The Liberty Bee – Chapter Four

—Chapter Four—

It was a bright, crisp, nearly cloudless October day, there were just a few wispy puffs of white dotting the brilliant blue of the sky. it was the picture perfect autumn day — the kind pf which calendars are made. And there was more than a gentle breeze blowing from the south, and it was stirring up some light chop in the channel. It was cool, but certainly not cold – it was an autumn day with bits of late summer stirred generously into it.

His boat was too big to navigate the rocky shoals surrounding the island, so he had come to the island on a small skiff outfitted with an outboard motor. It waited for them, its bow breaching the shore, secured with a single rope, tied to the trunk of a dead and crooked beech tree.

As the two descended the rickety, weather-worn, cantilevered stairway, she turned and waved to her grandfather, who waved back; he was still wearing that wry, knowing smile. Something was missing, she thought, as she made her way down the steps with the young man who was to be her date for the evening. She couldn’t quite figure out what was missing from her grandfather’s face, but she was sure she saw a forlorn sadness in his eyes; it was something she had not seen save for a few times before. And those were times when he recalled her grandmother – her life and her agonizing death. And he never seemed especially willing to talk about her, yet sometimes, she thought, he just couldn’t help himself. He must have had such deep, dark pain buried inside he could never get out, and it was as if he thought talking about her would somehow expunge those demons of pain, he would sit and reflect on her life. But it seemed he often dwelled much too long on her death. And when he talked about her, his bright eyes became dull and lifeless; the twinkle left them. He must have had a reason for occasionally talking about her, she thought. And the only reason that ever made sense to her was that he was trying to rid himself of the anguish and pain buried deep in his soul.

They had reached the last of the 51 tattered steps, and now stood on the rocky beach. The skiff was docked about twenty feet away. The beach was the dark brown of wet sand, and strewn with rocks of all sizes. Some had by smoothed by the waves of a thousand, or ten thousand, or a hundred thousand years, while others were jagged and sharped, rocks recently tossed up by an angry sea, or a rising tide. He took her hand and led her gingerly through the minefield of rocks, and helped her board the skiff. He gave the small boat a push away from the beach and jumped in it at the last second. He grabbed one of the two oars stowed aboard the boat and pushed the boat further out to sea. The water was still shallow enough here that the oar reached the bottom — he leveraged his strength and the oar to push the boat away from the island. Then he started the motor and turned the boat toward the mainland and the city that lie just twenty-five minutes west.

The sea was choppy and the boat, now traveling faster, skipped the waves like a smooth stone tossed skillfully across a still pond. She looked at him, sitting in the stern of the boat, his long dark hair blowing in the wind, his strong arms and hands looked manly, yet well cared for. He handled the boat with great aplomb; he was obviously no stranger to the sea. She immediately found herself liking him. He talked about his years in college and his job, but mostly he talked of his love for the sea — and especially for lighthouses and their history.

What a shame, he said, that hundreds of beautiful lighthouses stand like useless guards. They guard nothing anymore; they are just old relics, some of which are preserved only because some still love them, while the rest are being torn down to make way for who knows what. Probably new marinas or restaurants with a view of the ocean – the kind which charges too much for food, and has far too few tables with a view. As he spoke could see him get lost in his thoughts, his eyes unfocused, his breath quickening, his voice clear and comforting. He is a very handsome man, she thought, as the man continued to talk about lighthouses, the wrecks of old merchant chips and some of the historic storms which had swept the coast over the past fifty years.

One particular ship, I think it was called Serenity Bay, sunk right over there, he said, pointing toward a buoy bobbing about thirty feet off the starboard bow. She turned to look, but saw nothing but the black buoy with the number 1871 painted in peeling-white on it, and a blinking red light on its top. It marked the Marinas Shoal, she knew it well from her many trips to the mainland with her grandfather. Her grandfather had told her many times about the many ships the Marinas Shoal had claimed. When she was younger, and she and her grandfather were coming back from the mainland at night, she thought she could feel the ghosts of the sailors whose lives the shoal had claimed. She remembered how her grandfather would console her and try to calm here fears. Still the ghosts lived on, if only in her memory now.

The mainland approached, and the young man skillfully guided his skiff into the harbor, and to the dock where his 44? cabin cruiser was moored. That’s my boat, he said as he pointed to the sleek white vessel just of the bow of the skiff. He guided the skiff into the slip next to the cruiser and secured the skiff. He hoisted himself up onto the peir and extended his hand and helped her out of the boat. She was smiling and happy. It was a beautiful afternoon, and he was kind, smart and gentle. He wanted to give her a tour of his cruiser but they were running late. The had reservations at Jonathon’s Bay Harbor Inn at 7:00 and they had a lot to get done before dinner.

As they walked to the marina parking lot, hand in hand, she took in the comings and goings of people. young and old, all seemingly in a hurry to go somewhere. She couldn’t imagine living this way, always in a hurry, always going somewhere, or coming back from somewhere. She didn’t know where this night would lead her, but she hoped she would never lose her love for her quiet, simple and peaceful existence on the island, with it’s now-useless lighthouse and her grandfather who she adored.

My car’s right here, he said standing next to a sleek, white Lexus. She looked at him and then at the car and it seemed odd to her that a man whose soul seemed so tied to the sea and to the freedom the sea offered, would drive such a fancy car. He opened the door for her and she got in, immediately noticing the smell — it was a brand new car; he must have just taken delivery of it.

It was getting later in the afternoon and the October sun’s rays were slanted in their usual autumnal slant. Shadows were long and the evening was fast approaching. He backed the car out of its parking space and headed out of the marina and onto the highway He turned right and headed for his parent’s summer home which was just a five-minute drive from the marina.

He was handsome all right, and he was intelligent and friendly, but something about him didn’t seem to fit, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was. She smiled at him as he took her hand, but there was an uneasiness inside her, and she couldn’t seem to shake it.

As they approached the house, her eyes grew wide and she could couldn’t help but express her amazement at the beauty of the estate, and its manicured grounds, and the white mansion they were approaching.

He smiled and said, my parents are pretentious and showy, but not me. I enjoy the simpler things in life. We’ll go in and meet my parents and you can freshen up. We’ll have a glass of wine then go to dinner. We’ll have a great time I promise.

He parked the car, opened the door for her, and helped her out. They walked toward the house, holding hands and smiling. She was happy in the moment, and promised herself she would give the young man a chance. They had a lot in common, and there was no doubt she found him very attractive.

It would be a night to remember – a night she would never, ever forget.

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You can read the first four chapters of The Liberty Bee here.