Wynn in the Willows

by Robin Shope

  They cruised all the way around to the west side.

  Doug opened the rubber craft, helped Wynn climb in, and then tossed in their backpacks. He leapt into the smaller boat, grasped the pair of oars and began rowing.

  “This island is part of the Willow Islands. There’s a string of three. The one we live on is the only one allowed to be inhabited. The one we are headed towards is a reserve and you have to have a special pass to land here.” His light hair was soaked from the unseasonably humid air and intermittent showers of spray the wind threw over them.

  “Do we have this special pass?” Wynn asked, braiding her hair back from her face.

  “I have a permanent lifetime pass.” His smile was charmingly cocky.

  “And how did you rate this honor?”

  “All three of these islands used to belong to our family, but they were sold off in parcels, except for this one. My grandfather left it to me as its sole owner and developers were thinking of every which way to use laws and government to snatch it away.”

  “I’ve seen that happen on the mainland, too.”

  “The last thing I wanted was condos going up, so I donated the entire island to the National Wildlife and Habitats Commission.”

  “Smart move. You don’t like people much, do you?” Wynn asked uncritically, dipping her fingers in the water.

  “I like people fine. What I don’t like is how they take care of nature. You’re about to see unusual migratory birds and colonial nesting birds, but that’s not why we are here.”

  “Then why are you taking me here?”

  “Patience, my dear.”

  They pulled the craft aground where the tide was negligible and there were breaks in the rocky shoals. Wynn followed Doug up the one-man gravel trail along the side of the cliff. He pointed out another trail, into dense vegetation. The foliage muffled the sounds of the waves, and Wynn could hear the call of birds.

  Doug patiently waited each time she stopped to take a cutting and bag it.

  The path narrowed as they descended into a valley. Perspiration dripped from their foreheads as their clothes became sticky with humidity. Cinnamon ferns grew in great abundance alongside maidenhair, and hammock fern. Further along were huge bouquets of common striped native plants with long plumes of pink flowers. Sunny spots interrupted pools of breezy shade. The scent of wildflowers wafted. There were streams and hidden strawberries tucked among gnarly wild vines.

  Doug stopped to point to the Dwarf Lake Iris and Pitcher’s Thistle, both federally protected.

  Wynn took pictures and noted it all in her logbook. When she finished cutting, and then bagging her last specimen, she looked up.

  He held her gaze.

  Only the sea had ever had this effect on her, this fluttery, adventurous spell, holding her captive. A blush bloomed on her cheeks.

  “You do have the most mysterious expressions. I would love to know what you’re thinking about now,” he said. A faded white rope of a scar ran from his temple through his eyebrow.

  Wynn stared at him, finding something both intriguing and incongruous about Doug’s personality. He was slightly introverted, an observer—but totally charming once he let one in. And next to her dad, he had to be the most interesting person she had ever met. He appreciated the wild—the sea, the growing things, the wonders of nature, just like she did.

  “Hello?” He waved his hand in front of her face.

  “This is the best day I’ve ever had. And I cannot help but compare what I see here with how I was raised on city streets. I can never be happy living with a postage stamp of a garden that is toxic with pesticides.”

  “I like you!” Doug turned and led the way again.

  And I like you.

  The terrain was uneven as they reached the top of a hillside, where the view was the best she had ever seen.

  But Doug moved downward again, forged ahead with some secret destination in mind. When he stopped to drink from his canteen, he first offered it to her.

  Although she had her own, she gratefully accepted his. They took a break and had granola bars. She sliced her apple in half sharing it with him. His sea gray eyes flashed from the apple to her face. “Thanks.” The sound of his voice was thick and tender; making a lump form in her stomach that wasn’t from the granola.

  Wynn heard a songbird and looked up to see the flicker of feathers from a Kirtland’s warbler. She grabbed the binoculars. A single male without any identification leg bands. These birds liked to live under the boughs of young jack pine trees, and there were plenty of them here.

  “We’re just about there.” Doug grabbed his backpack and pressed on.

  The stream they waded through was knee deep and felt refreshing. Wynn stopped halfway through and looked at the minnows swimming about her ankles in the clear water.

  “Want to stop here for a few minutes?” he asked her.

  “You bet I do!” Wynn slid her backpack off, gave it a hard push and sent it to shore. She pulled her hair out of the pony tail and plopped down into the stream, lying on her back, grateful to let the water flow over her body. Her hair floated out like tentacles. She kicked her feet and arms, trying to float on her back, but she sagged to the stream’s bottom. “It’s not deep enough!” she complained good-naturedly.

  “You’re not hard to be with.” Dough laughed as he followed her example.

  “Thanks. As you can see, I like nature.” A minnow swam into her shirt tickling her. She sat up and jiggled it out. She let the water flow over her legs.

  “You don’t talk and scare away the wildlife. And you’re not afraid of the heat.” He sat up, too, bracing elbows on his wet knees.

  “I consider those high praises.”

  “That’s how I meant them.”

  “Thanks for sharing this place with me.” Wynn locked gazes with him.

  “How did you get so interested in biology and the ecosystem?”

