Secrets of Sandhill Island

by Peggy Chambers

  “So how did you get them?”

  “I have a friend who owed me a favor.” Jon grinned slyly. A grin Meg had seen many times on her father. She didn’t always like the way he was changing as he grew up. He would always be her son, but he had some Stanford in him—like his grandfather.

  “Well, this was impertinent of you! I didn’t ask you to check up on Alex. He is an artist who moved in next to the vegetable stand and he is helping with the problems in the garden. He even watered for me tonight while I was away.”

  “I know you don’t think I should check up on you, but you need to realize that people will take advantage of you if you don’t watch them. I don’t like the fact that a sexual predator is moving in on my mother!”

  “He was acquitted.” Meg gestured at the documents. “Besides, how do we know what happened? She obviously dropped the charges, and then her father had the case sealed. Doesn’t that tell you something? She wasn’t under-age, so why did they do it?”

  “Like I said, her father was protecting her—just like I am trying to do for you.”

  “Or she had something to hide.”

  “Oh good grief! Mom, listen to me. That guy is bad news and you would do well to stay away from him, I’ll get you another place for the vegetable stand.”

  “I don’t want another place, and I want you to get out of my personal business.”

  “You are my personal business. We’re family and family looks after one another. You taught me that.”

  “Well, maybe I taught you too much. Jon, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I think I’m old enough to pick my own friends!”

  Meg looked up at Jon as she sat on the couch in the chiffon dress someone else selected for her. She knew how he felt about her lifestyle and whether or not she was capable of choosing her own friends—just like her father. She hid from the world instead of meeting it head on like he did. He shook his head.

  “Okay.” He tossed the documents on the coffee table. “I’m going to bed. Greg will be available to take you back to the ferry when you’re ready tomorrow. You know where the guest bedroom is.” He stomped off to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter 11

  Alex leaned the painting against the wall in the tiny kitchen. It was a splash of color in an otherwise drab room. He painted from memory, but the detail was not what was important, it was the subject. Then he walked back outside to his easel in the garden.

  He hadn’t seen the rabbit in the last few days. He probably did his dining early in the day.

  Squeezing the tomato on the pallet, he picked the seeds out. He needed a small sifter or something to strain the seeds. Maybe a tea strainer, he thought, eyeing the back door of Meg’s house. No, he couldn’t start helping himself to her things. But a tea strainer would be perfect. Every time he painted with the vegetables, he found another hurdle to clear. But the medium was worth it. He had finally found the colors that his eye saw in the ocean.

  He painted faster and faster as the muse pushed him forward. He was finally able to paint what his soul saw, not just his eyes. The sea in all its glory. He wanted to paint it at every angle, and every time of day. He longed to paint in a storm, even though he knew that wasn’t possible, unless Meg would let him move inside. But, he had probably already intruded enough. He hoped the gift he left on her table would help pay for the time he spent in her garden.

  She wasn’t like most women. She knew her own mind and didn’t want anything from him. She was self-sufficient, even if she hid from the world. It was obvious that her son had money—at least, he drove a Mercedes and wore a suit to work. So, why did he let his mother struggle with living the way she did and not help her out? Did she refuse him?

  He wanted to get to know her better, but after the last disaster he was wary of relationships with women. Not that Chauncey was a relationship, but one way or another it ended in disaster. He never had time in his life for romance. His art was his romance, but yet as he aged, there was a hole in his life—a hole that he didn’t know how to fill. And it lingered.

  He would ask Meg to dinner—a real date. He wasn’t sure she would accept, but he could try. After all, he should pay her back for the opportunity her home had given him. The scenery, the location, and now the new painting medium were exactly what he needed all these years even though he hadn't known it.

  He wondered how she would feel if she knew why he was hiding from the world. After he lost his job at the university, he decided to try to paint for a living. The grant he applied for the year before was available, so he took it. It was a good opportunity at the time, and now it was marvelous. He had almost forgotten that Chauncey had cost him his job and his reputation. Almost. But, starting over might have been just what he needed.

  He stood back and looked at his masterpiece. Cleaning his brushes, he decided to quit for the day—the light he wanted was gone and he should be, too, by the time she returned. He still had a garden to water.

  Chapter 12

  Meg arrived at her island the next morning in the yellow sheath with a bag in her hand. Inside were the two new outfits and the court papers Jon gave her. She hadn’t slept well the night before and was glad to be home and back in her routine.

  Opening the creaky door, she entered her kitchen. Everything was in order in this house that she had always loved. But, her eye was drawn to the one new item in the kitchen. A painting on the kitchen table leaned against the wall. It was bright and cheerful—a woman in a yellow dress and familiar straw hat stood with her back to the portrait, picking berries. The colors were vibrant and alive, and underneath the bright green leaves in the corner was the quivering nose of a rabbit poking out and looking hesitantly up at the intruder in his garden. It was clear who had left the art on her table.

  Meg eyed the picture with her hand raised to her mouth. She almost cried. It was beautiful, and it cheered up her drab kitchen. She stood staring at the painting from every angle and smiled. She would hang it on the wall so the sunshine would catch it every morning.

