10

The well dressed young woman named Gillian pulled her bouncing suitcase up the ramp and away from the ferry. She didn’t care whether she ever set foot on another boat again, even if it meant never leaving the island! The trip out to Tranquility had felt like an eternity, and eating before boarding had been one of the worst ideas that she had ever followed through on in her thirty-five-year-old life. Back on terra firma, she felt her confidence growing with each step, knowing that she was there to get the job done regardless of however long it took. She still couldn’t believe she’d ended up in this place, but it beat the alternative. 

Sighing, the woman readjusted her bag to keep the corner of her laptop from digging into her back. As she scanned Main Street, she saw storefronts that could only be described as quaint, with smiling townspeople who greeted her verbally or doffed their hats to her like some sort of old fashioned reenactment. It was like traveling back in time without a DeLorean or Doc Brown to guide her, and seemed even stranger considering that just hours ago she had traveled by plane and electric automobile. She was already starting to wonder what she had gotten herself into, but the orders from her boss were unavoidable.

She wasn’t the lowest person on the totem pole in the office, but she wasn’t exactly a senior member yet either. She knew that this whole situation was supposed to help make her career, and she wanted to do a good job tracking down the story, even if she didn’t know much about it to begin with. 

Her boss, Dewey, was a man of few words, and there wasn’t much time to ask him for clarification, not that he would’ve given much anyway. He was just like that: he knew what he expected you to do and he thought you should go do it. If you had questions, you should figure them out yourself because it wasn’t his job to make you better or help you succeed. This was all a bit daunting for a new arrival in Dewey’s office, but the only kind of training he provided was on the job, on one’s own. Gillian was pretty sure he wanted her to fail, and it wasn’t clear yet whether that was because she was a woman or because she had graduated at the top of her class. 

Looking around Main Street, the young woman could see why some people would think Tranquility was a quaint, quiet place to come visit, or maybe even raise a family. But for her, it seemed a little too kitschy, a little too cute. It was not the kind of sophisticated place that the city woman was used to. Main Street stretched on for a half-mile or so, with the bends at each end into forested areas. 

Having briefly surveyed an online map of the island, she knew that there were residential houses hidden from view. The community swelled on Tranquility during this time of year, nearly doubling all of the people counted on the island. Of course, there were the longstanding community members living in their own homes who would find themselves next door to summer residents and a few hotels for those fresh off of cruise ships who didn’t want to traipse back and forth between the island and the ships all week long. 

By now, Gillian had walked by the regular shops like the grocery store, the Ocean’s Spray Cafe, the hairdresser, and the funeral home. She saw a pop-up store for fresh cut flowers, for film development, and a few other businesses that she half-noticed in the post-ferry ride haze that she was still trying to shake. Now, she’d finally arrived at her destination where she’d be sleeping this week for as long as her stay took her. 

I need to get the story, investigate enough for background, and get back to the mainland, she told herself, staring up at the outside of the Tranquility Bed & Breakfast. It wasn’t quite the end of the road, but it was past almost all of the eateries and stores where tourists would shop, and she hoped for the very least that it would provide some quiet. 

The young woman took a deep breath, and pulled her luggage up the three wooden stairs. Pushing into the first floor of the B&B, she found herself face to face with a big blonde man with an ear-to-ear smile and blazing blue eyes. His curly hair seemed to have a life of its own, bobbing up and down as he looked her over, and hoop earrings twinkled in his ears as he moved. She noticed that he was wearing an apron, covered with flour and other ingredients, and he clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. She was nearly afraid that he was going to hug her, flour and all. 

“Welcome to the Tranquility Bed & Breakfast!” he nearly shouted at her. “I’m Chris Baxter, one of the co-owners. How can I help you?”

Not normally one to be drawn in by abundant enthusiasm, the young woman took off her designer sunglasses, took a deep breath, and replied simply, “Gillian, Gillian Anderson. I have a reservation, I think.” 

Baxter consulted his giant reservation handbook, scrolling a meaty pointer finger down the list. “We have you down for a week, staying in the Assisi Suite. Can I help you with your luggage?” 

Anderson said that she could handle her luggage herself, and received directions to the Assisi Suite on the second floor. She slung her computer bag over her shoulder, and scooped up her luggage in one arm and the room key in the other. She nodded her thanks to Baxter and then moved up the stairs to the landing. Her feet still felt a bit unsteady, and the staircase seemed to sway each time that she took a new step. She steadied herself on the wall, and looked at the still shots framed in the hallway and up the stairs. They were of different times and places on Tranquility, and Anderson could see how the town had grown. Arriving on her floor, she looked around for any signs of other guests but saw none as the floorboards creaked beneath her feet. 

