Nantucket Rose

by CF Frizzell

  A prevailing wall of fog ahead sat much closer than the usual hint of land she expected to see. It was a sobering phenomenon, especially out here in the sound’s busy shipping lane. Fog gripped you right where you stood, removed all your tangible surroundings, and left you with nothing but deep thoughts.

  For Ellis, that always meant flashing back to the tragedy of her father’s death. At least the passing of time had lessened that pain, and the nightmare rarely recurred now, but she knew she’d soon be plunged into a world of introspection. Considering how heavily Maggie weighed on her mind today, she thought it ironic that the fog should appear on this trip. Sometimes being unable to see what’s right in front of you is a good thing; a different perspective can be so revealing. Talk about forcing my hand.

  Frowning, she stepped into the wheelhouse, and the ship’s master looked up from his gauges and acknowledged her concern with a grumble.

  “Yeah, I’d thought it would have burned off by now, too,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s thinner than it looks, Frank.” She joined him in staring through the windshield. “The Eagle said it wasn’t pea soup on their run.”

  “Yeah, well, they also predicted it would be gone by the time we came through. Obviously, it’s not.”

  His heavily wrinkled brow told Ellis that veteran mariner Frank Thomasello shared her disappointment at the interruption of their smooth sail. He had captained ferries for twenty-four years, known her father and grandfather, and knew that Ellis, with decades of experience of her own on this water, valued their mutual respect.

  Frank sighed hard as he piloted the Sankaty closer to the consuming fog bank. “Okay. Here we go.” He sounded the horn, a long, chest-rumbling blast.

  He powered the engines down from cruising to meager headway speed, and their steady drone, so monotonous as to normally go unnoticed, dropped to a whisper. Beside him, Ellis logged their coordinates, status, and time, and wondered how long they’d be held captive by this ocean-bound cloud. She had serious personal things to think about and wanted this crossing to return to automatic in a hurry.

  But she knew the drill. Being no stranger to the anxiety sea fog created, she always managed to give procedure priority over emotion, although sometimes that was tough. As a little girl, she’d found magic in the otherworldly shroud of fog; in her early teens, she’d known enough to fear the blindness; but as a young woman and her father’s right hand, she’d developed the knowledge and skill that every sailor worth her salt needed. “Emotional reactions should never top practical common sense. Someone could get hurt.” Her father’s voice always returned, loud and clear.

  Heavy mist condensed around the bow, and the Sankaty slipped into the fog as if to its own demise. Wordlessly, Ellis and Frank watched the bow vanish, watched as they surrendered their forward deck. The bridge pressed into the fog, and waves of mist rolled up the structure and billowed against the windshield, spreading left and right, engulfing everything in an opaque mask of gray until only the interior of the wheelhouse remained of the world.

  She wiped her moist palms on her thighs.

  “Makes you want to take a breath, just to be sure you still can.”

  “Like being dropped into a vat of whipped cream,” he said, “not being able to see a thing, after seeing so much.”

  Ellis settled into the chair beside his. “Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.” She could feel that both wind and sea had gone dead calm, making any evaluation of exterior conditions impossible, and the unsettling stillness carried only the soft hypnotic hum of the creeping engines. Gauges were their only measure available, and she trusted them implicitly, but nothing beat being able to see outside.

  “Gonna take a look,” she said, unable to sit idle.

  “Well, don’t take off.”

  “No chance.” Long ago, she’d learned a hard lesson about venturing into the fog. All local mariners shared in that heartbreaking loss of her father and wisely continued to remember. She waited as Frank sounded the horn again before stepping out onto the bridge deck.

  Getting instantly misted from head to foot wasn’t unexpected, and she tugged her cap down farther over her forehead to peer through the fog, hoping to judge its density. “Jesus.” She could barely see her hand at arm’s length. No chance of looking down at their load of eighteen-wheelers, delivery trucks, and cars. The deck rail was visible in front of her, but nothing beyond it. Just gray air. Nothing above the wheelhouse door, either, or to her left or right.

  So easy to succumb to the nothingness out here, miles of ocean in every direction hiding just feet away. How imposing but, thankfully, not unknown. How immeasurably vast yet intimate. She swiped the mist off her eyelashes and marveled at the union of sea and sky, its ability to touch her. I know you’re out there.

