Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4)

by Normandie Fischer

  “I thought you might need to visit again. We’re burying ghosts today, aren’t we?”

  The car crunched over the familiar gravel as it rolled up the drive and came to a stop next to Tootie’s Volvo. Sam didn’t understand what Teo thought they’d accomplish, but as she climbed out, she felt a compulsion to head to the dock. She wanted to see if the yard men had returned Alice to her slip.

  Her sweet little boat bobbed on the water as if nothing had ever wounded her. Teo’s hand touched Sam’s back. “A lovely boat,” he said.

  “Uncle Teddy!” The screen door slammed, and Tootie bounded toward them. “I didn’t know you were here!”

  Laughing, he caught her on his good side and gave her a one-armed hug. “I am indeed. What are you doing home at this hour?”

  “I just came back to get some papers I promised to run to New Bern for Holland.” She turned to Sam. “How’re you doing? Did you see Alice? Doesn’t she look wonderful!”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Do you want to sail her? The sails are back on, she’s ready to go.”

  Sam’s breath caught.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Tootie said, reaching out to touch her arm. “I didn’t think.”

  “No.” Sam laid a hand on top of Tootie’s. “Don’t be sorry. I do want to go. I didn’t realize it, but I do. I think I need to.”

  “You want company?” Teo asked.

  Sam relaxed enough to grin at him. “You want to brave the water again, O mighty mariner?”

  “I could. For you, I would.”

  “Maybe next time. Now, I’ve some ghosts of my own to settle.”

  “You can hang out with me, Unc.” Tootie squeezed Teo’s arm, her smile stretching across her face as she rocked on the balls of her feet. “Maybe you’d go with me, you know, so we can visit. We’ve got so much to catch up on, and Jenny’s watching the shop, so it’s okay,” she said in Sam’s direction before whipping her gaze back toward Teo. “Maybe after, we could have dinner with Holland. You liked him, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “Then, will you come?”

  He raised his brows in Sam’s direction, and Tootie’s expression changed quickly. “And, Sam, you could meet us for dinner if you want. Or I’ve got leftover meatloaf at the house. My special recipe.”

  Sam smiled. “The meatloaf sounds delicious. Thank you.”

  “Wonderful!” Tootie said. “Oh, this is so perfect.”

  “Samantha?” Teo stepped toward her and asked quietly, “What do you really want to do? Tell me.”

  “Sail. And then enjoy the porch and the view. I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t want me to come get you so you can join us for dinner?”

  She shook her head. “No, you guys go and enjoy yourselves. I need some time alone.”

  Tootie shielded her eyes with her hand and looked up at the sky. “Those clouds don’t look bad, do they? I think they’re far enough away, but if you need a jacket, I’ll run and get one. And boat shoes? You have some in your closet?”

  “The navy canvas ones.”

  “Be right back,” Tootie called over her shoulder as she dashed back to the house. Teo seemed slightly bemused as he watched his niece.

  Taking his hand, Sam led him down the steps to the dock. “It’s fine,” she repeated. “I’m looking forward to a peaceful sail.” When they stood in front of her boat, she said, “Let me introduce you to Alice. Isn’t she sweet?”

  “She’s safe? I mean, you’ll be okay? Those clouds don’t mean anything?”

  “I’ll be fine. I won’t go far.”

  She climbed on board, holding the starboard shroud for balance. As she removed the sail cover and ties and handed them off to Teo, she said, “You need to spend time with Tootie. She’s thrilled you’re here.”

  Teo glanced toward the house. “Just don’t stay out too late, will you? It’ll get dark early. And it might cool off.”

  “Tootie’s getting me a jacket. And I’ll come in early.”

  The jib was in its bag but already hanked on, as if someone were expecting to go out soon. Pulling off the bag, she ran the sheets through their blocks and tied off the ends. Tootie handed her the jacket and a bottle of water and waited while Sam changed shoes and hoisted the jib. At Sam’s command, Tootie tossed the dock lines on board and shoved against Alice’s bow.