Inside her room, Anderson situated her suitcase on the provided rack and inspected the contents of her room. The wallpaper had a woodland creatures theme, and ornate woodworking depicted different forest animals on the canopy bed and matching furniture. The bathroom had a raised-up bathtub, and someone had taken great effort to keep the whole place looking clean and put together. Rarely had she stayed anywhere quite so unique, as she’d become used to red eye flights into cities where she stayed without much fanfare in hotels that all looked the same. During a quick survey of the wooden desk, Anderson noticed that there were no directions for connecting to the B&B wifi, but when she went back downstairs, Baxter had disappeared into the private portions of the house. She could hear him singing loudly, and would have probably rolled her eyes, except for the glorious way that the B&B owner easily echoed the original artist’s sounds. 

Returning to her room, Anderson unpacked most of her belongings into the closet and checked her purse for the necessities to do the job. She settled on top of the bed without removing her shoes, and quietly meditated for a few minutes. Feeling refreshed, and having stopped the world from spinning finally, she knew that it was time to proceed around the island. She looked around the room one last time, sighing when she realized the room lacked a coffee maker of any time, and pulled the door shut behind her as she headed out to see what the island had to offer her. Hopefully the island had more to offer in amenities than the room she’d be sleeping in this week.

11

At the south end of Main Street, the island’s only outwardly religious structure stood as a testament to the way previous generations had constructed their communities. The Tranquility Chapel was nondenominational in nature, and various elements from the mainland had provided delegates to serve as the town’s religious leader over the last two hundred years. As the only building big enough to hold a significant attendance, the chapel served as a meeting spot throughout the week for the island’s residents, religious or otherwise. 

Inside the chapel proper, Red O’Rourke kneaded his hands, staring intently at the front of the chapel and its simply adorned cross. From his seat on the back pew of the sanctuary, he could see the way that the sun changed the appearance of the space as it rose. Unlit by any artificial means, the sanctuary’s shadows receded as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky outside. The quiet should have been comforting, but instead it felt like a silent condemnation of the man himself. His expensive suit was well-worn and today, his consternation at being made to wait sent waves of irritation across his face. His nervousness was showing, and that made him even more irritable. He liked to be in control of his emotions and he felt anything but in control. He chided himself again for counting on visitors from the mainland to follow through on their promises.

The meeting was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago, but of course, the mainland contacts were late, if they were going to show at all. It took grit and a bit of persistence to exist on the island, thought O’Rourke, grumbling to himself. Mainlanders never seemed to have what it took to make that happen, like the people of Tranquility Island were an adaptive breed of people who would survive where others failed. You couldn’t count on mainlanders, and if you expected much of anything, you were bound to be disappointed. Maybe they had cold feet and decided not to come at all, which would be typical for the mainlanders he knew. 

The chapel was the most recognizable place in town, but it provided a degree of privacy if you could pick the right time for a meeting during the week. If not for the chapel, O’Rourke would have had to meet the mainlanders in his home or out in public at the Cafe, and the red bearded man figured that people had enough to talk about without getting wind of this conversation.. He’d figured they could meet there, and then be about their business, rather than having to entertain in his home and coming up with an excuse to get the contacts out of his house. Or squelching the rumors that were bound to flourish afterward. He’d come to the conclusion that the conversation had to be had, but that didn’t mean he was prepared to wait indefinitely. 

The red bearded man was investing a lot of money in the mainlanders, and he expected them to be good for their word. Being late was hardly new, but it irritated him that they were off to this kind of start. He checked his expensive watch, the last reminder of his old life as a wealthy sea captain. It still ticked, but the luster of the gold finished had been worn and chipped over the years. Again noticing the time, he sighed.The morning was getting away from him, and he had things to accomplish and projects to maintain. 

After a moment, the man rose, his large frame’s departure causing the pew to groan as he left it. He ran his fingers along the pew, remembering moments when he had sat in the same sanctuary with members of his family. They weren’t happier days, but they were somehow better than whatever kind of existence he was maintaining now. He thought of the old songs he had learned as a child, and the people he had known who would’ve called this place their spiritual home. Those times were dead and gone, like most members of his family. 

O’Rourke’s mother and father had been stern, austere New Englanders, who thought children should be seen and not heard. They prescribed to a Jonathan Edwards “sinners in the hands of an angry God” kind of religious belief, and they had used fear and punishment to shape their son into who they thought he should be. That wasn’t the kind of thing that O’Rourke followed faithfully anymore, but he still figured if there was a god, then that god was angry. The world was too messed up and broken to be of much satisfaction to its Maker. War, violence, poverty, sickness. They were all earmarks that the world was utterly and fantastically broken, with little hope for anything different. 

