The Islanders

by Mary Alice Monroe

  We waited a few more minutes in tense silence before Macon came out from a side room of the fire station. He was followed by a tall man in a suit that I guessed was his father. He was stone-faced, but it was Macon’s expression that really had me sweating. His face was set in a furious frown, and he wouldn’t even look at Lovie and me.

  Behind them was a police officer. Lovie and I looked at each other, our eyes wide with fear. Last came a short, bearded man with a pot belly, a torn T-shirt, and wearing only one white rubber boot that was caked in crusty mud. He didn’t look one bit happy.

  Rand cleared his throat to get our attention. “I’m sorry to call y’all out here at night, but it appears we’ve had a theft on the island. The Isle of Palms Police Department dispatched Officer Doyle here to follow up on the incident.”

  My dinner started churning like waves in my stomach as Lovie and I exchanged nervous glances.

  “This gentleman”—Rand gestured toward mud man, who stood with crossed arms and a scowl—“is Oliver Middleton. Better known as Oysterman Ollie to some of you. He reported his boat missing late this afternoon. He’d left it on the back side of the island after running it aground at low tide. He waited onshore till the next tide to see if he could get it unstuck.”

  Honey turned to the mud-caked man. “Ollie, where’s your other boot?”

  A short laugh escaped, and I slapped my hand over my mouth.

  “I don’t think any of this is funny,” said Oysterman Ollie, glaring at me.

  “No sir,” I replied, looking down at my spit-shined Sunday shoes.

  Oysterman Ollie took a step forward, then wiped his mouth with his hand. “I was checkin’ on my oyster beds, and my boat got stuck in the mud. It happens,” he fired off as the men glanced at each other while holding back smiles. Everyone knew it was poor seamanship to get stuck in the mud at low tide.

  “My boat was gone! As if that weren’t bad enough,” continued Oysterman Ollie, “I done lost a day’s work and my boot!”

  “But Ollie,” Honey said, “what has this got to do with the children?”

  Ollie pointed at us children with a mud-encrusted finger. “These water rats done stole what don’t belong to them. I demand they return it!” He stomped his bare foot, causing a few clumps of dried mud to flake off his leg.

  Honey’s gaze swept over Lovie and Macon before landing on me. “Explain yourselves.”

  Lovie was the first to talk, but it was almost impossible to understand her through her sobs. “We… we didn’t know it was his boat. We… thought it was abandoned.”

  “I told them so,” muttered Macon.

  I glanced at Macon. The muscle on the side of his jaw moved as he clenched his teeth.

  Ollie stepped closer to Lovie and peered into her face. “You’re Darryl’s young’un, aren’t you?”

  Lovie paled and stared back at him, not answering.

  “I see the ol’ apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he jeered at her.

  “Excuse me!” Lovie’s Aunt Sissy protested. “That’s uncalled for. Mind your words, or you’ll hear from me.”

  I looked at Lovie and thought she might crumple. “We’re really sorry, sir!” I said to the oysterman. “We didn’t mean to steal anything. Honest. We really thought it was abandoned. I mean, it was just a junky ol’ boat sitting there, all covered with mud and bird poop. No one was around.”

  I heard a few muffled guffaws slip out from the adults crowded around us. Oysterman Ollie cut them a sharp look.

  “Mr. Middleton,” the police officer said in a calm voice, “we’ve gotten statements from all three of the children involved. You got your boat back. In fact, the boat’s in better shape than you left it.”

  The oysterman snorted at that remark. “What about my being bothered? Lost hours lookin’ for it.”

  “Mr. Simmons has offered to reimburse you for your inconvenience and any work time that was lost.” The officer nodded toward Macon’s dad.

  Oysterman Ollie only grunted and rubbed his jaw.

  The police officer rocked on his heels. “Let’s settle this and get you and your boat back home. I’m sure you’re eager to get home and cleaned up after your long day.”

  “These kids should get jail time,” Oysterman Ollie muttered. “Thieves, the lot of ’em.”

  Chief Rand spoke up this time. “Come on now, Ollie. You don’t really mean that. We were kids once too,” he said, then he turned toward us. I stood taller, at attention. Could we really go to jail for this? I wondered. My lungs ached from holding my breath.