  Sam pulled in the jib sheet and pushed the tiller hard over, smiling as Alice slipped quietly into South River. Once they were far enough out, she hoisted the main, then turned and waved at Tootie and Teo.

  “Here we are, Alice, just the two of us.” Her whisper lifted with the breeze that filled the sails.

  Were there ghosts? Sam wasn’t admitting any. She was too busy thinking sail trim.

  She rounded the point into the Neuse and set the sails for a beam reach. With the wind across Alice’s midsection, they could make the return trip without the work of constant tacking. She lost track of time as the wind caressed her cheeks and the water slapped against the hull. She waved to a man paddling out in a red kayak, but he was across the river, keeping close to shore, and probably hadn’t seen her. Gulls squawked at one another, providing the only other company on the water.

  She barely noticed the wind dying. The motion slowed, the main slacked, and soon Alice began to drift lazily.

  Sliding one of the boat cushions behind her, Sam leaned against the gunwale and watched the kayaker. With no wind to fight, he had ventured farther into the river and paddled steadily. At that rate, he’d soon catch up with Alice. She smiled. There were so many different ways people chose to move across water—the kayaker with his paddle, her children with their outboard motor, Sam with sails.

  The sun’s warmth relaxed her. She loved the gentle lap-lap of the water, the peace of just being. She hadn’t felt the pure pleasure of that in a long time.

  She closed her eyes and let the small movements, like the faint rise and fall of Alice’s slow advance, adjust her rhythm, the in and out of her breathing. Her chest rose as the bow did, then fell with Alice’s dip. Tuning out thoughts of the cloudy horizon, her guilt-ridden past, and her uncertain future, she focused only on the moment.

  43

  Samantha

  Better watch out. Better stay good.

  Better not wait. Better just pray.

  Moving past the inertia took effort. Sam glanced up at the still slack sails and sighed. She shouldn’t have drifted so far downriver without a cell phone or hope of a tow. Now she tried not to remember how much effort paddling took.

  Oh, well, the exercise would be good for her muscles, all that stretching and pulling on the oar. She yawned as she sat up. She’d just tie off the tiller and play boatman again, paddling on one side and then the other.

  The oar lived up under the foredeck on the port side. She crossed behind the centerboard well and moved a cushion aside to look for it, surprised that she didn’t see it extending into the cockpit.

  It wasn’t there.

  She searched the starboard side. No oar. She couldn’t believe it. How had she left the dock without checking? She always carried something to make sure she could get home.

  Okay, but Alice had been in the repair yard. Maybe the men had taken it out and not put it back. Or maybe Tootie had stored it in the shed.

  “Look at me,” Sam said to the gull staring from its height some ten feet off the deck. “I broke another cardinal rule: sails on, oar on. I assumed. I know. Never assume.” The gull soared in a circular pattern and squawked. “Exactly. Stupid.”

  She glanced from the gull to the bank and saw no sign of the kayaker. He must have turned around and paddled his way home. Lucky fellow.

  Flopping back on the cushion, she remembered that Teo would send help when her white sails didn’t zip around the headland.

  But that euphoric thought only lasted as long as it took to think it. The truth was, Teo was driving to New Bern with Tootie and then to meet Holland in Morehead. Who knew when they’d be back? She�
�d even told them not to worry.

  Great. No oar. No Teo.

  Still, she wasn’t alone. She had Alice.

  She knew her boat so well. And Alice knew her. Sam had never been afraid when she was in Alice, except momentarily when she’d faced an approaching storm. Alice had always carried her home.

  Except...that was before. She shook off the thought. She wouldn’t believe that Alice was tainted—or cursed—because of what had happened on board. She wouldn’t.

  Without wind, the sun felt quite warm. She reached over the side and scooped handfuls of water, then let the wet drip through her fingers. Touching the rail, she rubbed her palm over the recently varnished brightwork. How smooth and lustrous it felt. Alice was so clean, the cockpit so white. No vestiges of....

  India had climbed in—right here. She’d stretched out on the cockpit floor. She’d picked up the gun.

  What had it felt like, the gun in her hand? Sam shuddered and imagined touching the cold metal, lifting it... Oh God.