  Changing into gardening clothes, she pulled the soon-full vegetable wagon into town, placing the worn out hat on her head as she went.

  “Morning Meg. How was dinner and the new addition to the family?” Alex stood in his doorway, coffee cup in hand.

  “Hello Alex.” She placed the vegetables on the wooden planks of her stand. “Dinner was fine.” A sudden gust of wind blew the hat from her head. Reaching around to capture it, she twisted back toward Alex.

  “You cut your hair! It looks lovely. And a manicure too! Very nice.”

  “Thank you. I said I was getting my hair done before dinner yesterday. By the way, the painting was beautiful. It goes so well in the kitchen. I’m going to hang it tonight, right over the table where it gets the morning light. The colors are so delightful.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “But, where’s the sea? I thought you were going to paint the sea.”

  “I am. And I have a new medium for that. Come, let me show you. I want you to be the first. After all, you were the inspiration.”

  He led her through the shop to the back. Sitting on the easel was an unfinished painting of the ocean at its most magnificent. The waves tumbled to the shore and curled back into the sea in a dark angry color with only the very tips of the wave in a pale green. The sky was still unfinished, but you could see that a storm was coming. Meg knew that sea. It was the one she dreamed about when she dreamed of Evan. The navy and green water rolled, re-exciting itself with every twist.

  “Alex, this is wonderful. I’ve never seen such emotion in colors. What’s new about the medium?”

  “That’s what I wanted to show you. You should be the first to see this because you helped create it.” He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the bowl of blackberries and raspberries. He pinched one and held it out to her. She watched the color drip off his thumb.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, questioning.

  “Neither
did I at first. It was an accident when I smeared it across the canvas and it stained.”

  “This is painted with berries?”

  “Your berries and other produce. Organic art—that is what I’m going to call it. I don’t know if the salt air affects it, but the colors stay brilliant. When I’m finished, I’ll seal it well in case it decides to fade. It’s an experiment. I don’t normally paint with watercolors, but this is about that consistency and it has been fun learning to work with the different feel of the paint.”

  Meg looked up at the shadow coming through the window. She had a customer. “It’s great, Alex, I want to see more. But, I’ve got to wait on this customer. I’ll talk to you later.” She walked back to her produce stand to see what the tourist needed, when she heard footsteps from down the street.

  “Meg!” Sam from Le Chez was almost running again. It seemed that the only time he ran was when he needed something. Lately what he needed were her veggies.

  “Thank goodness you’re here. I need it all—again! The truck didn’t make it in on time and well, can you bring them to the back door of the restaurant?”

  “Of course, Sam. Maybe we need to make a schedule and that would be better for both of us.”

  “A schedule! You have never managed a restaurant have you?” The sweat ran down his face.

  Meg loaded up her wagon again as another customer came by looking over the cucumbers.

  “Help yourself. I am packing up. But, take what you want first.”

  “You’re getting fairly popular.” Alex stood in the doorway with a glass in his hand. Meg smiled. “Stop in for iced tea on your way back.”

  Empty wagon trailing behind her, Meg walked back to the produce stand. Her days had changed lately. She didn’t spend nearly as much time trying to sell the produce after she grew it, and she’d made some new friends. Life was funny, just when you tried to block it out, it always found a way back in.

  Alex sat on his porch with the ice tea pitcher on the table between two rocking chairs. Meg wondered if the town was starting to talk about them. And then she wondered if she cared. She liked talking to Alex, and it was nice to be known by her name again instead of the crazy hermit lady with the produce stand. She knew she would never want to integrate herself back into Corpus Christi society, but she was beginning to enjoy her neighbors here on the island. Alex and his paintings, Sam, the chef at Le Chez, Paul the shrimper and his silly teasing attitude about his wife, and then a shiver went down her spine when she thought of Mike Fitzgerald, the man on the dock who hid behind his hat and tried to scare her. Could he really be Rowdy’s son, and did he know something about Evan’s death, after all these years? Why was she so afraid of him and what did he want of her? She made a mental note to look through the locker under her bed. The one with her father’s papers and the few things she had left of Evan’s. Maybe it would shed some light on the Fitzgeralds, Rowdy and Mike.

  “You know, I was thinking,” began Alex as he gestured to the chair beside him. “Maybe we should find out what Sam is doing with all those vegetables. I mean, can he cook? Have you ever eaten at Le Chez?”

  Meg shook her head.

  “Well, what do you say we do that? Want to have dinner sometime and see if the chef is as good as the produce he buys?”

  A smile began to light up Meg’s face. Was Alex asking her for a date? It had been a long time since she had been asked on a date—but he was probably just being nice. “I’ve never been there. I normally do my own cooking.”

  “Well, it’s time then. Someone should look after you for a little bit. I know you ate out in Corpus Christi the other night. What was on the menu?”

  “Jon ordered for me before I got there, and we had swordfish, steamed veggies, and lots of wine. At least they did. I think they had quite a bit before I got there. I guess she might have been nervous about meeting the future mother-in-law.”

  “Well, that’s just silly. I’m sure she was in love with you before the evening was over.”

