“Ryan, are you with me? Earth to Ryan.”
Jolted back to reality, he realized he was staring at the wall. Van was no longer standing next to him but had moved away and was flipping a tarpaulin up to expose an old oak cabinet sitting in the corner.
“Sorry, just taking it all in,” Ryan said, thinking quickly and gesturing with his hand. Picking up an old newspaper, he moved toward her, the unexpected, always slightly alien emotion of guilt washed over him. “You were saying? Wow, this all original?” he asked, looking at the pressed-penny machine. “This must be worth a lot.”
“All original, used right here in Nevis. And yes,” she said, laughing, “it still makes very pretty pressed pennies showing a carousel. I think it dates from about 1900. Some of the postcards show a carousel from that era. If you have some change, I can press one for you.”
“Sorry to disappoint, Ms. Hardy. Like most men, change is not one of the things I carry around in my pockets.”
“Your loss, Mr. Man. Maybe you’ll be more intrigued by this one.” She pulled the tarp off another machine, much smaller than the first. “Care to guess?”
Ryan puzzled over it a moment, then said, “I have no idea … parking meter?”
“Penny arcade. This one’s a mutoscope, an early type of motion-picture machine. It’s like a flip book. Here, take a look. It works.”
Ryan came close and put his eye up to the eyepiece while Van inserted a penny into the box and slowly began turning the side crank. As the pictures began to flip, Ryan chuckled, watching the old movie unfold.
“Wow,” he said, straightening up with a twinkle in his eyes, and laughing. “Bathing suits have come a ways in the last hundred years. I’m assuming this would have been risqué for the era?”
“Oh, quite. No self-respecting woman would have even watched such frolicking on the beach. This was probably in a men’s smoking area.”
“These are terrific. Where on earth did you find them? They’re in great shape.”
“Oh, yeah, perfect running order. They were found in someone’s attic in town. Her grandfather worked the arcade. When everything shut down suddenly, everything kind of went up for grabs. The locals probably carted off quite a bit more. How much of that survived is anyone’s guess. Nevis is full of untapped potential just waiting to be discovered.”
Ryan watched as Van lovingly replaced the tarps over the two arcade machines. “Van,” he said gently, “what’s your story? Somehow you seem out of place here in this little town that lives in its past.”
“Do I? I was born in Washington, D.C., and grew up in the Maryland suburbs. My father was born and raised here. I was happily married for quite a while. When my son died, my marriage tanked. I hung in there like a good little wife until my mother died. That was the final straw, my last emotional connection with anyone. Have you ever been in a room full of people and felt alone—totally, achingly alone? I’ve felt that way for so long …” Van closed her eyes and took a breath before continuing in a quieter voice, “After we separated I came to live here. If I can’t find peace here, then it isn’t to be found. End of story.” She looked at Ryan and shrugged.
Ryan looked at her with thoughtful eyes, and a little more guilt crept into his soul as he slammed the door on his momentary lapse into sexual fantasy. “I’m sorry about your son. I just can’t imagine …” He shook his head.
“No, you could never imagine. Even in your worst imaginings, you couldn’t. For months I cried every morning and every night in the car to and from work. Sometimes I just screamed. Friends would cheer me up, and as soon as I was out of sight the tears would flow once again. Have you ever suffered a deep loss?”
He shook his head. Unless, of course, he counted his entire life in general, but that wasn’t something he would discuss with a stranger, no matter how comfortable he felt.
“The grief came in rolling, burning physical waves. Nothing was important—or unimportant, for that matter. For months I existed in a deep pit, and from sunup to sundown, Richard and I never stopped moving, because to stop meant time to feel, and we couldn’t handle that. And all day and all night my mind just kept going, trying to rationalize the horror of it all. It consumed all my thoughts. I know what hell is like, and let me tell you, I never want to go back there.”