  “It happened long before college.” Wynn leaned back on her elbows. “It’s part of my DNA. It’s a strand called imustknowthat.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep, I grew up going from one family member to another as if I was a project someone had to do. Since I didn’t seem to attach to people well, I began to attach to whatever I found in the environment. I cleared out a dresser drawer to arrange my finds in alphabetical order. I’m not kidding.”

  “And what would I see in that drawer?”

  “Glittery rocks, leaves, petrified geckos, a hornet’s nest…I see my hobby as a refined talent.” She wanted to run her hand through his thick curly hair.

  15

  “I was in the carriage house garage not long ago and got a good look at your lab. You’ve upgraded your collections since your drawer days.”

  “Really? You saw my collections?”

  “As you would say ‘yep’.”

  Wynn tried to cover her annoyance. Someone had dared to walk right into her lab that was filled with expensive equipment and endless hours of research. She needed to put a lock on that door. A curious person who meant no harm could easily ruin it, making her lose her grant.

  “I didn’t touch anything, Wynn. I was there to flip a switch in the breaker box. I know enough about research to know the smallest contamination could ruin months of work.” Doug had read her consternation easily. “I can put a lock on the door, and next time, I’ll make sure it’s OK with you. At the time, I didn’t realize that’s where you’d set up.”

  “OK,” Wynn was mollified. “I’m sorry, I tend to be protective.”

  “Rightfully so.” Doug got out of the stream.

  Five minutes later, they had arrived.

  The sight took her breath away.

  The valley was filled with colonies of the Calypso orchid.

  It brought tears to Wynn’s eyes to see it thriving prolifically. “This orchid seed is the tiniest in the world and they can travel for miles with a good wind.”

  “Take another look. We are enclosed on all sides by thirty-foot hills.
It serves as a bowl effect which keeps most of the seeds germinating right here. And this is the perfect time of the year to see them like this.” Doug dropped his pack and sat down, leaning one shoulder blade against it.

  Wynn dug for her camera and began snapping shots. “These orchids bloom for just one month and then they’ll be gone for another year.”

  They sat under the shade of a striped maple—and to Wynn’s knowledge it was the first one to be seen on a Wisconsin island. She considered not logging this find into her record book. The fewer people who knew of it, the safer it would always be.

  “You have emeralds hanging from strands of your hair,” Doug smiled, pulled them out and opened his palm where little caterpillars squirmed. He gently placed them into the treasure box of ferns.

  They sat still for the better part of an hour, just listening to the sounds of the valley, breathing in the fragrance of orchids.

  “It’s time we head back to the coast.” Doug put on his backpack and picked up hers.

  “I can take that,” she told him as she slid the straps onto her shoulders. “What kind of wildlife is supported by the island?”

  “The island has gray wolves that feed off small game. They thrive here.”

  “I thrive here, too, so I can understand that.”

  “I once planned on building a cabin to retire right here. As you know it’s good hiking and the fishing is pretty good, too. But when my engagement fell to pieces, I couldn’t see living here alone for the rest of my life.”

  “It seems to me that this island would be your healing,” Wynn said.

  “Finding the Lord was my healing balm. And this is a good place to pray.”

  “Pray, huh? My aunt hasn’t said it in so many words, but she wants me to pray in front of her Bridge Club to accept the Lord.”

  “You’re not up for that display of emotions?” His smiled was cockeyed and a bit bothersome.

  “No, I’m more private. If I was to do something, I would do it alone in a place like this and look up at the sky and talk right out loud to God, not be all scrunched up with five sets of eyes watching and listening...analyzing.” Wynn didn’t tell him about her first and only session with God.

  “What would you say to Him?” His gaze was far off where distant flora met the blue horizon.

  “I’m not sure—it depends on the moment and what I feel. But at the right time it’ll bubble from my heart right up to the surface and out my mouth.”

  “This island sure worked for me at the time of my break-up. I was searching for a way to let go of my pain.” Doug winced, and held out his arm where a paper wasp had just stung him. He shook his arm and it flew off. He scraped his skin with a small folding knife and applied ointment from his pack, as if he did that sort of thing every day.

  Which, as a landscaper, she supposed he did.

  “With my business I can’t get away too often during the summer, and in the winter it’s nearly impossible to make it over here. But I come more frequently since spotting a family of feral cats roaming around. I don’t want them to get at the federally protected birds that make their nests here, and I don’t like the idea of the wolves making an easy meal out of them, so I’ve set traps for them. On our way back down I better check them.”

  “How did the cats get here?”

  Doug led the way down the trail taking a different route back. “I’m guessing boaters. Sometimes people have something they don’t want so they drop it off and make it someone else’s problem.”

  “Boy, can I relate to that.”

  The sun was dropping behind the furthest hill and the sky was purple with something deeper than lavender.

  “This is where I’ve seen the cats.”

  “Looks like campfires have been made here, too. Yours?” Wynn asked, while kicking some ash in a fire pit.

  Doug didn’t answer.

  Wynn sat on a log and waited for him as he thrashed through the brush finding the traps.

  Every now and then Doug would holler about how the food was gone and the cages were still empty. He walked out of the brush carrying a live trap.

