isabelle?”

Standing on the dock, looking down at him was the saintly old matron of the island’s oldest, and only, school. The captain knew that Miss Isabelle Headle had taught every child who’d ever grown up on the island in the one-room schoolhouse and if that wasn’t enough time with them, at the church Sunday School, too. She’d been tough but fair, and he sometimes heard her voice in his head as he considered doing something truly stupid. She wasn’t really related to him, but the man approached her with fear and trembling as a person of authority in his life. 

Standing barely over five feet, Miss Isabelle’s hair was always perfectly curled tight to her head, and her thick glasses only seemed to magnify her gaze as she glared at him, half-serious and half-mocking. She always seemed to be present, everywhere on the island, with her pastel homespun dresses and a fluorescent pair of Crocs that always complimented her dresses. Truth be told, Captain Benjamin Drake, formerly of the United States Coast Guard, towered over Miss Isabelle, but in this case, size had little to do with authority or the respect that he had for her. 

If he was honest, Benjamin would have happily stayed under Miss Isabelle’s watchful eyes. If it hadn’t been for Benjamin’s wife, he would still live on the island in the house where he grew up, schlepping supplies from the hardware store or delivering groceries to people’s houses. His wife, also a native islander, had wanted to get away from their families and live somewhere that could get pizza delivered and had cellular service, so they’d moved to the mainland. But even in her quiet tone, Benjamin heard Miss Isabelle’ disapproval and it took him back to his younger years. 

“You shouldn’t laugh at these city folks,” the little old woman scolded. “You know it’s not their fault they were born soft, and that the sea is hard.”

Before Benjamin could get a reply out, Isabelle had already scurried down onto the ferry itself. People were usually in such a hurry to get off the ferry that they only came onto it when they absolutely had to. This little woman still moved nimbly from one rocking platform to another, her life on the island having prepared her for just about anything. He was still afraid she might fall, or worse, slip in passenger vomit, but she was spry like a cat. Maybe it was just life on the island; maybe it was something else. Miss Headle simply defied everyone’s expectations.

Benjamin saw that there was one last passenger remaining, the younger man in the black suit who had offered the sick woman his handkerchief. He had wiped off his own shoes, but his clean shaven, serious face still bore a shade or two of green. He’d clearly tried to tough it out while the ferry was rocking, maybe to impress the young woman, the captain thought, before correcting himself. No, there was something naturally helpful about the man. He hadn’t been trying to impress anyone. 

Sitting there on the ferry bench seat, the late arrival was trying some sort of breathing exercise to get his nerves under control. Beads of sweat were dampening his head, and his dark hair stuck to his forehead in places giving him a slightly wild look, but he didn’t look too keen on mopping them up with his previously used handkerchief. He slowly looked around, gathering his composure and making sure that he had his own belongings before disembarking. He only had a canvas bag with him as he rose unsteadily to his feet, and smiled weakly as Miss Isabelle sauntered down the aisle toward him. 

“You must be the new pastor!” she exclaimed, clapping her arthritis-ridden hands together with excitement. “I’m Miss Isabelle Headle, and it is my absolute delight to lay eyes on you. Come on, and I’ll show you around town.”

“Uh, I’m Leo,” offered the man, as Headle reached out again for his arm. He swayed a bit, grabbing onto the railing on the side of the ferry cabin to keep from stumbling over the side of the ferry into the water. He stabilized himself, but almost sent his bag into the water below. He caught himself on the railing, staring down into the dark bluish green waters between the ferry and the dock, his face growing a different shade of pale. 

In his weakened state, Miss Isabelle was on him before he could resist, jerking the bag away from him and pushing it in Benjamin’s direction. “Bring that to the chapel, Benji. And don’t get lost at Ocean’s Spray, either. You and I both know you need to stop after one drink or you’ll end up skinning the ferry on the way home later. We don’t need any tourists falling overboard on the way back tonight so keep your wits about you!” 

Turning back to the new arrival, Isabelle couldn’t keep her enthusiasm from pouring out. “We’re so glad you’ve come from the seminary to lead our chapel, dear! It’s been too long since we had someone up front, because no one wanted to accept that Father Matthew wasn’t coming back. When he moved to get away from the ocean, they figured he’d get tired of Arizona and come on back to us. But enough about that, up you go, out of the boat, Father Leo!”

Looking after them, Benjamin could only shake his head, and wonder what in the world young Leo had gotten himself into with a firecracker like Miss Isabelle. Calling out to the first mate, he pulled out a bucket to fill with water and a push broom to scrub. Observing the mess that the travelers had made, he realized it was too much to expect his underpaid first mate to clean up on his own. With a sigh, he gripped the broom tighter and went to work swabbing the deck of the Panther. Lunch at Ocean’s Spray would have to wait. 

Section 4 (Chapters 10-12) coming March 15!