  “Let me be clear, kids,” Chief Rand said. “What you did was stupid. And wrong.”

  The police officer leaned in with a dead-serious look. “This man has every right to press charges against you for stealing his personal property. And if he did, you’d have to go to court and let the judge issue your punishment, hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” we all whispered in unison.

  “Good. If you see an abandoned vessel, you report it to the authorities. Don’t take it yourselves. Now, luckily, Mr. Middleton is not pressing charges, thanks to Mr. Simmons.”

  I glanced over at Mr. Simmons. He stood tall, shoulders back, his face stern. I could see why Macon was nervous about making his dad mad.

  “You kids better steer clear of me and my boat from now on!” Oysterman Ollie yelled. “And I better not see any of ya in my oyster beds, either. Or I won’t be so… agreeable next time.”

  The police officer said with a warning in his voice, “No threats, Ollie.” He turned to the adults. “I think we’re done here. I’m going to escort Mr. Middleton to get his boat. Good night.”

  Oysterman Ollie mumbled under his breath as he walked away with the officer.

  Some of the tension in the room lifted.

  Fire Chief Rand put his hands on his hips. “Kids, you stay right here a minute while we grown-ups figure out what to do with you.”

  We watched, wide-eyed, as the adults stepped into the adjoining room and shut the door.

  This was the moment Macon was waiting for. He looked fit to explode.

  “I knew it!” he hissed, eyes flaming. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you two convince me to help you with that stolen hunk of junk.” He pointed at Lovie and me. “Y’all stole it—and I got the blame for it.”

  “You didn’t get the blame,” Lovie argued. “We all did.”

  He scowled at her. “Oh yeah? Whose dock was the boat found at? Whose house did the police visit? Mine! Do you know how scared I was? I mean, I don’t know what would have happened if my daddy hadn’t come home today. My mom’s real upset. And now he’s royally mad at me. Because of you two!” He jabbed his index finger our way.

  “I… I’m really sorry,” Lovie said. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I’m not a thief. I… I didn’t mean to steal it.”

  “Come on, Macon. We didn’t know. It was an honest mistake,” I added.

  “You just don’t get it. You just don’t get it! You’re not the one who had the police show up at your door. You’re not the one taking the heat for someone else’s stupid idea. You’re not the one whose parents are super upset!” He backhanded his mouth and took a deep breath. “This is your nice, safe town. You should know. Things like this don’t always end so nice in the city. Especially not for a Black kid. It’s a good thing my dad is a lawyer. If it wasn’t for him, we all might be headed for juvie.” He snorted. “Me, for sure.” Macon lifted his hands over his head. “You stole a freaking boat!” He shouted the last part. Then he walked away—as far away from us as he could get.

  The hum of the overhead lights filled the silence between us. I wrestled with what to do next. He totally hated us now. Sure, Lovie said the boat was abandoned, but I totally went along with it. I was just as stupid as she was. I didn’t think Macon would ever forgive us. I glanced over to where Macon was standing alone by the fire hydrant, head bent and hands in his pockets.

  A metal door squeaked open. Fire Chief Rand, Mr. Simmons, Honey, and A
unt Sissy stepped out, their faces grim.

  “Gather round,” Chief Rand said, waving us closer.

  When we gathered in front of the adults, they all looked at us with serious expressions.

  Chief Rand put his hands on his hips and gave the three of us kids a long stare. We each straightened as we looked back.

  “Mr. Middleton didn’t press charges.” Rand turned toward Macon’s dad. “Mr. Simmons saved your tails with his generous check to Oysterman Ollie.”

  “Thank you,” we all replied in hushed voices.

  Mr. Simmons nodded in acknowledgment.

  Honey spoke up. “Mr. Simmons, I hope you’ll allow us to pay our portion of whatever you paid Ollie.”

  Mr. Simmons smiled at Honey, then at Aunt Sissy. “I wouldn’t mind another one of those fine pies.”

  Honey grinned and brought her hands together. “You’ve got it. With my gratitude.”

