An Island Between Us

by K'Anne Meinel

  “You are doubting my word?” she asked, offended.

  “Ma’am, this is far-fetched, and while I don’t personally doubt your story, there are some real odd characters living in the woods, so we have to have these reports in case anything else happens. Hopefully not,” he added when he saw her expression. “But by having a second report and hearing you give the finer details; it shows consistency and lends credence to the report.”

  She nodded, surprised at how articulate the man was. He asked a few more questions, writing quickly, then told her they would be in touch if they heard anything. In the meantime, she was to report the man again if anything else happened. She promised she would.

  “I don’t think they are going to find him. Do you?” she asked Marion as they cleaned up their table. They had ordered a large lunch and took their time eating as they went through their paperwork. They also left a good tip for the waitress, who had kept their coffee cups filled as they worked.

  “I doubt it. I only hope you scared him off, and we don’t see him ever again.”

  They gathered the children and headed home in the darkening skies. It got dark very early this time of year, so they hurried to get home. Both women were thinking about the possibility of someone being on the island in their absence. Each knew that Barbara now carried a gun in her pocket, and they were thinking they should get another smaller gun for Marion. They just didn’t want to spend money needlessly. The dogs didn’t act out of the ordinary and seemed happy to greet their family back to island. They gathered the sheep in. They had left them to graze and dig beneath the snows for food where they could find it. Marion fed the chickens and the guineas, gathering any eggs they had missed that morning or that had been laid during their time away that day. Barbara went inside to start their dinner.

  The rest of their winter was spent pretty much in the cabin as winter continued to worsen. Going off island was not an option as the barometer read ‘stormy’ most of the time. They didn’t even chance the occasional off-island day until March when cabin fever set in and they needed to get away from each other. Marion walked into town, and Barbara took the children by truck to school and then went on to the library to return long overdue books, pay the fines, and check out some more books. They spent the day away from each other but managed to meet up in time to pick up the children from school early. They headed out on the boat, barely speaking to each other but better for having spent the day doing things without each other, which gave each a chance to miss the other.

  “Do you think the island is coming between us?” Marion worried as winter lingered on, far into the spring.

  “I think we need to do more things separately, so we aren’t always underfoot of the other. It isn’t safe to hike around the island, but I’m going to try and stomp out a trail to each of the cabins and inspect them,” she told her.

  “Can I come?” three voices asked as they all eagerly anticipated the outing. Marion admitted she wanted to go too, and although the idea was to get away from each other, she ended up following and helping to stomp out the trails as they checked on the cabins.

  The second cabin showed signs of damage where the winds had torn off several shingles and allowed rain and snow to drip into the cabin. They fixed what they could, but they would have to wait until the snow melted in order to affect more repairs.

  It was so laborious stomping down the trails to the cabins that they only got to the third one before they headed wearily back to the cabin. When they arrived, they found a state policeman sitting on their porch shivering in the cold. Officer Blakemore did not look pleased to have been kept waiting all this time.

  “We’ll have you warm in a jiffy,” Barbara promised him as they all stomped across the porch, removed their boots in the screened porch, and went inside the warm cabin. “You should have gone in,” she reproached the officer, wondering that he hadn’t shouted out, or maybe he had, and they hadn’t heard him. The dogs had followed along, having fun galloping in the woods where snow wasn’t as deep, then jumping in the deeper areas.

  Marion went to get the policeman a blanket to wrap around himself despite the warmth of the cabin, and Barbara pushed the coffee pot onto the stove burner, stoking the fire to get it hot. She then put a second pot on with water to make hot cocoa for anyone who wanted it. She knew the children would jump at the sugary concoction, and perhaps the officer could use something sweet.

  As they were sitting there with their warm mixtures, the officer caught the eye of the two women and glanced at the children several times, using his chin to indicate he wanted them out of the room. The small cabin wasn’t known for its privacy, but after the children had downed their hot chocolate, Marion spoke to them. “Would you children please go to your rooms for a while. We have to talk business with Officer Blakemore.” She saw them hesitate for a moment; visitors were so rare this time of year but a stern look from both mothers finally had them leaving. Once the bedroom doors closed, the officer began to speak.

  “I’m sorry. There was no way to send word that I wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t know when you would be back in town. Do you know a Dennis Hauserman?”

  They both exchanged a look and shrugged, shaking their heads as they returned their looks to the officer inquiringly.

  “We believe he was the old codger you stuck with the pitchfork. He was found in an old hunting cabin in the woods up north, and he was dead.”

  Barbara sat there, stunned. She had caused the death of a man. Was she about to be arrested? She waited to hear what he had to say. It was hard to hear; her heart was beating so loud that her ears felt like it was pounding right behind them.

  “Two hunters on skis found the cabin with the man inside. He’d been dead a while, but we think he made his way there from here. We aren’t sure where his rowboat is, but there was one reported missing north of Franklin by a fisherman.”

  “What happens now?” Marion inquired.

  “We aren’t going to charge you with anything,” he addressed Barbara, watching her closely. “We believe you acted in self-defense when you used the pitchfork. I would like to come back in the spring when the snow has melted, so you can run through the scene for me, and I can finish my report.”