“I honestly can’t imagine. You know, when I first saw you daydreaming on the boardwalk I never would have thought you had such sadness in your life. I could tell you were a thoughtful person, but then later you were so happy.”
“After I cussed you out.”
“Right,” he said, laughing. “After the sailor mouth. I never would have guessed.”
“They tell me I look good for my age, but I’d gladly trade my smooth skin for a few laugh lines. Fate or happenstance—you never get over it. Some days you get through it, but you never get over it. Reminders come in the simplest ways: a song on the radio, a lookalike on the street, or, worst of all, a wedding invitation reminding you of what might have been. There are constant reminders of the wedding you will never see, the grandchild you will never hold, and the last hug you will never get. In the end, what it comes down to for me is faith and hope. I get through every day knowing that one day I will see him again. I know that without question. If I didn’t believe that, I would have lain down a long time ago and not gotten up again.”
Van reached up and clasped the small silver medal on the chain around her neck and closed her eyes, and still there were no tears.
“Religious medal?”
“James’s confirmation saint. Do you know the story of St. Christopher? He ferried travelers across a dangerous stretch of river. One of them was the Christ child in disguise.” She tucked her chin in and studied the figure on the medal. “I pray every night that St. Christopher recognized him and ferried him to safety on the other side.”
They both sat in silence, she with nothing more to say and he with nothing that he could say. The thought of drowning filled Ryan with undeniable terror, and he began to sweat.
Van looked across the room at everything she had collected. “I love this place. Nevis represents everything my family has ever been. I have roots here. I’m not ready to let go of my past. I don’t want it to be like names on a family tree, on a piece of paper, that have no story—just names, no longer real people.”
“You know, Van, it’s not always good to live in the past. Sometimes we have to let things go, and move on. That doesn’t mean we forget. Memories can be beautiful. Everything we experience becomes a part of us, shapes us. But we also have to embrace the here and now of life and let it lead us into joyful things—maybe kicking and screaming, but getting us there nonetheless.
He sat down on an old steamer trunk. “Did you ever wish some new type of commerce would move into the area and revitalize Nevis? Instead of just scraping along, maybe these people should sell their land and move somewhere their families would have more of a future. I’m sure someone would come in and make offers if they knew locals would sell. In fact, people wouldn’t even have to move away. Just imagine the jobs and employment a big project would bring into the area. It’d be like the railroad all over again—a renaissance.”
Van drew back from Ryan until they were eye to eye. “Whoa, don’t get carried away,” she said. “People here don’t want an influx of newcomers. They like their own ways, some of them handed down, father to son, since colonial times. They’re happy here. It’s slow and good. Opportunities here are different from those in cities like New York. Not everyone has to be a doctor or a lawyer or an investment banker to be somebody. When you grow up along the water you have an appreciation and respect for nature, and you see life a little differently. Only an outsider like you would see living in Nevis as a negative.”
“‘Whoa’ is right. I surrender,” Ryan said, backing away from her with his palms up. He laughed. “I didn’t mean to get you all worked up, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything negative. Dang, you’re feisty. It was just a passing thought. Peace,
okay? You’re probably right: locals know best.” Taken aback by Van’s hostility, he decided to listen more and talk a little less. He could feel the conversation sliding off the tracks. Her blessing wasn’t essential to getting his job done, but it would have made things a lot easier.
“You don’t understand, but that’s okay,” she said. “I can’t let go. It’s all I value and all I have. I don’t want my son to be just a memory. He existed and he still exists … somewhere.” Her head was down, and she played with her fingers as she blinked back the tears that she could feel threatening to tumble down her face.
Ryan moved closer but did not go to her. He never quite knew what to do when a woman cried. And this time especially, it threw him for a loss. If all went as planned, as he hoped, Nevis would soon cease to exist. But he had never had to put a face on those plans until now. He didn’t like what he was seeing or feeling, and that was a revelation. He didn’t know Van well enough to reach out, hold and comfort her, even though he wanted that. He could only stand here awkwardly and wait out her emotions, hoping she could get herself together. He shoved his hands into his pockets, then just as quickly pulled a hand back out and reached out to Van, putting a small coin in her hand. “Here. You’re religious.”
