by Liz Adair
As they at last approached St. Mary’s Island, people began filing down to the car deck, and Cassie stood to go, too, carrying the crossword puzzle with her. From her vantage point at the front of the ferry as they pulled into the dock, she could see that the town of Shingle Bay was quite small. As she drove off the ferry and up the hill, it was obvious that tourism was a big economic factor and equally obvious that tourist season was almost over. Several restaurants and gift shops, an ice cream parlor, and a T-shirt factory were all closed for the season, and there were few pedestrians on the street.
As instructed by Mr. Jensen, at the top of the hill she turned right and drove through dense forest for ten miles, only occasionally catching a glimpse of the sea. After checking the odometer several times to make sure she hadn’t passed it, Cassie finally came to a sign that had an arrow pointing to the Quarry Harbor turnoff. Heaving a sigh of relief, she drove slowly along the winding road as it descended, passing the rock quarry for which the town was named. Immediately after the rock works, the road dropped sharply, giving a view of Quarry Harbor at sunset.
The town was small, with a population of perhaps five hundred. It consisted of two horseshoe-shaped roads, one slightly higher than the other, surrounding the harbor. There were houses on both sides of the high road and houses on the uphill side of the low road, all very much in the style of turn-of-the-century Washington when there was plenty of cheap lumber. They had high-pitched shake roofs, and most were painted white, with windows, fascia board, and gingerbread in a contrasting hue. All had the luscious green growth around them, grass, late blooming flowers, and shrubbery that Cassie had begun to expect. There was an added element here though—a tall, stately tree whose broad leaves were still shiny green and whose bark was pied in umber and brown, looking like a tattered garment falling away in shreds.
At the north end of the horseshoe sat the business district, such as it was, consisting of the Hickcox Hotel, the Hickcox store, and a boatworks.
There were no houses on the water. The whole of the harbor was taken with the docks and piers of the marina, which had slips for two hundred boats.
Cassie pulled off the road so she could take it all in. The village was certainly quaint, stacked as it was on the hillside. The forest of masts in the marina and the boats that were sitting at anchor farther out only added to its charm. Mare’s tails high in the sky turned pink with the setting sun, and the water made spun-sugar reflections as the light was fading. “I’ve got to buy a camera,” Cassie muttered.
Putting the car in gear, she descended to the lower road and turned right, driving a ways and then dead-ending in an almost-empty parking lot. The hotel was an imposing two stories with a verandah wrapping three sides on both the main and second floor. It was actually built on the same elevation as the houses on the upper street, and as the shadows deepened, the green of the gardens below falling down to the shoreline became indistinct and lent the impression of a great white mansion hovering in the air.
As Cassie watched, low lights came on all along the walkways, illuminating the stairs that had to be climbed to reach the hotel. Wondering who laid out such inefficiency, Cassie hoped there might be a bellhop who would fetch her luggage, so she gathered her purse and newspaper and made the climb.
Entering the hotel lobby was like going back in time. Everything, from the heavy wooden beams overhead to the wide plank floors to the figured carpet runners to windows with the odd imperfect pane, spoke of an era of artisans. After the chill of the evening, the real log fire burning briskly in the lobby fireplace was welcome. Cassie rang the bell at the registration desk, and while waiting for the clerk, she read the history of the Hickcox Hotel that was framed and hanging on the wall.
The hotel had been built in 1886 by Raymond Hickcox, who owned the quarry above the town. In a time when water was the cheapest transportation, granite from Quarry Harbor supplied the building needs for all the growing cities of Puget Sound. With the proliferation of railroads, the economic edge was lost, and the quarry shipped its last load of granite in 1930. The Hickcox family still controlled the destiny of Quarry Harbor, because they owned all the land in the town and surrounding area. Determined that the village retain its distinctive charm and not become a sprawling tourist Mecca catering only to the rich and famous, the family continued to operate the hotel and store and leased out the old, company-built houses on ninety-nine-year contracts.
