I nodded, surprised she knew the type of boat. The company that built them had been out of business for decades.
Elsie twisted her lips. “That’s a good boat for bumming around islands. If I remember right, with the keel up, they float in less than a foot of water. A man used to bring one of these down oh, maybe late 80’s, early 90’s. He ran all over the place, beaching it when he felt like it, sailing when he didn’t. But it’s not a heavy weather craft at all. You’re not planning on going far out to sea are you?”
I shook my head. “What are you, a walking encyclopedia of all things marine?”
She grinned, revealing straight teeth and a mouth full of them. “Hang around a place like this long enough and you’ll see everything that floats, even if it was intended for a bathtub. Coastal Recreation built these. Where you heading when you leave here?”
“Portsmouth Island,” I said simply.
“Is that going to be your base?”
I lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “For the most part, yes. I don’t have a set itinerary. A good part of the plan is to not have a plan. I’ll head over, find a narrow point on the island where I can park this thing off the back side, and set up camp on the ocean side.”
Out on the road, a police cruiser rolled by. I stopped long enough to make sure my favorite lawman hadn’t hunted me down.
“If I get bored,” I said, ignoring the curious look on her face, “I’ll move. I imagine I’ll move a few times. There’s a lot of island out there, not to mention a few more above it and below it.”
She pointed to a large, rectangular box lashed down on the pop top hatch. “What’s that?”
I grimaced. “That thing is my father’s version of a dune buggy.”
She shot me a questioning look.
“Dad had always planned on sailing the entire east coast from Maine to Mexico. He wanted to write his own travel book, but didn’t like the thought of having to depend on conveniences. He knew he couldn’t port a full sized ATV on the boat, so he took a blow torch to a golf cart and a lawn mower.”
I paused and winced. “That’s what came out of the marriage. The thing folds down to fit in that box.”
The expression on her face went from questioning to dubious. “Does it work?”
“It does,” I conceded. “I pulled it out and drove it around the house before I carted it all the way down here. It rides just fine, even though it’s a bit odd looking and it takes about twenty minutes to inflate the tires.”
She shot me another look full of questions.
I answered the most obvious one.
“The tires have to be flat for it to fit in the box.”
“Ahh,” she mused. “Your father spent a lot of time thinking about this trip of his, didn’t he?”
“A good bit of his life went into planning a trip he never had the chance to take. There were bigger boats out there, but Dad never had the money for them,” I said with a nod. “I may get bored. I might get lonely, but all the other aspects of life are pretty much accounted for.”
She walked around the back of the boat, again pushing me to keep up with her. At the stern, she paused and ran her fingers across the word written in tall, blue letters.
“Angel, now that’s a nice name. Where is your father?”
I took a deep breath. “He passed away a couple of years ago.”
Elsie looked thoughtful. “Is that the reason the boat is named Angel? I thought it might be for a girlfriend, but knowing the history, that would make more sense.”
For the first time since we had walked out onto the asphalt, the sun felt hot. Jayne had asked me the same question. I lied to her. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I felt like lying to Elsie Morgan either. But, I did. The name was mine, personally mine. I realized that sticking it on the back of the boat for the world to see would prompt the occasional question now and then. I’d come up with a half dozen plausible answers. From those, I picked the one that seemed to fit the situation best.
“I figure, a man goes out to sea, it’s always good to have an angel along with him,” I said.
The lines on her face grew deeper, but her voice came out soft. “So it is. I’ll take that, even though it’s not the real reason, is it, Hill William?”
The words came out in such a matter of fact voice that I began to wonder just how much Elsie knew about me and, even more disturbing, how she knew it. I scratched at my head, the sudden prickly feeling borne partly from being caught in a lie and the rest from a rising sense of irritation at the unwanted and unneeded scrutiny.
“You have me investigated or something?” I asked, trying to sound as if I was joking.
She waved her hand dismissively.
“I don’t need a detective. Anyone with a wife going off on his lonesome right now with so much trouble in the world wouldn’t have one when he got back and wouldn’t deserve one. A girlfriend would have made sense, but for the same reasons, she’d likely be along. That leaves something else and you looked away before you answered.”
I stared at her.
“I grew up on Portsmouth. But, I didn’t stay there. I spent twenty years studying micro-expressions for a company that sold services to the FBI. You looked away and your eyes firmed up around the edges. That’s a sign of pain. You avoided the question, which tells me it’s a personal pain. So, I’ll take your answer. It’s good enough.”
She rose up on her tiptoes and tried to peer over the gunwale. Fortunately, Elsie was too short and it too high. A frustrated look slid across her face. “From here, it looks like you’re set for a while, but I can’t see good enough to tell.”
I said nothing. I couldn’t tell if she was being nosy or honestly curious. Either way, I was ready to move on.
“Well, come on,” she said about the same time the thought crossed my mind. “Hop in. I’ll show you where you can put her in the water.”
Quick, like a bird flitting from one bush to another, she scurried towards the passenger door. I raced to catch her and barely beat her to the handle.
“Here, what’s this?” she exclaimed and threw her head back. “Lordy me, it’s been ages since a man opened a door for me.”