Van picked the small guardian angel coin out of her palm.
“I, uh, always carry that in my pocket. I thought you could use it right now. Sorry, I’ve offended you.”
She looked up with wide eyes that bored into his as if she were trying to read his soul. He flinched and looked away, embarrassed.
“I gave my son one of these,” she said. “He had it in his pocket when he died. I found that so comforting. While I was searching for meaning in his death, I knew that he had found meaning in his life. He had faith. I must have bought a zillion of these after he died. I used to give them out to everyone. I can’t tell you how many people told me that the angel coin came to them at a time in their life when they really needed it. This is such a special coin.”
“I could impress you by saying my reason for having it was the same, but I have to admit, it was an impulse buy—just a lucky talisman.”
“I don’t think God would have a problem with that. You’re not religious, I take it?”
“Not particularly. More superstitious than religious.”
“Thank you, but you should take it back. I have a few. Maybe the day when you need it hasn’t come yet. And then, hopefully, you’ll see it more like I do.”
Ryan shrugged and took it back. He had no idea why he had bought it. It just seemed to call to him.
They took their time walking back to Van’s house. Their relationship was easy, and it would have been apparent to a casual observer that they were becoming close and falling fast. A casual step too close, and their hands bumped—and clasped. When neither let go, Van looked up at Ryan with a smile he couldn’t resist, and he pulled her close to his side, where she remained for the rest of the walk back. It was a comforting embrace.
Ryan walked her up the steps of her porch, where he reluctantly released her. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share so much with me, Van,” he said. “There is something irresistible about you.” He hesitated and looked down at his shoes a moment. “I hope my saying that doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I would give a penny for your thoughts, if I had one. But somehow, that feels like I’m shortchanging you, so what would you say to a Yankee dime?” And with that, he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips.
She pulled back in surprise, speechless.
“I looked up ‘Yankee dime,’” he said, grinning. “That’s ten times better than a penny!”
She laughed, and he could tell that she liked it. He stood staring at her for several seconds too long, then turned and walked away across the yard.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NO DEED GOES UNPUNISHED
Ryan met Hector at the courthouse to take care of business. They both were good at what they did, but not good together. It was always a game, a race, to see who could best the other and still come out looking pretty. Usually, it was Ryan, and Hector hated him for it. Hector always seemed to have Ryan’s back, but as Ryan well knew, he usually had a knife in his hand.
Hector Young and Associates was the type of company that flew under the radar. For appearance’s sake, it appeared to be a solid return on stockholder investments, if you could ever manage to invest. It was heavily controlled by an old-boy network, the kind that went to discreet, members-only places like the Dandy Club or Park House and never drew attention by its flashiness. HYA hired only the brightest, most qualified candidates, mostly lawyers. There were lawyers to steer the company around trouble as it cruised the shady side of corporate greed, and lawyers to get it out of trouble if someone screwed up. Lawyers screwed up only once at HYA. To the public eye, it was a pillar of the community, but this was just the gleaming white tip of the iceberg. Below the surface floated the dirty, bloated ice that could sink ships with utter indifference.
HYA usually got what it wanted, and what it wanted right now was land—Nevis land. Nevis was a rich resource, though not in the usual minerals, oil, or agriculture. Instead, it was rich in location. Strategically situated on the Chesapeake Bay, it had easy access to the sea—a sea too vast to be effectively monitored or patrolled by authorities.
Hector Young and Associates liked to do its own research, never accepting anything at face value. That was what made it so successful. One didn’t achieve success like that by taking anything for granted, especially the competition. Killer instinct was key. HYA’s first order of business was to find out whom it was dealing with—who owned the land.