Cassie looked around the deserted lobby and rang the bell again. A young woman came around the corner from the direction of the dining room, wiping her hands on a waiter’s apron. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to make you wait.” Stepping behind the counter, she asked, “How may I help you?”
“I’d like a room. And do you have someone who can fetch my luggage?”
“I do,” the young lady assured her with a smile. The tag on her blouse identified her as Patty. Of medium height and build, she had short brown hair that turned up at the ends and curled charmingly around her ears. “Here you go,” she said, giving Cassie a paper to sign. “You are in 216. That’s close to the bathroom.”
“Close to the bathroom?” Cassie frowned.
“There are no private baths,” Patty explained.
“You’re kidding!”
“Yes. The Hickcox family wanted to retain the flavor of the late eighteen hundreds, when the hotel was built. So, when any updates were made, it never included private baths. We’re equal opportunity, though. Everyone has to walk.” There was no apology, just another smile. Cassie hesitated a moment before signing. Reflecting that there was no alternative and that she could rough it for a couple of nights, she put her signature to the paper.
Patty gave Cassie a heavy brass key. “Elevator is right over there. When you get out, turn right. I’ll make sure your luggage is brought right up. Which car?”
Cassie gave her the keys. “It’s the blue Sable. I parked as close as I could get.”
Riding the smooth and quiet elevator, Cassie judged that this must have been one of the acceptable updates. When the doors opened, she turned right as directed and walked down a hall that had a decided list to the left and a floor that creaked. “Part of the charm,” she muttered as she looked for Room 216.
The key turned easily in the lock, and as the door swung silently open Cassie turned on the light. The room was large and well-appointed in an old fashioned way, with a braided rug on the floor and a small writing table by the window. A dresser sat opposite a high double bed graced with mahogany head- and foot-boards. Instead of a closet, there was a tall wooden wardrobe. And on the west wall, French doors opened out onto the second floor verandah.
There was a knock at the door, and when Cassie opened it, Patty was there with her suitcase. “I didn’t mean for you to carry it up the stairs,” she said, fishing in her pocket for a tip.
“Been doing it all summer,” Patty said, wheeling it in. “Thank you very much. You’re very generous. Here are your car keys.” Pausing at the door, she said, “Do you want to have something to eat tonight?”
“Yes, I would.”
“The dining room closes at eight-thirty. You’ve got plenty of time, but don’t be any later than that, or we can’t serve you.”
“I want to make a phone call. When I’ve done that, I’ll be right down.”
“All right! I’ll see you then.” Patty flashed a smile and closed the door behind her.
Cassie heard the floorboards creak as Patty walked toward the elevator. Taking out her cell phone and the paper on which she had written the Edmonds First Ward telephone number, she began dialing, only to find that there was no service in this area. “Oh, no! And I told everyone I would have my cell phone on,” she groaned. “Well, I’ll just have to get my messages every day.”
Picking up the phone on the writing table, she asked for an outside line. As she dug in her purse for her phone card, she came upon the little red New Testament that Punky had given her. Glad for the connection with a friend, she
put it on the table. With phone card in hand, she went through the tedious process of punching in numbers and then listened to the burring tone as the telephone rang in an empty bishop’s office.
Sighing, Cassie hung up the phone and went down to the dining room, where white tablecloths and flickering candles lent a gracious ambience. Two couples were lingering over coffee, but there was no sign of a hostess. Cassie paused at the entrance, and moments later Patty appeared.
“Here you are,” she said, with a confident smile. “Would you like to sit near the window? Follow me, please.”
Patty recommended the rockfish, saying it was fresh and quick. She was right. It was fresh, quick, and excellent. While she ate, Cassie gazed out the window at the running lights of fishing boats coming in to dock in the dark. Farther out in the harbor, the mooring lights of sailboats sitting at anchor shimmered in the water. It was beyond picturesque; it was something that needed to be shared, and Cassie felt very alone.