  “Constant contact,” she said softly. “Without it, where would I be? Who would I be?”

  She couldn’t fathom the concept of sharing that connection with Maggie’s commercial enterprise. Been there, done that. And learned the hard way that it wasn’t meant to be. Somehow, Maggie would have to understand.

  “This is a big ocean, Maggie, and I survived a hell of a ride to get where I am.” She shook her head and gazed into the fog. “Lucky just to have the home I do. No way I’d turn it into a business.”

  Sorry, Maggie.

  She went back inside.

  Frank didn’t bother to turn around. “Satisfied?”

  “Could hardly see my shoes, for God’s sake.” She wiped her face with a paper towel. “Must be like being in a submarine. The world is completely gone except for our little bubble, right here.”

  “Couldn’t pay me to be under water,” Frank mumbled.

  The intercom from the cargo deck beeped and they both jumped.

  “How much longer?” Seaman Wes McCall was impatient—and skittish as usual, Ellis thought. He grunted into the intercom and swore colorfully. “Can’t see for shit down here.”

  “Sit tight, Wes,” she said. “Could be ten minutes. Hard to call.”

  “Ten minutes?”

  “Roger that. Just sit tight. Write another letter to your mama.”

  “Screw you, Chilton.”

  Frank laughed when she hung up the mic, but his attention never left his gauges. He was holding a true and steady course through the fog and she was thankful to be with him for this.

  Ellis climbed back into her seat and tried to compose a considerate, diplomatic response to Maggie’s proposition. But Maggie was a complex topic that swamped her brain as thoroughly as this damn fog corralled the Sankaty. Yes, Ellis knew she owed her an answer—and that Maggie wouldn’t be pleased. Yet Ellis held on to hope that something special between them still might be possible. There was that prolonged hug when we parted the other night.

  Frank blasted the horn again and sat back. “So, how’s life treating you on the Rose these days?”

  “Good. Relaxing.” She laughed at herself. “I was going to say that I’m finally used to having a job I don’t stress about.” She tossed a hand toward the windshield. “But then this stuff turns up.”

  “Eh,” he said, eyes on the radar, “every job has its moments. Seems every night, the wife expects me to announce my retirement. Girl’s put up with too many years of this, so I suppose I owe it to her to think about it.” He flashed her a sideways look. “No one looking out for you?”

  “Still the independent soul, Frank.”

  “Your pop was so hooked on the sea. It’s in your blood just like it was his, your granddad’s, all your people.”

  She smiled because it was true. Her “people” were whalers and fishermen whose lives were linked to the sea, and whose return voyages drew worried wives and mothers to rooftop widow’s walks, yearning for sightings. Staring through the grayed glass, she bit back a chuckle at the impossible notion of Nicki ever standing watch for her. Suddenly, Ellis wondered if Maggie knew what a widow’s walk was.

  Like a sheet fluttering in the wind, the mask of fog rippled agai
nst the windshield and lofted out from the bridge. Gradually, mist fell away, the Sankaty’s bow reappeared, and dim light brightened. The curtain of fog parted and the Sankaty emerged into brilliant sunshine, with Nantucket Island clearly visible on the horizon.

  Fate has one hell of a sense of humor.

  *****

  “Listen, could I borrow your car for a run out to Madaket? John’s brother’s theater friends are partying after rehearsal, which should be wrapping up in about a half hour.”

  Maggie handed her credit card to the waiter and eyed her sister skeptically. “No problem, just don’t get buzzed and go four-wheeling on the beach. The last thing I need is to have you get busted in my car.”

  Rachel pouted across the table. “I’m not seventeen anymore, Mags.”

  “No, you’re thirty-four going on twenty-one. And it would be nice to have you awake and coherent at a decent hour for breakfast so we can catch up more. Jill McGee is due in around one thirty on the Hy-Line, so after that I’m off limits.”

  “She decided to come after all? Sweet.”

  “Yes, she did, and no, it’s not ‘sweet.’ It’s turned me into a nervous wreck. Tuck’r numbers aren’t knockout impressive, nor is my business plan thus far, so keeping her interested means a hard sell on my part.”