Ryan and Hector spent the better part of the first afternoon scouring the land records for the surrounding area. Both were lawyers, and Ryan was particularly well schooled on land records in the region. The Nevis courthouse should have what they needed. The problem was that over the preceding 350 years, no one had developed a system to keep track of all the records. Shelves and boxes overflowed with liber and folio.
“Do you think we might get some help from Lilly Librarian over there?” Hector asked Ryan.
“Probably not,” Ryan said. “She said land records could be anywhere in here. Any more info than that, and I suspect we’re on our own. She’s busy lining her pencils up straight.” The librarian briefly looked in their direction and then, satisfied that all was well, went back to straightening the front desk.
Hector took a step back and ran his gaze up and down box upon box of all manner of written documents, each packed box an unlabeled surprise.
“No index for all this?” he muttered. “Shit, we could be here forever!”
“You could always go home and stay out of my way.”
“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” Hector said, pulling down a cardboard file box. The top slid off, and it began to rain papers down on his head and out across the little room, covering him in the musty smell of crackly old paper.
“Shit.”
Ryan laughed. “Suit yourself,” he muttered.
They spent the next few days pulling down and sifting through every box and piece of paper they could find, never quite sure what they were looking for, knowing only that they hadn’t found it yet. Working at separate ends of the room seemed to work best, the distance between them lowering the aggravation factor. For all his faults, Hector was shrewd, sharp, and speedy, reviewing documents much faster than Ryan could get through them. And in that respect, Ryan was glad to have him helping. Hector, in turn, was happy as long as he knew where Ryan was and what he was doing.
Ryan couldn’t concentrate, because his mind kept returning to Van. More than once he had to backtrack and remind himself of the task at hand. He had been with plenty of women. But this one was different: strong minded and smart. For once, the attraction wasn’t entirely about lust. Not that she didn’t have the whole package. He could get lost in those big brown eyes, and never mind how interested he was in the land—he found her topography far more
intriguing. Still, she got under his skin. Ryan wiped his sweaty forehead and took a long breath to calm the guilty feeling beginning to roil in his stomach. Damn it, that woman! Nagging emotions and disconnected thoughts floated around in him, weightless and rootless. He didn’t need any more conflict in his life than he already had. He should let Hector handle her.
He looked up to find Hector watching him, as if keenly fascinated by something in Ryan’s demeanor. Jesus help me, Ryan thought as he turned his face away. This was a weakness he couldn’t afford. He had to cut the bonds that were beginning to form between him and Vanessa Hardy.
On the fifth day of their search, a long, low, soft whistle drew Hector’s attention back across the room. He looked up to see Ryan waving a piece of paper at him. Ryan Thomas was first, once again.
“Come have a look,” Ryan said. “This is interesting—I think I’ve found something.” He handed Hector a yellowed paper, edges in tatters but still clearly readable.
“What is it?”
“My friend, I think we just hit pay dirt, if you’ll excuse the pun. That paper was shoved into the middle of this ledger volume. It doesn’t seem to relate to anything else in the box so far. It’s a colonial ground lease from the 1720s. I’ve seen these before. The owner of the property leased it to another party for ninety-nine years, renewable in perpetuity. These were pretty common in Maryland and Pennsylvania. In exchange for the lease, the lessee uses the land, builds on it, or whatever in exchange for a yearly payment to the lessor. Guess where this land is located?”
“Nassau?”
“Yeah, so you need to go book a flight. But no,” Ryan said, proceeding past the sarcasm. “This is a lease agreement that looks like it’s for the land that now makes up most of Nevis. Are you tracking with me?” he said, noting Hector’s blank expression. “Damn, it means no one in Nevis owns the land they’re living on. They’re all leasing it.” He grinned at Hector. “Shit, I’ll bet my firstborn that no one here even knows it. The yearly lease payments are probably rolled into the local tax bill. If we look hard enough, we can probably verify that in the tax ledgers for this time period.”
The Pickle Boat House Page 6