She was still laughing when I closed the door behind her. Shaking my head, I walked around to the other side and climbed in the driver’s seat.
“You smoke?” she asked as I fired up the Durango.
I thought about it for a long second. The cigarettes I had brought with me were still untouched in their cartons inside the boat. Even so, the thought crossed my mind that Elsie Morgan just might not be able to stand the smell of tobacco. I had no desire to irritate her since I was going to be paying her to watch my truck, but the threat might move things along a little faster.
“That I do,” I said.
“Drink?”
“Sure.”
A satisfied look crossed her face. “Good man. I can’t stand them people who act like they ain’t got any bad habits. You know the one’s I mean?”
I blinked. “I’m not sure I do.”
She let out a sound that sounded like hmmpfh, but didn’t pursue the subject. “Why are you really going out to the islands, Hill William?”
Sheriff Little crossed my mind. I shot a compulsive glance towards the side mirror. I could lie to Elsie about that too, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. The woman was sharp. She’d see through it in a second.
“To die,” I said.
She fell quiet for a long moment. Gray asphalt rolled beneath the Durango.
“How far is this place anyway?” I asked her.
“Just up the road,” she replied. “It could be weeks, maybe even a month before The Fever makes it out here.”
I nodded in agreement. “I know.”
She acted like she wanted to ask something else, but raised a bony finger instead. “Turn right up there. Go slow, the water ain’t far.”
I turned off on the side road which proved not to be a road at all, but the entrance to a boat launch. Les
s than a hundred feet ahead sloped concrete trailed off into smooth, blue water. A low dock, the top barely a foot above water stretched out beside the ramp, running far enough out to tie up at least two boats on each side.
I swung the Durango in a wide arc, pulling it around completely until the ramp lay behind me. Using the side mirrors, I eased the vehicle backwards, cutting the wheel deep at first to line up the boat with the concrete, then rotating it back in a gentler arc in the opposite direction. A few seconds later, Angel’s transom hung over the edge of the water.
Leaving Elsie in the truck, I climbed aboard and raised the mast - a task that sounds simpler than it was. Swinging twenty-five feet of four inch thick pipe from horizontal to vertical isn’t easy, even if the thing is made of aluminum. One slip and Archimedes joined forces with gravity to turn the mast into a monster-sized sledge hammer. Angel’s transom might survive the impact, but the odds favored a crushed stern.
Fortunately, I’d learned that trick when dad had taken me out as a teenager. I slipped the doubled end of a rope around the mast and held it straight with one hand, while I hooked the forward stay into place with the other. I had a few more preparations to make, but from trailer to dock took about fifteen minutes.
Once I had Angel tied up, I went back to the Durango and climbed inside. Elsie still sat in the passenger’s seat where she had watched me launch the boat.
“If you want,” I told her, “I’ll take you back to the store before I unpack the truck. I still have quite a bit in here that I need to transfer over.”
She looked thoughtful, but nodded.
“You got that thing in the water and set up fast. I’ve seen men piddle around with a sailboat for an hour.”
I grinned and turned the ignition switch. The Durango growled into life with a deep-throated snarl that breathed power. “When Dad and I came down years ago, he fussed over everything. I didn’t think we’d ever get out on the water.”
The old woman shot me a curious look, but said nothing. I slid the SUV into drive and rode the mile or so back to her store, thankful for the cool breeze flowing in through the window. It took about ten minutes to make the round trip. When I returned to the launching area, I pulled the Durango as close to the dock as possible. I would have loaded Angel while she was still on the trailer if Elsie hadn’t been with me. I didn’t want the pressure of trying to hurry though. The last thing I needed was to make the five mile trip out only to realize I’d forgotten something.
On the outside, Angel was as functional as a boat her size and type could be. Two radios graced the interior. He had mounted a VHF unit just inside the hatch on the port side. A long, low berth ran underneath it, up to the cabinetry that housed the sink, a 12 volt plug, and a common FM/AM radio with a CD player. Outside in the cockpit, he had mounted a Ritchie Marine compass. Two leads ran to it for backlighting at night. Beside it sat a Hummingbird fish finder and depth meter combo, also powered by the ship’s battery. The final piece of the electronic puzzle came in the form of two GPS units. Neither had been designed for marine use. The small, backpacker’s GPS served as an emergency backup. The main unit with the large display and night mode backlighting, I pulled from the Durango.
The motor carried an alternator, which charged the batteries when Angel ran under power. He’d also installed mounting stations atop the pop top and the forward deck for two ten watt solar panels. A third means of generating electricity came in the form of a small windmill that could service both Angel and the dune buggy. I had never seen it mounted on either, despite the fact he’d had the thing for years.
Below decks, the space inside was tight and easily cluttered. With half her length dedicated to the cockpit outside, the actual living space inside worked out to less square footage than an average bathroom. The designers had packed as much as possible into that space, enclosing three separate sleeping areas, a sink and cabinet, and a tiny spot for what a salesman would call restroom facilities. No one, not even a salesman on steroids, could call the accommodations luxurious.