  “Of course,” she said shakily. She had killed a man! At the very least, she had contributed to his premature death.

  “Were they able to determine if he died from his injuries or old age or something else?” Marion asked, clearly recovering from the shock of this news more quickly than Barbara.

  “We don’t know yet, but he did have puncture marks in his legs, which are consistent with the pitchfork prongs you mentioned. They were healed.” He was still directing his remarks to Barbara, watching to see if she reacted. He could see she was clearly in shock, which was natural. He asked a few more questions, finished a second cup of hot chocolate, and got up to go. He was clearly anxious to get back to Franklin before it got too dark. He hadn’t liked waiting for hours, but after Marion explained they had hiked to the various cabins on their properties, he understood. There were spots where the snow was quite deep. In fact, it looked like it was going to snow again, and he was concerned about getting back across the channel.

  “How are you feeling?” Marion asked Barbara as they prepared for bed that night. The children had barraged them with questions, but the adults told them nothing. They didn’t want them frightened about someone being on the island, and they certainly didn’t want them to know that Barbara had struck the man with a pitchfork.

  “Very uneasy. I didn’t think when I threw that pitchfork. I just knew he was going to hurt Feathers and who knows what he would have done to me. I’ve thought of what you and the children would have come back to if he had succeeded, and it upsets me,” Barbara told her, her eyes looking at her girlfriend beseechingly as she explained.

  Marion took her girlfriend in her arms, comforting the other woman. For all her bravado, size, and intimidating appearance, sometimes, she was just a big softie. Marion
loved her unconditionally. She was her partner in every sense of the word. If making love to her would have comforted her, she would have used her body shamelessly, but she sensed Barbara needed to be held, not made love to, and she crooned softly to her as she relaxed and went to sleep. Marion wasn’t so quick to fall asleep. Rumors and speculation could really ruin their reputations, and they were still trying to get this business off the ground. Last year had been good, but they were counting on the reservations from this year to really get them on their feet. They didn’t need a scandal to destroy what they had built.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The sheep gave birth in late April while the snow was still making a nuisance of itself. Their long, wooly coats, which several of the books recommended should be sheared before they gave birth, were full of a year’s worth of sticks, leaves, dirt, and other debris. Now, childbirth was added to the mess. Still, the sheep were warm, and they kept their lambs warm. The women did worry that the wool was so thick they might smother their lambs. Only one sheep had trouble giving birth, and Marion managed to save it by pulling the rather large lamb from the birth canal, the acids burning her hand. She shuddered for days as she remembered how gross that had been, but they had live lambs and hadn’t lost any of them. The dogs were extra protective of their flock these days.

  “Isn’t winter ever going to end?” Richard lamented as he looked at the snow coming down at the beginning of May.

  “Must be one of those years,” Marion told him as she joined him at the window, wishing the sun would come out and melt it all. There were some places on the island where the wind had piled the snow up until there were five-foot snowdrifts. She knew that because she had fallen into one drift and it covered her to her ears. All the paths they had painfully stomped out were filled back in, their footsteps long buried.

  “Let’s hope it all melts before Memorial Day,” Barbara put in from where she was knitting, having taken up the craft when Marion gave up on it this winter. She found she enjoyed it and was learning more intricate patterns from the books. She was in competition with the boys, who also learned to knit that winter.

  “What are we going to do if it doesn’t?” Brian asked, sounding almost intrigued.

  “We will be putting our guests up here in your room,” his mother warned him, knowing they couldn’t put anyone in any of the summer cottages with snow on the ground; it was simply too cold for that, and the cabins were far too thin.

  The children looked both intrigued and alarmed at the idea, but it was not to be. The second week in May turned almost unseasonably warm, and the snow began to melt quickly. Great rivulets of water formed as the snow melted and ran off the roofs. The great drifts melted as well, causing bogs and swamps to form.

  Marion and Barbara dug channels to drain the meadow as it became one great big quagmire, splashing in it to do their chores as they herded the sheep out to forage in the grass that was beginning to show everywhere. Their lambs bleated next to them in protest, their protectors anxious about keeping them in their sight.

  They were finally able to work on the cabins, but it would necessitate a trip to town for supplies, and they had a long list going. They checked each of the cabins, noting where they needed to replace roof shingles. The second cabin wasn’t the only one that had lost shingles. The fourth cabin had a large branch come down on one portion of its porch, and they rushed to repair that after cutting off the branch and making firewood of it.

  The whole family went into town. The children went to school while the adults checked the mail and went to the hardware store and the lumberyard. They checked in at the butcher and were assured he would take their lambs off their hands whenever they brought them over. Marion also wanted to get rid of one of the older sheep that was looking sickly, and they had decided to keep all the female lambs to replace her as well as expand their little flock.

  No one looked at them strangely beyond the normal inquiries about them not being seen in town as often. They saw Mr. Wheeler, who had sold them the island. He nodded at them cordially as they went about their shopping.