  “She seemed like a nice person. Very attractive and intelligent—very much Jon’s equal. I am sure I’ve heard her family name before. She is a fashion designer, but her family was in shipping years ago.”

  “Was your family in shipping?”

  Meg was aware she had said too much. Alex was so easy to talk to she sometimes forgot herself. She really didn’t want to share with him, or anyone else on the island, about her family. That was why she came here—to get away. “I really don’t like to talk about my family. Jon is all I have left. He is my family now.”

  “Of course, I didn’t mean to pry, I was just making conversation. But, you’re going to have another in your family soon and who knows little ones too, eventually.”

  “I have no idea if they want children. I didn’t ask.”

  “Well, about Le Chez, how about dinner some night?”

  “Is this like a date or are you just feeling sorry for me?”

  “Sorry for you? For what? I’ve never felt anything except admiration for you, living and doing what you want. And I have never seen anything like that garden! No, I am not sorry for you or about meeting you. Yes, I am asking you on a date, unless that makes you nervous, and then it is just two friends having dinner.”

  Meg stared at the man who had been a stranger just a few days ago. “I would like to have dinner with you Alex, but it would have to be just friendly. I haven’t dated in a long time and I’m out of practice.”

  “That’s okay, neither have I. It seems I’ve spent most of my life wrapped up in my teaching career and now my painting. So, maybe it’s time I branched out and included people in my little corner of the world. I like you, Meg, and I would like to see more of you, if that’s okay. If I make your nervous, just say so. Like I said, I’m out of practice too.”

  Meg smiled at the man in front of her. He made her feel relaxed and welcome in a world that she didn’t always understand. “Here is my cell phone number. That way you can call me when you want to make a reservation, I mean if Le Chez takes reservations.”

  He took out his cell phone and placed her in his contacts. “And here’s mine so we can keep in touch.”

  Chapter 13

  Meg pulled the locker from under the bed. The photo albums on top she laid aside. She resisted the urge to look at Jon’s baby pictures until later. First, she wanted to look through her father’s records.

  An old fashioned double entry bookkeeping journal in her lap, she slid her legs out from under her and sat on the creaky wooden floorboards. Turning the pages, she ran her finger down the names of customers. She found it, “Chung Shipping.” She was right. There was a Chung in her father’s list of business associates and something about it rang a bad bell. Conversations around the dinner table that she was not allowed to enter into as a child, nor did she want to, still hung like moldy cobwebs in her mind. But, she was sure her father’s face would turn red when he mentioned the name. Chung must have been a competitor.

  She never knew why she kept the boxes of receipts and invoices from the days he worked on the dock. His office sat next to the shrimp boats that came and went. She loved spending time with him at work. Even if he was a hard man. He ruled over those who worked for him with an iron fist, as well as her mother, but he was always gentle with Meg. He called her his princess. A sign of the time, she wasn’t allowed to speak to the customers or workers. She was a child. But, she watched intently as he wheeled and dealed his way through life. He was a shrewd businessman and he planned after she graduated from college that she would take over his business someday. That day never came.

  Meg grew up on Sandhill Island with her parents, but her mother insisted she go to private school on the mainland. Many days when Meg and her mother took the ferry to Corpus Christi for school, her mother would spend the day in the city with her friends until she was forced to go back to the tiny island and its inhabitants when Meg was finished with classes. Alice Stanford longed to go back to Corpus and the life she lived as a young wom
an before marrying Graham and being forced to live on the island where he worked.

  In the summers at her father’s office, Meg often wandered down the shore to the tiny beach house that Mariam was allowed to rent from her family. Mariam cooked the meals and scrubbed the floors for Meg’s mother. She had been the family maid even before Meg was born. She raised a small garden in her mother’s backyard for the family’s consumption and was allowed a few things if there were too many to eat. But, most of the extras were canned for the Stanford’s winter months.

  Meg remembered her soft gray eyes and hair to match pulled back in a bun as she hummed to herself working up a sweat. She always had a kind word for everyone—even Meg’s father—and Meg thought of her as more of a maternal figure than her own mother. She taught her to cook and garden until Alice Stanford would come and take her daughter back inside to clean up for some meeting or party in Corpus that Meg was obligated to attend.

  During the summer on days that Meg went to work with her father, she would often be found napping in the hammock that hung on the screened porch of Mariam’s rented bungalow. She was a child and could only listen to so many business deals before becoming bored. But, she never tired of listening to the waves roll up on the shore in front of the sleepy little beach house where Mariam lived.

  Later, home after graduation from Wellesley, Meg and her father argued most every evening. His princess had grown up. She studied Sociology, not business as he had planned. She decided that shipping was not what she wanted to do with her life, and Corpus Christi society was not for her, either. She planned to look for a job somewhere away from Corpus Christi—or maybe pursue her doctorate, but life got in the way.

  That was the summer that she met Evan. She kept him a secret at first. He was a fisherman who docked his boat every evening near her father’s office. Her mother wanted her to meet and marry someone from Corpus Christi’s society elite. Her father wanted her to take over his shipping business when he retired. She wanted neither of those things.