  And the blood. There’d been blood all over. She could see it now, the picture she’d suppressed, the ugliest, most horrible, worst sight she’d ever witnessed. And the saddest. Oh Lord. The saddest.

  The blood must have seeped into the caulked areas near the centerboard well, imbedded itself in the nonskid so it showed as a lumpy, granular red.

  And just there to the left—what was that? An indentation in the floor. It hadn’t been there before.

  She crawled forward, stared.

  A messy putty job. She had to see what was under it. If she could just get a little off the top, pull a little out, not all of it, just enough to see its shape. To know.

  As she dug, a fingernail snapped, then tore. “Ow!”

  She bit it off, smothering the words in her head. There had to be some tool she could use.

  There it was, the small box that always stayed under the foredeck. Why had it found its way back on board when the oar hadn’t? She rifled through the box, then backed up and aimed the clutched screwdriver. A quick stab. The putty gave, soft under the paint. Pressing the blade deeper, she twisted. A tiny chunk caught. Not enough.

  “Come on.” She raised her fist, stabbed down, then pushed the blade under and twisted again. It popped out in one gross blob of gunk. She stared into the hole.

  And saw why the putty hadn’t stuck.

  The color wasn’t red now, more a dark brownish. The bullet had gone through India’s head into that hole. Forcing blood and who knew what else in with it.

  Sam exhaled the breath she’d been holding. As counterpoint, a wind rose and grabbed the sails. She was far from the tiller, without control, when the wind slapped the boom over in an accidental gybe. Alice rocked crazily. Shaking from the near miss of the boom mere inches above her head—inches that had saved her from being knocked flat, or knocked overboard, or killed—she scurried aft and clutched the tiller as Alice heeled out of control, close to being swamped.

  Dear God, please, Sam prayed silently, then whispered, “Please don’t let us capsize,” as she grabbed the main sheet and yanked it free of the jam cleat—which she never used except in very light winds. Never in anything like this. The boom flew to port, spilling the wind and setting Alice on her feet again. Slowly, Sam felt the blood easing in her neck and head.

  The gust had come so suddenly. She looked around, unbelieving. She’d been so concerned about a stupid lump in her boat that she’d missed the cloud, missed the catspaws ruffling the surface, which had abruptly turned to waves as the wind shifted and built.

  She knew that Alice wouldn’t sink in a capsize. They’d gone over once, she and the kids when Daniel had the helm and hadn’t been paying attention to a gust. Over they’d flipped, landing with all their goodies in the drink. He’d been embarrassed, especially when they’d discovered that bailing a righted Alice was an exercise in futility. The boat filled so far up the gunwales that more water flooded in than they could empty. They’d clung to Alice’s sides and floated to shore on an incoming tide, while Stefi berated her brother and grew slightly hysterical, even though Sam assured her that there were no sharks in the Neuse River, that they’d get home, and that Stefi needed to think of this as an adventure.

  “I hate adventures,” her daughter had said, not really meaning it.

  But that day the air had been ninety-five degrees, with the water just chilly enough to be fun. Today? After a month of frigid nights, some very cold days, and even one slight snowfall, the river would not be a benign friend. Besides, the tide was headed out to sea, not in.

  “Just keep your head, Sam.”

  She felt the wind grow with each gust and looked up to see clouds rushing to cover the sun. How had they filled the sky so quickly? And with the wind came waves that grew and splashed at Alice’s topsides, drenching them both and threatening her as much, if not more than the wind.

  A drop of rain hit, then another. She thought of Tootie’s jacket, tucked forward under the deck, but she was afraid to cleat the main sheet. One gust of wind could heel Alice past her righting moment, and over they’d go. Sam’s heart bounced along with her stomach, and, in spite of the chill, sweat seeped from her pores as she held on for the ride, trying to think ahead, to decide where to tack and change direction to get Alice pointed home.

  And then, just as she began to think she’d gained some control, she heard a sharp twang, then a thud that reverberated through the deck, and finally a splash. Her fingers tightened as she searched frantically for the source of the sound.

  “Oh, no, please no.”

