The Mist of Quarry Harbor

by Liz Adair

  “It’s a sea anchor.”

  Cassie looked up, and her heart sank. Standing in the doorway was the net mender of yesterday, and though the five o’clock shadow was gone, his eyes were still flint-hard. The scar on his cheek was a ragged patch of shiny skin.

  Cassie could only stare stupidly and repeat, “Sea anchor?”

  He came to where she stood and took it from her. The cabin seemed very crowded all of a sudden. “If you were to lose power in a heavy sea, you throw this over,” he said, “attached to a couple hundred feet of line. It’s like a parachute, and it does two things.” His voice was impersonal, and Cassie got the impression that he was used to giving instructions. “First, it keeps you from drifting close to shore. As long as you’re in deep water, you’re relatively safe. That is, if you don’t broach, and a wave coming broad on your beam doesn’t capsize you. That’s the other thing the sea anchor does: it keeps your bow into the waves. She’ll ride out the roughest sea, if you just keep her into the wind.”

  Cassie moved aft to stand by the open door, but her interest was piqued as she watched him open the cupboard and put the anchor back on its coiled-up-rope nest. His voice had held something else as he talked about Red Swan’s ability to ride out a storm. Was it pride? Affection? Admiration?

  “I’m Cassie Jordain,” she said. “Did Mr. Knuteson explain that I’d like you to take me out?” She blushed and added quickly, “In the boat?”

  “Keys?” Impersonal voice. No small talk. He held out his hand.

  Fumbling in her pocket, Cassie felt for her key ring. “The ignition key is the one with—”

  “I know which one it is,” he assured her brusquely, waiting for her to bring the keys.

  Cassie hesitated before walking the five paces to where she could put them in his hand. Then she turned on her heel and went out to the back deck, wondering if this had been such a good idea. I wore my boat-friendly shoes, she thought. It’s too bad I didn’t get a landlubber-friendly pilot.

  The engine rumbled to life, and she was just about to announce that she had decided not to go after all, when she saw Mr. Knuteson coming down B Float toward her. “I see Aaron got here all right,” he called. “Good. I’ll cast off for you.” Undoing the bow line, he handed it to Cassie and then untied the stern line and tossed it over the gunwale. “Have a nice run!”

  With some misgivings, Cassie watched the dock slide away as the Red Swan backed out and around. Then they were on their way, with Cassie resting her folded arms on the top of the house as they idled slowly through the marina and out into the harbor.

  Looking through the door, she could see the broad shoulders of her pilot as he sat ramrod straight at the helm. Daunted by his flinty manner, but determined not to be intimidated, she marched into the cabin and stood to the side of him. “I introduced myself,” she said, “but you didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Aaron Fletcher.” He didn’t take his eyes off the horizon.

  Cassie’s voice was studiously polite. “Hello, Mr. Fletcher. Thank you for taking me out.” With that, she walked to the back deck and took her seat on the bench.

  She was surprised to see Aaron Fletcher emerge moments later, carrying something blue with straps dangling from it. He handed it to Cassie and told her to put it on.

  “What is it?” she asked, holding it up with a puzzled expression.

  “It’s a life vest. A PFD. Personal flotation device. It’s perfectly comfortable to wear, and the minute you hit the water, it inflates. Put it on.” He turned to go back into the cabin.

  “I notice you’re not wearing one,” Cassie said.

  He ignored her, returning to his post without a backward glance.

  Feeling a little rebellious at his high-handed approach, Cassie nevertheless slipped the life vest over her head and buckled it around her waist. She found it surprisingly unrestricting, and her rational nature surfaced. He probably feels responsible for me, she thought, determined not to let ill feelings spoil the trip.

  In that she was successful. The trick was to not look into the cabin, and that was accomplished by turning sideways and looking off to either side of the smooth-running craft. Cassie leaned her arms on the gunwale and rested her head on her hands and felt herself becoming in tune with the boat. She hummed the note that the engine was sounding and wondered what it was. B flat? Raising her voice a third, she hummed a harmony to the engine’s note. Then she took a deep breath of salty air and sighed, wondering how she, a citizen of the desert who embraced the grays and browns and reds, could be so at home in this world of blue and green. She remembered Bishop Harris’s voice saying, “You’re where you need to be.” Maybe the healing powers of the sea were what she needed right now. Maybe it was a blessing that the ferry had run aground.