The largest storage compartment on the boat ran back under the cockpit. Unfortunately, the factory had failed to provide any access to that area. Dad had rectified that problem by installing hatch covers in the cockpit that opened to the space below. I had no idea if or how he had tested the modifications, but Angel had remained dry inside while stored out in the weather and the latches seemed both solid and secure.
Despite having raised the mast, I had no intention of hoisting sail on the trip across. I wanted to make the crossing as fast as possible and had no desire to tack back and forth in fickle winds.
A good bit of the food I had packed consisted of dry goods with canned items relegated to meats and vegetables. A sixty-five quart Yeti cooler in the locker space underneath the starboard bunk acted as my fridge. I’d frozen all the meat inside before packing it, lining the bottom with ice, adding the frozen meat next, and covering it all with a final layer of dry ice.
The day to day cooler, the one I’d use for the first week, also bore the Yeti brand. It sat just inside the cabin, and held three bags of ice along with enough fresh food to see me through a few days at least. Still, I had no illusions. Even with the high dollar coolers I’d be out of ice within two weeks. That thought didn’t sit well. I could deal with eating what I caught, but no way of storing it meant a constant search for food. Almost as dismal a thought revolved around tea. I drank gallons of the stuff.
The sigh that slid out of me every time I thought about it highlighted my frustration. Even with more expensive and complicated machinery that could provide the desired level of cooling, I’d need fuel. No matter how I looked at the problem, two weeks seemed to be the limit.
The final bit of transfer occurred from items up front in the Durango, my cell phone, the dash mounted Magellan GPS unit, the cash from the glove compartment, along with a dozen other things I grabbed up at the last minute. Angel probably sat three or four inches deeper in the water by the time I was done.
When I finished, I stood in the breeze, letting the cool air dry the sweat I’d built up carrying the supplies out to the boat. My mind roamed, worrying over what might still be hidden in some nook or cranny inside the Durango when I remembered the box of shells under the passenger seat. Dad had always carried a rifle aboard, a Marlin thirty-thirty. If the caliber doesn’t ring a bell, think John Wayne with a lever action rifle against his shoulder. I’d left it mounted on the port side when I’d worked on Angel prior to leaving. A half used box of shells lay inside one of the bunk lockers. I’d bought another before I left, searching out the same Lever Evolution brand he had used.
I fished the box out from under the seat and carried it out to the boat, storing it along side its half empty twin.
Finally satisfied, I drove back to the store, parking in the same elongated slot I’d used before since Elsie had yet to show me the back yard. With Angel packed and the Durango empty, the itch to get underway ran strong. I killed the engine, took one last look around to make sure I wasn’t missing something I’d need, and then climbed out and headed into the store.
Tracy still occupied the checkout station, this time busy with a customer. She glanced over when I walked in and pointed towards the little office.
“She’s in there. She said to tell you to come on in when you got back.”
I nodded, crossed the entrance way, and stuck my head inside the open door. Elsie finished stuffing a water bottle inside a day pack before she looked up.
“All packed and ready to go?”
I gave her a lopsided grin. “I suppose so. I keep wondering what I’ve forgotten. I’m sure I’ll remember about the time I get to the island.”
She swept her hand in a broad wave. “There’s plenty out there in the store. Go wander around a while. Maybe you’ll find what you’re missing. I got food, boat gear, fishing supplies, and a little bit of everything else out there in one bin or another.”
I shook my head. “I have enough for now. If I get out th
ere and need something, I can always make a trip back in. It’s not that far. With the motor, I’m guessing that I can make the crossing in an hour or so.”
She slid her chair back and motioned to another just inside the door. “Come on in. Have a seat. Let’s settle up on the money end of things. Give me your keys too. I’ll have Tracy run you back down to the dock. She can pull your Dodge out back when she returns.”
I fingered the hundred dollar bills in my pocket. “You said five dollars a day, right?”
“That’s what we talked about, yes,” she agreed and then frowned. “I can cut that down for you though. Let’s just say this whole disease thing is a bust and you end up coming back. How long you planning on being out there?”
I had set aside three hundred, figuring that within two months I’d know one way or the other.
“A couple of months at the most,” I told her.
She looked thoughtful. “I grew up over there, born and raised not a hundred yards off the bay in Portsmouth. My father moved us to Wilmington when I was twelve. I have family buried in the old town cemetery.”
Her voice trailed off, but came back strong.
“I don’t know you, Hill William, but I know people and I know faces. You’re about as harmless as a toad frog.”
I said nothing, unsure of how to take her comment and wondering where it was going.
“I’d like to go back and walk the town once more. Stop by the graveyard and see my people one more time, just walk around and remember things.”
A calculating look slid across her face.
“How you feel about riding me over on your boat? I’ll cut the cost of storing your vehicle in half if you wait until tomorrow, take me over in the morning and bring me back late in the day.”
She raised her eyebrows and leaned closer, reminding me of a salesman trying to close a deal. “And I’ll even top off your gas tank for the trouble. You don’t have to worry about us either. Just drop us off and go about your business until it’s time to come back.”
Taken aback by her request, I still didn’t miss the change in pronouns when she switched from me to us.
The Island - Part 1 Page 6