  The starboard shroud had snapped and trailed uselessly in the water.

  If her heart had been pumping double time before, now it raced. She shoved the tiller hard over, trying to use forward momentum to get the bow into the unrelenting wind and waves. If she didn’t haul those sails down immediately, the mast might snap and break, putting a hole in the boat. Alice might sink.

  A sob followed and another “Please.”

  She yanked the jib sheet free and tied off the tiller to keep the boom centerline. Batting the flogging main out of her way, she struggled to keep her balance as Alice bucked in waves that seemed to slam from fore and aft. Each surge became the moment before disaster, each creak a drum roll. She scurried forward, released the main halyard and then grabbed fistfuls of sail, tucking the heavy new Dacron into the cockpit as it fell. The wind fought to catch the sail and toss it overboard.

  Why had she gotten rid of that old, floppy main? She bemoaned her wilted, easily handled, though badly stretched mainsail. The last ring settled on the boom. “And why on earth did I think I wanted to be out here alone? Fool. Fool.”

  She uncleated the jib’s halyard and yelled at the sail as it whipped across the foredeck, “I need help!” Then she reached for the downhaul. Her hands fumbled, found the two halyards, both jib sheets, the tail of some line. They did not find the one narrow nylon line attached to the head of the sail that would keep her from having to go out on that messy deck to haul it down. With the downhaul, she could handle the jib from where she stood, safely in the cockpit. It had to be here.

  But it wasn’t.

  “Okay, fine. Okay, fine!”

  It was all too much. Way too much. Hanging on to the mast, she watched Alice dance and slam as waves sprayed up and drenched her. Sam’s attention focused on the slippery deck, the flailing jib. She had to crawl over that deck, then balance on it, hanging out over the bowsprit while she yanked the sail down. The rain vied with the waves to see which could make her more miserable.

  “This...is...not...fun...any...more.” Her voice rasped out the words as she bent to hunt up sail ties. “You listening, wind?” She pushed the anchor line out of the way, trying to find the bucket where she normally kept the ties.

  “No sail ties either?” What had she done with the ones on the main? Oh, right. Handed them to Teo along with the cover and the jib bag.

  She squeezed shut her eyes. “Okay, get a grip.” She had to keep her head a
nd her balance, no matter how disgusted she was. She climbed up on the foredeck, one hand firmly on the mast until she had no choice but to let go, and then she crawled—very carefully—toward the bowsprit.

  The rough non-skid pricked her knees and bare ankles, but she pushed on until she was far enough out to reach the forestay. Leaning forward over the very slippery, very shiny, very narrow mahogany sprit, she grabbed hold with numbing fingers that didn’t want to fold over the skinny metal wire. She tried to focus on the stay and the sail so she wouldn’t see the dark waves below.

  One move at a time. Slowly...

  A wave curled under the bow, raising, then dropping the bowsprit, the deck, and Sam, before Alice plowed through the back of the next wave. Blinded by the water, Sam let go to wipe her eyes, but immediately felt herself slipping and lunged for the stay again.

  The water was so close. So cold. “Hold on, girl,” she told herself, hearing Rhea’s voice in the echo of her words. If only Rhea were with her now. Rhea would shake her fist at that wind.

  And know how to pray.

  Tears stung Sam’s eyes, but she told herself to concentrate and tugged hard on the sail with her free hand. “Now’d be a good time for one of those calm-the-seas miracles, God. You know, like back when your boys were out in the storm?”

  He must not have heard—or cared—because the wind continued to howl, and the rain pelted with renewed vigor. Trying not to feel slighted, Sam spat at dripping hair that flipped in her face. She brushed it ineffectually with her shoulder because she couldn’t spare a hand. “Soon as I get back, the hair goes.”

  She didn’t have enough hands to keep the sail from trailing overboard as she lowered it, or ties to keep it on the deck once she had it down. Improvising, she looped a section of the jib sheet over the bunched sail and knotted it to the Samson posts. Too cold and exhausted to worry about how well the knots would hold, she edged back to the cockpit. Her feet landed on heaped mainsail, squishing into the puddled water.