  Suddenly, her reverie was broken by a cracking sound, like a gunshot, and a sheet of frigid salt water hit her with such force that she came up drenched and gasping for air. There was an ominous hissing sound close by, and Cassie wheeled around, frantically searching for the sound, afraid something on the boat may have broken loose. The gunshot sounded again, and she was hit with another spray of water as she stood next to the cabin.

  Sputtering and wiping her eyes, she heard another alien sound. It was Aaron Fletcher laughing. When she could finally see, she found that he was standing on the deck with her, and he was pointing off the starboard stern. Cassie followed with her eyes and her jaw dropped to see a pod of orcas jumping and breaching, not thirty feet away.

  They stood together and watched the huge black and white animals leap and dive, leap and dive. There must have been six of them, though it was hard to keep count. Two of them were smaller than the others, but they leapt as gallantly as the rest.

  Suddenly the largest one made a tremendous leap and, instead of diving down headfirst, turned on its back in a five-ton cannonball that launched a wall of water in all directions.

  “Watch out!” Aaron called, and immediately they were showered again, though it was nothing like the first time. He laughed, and Cassie couldn’t help but laugh, too.

  “It looks like your life vest inflated,” he said. “I told you it would inflate when it got wet, but I thought you’d be overboard when it happened.”

  Cassie suddenly stopped laughing. “When it happened?”

  “No. No. I meant if it happened. Look, they’re leaving.”

  The leaping had stopped, and now the pied behemoths could be seen surfacing and curling over like porpoises as they distanced themselves from the Red Swan.

  “I’m sorry to see them go,” Aaron said. “It’s a privilege to happen on them like that. Oh, people pay money to go whale watching. They track them down like prey. But this . . . this is a gift.” He turned and smiled at Cassie. He had the same rectangular creases when he smiled as Chan, and something tugged at Cassie’s heart.

  She smiled back. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Let’s get that PFD off and rearm it.” He helped her lift the life vest off over her head. “Are you all right in those wet clothes? Do you want to change?”

  “No. They’ll soon dry here in the sun.”

  “If you get chilly, let me know.” Opening a cupboard just inside the cabin door, Aaron opened a box and took out a small metal canister, which he exchanged for the spent CO2 cartridge on the life vest. Pocketing the dead one, he handed the vest back to Cassie.

  “There you go.” He nodded to her and went back into the cabin.

  Cassie put on the vest and resumed her perch on the bench in the stern. She heard the gears engage and saw the V-shaped line of the wake as they began to make way. She no longer avoided the sight of her pilot, but glanced every now and then at the straight back and square shoulders of the man sitting at the helm.

  The rest of the trip was uneventful. Cassie’s clothes dried as they motored along, and she took a keen interest in all she saw along the coast, occasionally poking her head in the cabin to ask a question. “What is the name of that tree with the raggedy b
ark? Is that a bald eagle in the tree? Are those seals lying up on those rocks?” When they finally turned back toward Quarry Harbor, Cassie was sorry to see it end. As they approached the slip, she put out the bumpers and stood on the gunwale with the bow line in her hand. Jumping off, she tied up to the forward cleat and came back to do the stern line.

  Aaron stepped out of the cabin and was surprised to see that she had done the deckhand duties. He stared hard at her for a moment and then seemed to recollect himself. “Thank you,” he said and closed the cabin door. There was no return of that smile.

  “Don’t lock it,” Cassie cautioned. “I’ve got to put my life vest away.”

  He nodded and opened the door again.

  “I’ve come off without my purse,” Cassie apologized. “Will you come up to the hotel with me, and I can pay you there?”

  “Forget it. The orcas paid my fee.”

  Cassie smiled, remembering. “They were beautiful, weren’t they?” She extended her hand. “Well, Mr. Fletcher, thank you. Would you be interested in taking me out again tomorrow?”

