What Sylvia hadn’t thought of, were the flowers for the ceremony itself and for the mothers, groomsmen, etc. Ideas flowed around the table. Every single woman had a different opinion.
Marian, who had been relatively quiet during the conversations, finally spoke up, “Sylvia, you love the urns of herbs at your house, why don’t you have urns with varying green herbs - like variegated sage, rosemary, and trailing thyme. You could use those small garden flag holders and put small hanging baskets of herbs and flowers at the end of the aisles.”
The florist nodded enthusiastically at this. “I also have green, Spanish glass vases that sit on a wrought iron base you can put in the ground. We could fill the vases with white and green hydrangea, spider mums and some trailing greenery. The vases could be tied with sage green bows to match the attendant dresses,” she suggested.
They all took a moment to think while the florist went to a storage room to bring out an example of the vase. On seeing the vase, all agreed it would be lovely. The florist asked if there would be an altar for the wedding. She made several suggestions for the pergola of several, opulent designs. Another round robin of discussion with all the ladies ensued. Sylvia wanted to keep it simple. She liked the urns of herbs that Marian suggested. Sylvia also agreed that she didn’t want the curtains to blow wildly during the wedding. She decided upon a simple floral arrangement to tie back the curtains. Maureen suggested hanging Japanese lanterns in sage green and white as a backdrop to the bay.
Regarding the yacht club, the florist had had much experience with floral arrangements for various events at the club. She suggested a small, oval dish planted with dark blue and purple pansies on each table and crystal sailboats riding the wave of flowers. She also suggested flowers or ribbons for their walk from the club to their waiting sailboat for the honeymoon. She brought out dark, sapphire blue and navy and cream ribbons to show the colors.
The flowers were coming together and Sylvia’s relief was palpable. The florist caught her eye and smiled at Sylvia.
“A little too much wedding?” she asked Sylvia softly when she handed the floral contract to her to sign.
Sylvia gave a nod in acknowledgment. The florist chuckled.
“It will all work out,” the florist told her. “Your choices are lovely.”
Sylvia straightened her shoulders and looked back at the florist. “I think you’re right,” she said thinking a moment, “We are actually pulling it together.”
The evening ended with excited chatter at the Crab Shack in town. Carol was talking about a shower and a bachelorette party. She texted Gwen frequently and hooted with laughter at some of the responses. Sylvia was glad her friends got on so well together.
But, Sylvia noticed, that Maureen was unusually quiet that evening. She had approved of the flowers at the marina with a nod and a faint smile but added little to the conversation.
Sylvia gave Maureen a quizzical look and asked her, sotto voce, “Are you all right?”
Maureen shrugged. She actually shrugged. Shrugging was not a gesture Sylvia had ever seen from her friend.
“Later,” whispered Maureen.
Leaving the florist, Sylvia suggested that Maureen ride back to Bayside with her. Mary had carpooled with Maureen to the florist. Hugs, kisses, and good wishes went round the table as the merry party broke up. Sylvia led Maureen to where her car was parked. Once inside, she turned to her friend.
“Okay,” Sylvia told Maureen, “confess. What’s going on?”
Maureen visibly swallowed. “Remember we thought fish poachers may have turned violent on George?”
Sylvia nodded and Maureen continued, “Please keep this confidential. It may have been oyster poachers that George stumbled upon. There are some arrest warrants out for the fisherman who have overfished the oyster beds south of here. They apparently covered up their damage and filed false health reports about oysters! I heard that their actions were felonies. They have to be the murderers! It makes perfect sense!” Maureen cried.
“So, you think George discovered they were overfishing the beds?” Sylvia asked Maureen.
“Yes!” Maureen cried.
“And, they killed George because he found out?” Sylvia continued questioning.
“Yes!” Maureen confirmed with conviction.
They were heading into Bayside. The summer brought long days and they drove towards the sunset that was painting the sky ahead of them. The high clouds were lit from behind and color washed the sky in deep mauve. They were both quiet for a couple of minutes as they drove to the marina.
“Have you voiced your ideas to Joe?” Sylvia asked.
“Oh, you know him,” Maureen began, “he’s a pretty sharp guy. I know he’s checked with the Coast Guard. I think he was looking at the environmental health agencies for the bay too. I can’t remember the name of the office, right now.”
Sylvia nodded but needed to concentrate on the road as a large SUV with a boat trailer speeded past them and the trailer swung into their lane.
“Damn, tourists!” she muttered.
“Hey, hey,” Maureen scolded lightly, “Those are our people. They keep the marina alive and well.”