After finishing her meal, Cassie left a generous tip for Patty and went upstairs to get ready for bed. As she unpacked her suitcase, she found the little red Muppet, her gift from Ricky Torres. With it sitting on the table next to the New Testament, she felt less lonely.
She was in her pajamas before she remembered she had to make the trip down the hall. Using the robe provided by the hotel (cheaper than building a private bath, she thought), Cassie padded to the bathroom and back with a towel and her toothbrush in hand. As she set her watch on the table, she spied the New Testament with the Gideon logo on the front. Opening it randomly, she read the first complete verse at the top of a page. It was Matthew 4:19, where Jesus says “I will make you fishers of men.” Thinking that was appropriate for the locale, she knelt by her bedside and prayed that she would find the answers to her questions.
The sheets were damp and cold as she climbed into bed, and as she lay shivering, she ached with loneliness as she remembered how Chan had warmed her bed during those few chilly desert nights.
They had spent four nights sleeping together as man and wife. His shoulder had been her pillow and his arm her cradle. Cassie lay listening to the creaking timbers of the old hotel, and tears slid down her face as she grieved for the empty place beside her that never again would hold the warm body of her husband.
It doesn’t matter what answers I find, she thought. Nothing will bring Chan back.
It was in that twilight between wakefulness and sleep that she wondered how she could find any answers when she didn’t even know the questions.
16
Cassie awoke to a different world. The enchanting scene from the night before had disappeared, and in its place was a milky white blur. The diaphanous, slowly swirling strands of fog that lay over the harbor reminded Cassie of the batting that the older sisters had spread out over quilting frames the last enrichment night as they tried to teach the younger women that ancient art.
Dressed in her navy slacks, matching knit top, and black high-heeled boots, Cassie went down to breakfast. As she sat at her table of the night before, she automatically wiped the window with her napkin and then realized that it was the harbor that was foggy, not the glass. For someone used to the clear air of the desert, this inability to see for miles was discomfiting, and Cassie resolved to finish her business and get back to Arizona.
Patty, perky as ever, brought her the check.
“I didn’t expect to see you this morning,” Cassie said as she signed the ticket.
“I’m covering for Irene,” Patty said. “She’s out today.”
“Well, tell me, Patty. Where will I find the harbormaster?”
“His place is right over . . .” Patty pointed, but realized that the harbormaster’s office couldn’t be seen.
“It sure is foggy,” Cassie commented.
Patty laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t call this foggy. This is misty. When it’s foggy you can’t see five feet in front of you. See how we can make out the marina and the first row of boats? If it was foggy, you wouldn’t be able to see past the porch. No, what you’ve got out there is mist.”
Cassie laughed. “All right. I’ll accept that. But where is the harbormaster’s office?”
“Come over to the desk and I’ll show you.” Patty led the way to the lobby and pointed to a site map under the glass. “Here we are. Go down the stairs and follow the path around, and that will take you to the pier. See? You can see it right down there.”
Cassie’s eyes followed where she pointed, and she nodded.
“Okay. Now, you want to go down the first set of stairs to the left off that pier, and you’ll be on A Dock. It runs along like that. Go down about halfway, and you’ll see a little building. It’s a houseboat tied up to A dock. That’s the harbormaster’s place. He lives there, but he also has an office in front.”
“Will he be open yet?”
“He’s always open. He’s got a ship’s bell hanging just outside the office door. If he’s not there, ring it, and he’ll get there as soon as he can.”
“Thank you very much.” Cassie turned to go.
“Uh, are you going out like that?” Patty asked. “No jacket? Not even long sleeves?”
“It’s all I brought,” Cassie said. “I didn’t anticipate fog or mist or whatever that is outside.”
“Well, you have to have a jacket or you’ll catch your death. Let me loan you one.”
Cassie looked reluctant, and Patty urged, “You can get one at the store and return mine.”
“Where is the store?”