  Inside was a young orange tabby. It looked frightened as it slammed its body about and growled like a full-grown lioness.

  “What a spitfire.” She wiggled her fingers through the bars.

  Doug yanked it away. “Careful!”

  “What are your plans for this wild kitten?” she asked, sliding her hands down into her pockets.

  “There’s a lady just outside of Kewaunee who runs a feral cat rescue and preserve. It’s a wonderful place on acres of land with huge outdoor cages with trees and rocks, and other feral cats. Of course, this one will get its shots, and then be spayed, or neutered first. There it can live out its natural life in relative freedom without harm and without harming.”

  “Ah, could this lady possibly be your former fiancée?”

  A long silence grew. Clearly, he didn’t want to answer any personal questions.

  She’d have to wait for him to tell her of his own accord.

  With the trap in one hand, he started towards the trail that would take them down to the beach. By the time they reached the dinghy, the sun was a sinking tangerine disk in the scarlet heavens, the perfect colors of an eight o’clock sky on a summer evening. As they paddled to the schooner the wolf serenade began.

  Wynn stepped up. Doug handed off the packs and the trap to her. She set it all at the keel as he climbed in stern side, taking care of the rubber dinghy. Next, he cranked in their anchor.

  Wynn stood in the hull and took pictures of the sky. She couldn’t remember being happier in her entire life. She was on the water with life under her feet, and rare plants on an enchanted island. She knelt to talk to the kitten.

  “I can’t get the boat going.”

  “Why not?”

  “It seems we’re out of gas.”

  “I thought great skippers always looked out for their ships.”

  “We do…but there isn’t much we can do when the line is cut.” He wriggled the gas line in the air to show her.

  “How did that happen?”

  “Sabotage.”

  “Who would do something like that, and why?” Wynn looked around but saw no one, nor a single vessel.

  “One can only guess the pranks kids play when no one is looking.” Doug got the jib ready, and then pulled the halyard lines to hoist the sails. “Looks like we’re in for a moonlight sail back to Willow Island.”

  “That sounds quite nice.” Wynn settled back into her deck chair. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “There’s always something to be done on the schooner. I’ll have you help with the rudder in a minute. Anyway, there’s a beam wind out tonight so we should be back to dock in a little while.”

  “No hurry.”

  Wind filled the sails. His tacking left a wide wake. “How’s our little traveler doing?” He nodded towards the cage.

  “Frightened.”

  “Here.” Doug pulled a towel from the haul. “Wrap this around the cage and it’ll give the animal a sense of security.”

  Wynn wrapped the wire cage in the soft towel and immediately the kitten quieted. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it.”

  “What? You should know that a feral cat can’t be tamed, not even a young one.”

  “I want to try. With it being so young, I might have a chance. It just seems so lonely and afraid. Maybe I can get it to trust me.”

  “Let’s get the kitten checked out, vaccinated, and fixed. If Clara says it’s healthy, then you can try taming it. If you find it’s too much to handle, just admit it, Clara will gladly take it off your hands.”

  “So your ex’s name is Clara.”

  “How did you figure that out? Nevermind.” He smiled. “Want to help steer?”

  “Sure!”

  “This is known as the rudder,” he explained as he allowed her to take over the steering device. “Let me show you how to tack.” He worked the rudder back and forth and the
ship easily sliced through the black waters. The moon’s reflection wobbled directly in front of their craft as if it was the road home. Dozens of waves, perfectly aligned and shaped, moved past them.

  Between Doug and the end of the schooner, the space was so narrow, that her cheek now and again rested on the surface of his shoulder. She kept pulling away, but if she was to be comfortable, the position couldn’t be helped.

  “Today was nice. I feel like I got a sense of who you are,” Doug said with an air of satisfaction.

  “I think it was the island.”

  Doug got up to work the rigging on the mainsheet.

  Roxie was wrong about Doug. He had a deep commitment as the islands’ unofficial guardian and caretaker, perhaps because his family had owned them at one time. His knowledge and understanding of her research, and the desire to show her more of what he loved was enlightening. She suddenly realized she might be a little bit in love with more than the sea.

  The sails began to flap as they slowed considerably.

  “What did I do?”

  “It takes a while to get the hang of this,” he told her, taking the rudder back into his own hands.

  The closer they sailed to Willow Island, the clearer the sounds that crackled over the water.

  This was the most settled and peaceful she had felt since coming to the island.

  Doug hadn’t gnawed on a straw since this morning. Perhaps he was being healed, too.

  She felt silly suspecting Roxie of something sinister concerning family information. Wynn decided get back to studying plant life—not human motives. Somehow coming home again had gotten her off kilter. Today had been the best day; good medicine to shake off the mantle of sadness about her father that Willow Island evoked.

  Set free on the sea and island exploring had been the perfect medicine. It was time to look ahead, not back. There was plenty of work on her project. She might include getting to know Doug better, too.

  “Look ahead, starboard.” Doug pointed “What do you see?”

  “Is that beam from a lighthouse?”

  “It certainly is. But not just any lighthouse. My lighthouse.”