  “Mrs. Whiting, Mrs. Jenkins,” the officer approached them as they finished up at the diner. They were sharing a large strawberry sundae, which they had no intention of telling the children when they picked them up from school.

  “Hello, Officer Blakemore,” they greeted him in unison, looked at each other, and laughed. “Care to join us?” Marion asked, quicker to ask but knowing Barbara would have as well.

  “Yes, I would, but I have duties. I heard you were in town, and I thought I’d ask if it was okay if I came over to the island tomorrow, weather permitting?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll be there,” Marion assured him, smiling and unaware how her big blue eyes came across.

  “You’re going to need to know where and how everything happened?” Barbara asked, keeping her voice low as she knew others were listening. They were always listening, hoping for something to gossip about.

  “Yep,” he agreed, smiling reassuringly at her. “I’ll see you then?”

  She nodded, and with another smile at Marion, he excused himself.

  “I wonder what will happen,” Barbara murmured to Marion, no longer really interested in the sundae but unable to resist the cashews they had sprinkled on top. She picked at it with her spoon.

  “He will get a visual of what happened, write his report, and that is that. We have nothing to worry about. You did nothing wrong, and we have more guests to worry about,” she indicated the mail they had gone through. They had a pile of checks to deposit at the bank, a loan to pay back, and they were really on their way. They couldn’t worry about anything but their guests. Right now, they had to fix the two cabins and prepare for a summer of guests.

  Barbara agreed with her partner, knowing she was right.

  Depositing their checks at the bank, they were pleased that they had paid ahead on their loan since more than once they hadn’t been able to get into town to do any banking. Their accounts were in good order as a result.

  The officer arrived promptly the next day, and Marion kept the children out of the way and busy helping to repair the second and fourth cabins while Barbara walked him through what had happened, what she saw, where she was, where the dogs were, and where the man had been when the confrontation happened. Her obvious confidence in retelling it convinced him she was telling the truth. It was exactly as she had said previously, and he believed her. He left the island, certain there was nothing else to worry about in this case, his report reflecting that.

  EPILOGUE

  That summer was harder in some ways than the first. They had all five cabins rented out all summer long. They finished building their small store, keeping it locked unless one of them were around to open it for their guests. They figured out a way to get electricity on the island, so they could have refrigeration and keep cold drinks for their guests. Occasionally, they even had ice cream as treats for the children and adults. They hadn’t wanted the fuel intake of a regular generator, but they learned at the library that you could use wind to generate power. After several failed attempts, they finally managed to put in a wind generator. They never completely rewired the cabins though, preferring the ambiance of the lanterns and the feel of camping out.

  As Barbara dug up the garden for them to plant, they took time to pull up all the poison ivy they could find on the island, using gloves for this chore. There were a few clumps of poison ivy growing in an area where it was rather prevalent, but they pulled up the plants, roots and all, before it got too big. They filled the wheelbarrow and dumped the plants over a cliff and into the sea. They were hoping the saltwater would kill it before it had a chance to take root somewhere else. They were especially careful to pull it up around their trails and anywhere their guests might go. Despite being careful and using those gloves only for that one purpose, they both got infected with it and ended up using tons of calamine lotion for the itch. It was horrible when they both broke out in rashes. Still, they h
ad gotten most of the plants and would dig it up again if they saw any more of the ‘leaves of three.’ They threw out those gloves, burying them deep as they didn’t want to burn the plants or the gloves since they had heard the oils could become airborne and give someone else a rash.

  Marion got it into her head to put up rails on parts of their trails, and Barbara helped her. They thought it would make them look more attractive and appear safer. There were still places where they had to put down gravel, wood chips, and even crushed shells. They had found millions of shells crushed on the shore of one beach. Using the wheelbarrows, they transported them along the paths, dumping and shoveling them onto the lower parts of paths, then raking them into beds.

  “Are you aware of the rumor that your island is haunted?” Marion was asked one day in town as she collected their mail while waiting on guests to arrive by bus.

  “No, I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Apparently, there’s been murders committed out there,” the gossip told her.

  “I hadn’t heard that either. I’m sure it’s just one of those rumors,” she laughed to show she wasn’t afraid. She was hoping they wouldn’t start talking about the old codger Barbara had hurt.

  “Yep, probably is,” they agreed, disappointed she wasn’t willing to discuss it with them.

  That was the first, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It only began to concern Barbara and Marion when their guests asked about such rumors. They dispelled them all when they could, but there was nothing they could do to stop them, and really, why should they try?

  The women were pleased as the town of Franklin continued to grow with the G.I. housing going up on the hills and industry booming in the small municipality. It didn’t lose its old-fashioned charm, and they were both pleased with that as they continued to improve their island. They had the chance to buy Fir Island one year and bought it outright using their savings. They put four cabins on it and advertised it as extremely remote even though Whimsical Island was farther out. Someone else bought Amethyst Island, and much later, some unknown buyers purchased Tourmaline Island and built private homes for vacation spots on them. The women were no longer the only ones with a Runabout or a Woody on the ocean in the area, and over the years they had to replace both. Luckily, with more people coming into the area, their rentals netted them enough to be able to afford these items.