Patty pointed to the site map again. “Just continue along the path. Go past the marina entrance, and it’s right here.” She pointed out the window. “You can just barely see it over there. See?”
Cassie nodded. “That’s not too far. If I walk briskly, I’ll stay warm, and I won’t trouble you for the loan of a jacket. Thanks for the information.”
“See you later,” Patty called. “Have a nice day.”
The moment Cassie stepped outside she was sorry she hadn’t accepted Patty’s offer of a jacket. It’s not that it was so cold, but the dampness clung to her skin, and a fitful breeze made it seem even cooler than it was. When she came to a set of stairs, she found the handrail was wet, and she rubbed her hands together to dry them as soon as she was off the steps. “Listen to the locals,” she admonished herself. “Borrow the jacket.”
Walking more rapidly, she soon came to the store and pushed through the swinging, half-glass door to find the same worn-plank floor, the same rough-hewn beams in the ceiling, the same century-old glass in the windows. Instead of a fireplace, there was a large oil stove in the middle of the store, with several weather-beaten men sitting nearby. Their conversation stopped when Cassie entered, and they stared in concert.
Finally, one of the men spoke. “Can I help you?”
“Patty, up at the hotel, said I could get a jacket here.”
“End of the aisle. You can’t miss ’em.”
Cassie headed in the direction he indicated and found a rack of outerwear. Selecting a soft navy fleece, she tried it on. It was a bit big, but she found if she cuffed the sleeves, it would do. Wearing it up to the check-out counter, she was amused at the way conversation died as she approached. Pulling off the tags, she gave them to the man who had come to the counter. “I’ll wear it,” she said.
“Where are you from?” the clerk asked, taking her money.
“Arizona. It was warm there when I left.”
“This isn’t cold. The mist will burn off in a bit and the sun will be out. Should be a beautiful day.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Cassie said, smiling as she turned to leave. Stepping out into the chilly morning air, she began to believe, as the sun was now shining dimly through, and she could definitely see farther than she could a while before. She jammed her hands into the pockets of the fleece, walked back down to the pier, and followed Patty’s directions to Dock A. Unaware of how out-of-place the elegant cut of her trousers and her smart-looking boots were in th
is setting, Cassie smiled and said good morning to a young man working on his boat. He didn’t respond but followed her with his eyes. He would never believe that the sophisticated-looking, oversized fleece that hung so stylishly on her tall, slender frame came from the Hickcox General Store and was identical to the tattered one he himself wore.
Cassie found the harbormaster’s place. She contemplated the ship’s bell, then decided instead to knock on the door. It was opened by a tall, lanky fellow with a shock of gray hair and piercing blue eyes that matched his blue plaid shirt. He looked her over wordlessly and waited to hear her errand.
Undismayed by this cool reception, Cassie called up the people skills that had served her so well as she dealt with difficult doctors and hospital managers. Smiling, she extended her hand. “Good morning. I’m Cassie Jordain, and I’d like your help in locating a boat that my late husband bought through Jensen and Sjoding. It was delivered here last week, I believe.”
There was a noticeable pause before the older man spoke. “That would be Red Swan,” he said finally. “She’s down on B Float. Other side of the pier. Slip number three. Next to the last one on the east side. Do you want me to take you there?”
“Is B Float different from B Dock?”
“It’s the same thing. Float, dock, it’s the same thing. Do you want me to show you?”
“No. I can find it.” Again Cassie summoned up a smile, in spite of the harbormaster’s icy reception. “Thank you.”
Cassie retraced her steps. As she passed the young man fixing his boat, he seemed to have found his voice. Tall and good looking, he had chiseled features and a lady-killing smile, which he flashed now as he looked up, wrench in hand, and said, “’Morning.”
Somehow that made up for the harbormaster’s frigid manner, and Cassie replied to his greeting. “I can almost see the sun,” she added, pointing up as she continued walking.
“It’s burning off pretty quick,” he observed. “Should be a beautiful day.”