  He shook her hand. He had a strong, rough grasp. “No,” he said in answer to her question.

  Cassie waited a moment for an explanation, an excuse. None was offered.

  “Oh. Well . . . then, thank you again.”

  He handed her the keys, touched the brim of his blue wool hat, stepped onto the dock, and walked away without a backward look.

  Feeling rebuffed, Cassie watched his retreat through narrowed eyes. Then she took off her life vest and stowed it in the cupboard inside. Reluctant to leave, she sat in the captain’s chair, looking at the dials and gauges and testing the feel of the helm. When her stomach began growling, she realized it had been a long time since the bowl of oatmeal, so she locked up and climbed onto the dock, wondering if Mr. Knuteson knew someone else who would be willing to pilot the Red Swan tomorrow.

  19

  Back at the hotel, Cassie looked at the clock and decided to snack on a granola bar and a glass of milk, since it was so close to dinnertime. In her room, she noticed that the housekeeper had been there. The bed was made, and Elmo sat propped up against a pillow. As she set the glass of milk on the writing desk, she saw the “to do” list that she made the night before. Was it just last night? Sitting in the chair, she picked up the list, but took a moment to look out the window to check on the Red Swan. As she did, she was surprised to see Aaron Fletcher pulling away from B Dock in an open boat. His cap was drawn low over his eyes, and he was sitting in the stern with his hand on the tiller of an outboard motor. Still feeling the coldness of his parting, Cassie turned her back to the window and studied her list.

  She would put off the Border Patrol quest until Monday; that was something that really needed to be done in person. By then the ferry would surely be back in service, and she could visit the Seattle offices. It was probably too early in the day to find the Edmonds bishop at home, but maybe his wife could help. Fishing her phone card out of her purse, she punched in the numbers and waited for the ring on the other end. One, two, three. She was just about to hang up when a nasal voice said, “Heddo?”

  “Hello?” Cassie wasn’t sure if this person was speaking English. “I’m calling for Bishop Roberts. Is he in?”

  “Dis ids Bishob Roberds. Excude me. I have a code.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to call when you’re sick,” Cassie apologized. “This is Cassie Jordain. I just want to find out if you remember Chan Jordain. Chandler Jordain was his name. He used to live in your ward.”

  “I’b dot odly a dew bishob, I’b dew id dis ward.” He sneezed, and Cassie could hear him blowing his nose. “I dodt rebeber ady Chad Jordaid.”

  “You’re a new bishop? And new to the ward, too? Oh, I see.” Brightening, Cassie asked, “Well, can you give me the phone number of the old bishop? I can call him.”

  “Heed’s in Rubadia od a bission.”

  “Rumania?”

  “Yeds. Rubadia. Od a bission.”

  Cassie stifled a giggle and tried once more. “Is there anyone who has been in the ward for a while that could tell me about Chandler Jordain?”

  “The bebbershib clerg could. Id’s Brudder Binor.”

  “Brother Binor? What is his number?”

  “Binor. Brudder Binor. Ebb eye edd o are. Binor.”

  Cassie thought a minute. “Minor? Brother Minor?”

  “Yeds. Binor. Her’ds his nubber.”

  Cassie was able to write the numerals on the first try, and after warmly thanking Bishop Roberts and wishing him a speedy recovery, she disconnected and dialed the membership clerk. The phone on the other end rang five times before the answering machine picked up. Cassie left a message about the information she was seeking and said she would call back later that evening.

  While munching on the granola bar, she dialed her cell phone mailbox. Punky had called, saying dress rehearsal went without a hitch, which made her just know that opening night would be a disaster. Ben came backstage afterward, she said, and everyone was asking her, who’s the hunk? She said she’d report in again Saturday, but she wished they could talk. This leaving a message was for the birds.

  There was also a message from Ben. He said they knew the make of the car that hit Chan. There had been bits of paint on his belt buckle and on the rivets in his Levi’s. It might take a while, but they had something to go on now.