Looked back again at the cross, O’Rourke shook his head, bitterly. There was nothing for him here, and even his business expectations for the place had fallen short. He wouldn’t be quick to trust the mainlanders, and they would have to seek him out if they wanted to make the situation work for all of them. Just being in the Chapel was a stretch for him, given his memories. Usually he kept them locked away and disregarded, but he’d fallen into the same trap he always did when he set foot inside of the Chapel. 

With a shrug, the red bearded man twisted the old handle on the back door of the chapel, and stepped squinting into the sunshine outside. Hopefully he could just get home without too much trouble, or running into someone who wanted to discuss ‘the good old days.’ One trip was enough for him down memory lane. He couldn’t imagine looking back on the past with any joy. 

12

A few minutes earlier on Main Street, Miss Isabelle was pulling on Leo’s sleeve, pointing out landmarks along the way as they walked up from the dock toward the town itself. The path up from the dock wasn’t terribly treacherous as Leo reestablished his center of gravity, but he was fighting off a headache as Miss Headle lectured him about the island. Her chatter was nonstop, given a lifetime of knowledge about the island and its people. It was nearly more information than Leo could comprehend, his body still mildly moving with seasickness back and forth, and now his brain being pulled along at speed that belied Miss Isabelle’s age. 

Leo thought back to the way he had been forced to rush to catch the ferry, still amazed by his flying leap and the way his body had responded to the ferry’s voyage. He felt something akin to hunger creeping up through his stomach but after watching that young woman be sick over and over, he wasn’t sure when he would make food a priority. He’d zoned out momentarily but that hadn’t stopped Miss Isabelle, who was still pointing out landmarks and explaining the history of the island. 

“Tranquility has been around for hundreds of years,” she was explaining, “a part of the coastal towns that provided trade and fishing routes between the mainland and international traders. The bigger ships couldn’t get into the mainland near here and needed a transition point. Now, people know that the island is good for a bite of food and a relaxing day off the ships. Any more, we don’t have much industry, but the people who live here love it, and call it home. Of course, the high point for the mainlanders is the Annual Migration, which happens a few days from now. That’s the time when most of the shopkeepers make their money with a couple of thousand extra people showing up to catch a glimpse of the whales and to experience a few days of island life. You’ll see lots of outsiders then, but I hear there’s supposed to be a real nor’easter so we’ll see who decides to brave the trip. Some of the cruise ships may decide to skip this stop altogether, while others may come a little early.”

“What’s the Annual Migration?” asked Leo, having finally decided that the road wasn’t moving under his feet. 

Miss Isabelle stopped and put her hands on her hips. Leo took an unconscious step back, at first afraid that he had somehow offended her enough to strike him. “Are you serious?” she asked, incredulously. “They sent you here from the seminary and didn’t tell you about the time of year here? I sent them a whole folder full of background on the island and what to expect this week. Hmph. Someone wasn’t doing their job! Bet that they didn’t tell you about the ferry you’d have to take to get here either.”

Leo’s guide went on to explain that twice a year, whales migrate along the eastern coast of the continental United States. Once when they went from their southern winter homes north to feed in the spring, and once in the fall when they moved south for the winter to deliver calves in the shallow coastal waters. Because of the currents and other elements that went over Leo’s head as Miss Isabelle explained, the migration south in the fall took the whales closer to Tranquility so tourists came more heavily then to catch a taste of island life and for a chance to snap some photos of whales off of the coast. 

Leo eyed the line forming at Ocean’s Spray already, his stomach rumbling now that it had settled down from being a bubbling cauldron. He saw the way that different shops had various decorations and signs enticing passersby to come and check out their wares related to the annual migration. Miss Isabelle pointed out different businesses, like France’ grocery, the post office, Cindi’s Hair Salon, and Kauffman’s Bakery. Winding off the main street were little paths that cut burroughs back to residential homes and beyond that to farther fields that Leo could just catch in the distance. Through the woods, Leo could see more homes, winding up higher onto the island, with cobblestone roads leading the way. 

Neither the mansion or the lighthouse were visible from Main Street, but Leo was slowly getting his bearings about the orientation of the island. He knew that he would have to do some exploring to get comfortable with his new location, but he was trying hard to focus on what Miss Isabelle was sharing about the people on the island now. He’d have to catch up quickly to discover what he needed to know about the people and the island itself. 

With a jolt, Leo ran into Miss Isabelle, not as hard as to tackle her but hard enough that he apologized profusely. He hadn’t realized that she had stopped talking, as he tried to soak in all of the things she was telling him, and in his perusal of the town, he had failed to see her come to a halt. When he did look down after bumping into her, he realized that she was staring intently at a large, redbearded man who had just emerged from the town chapel.