  Rachel’s fluffy auburn curls bounced when she leaned across the table. “So you need to chill tonight. Come party with us. It’ll be a blast. Let your hair down, girl.”

  “No can do. I’m meeting Ellis later.”

  “Oh, well, that I understand. What time?”

  “She’s off duty by eleven.”

  “Uh-huh. You spending the night?”

  “We’re going to talk business.”

  “Sure you are.”

  The waiter returned with Maggie’s card and she signed for their meal. “Let’s go,” she said, standing. “Drop me off at Tuck’r and take the car, if you want.”

  “You’ve got over an hour to get ready for Ellis, you know.”

  “I have things to do before that,” Maggie said as they stepped outside.

  “I still think I saw her on the ferry today. She’s tall with like, these laser-blue eyes, right? Wonder what she would’ve done if I’d said, ‘Hi, I’m your girlfriend’s sister, Rachel.’”

  “We’re not girlfriends. Please get in the car. We just hung out on the Fourth, that’s all.”

  “Did she kiss you good night?”

  “I’m not discussing Ellis with you anymore if you—”

  “Is she a good kisser?”

  “No! I mean we didn’t.”

  “Oh.” Rachel sat back and fastened her seat belt. “Bummer.”

  Okay, so yeah, it was. But it’s time to pull on the damn big-girl panties and not lose focus.

  “Look, if I can tell Jill that Tuck’r has this sightseeing package deal, it’ll brighten my entire prospectus. I have to concentrate on business.”

  “Right. And you’re sure Ellis is going to agree?”

  “Pretty sure. She could have turned me down with a one-liner on the phone instead of suggesting we meet at eleven o’clock.”

  “I guess…if she was an asshole.”

  “Well, she’s certainly not that. I just didn’t hear any negativity in our conversation this morning, so I’m crossing my fingers.”

  She checked her watch as she entered the Tuck’r Inn, relieved to see she had plenty of time to finish a little work, shower, and still fuss about what to wear. And I’ll fuss because…because I want her to see how much this means to me, that I appreciate what she’s agreeing to do. And, yes, because her smile is a killer.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ellis walked the deserted route from Steamship Wharf to downtown, closed shops on both sides of the street guarded by bright-eyed window boxes, alert through the night. Occasionally, faint laughter from the RC and Nix reached her on the breeze, but the pat of her boat shoes against the bricks provided the only other accompaniment. And that was fine with her. The quaint tranquility provided a unique comfort, a familiarity she’d grown to appreciate more with every passing year, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. If only outsiders could experience this, feel it, too. They’d appreciate just how deeply our values are embedded here.

  In the halo of light on the corner of Main and Centre streets, Ellis leaned against the lamppost, hands in the pockets of her chinos, and tried to sort her thoughts. She and Maggie didn’t need some social setting to discuss this damn cruise idea. In fact, what she had to say wouldn’t take long at all, but she wanted to extend Maggie the courtesy of an explanation. And a simple stroll along a quiet street would suit the purpose.

  Suddenly seeing herself as some devious character from a classic Bogart film, she straightened off the post and shoved her uniform cap into her backpack. She finger-combed her mussed hair into place just as the silhouette of woman and dog appeared at the top of Main.

  Ellis raised a hand in greeting and Maggie waved back. Retta barked, and when Maggie unhooked the leash, Retta was off. Ears pinned back, she raced downhill, hitting top speed almost instantly, and Ellis tossed her backpack onto a nearby bench and went to one knee to brace herself.

  “Whoa, pretty girl!” Retta roared into Ellis’s arms, spinning and slamming sideways into her chest. Ellis quickly set a hand on the ground to keep from toppling over. “Get a grip, there, Retta. Easy, girl.” Retta bopped on her front paws to lick Ellis’s face. “Down. Yes, I’m happy to see you, too.”

  “I’m the only other person she greets this way,” Maggie said.

  Roughing Retta’s fur with both hands, Ellis looked beyond her to the pink toenails in sandals, and up the slender legs to shorts and fitted sleeveless blouse, and finally, to the amused, delicate lips. Such a vision. You glow even in this light, do you know that?

  Ellis swallowed hard and managed to stand as Retta bounced around her legs.