  He said he didn’t want Cassie to think he was saying more than he was, but he missed her. “Punky misses you, too,” he added.

  Cassie deleted the call and then used her phone card to dial Ben’s cell phone. “Come on, Ben, pick up,” she whispered, but it clicked over to his message service. “Listen, Ben,” she said. “I got your call about the car. I remembered that someone came to see Chan in a dark sedan. I don’t know if it’s the same person, or what, but the car he was driving had an El Cheapo Rentals decal on the back bumper. You know, the company that rents older cars? You might check the rental places in town. I have reason to believe that this wasn’t an accident and that it was someone from out of town who did it. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Right now I’m marooned on this island because the ferry is out of service. Let me know what you find. Oh, and tell Ricky that Elmo is keeping me company. ’Bye.”

  As Cassie hung up her eye fell on the newspaper that the housekeeper had folded neatly and left on the table. Turning to the crossword puzzle, she tried again and found that the words came readily to mind. After an enjoyable half hour, she was just working on the last five-letter word when the telephone rang. It was Bishop Harris, saying he had been in touch with the branch president of the Quarry Harbor area. “He will arrange for someone to pick you up for church.”

  “But the ferry is out of service,” Cassie said.

  “He knows that. He’s got it covered. Let’s see, he said you are to be at ‘the public area of B Dock.’ Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes. I can see it from my hotel window.”

  “Marvelous! Your ride comes at eight o’clock on Sunday morning.”

  They spoke for a few more minutes. Bishop Harris wanted to make sure she was doing all right, and Cassie said that she was fine. As she hung up again, she thought, it’s lucky he didn’t call last night. I wasn’t fine then.

  The sun was hanging low in the sky, and the light was growing rosier. Cassie decided she’d better shower before dinner and try to get the salt out of her hair. She gathered her things and went down the hall, emerging a half hour later in tan slacks and a long-sleeved off-white jersey top with her hair confined in a tortoise shell barrette. She carried her fleece down to dinner so she could walk down to the marina afterward to see if Mr. Knuteson knew of someone else to pilot the Red Swan tomorrow.

  A sunset was in the last vermillion stages of existence when Cassie walked out of the hotel, and the clouds high in the sky had taken on the slate-gray hue of twilight. I’ve certainly OD’d on beauty today, she thought.

  She was glad to see a light on in Mr. Knuteso
n’s cabin. She knocked on the door and was invited in. He had the gas fireplace going, and the room was cozy and warm.

  “Sit down. Sit down,” he urged. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  She sat in the rocker. “No, thanks.”

  He sat opposite her with his mug in his hand. “Did you enjoy your day?”

  “It was so wonderful! We got into a pod of orcas.”

  “Did you now! That’s really something. I’ve never had that happen to me. Of course I spent a lot of time in other places.”

  “You mean you haven’t lived here all your life?”

  “In Quarry Harbor? No. I was born here, but I joined the Navy as a young man, and I saw the world.”

  “When did you come back?”

  “When I retired from the Navy. Ten years ago. I was going to go to some retirement community, and then I realized that this was where I really wanted to be. The harbormaster’s job was vacant, and I applied, and the rest is history, as they say.” He took a sip of coffee. “How about you? How did you happen to buy the Red Swan?”

  “I didn’t buy it. My husband did. And I have no idea why.”

  “It’s a great little boat. None better. It’s built on a navy whaleboat hull.”

  “Whaleboat? I didn’t know the navy did anything with whales.”

  Mr. Knuteson laughed. “It’s just a name for the type of hull. I spent a lot of time in a whaleboat, I can tell you.” He gestured in the direction of the Red Swan. “That particular boat was on a destroyer accompanying an aircraft carrier. When the planes were taking off and landing, the boat was slung over the side on davits with a crew in it and the motor running. That way, if a plane went in the drink, they could be speedily down and making their way to the rescue. It was an open boat then, with benches around the sides and held a crew of twenty-five.”

  “That very boat? The Red Swan?” Cassie asked, enthralled.

  “That very boat. Yes ma’am.”

  “So, if it started out as an open boat, how did it get a cabin on it?”