Leo didn’t think of himself as afraid of much, but the red bearded man was physically imposing. He was easily over six feet, and a few pounds shy of three hundred. The man was dressed well, his clothes all from expensive cloth, stitched together in custom fits for the man himself, with shoes to match. His face was contorted with frustration if not outright anger, and Leo realized that he would just as soon not tangle with this man if he could help out. The man’s giant hands kneaded together when he saw Miss Isabelle and Leo approaching, and ducked his eyes as if he could keep them from seeing him, as he strode away from the chapel.

Miss Isabelle was having none of that though, and Leo cringed when she called out to the other man. Leo wasn’t much for physical confrontation, and the thought of defending Miss Isabelle if she provoked the man was enough to make him sweat. 

“Red O’Rourke, what are you doing in the chapel?” she bellowed, causing several passersby to stop in their tracks. They were shocked by her tone, but even more bewildered that she’d confront this giant who’d rather be left alone. When those on the street recognized that no violent confrontation was about to happen, they hurried along nonetheless, holding their packages in front of them as if they could ward off whatever threat she presented. Leo felt like he was walking toward a gunfight in the O.K. Corral, and waited for a tumbleweed to blow by him. What was he going to do if this angry man assaulted Miss Isabelle? 

With his coattails flying behind him, the red haired giant tried to push by Miss Isabelle and Leo, but the spitfire woman was having none of it. “You’ll speak to me when I address you, sir,” she added, grabbing onto the sleeve of his coat. The tension was palpable for a moment and Leo feared that Isabelle was about to be sent flying by the redhead. He felt like he should say something but the words all hung up in his throat, as he was physically no match for the bigger man. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” growled O’Rourke, “but my thoughts are still acceptable in the chapel, even if you think I don’t know how to pray. And the chapel is the town’s, not yours or anyone else’s.” He snatched his arm away from the matronly Miss Isabelle, hardly even glancing in Leo’s direction. With another few strides, O’Rourke disappeared up the path into the woods and Leo was left staring at Miss Isabelle’s downturned face. Miss Isabelle stared after him, and Leo thought he detected a tear creeping out of the corner of one eye. This woman was full of surprises. 

“Father Leo, it is just so sad,” Miss Isabelle shared, leaning in. “That man doesn’t understand what church is really for, all scurrying about and secretive. He needs the community more than he knows, and he’s too proud to ask for help. I know God hears everyone’s prayers but when the answers we want don’t come, it can rattle a person’s faith.”

Leo just nodded, mutely following Miss Isabelle into the Chapel, leaving the talking to her. She’d moved past her reverie about O’Rourke, and was now explaining that she was in charge of the Chapel Women’s Guild. The Guild was responsible for the upkeep of the island chapel and preparing it for services each week. She pointed out to him where she and others normally sat, explained who had donated the money for the stained glass windows, and told him again how excited people would be to meet him. Leading him to the back entrance of the chapel, to his private rooms, she pointed left and right to storage bins and other rooms she thought important enough to highlight. 

When Miss Isabelle finished giving him the two-dollar tour of the facility, Leo stretched out on the bed, and eyed the bag that the ship captain had brought to his room. Leo had tried momentarily to compensate the man for his effort, but he’d run off, looking over his shoulder, as if Miss Isabelle might appear from any corridor and berate him for staying too long. After a few moments reflecting on the choppy ride over to Tranquility and nodding off for a few more, Leo rose from his spartan bed, straightened his shirt and pants, and walked out into the chapel proper. 

The solitary stained glass window that Miss Isabelle had highlighted before rose on the back wall of the chapel, centered on a crimson rose. With the sun shining through, it cast colors around the simple chapel, the walls a tapestry for the sun to paint. Other natural light broke through high windows close to the roof, but the simple rows of wooden pews led directly to the front rail for kneeling and a single table draped with white cloth, set before a hand hewn wooden cross on the wall. A simple lectern was the only other piece of furniture on the raised up platform in front of the church, and Leo saw that there were a few Bibles stacked over in one corner. 

The chapel would never pass as a glorious cathedral, but Leo figured it was a space that lent itself to worship for the people of the island. Like the rest of the island’s vibe, the chapel was timeless, working just as well two hundred years in the past or two hundred more into the future. Someone, probably Miss Isabelle and her friends, had taken great pains to make sure that the building was kept up and clean. It was a place that they clearly revered and in its simplicity it showed just how much they believed in what they were doing in worship there. 

Leo ran his hands over the tops of the pews as he walked, noticing the worn seats and the well-used books of worship sitting in the back of each pew. The island didn’t seem to have much of a population during the regular year, but apparently, those who came to church came regularly. Leo slid into the last pew and stared reflectively at where the stained glass window’s glow now reflected on the central cross. He kept his thoughts clear, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had gotten himself into, but he knew he was where he was supposed to be. Rising from the pew, Leo left through the chapel door and went to explore the town for himself. 

Section 4 (Chapters 13-15) coming March 22!