  Chief Rand spoke up. “Just because a police report wasn’t filed doesn’t mean you are off scot-free.” He gave us kids a stern look. “The fact remains that you were in the wrong.”

  In his pause I heard Lovie choke back a sob.

  “We adults have discussed the situation and agreed that you children need to learn that actions have consequences. You will be held accountable. Starting tomorrow morning,” Chief Rand said, “you will begin island community service.”

  I sucked in my breath and looked at Macon, but he kept his eyes on the ground, his fists clenched at his thighs. He was definitely giving me the cold shoulder. Not that I blamed him.

  “For the next six weeks,” said Chief Rand, “you will work together to help the Dewees Island Turtle Team. Helen Potter has agreed to be your supervisor.”

  I looked at my grandmother with surprise. She nodded with a no-nonsense expression and stepped forward.

  “Okay then. Eyes up here,” Honey began. She waited until all our eyes were on her. “You three children are responsible for arriving at the gazebo each morning at six thirty sharp.”

  When she saw our faces, she added, “That’s why it’s called the Dawn Patrol.” She pointed at us. “Don’t be late. Every morning we will walk the high tide line on the lookout for loggerhead turtle tracks. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all you need to know about how to spot them.” She moved her hands to her hips and glared. “No grousing or grudges. No show-offs. You will work as a team. And your nest reports must be done by seven a.m. That’s every morning, seven days a week, hear? Turtles don’t know the meaning of a weekend.”

  “Ughhh,” I moaned under my breath.

  “My summer is officially ruined,” Macon grumbled.

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught Lovie doing a little fist pump. She was happy about the sentence! And she definitely was the only one of us who felt that way.

  CHAPTER 14

  Dawn Patrol

  What’s life without hope?

  DAWN PATROL BEGAN—NO SURPRISE—AT DAWN.

  The sky was dusty gray when I awoke, brightening to soft pine while I ate my cereal. I grumbled as I chewed, but Honey gave me a no-nonsense look.

  “You better keep that grumbling to yourself, young man. You brought this on yourself. And remember, I’m getting up early too. Helping you out,” Honey said, then took a sip of her coffee.

  In truth, Honey didn’t look put out. She looked cheerful at the prospect of getting up early and back out on the beach. Honey had told me last night that she used to be the leader of the Dewees Island Turtle Team. After my grandpa died, she’d stopped.

  “I haven’t worn this old uniform in ages,” Honey said.

  She didn’t look any different to me. She had on a green SEA TURTLE PATROL T-shirt, khaki hiking shorts, a wide-brimmed hat, and Teva sandals.

  “If you’re ready, let’s go. We can’t be late.”

  Macon and Lovie were waiting for us at the gazebo. Honey pulled out a paper bag from the cubby in our cart. She handed me, Lovie, and Macon green T-shirts.

  “These are your Turtle Team shirts. I think I found the right sizes. I have another to give each of you. Nice blue ones. It’s your uniform out here every day, okay? It’s a way of letting people on the beach know who we are and what we’re doing.”

  She paused as we all looked at the shirts.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Put them on.”

  Immediately we all pulled the shirts on over our other shirts.

  She reached again into the bag and pulled out two black-and-white composition notebooks, just like the one I’d been using.

  “These are your nature notebooks. You can use them to write down all you see, all you find, all you learn. Especially about the turtles. There’s a lot to learn out here, a lot to get excited about. I’m going to share some of what I know. To help you understand what a special place on earth we are lucky enough to live on. I’m hoping when we’re done, you won’t see these excursions as punishments, but you’ll be glad for this time we share.”

  When none of us spoke, she straightened and said more firmly, “Someday, you’ll thank me. Any questions?”

  “Thank you!” Lovie exclaimed. She was beaming down at her new shirt.

  Honey smiled and slipped on her sunglasses. “Okay then, Dawn Patrol. Let’s go!” She began walking down the narrow beach-access path.

  Macon shot me and Lovie a look. He didn’t need words to tell us he was annoyed. He marched ahead of me and Lovie, his heels digging deep into the sand.