  “I’m flattered. Dogs know dog people. She’s a joy.”

  “Thank you. That she is. So…How are you?” She clipped Retta’s leash back onto her collar.

  “I’m well, thanks. I-I thought we’d just take a walk, let her stretch her legs, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh. Well, no. That’s fine.”

  Ellis slipped an arm through her backpack and led them down the street. “I appreciate you coming out at this hour. Work doesn’t leave me much free time during the week, here or in Hyannis.”

  “The summer schedule must be tough. You can’t really be a night or day person, can you?”

  “Not really, no.” Ellis kept her attention on Retta’s enthusiastic maneuvering along the sidewalk. Strolling with Maggie made her edgy, despite the soothing quiet and soft breeze, and she couldn’t tell if the easy intimacy, Maggie’s allure, or the point of this meeting unsettled her most. The venerable trees that occasionally interrupted the sidewalk dappled the lamplight, but their swaying shadows weren’t enough to mute the impact of Maggie’s attention. Although Retta frequently drew them away, Maggie’s eyes hardly left Ellis’s face. I wouldn’t have handled this well on the Rose.

  “My schedule at the inn has become quite flexible,” Maggie offered, “except for early mornings. But once breakfast is past and housekeeping starts, Tuck’r pretty much runs itself.” Ellis only nodded. “I’m thankful, believe me, because the first couple of months have been tough. It’s such a big place.” They stopped to let Retta investigate a tree root. “I really hope you’ll stop by sometime. Being a native, you must love the old homes.”

  “I do.” Retta tugged them along, but Ellis could still hear her abrupt answer lingering pointedly.

  “I thought so,” Maggie said. “I’d love your opinion of the place in its new incarnation, now that that forlorn, haunted look is gone.” She sighed heavily. “I couldn’t be more grateful it was built so well, so many years ago. I had my doubts when I first laid eyes on it, all boarded up as it was.”

  “We treasure our homes here, and it’s a wonderful thing you’ve done, bringi
ng an old one back to life.” Ellis dropped her backpack onto a bench on the corner. “Sit a moment?”

  “Sure.” Maggie reined Retta in closer and sat. Retta waited for Ellis to sit before plopping down at her feet.

  “I have so much respect for your work ethic, Maggie, your devotion to your B&B. I don’t doubt for a minute that you put everything into it that you can.”

  Maggie sat back, keenly focused on her. “Failure is not an option. It’s not who I am.”

  Ellis leaned on her knees and stroked the length of Retta’s side. Failure wasn’t me, either, until it swallowed me up.

  “Well, I’m glad of that—for your sake. The dissolution of a dream can be heartbreaking. You’ve earned success, and I hope it comes soon. We all strive for contentment, satisfaction, and try like hell to keep it when we find it.”

  Maggie bent forward to pat Retta as well, and now considerably closer, she spoke gently without looking at Ellis.

  “I hope you know I respect you a great deal, not just for what you’ve done with your own amazing home, but for your perseverance, too. I never intended to imply otherwise by my proposition. I apologize if you took it that way.” Maggie paused, and although Ellis knew Maggie waited to have that assumption corrected, she couldn’t bring herself to elaborate.

  Maggie cleared her throat and sat back again. “You say quite a bit with few words.”

  “I suppose I internalize a lot.” She met Maggie’s eyes as she straightened. “I have given it a lot of thought.”

  A surge of tiny wrinkles appeared at the bridge of Maggie’s nose. “You’re turning me down, and I’m disappointed.” She took a breath and exhaled evenly.

  “I’m sorry, honestly, but there’s a lot involved, using your home for business—as you well know. And I’m just not much of a…a public person. It wouldn’t be a good fit.”

  “I might not know you very well, but I have to disagree. I do know you’re kind and considerate, helpful, and God knows, you have the knowledge and skill.” Maggie tipped her head slightly, eyed her suspiciously, and Ellis could almost feel Maggie probing her mind. “You wouldn’t have to play social director, you know, if that’s a concern. I would accompany my guests, provide refreshments. I’d play hostess.” A glance told her Maggie wasn’t ready to concede defeat. “Ellis, these are things we could work out together. I think it would be a good fit.”