  * * *

  When we reached the beach, I felt the familiar welcome breeze on my face and caught the salty scent.

  I’d never seen the beach this early in the morning. The sun was rising over the ocean, spreading pink light across the sand. The water was calm and gentle, and rose-tipped waves seemed to whisper shhhh shhhh as they lapped the shoreline. The sand was smooth, unscarred by footprints. Even the birds were quiet. It felt like the world was awakening.

  “Kids, this is the best time of the day to come to the beach,” Honey said, taking in a deep breath and staring out at the sea. “I near forgot this.” Then she seemed to collect herself and pointed to a long line of seagrass, shells, and dirt that ran parallel to the dunes.

  “See that line of wrack?”

  “What’s wrack?” I asked.

  “That’s the line of seaweed and bits of broken shells, stone, and loose material that the tide carries in. We call that the high tide line.”

  “What does high tide mean, exactly?” Macon asked.

  “Good question. Well, sir, it has to do with the gravitational pull of the moon,” Honey explained. “You know when you are at the beach and watch the water slowly creep farther up the sand? Then, hours later, the water level goes down again? That’s the tides at work. It repeats twice a day on a regular cycle, every day. So, to answer your question, high tide is when the water level is highest, and low tide is when the water level is lowest.”

  Honey pointed to the beach. “See how smooth the sand is below the line of wrack? That’s because the sea rose all the way up to that line, leaving everything below it swept nice and clean. When it went back out, it left all the debris, or wrack, it carried. That’s what forms the high tide line. And that, children, is our marker for where to walk. Why do you think that is?”

  Lovie eagerly gave the answer. “Because the turtle tracks get washed away by the sea below the high tide line.”

  “That’s right. The tracks above the high tide line won’t get washed away, so you’ll spot them. If you’re walking along the water, you might miss the tracks.”

  Honey said, “Turtle tracks are usually about two feet wide. Just holler if you see anything that looks like tire tracks. You’ll get to know the difference right quick. Okay, let’s move on!”

  We walked along the high tide line as the sun rose in the east. Lovie sprinted ahead when she spotted her nest. The orange tape surrounding it was secure. Honey stopped and bent low to look at the nest carefully.

  “I’m looking to check if any ghost crabs
dug into the nest,” she said.

  I crouched low. I wanted to see the small, pale white crab. When I was five, my dad and I walked the beach at night on the hunt for ghost crabs. We’d see them scamper on their claws like tiny dancers across the sand while I tried to catch them with my net.

  “See that hole there?” Honey asked.

  “Yes,” we all answered as we spotted the small hole about a foot away from the nest in the dune.

  “Ghost crabs are one of many predators that eat hatchlings,” Honey said. “Can you think of others?”

  “Birds,” I said.

  “Right. They’ll swoop down from the sky to gobble one up. What else?”

  “Raccoons,” said Lovie.

  “Coyotes,” said Macon.

  “You’re all correct. There are lots of predators for hatchlings on the beach. And once they reach the sea, other predators attack. Fish, dolphins, sharks will eat them from below. It’s a perilous trip for our hatchlings. Only one in one thousand hatchlings will survive to adulthood.”

  Macon released a soft whistle of surprise that spoke for all of us.

  “Why so few?” I asked.

  “It’s the way of nature,” Honey replied. “Some animals have only one or two offspring, like humans, dolphins, birds. We nurture our young till they are strong enough to leave the nest and our care. Other animals lay lots of eggs all at once, like fish and reptiles. Turtles are reptiles, don’t forget. The mother lays the eggs and often leaves them, not to return to care for them. This isn’t bad. It’s their way. Because there are so many eggs, it’s expected some of them will get eaten. Other species need to survive too. Enough eggs survive and hatch, however, to keep the sea turtle species alive.”

  “So that’s why turtles lay so many eggs?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Honey replied. “A mother turtle comes ashore and lays a lot of eggs. Then she goes back to the sea and won’t return. And that,” she said with a quick smile, “is why we’re here to help.”

  “Yeah,” said Macon with a fist pump.

  Lovie and I looked at each other and smiled. Even though Macon might still be angry, he couldn’t hide his enthusiasm.