“I know, I know,” Sylvia grumbled, “but, I wish they would learn to drive their huge cars and trailers on this narrow road. You never know who is going to be walking or biking here. It’s amazing no one has been killed!”
“I agree with you,” Maureen acquiesced. “Sylvia,” she continued, her voice riddled with concern, “I can’t help wonder how this could affect our business.”
“Is Skip worried?” Sylvia asked her.
“We’re both worried, but I think in different ways,” Maureen said. “It’s definitely not been a good couple of weeks for us. I feel brittle and Skip is testy. He won’t really talk about his fears with this. He wants to keep the information from me to ‘protect me,’” she added with a bit of sarcasm. “It’s one of the few downsides to marrying an older man who has actually forgotten that women can walk and talk and think.”
“That doesn’t sound like Skip,” Sylvia said. “I’m really surprised.”
“He’s very conservative,” Maureen confided. “His Dad was a martinet that kept his sons in the military mode most of the time. His mom was a domestic queen and his Dad worshiped and protected her from everything.”
“So, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Sylvia murmured.
“Exactly,” Maureen finished as they pulled into the driveway. “On a happier note, your wedding details are all coming together. That’s so exciting! Skip and I cannot thank you and Owen enough for having the wedding here, especially after George’s murder. It will brighten the mood. I just wish it was sooner than later.”
“Huh!” Sylvia said, “It’s coming soon enough!”
“I know,” Maureen said, “but, it’s at the end of our summer season. I would love to capture some good things during the throes of summer boating. Business has been a little thin.”
“Give people some time,” Sylvia said reminding Maureen, “We all loved Old George.”
Maureen nodded, emotion getting the best of her. She exited the car and headed into the house with a wave.
Sylvia drove home, thinking about all Maureen had said. When she pulled into the driveway, Percy barked excitedly. Owen wasn’t in the house and Sylvia let Percy out into the yard and stood at the deck railing looking out at the “True Love.” The dinghy was tethered to the sailboat. She thought briefly of swimming out but decided to sit on the deck and watch for Owen. When he emerged from the hatch, Percy barked and danced excitedly on the shore. He glanced towards the shore, smiling at Percy and spotting Sylvia, and waved. It was only moments before he descended to the dinghy and rowed back ashore.
“How are you?” he asked her, enveloping her in a hug.
“Good,” she told him. “The flowers are done and it’s going to be gorgeous.”
“Good,” he replied, “and I’ve started getting things ready for our first sail. T
he chart books, propane, cleaning supplies, towels, bedding, dishes, and silverware and…,” he smiled at Sylvia, “the most important thing -- champagne.”
“Wow,” Sylvia told him, “you’ve been busy.”
“Yup,” Owen said happily, putting an arm around her and turning so they could look at the boat, “and more tomorrow.”
Sylvia smiled at Owen’s pure joy of owning the sailboat. He was like a little boy with a brand new toy. The old rhyme of “the bigger the boy, the bigger the toy,” rang inside her head. She held back a giggle and kissed him on the cheek instead.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” she said.
“I am,” he replied, and pulled her tightly to him.
Chapter 17
“Life is like sailing. You can use any wind to go in any direction.” Robert Brault
The week flew by as Sylvia organized and completed final details for Bay Days the next weekend. Every evening was filled with cleaning and stocking the boat. Her mom went home overnight to check on her house and run some errands but returned Friday morning. Owen and Sylvia skipped lunch so they could get home an hour early. Mary had ordered a pizza and salad for a quick dinner before they packed up the last few personal items. Sylvia gave Percy a hug and a kiss on his pouf, telling him to be good for his grandmother. Mary gave them both hugs and told them to be careful and to have fun.
When they were on the boat, Sylvia waved gaily to her mother and Percy, standing on the shore. Percy gave a mournful howl as they motored off. Sylvia watched and waved to her mother and Percy were small sticks on the shoreline and then looked out to the bay. Owen was at the helm and the evening sun was warm and bright. Sylvia had never sailed but found this first foray of moving through the water, enjoyable. Owen wasn’t sure if they would catch a good wind for this leg of the trip. They passed the camp and convention center south of Bayside where people were swimming and paddle boating. Personal watercraft zipped everywhere. A few came fairly close to the boat. This frustrated Owen as he headed to the larger expanse of open water of the bay. The majority of personal watercraft stayed closer to the shoreline with a few braver souls that rode through the channel. Many boaters were heading towards North Bay to the marinas and Sylvia thought of the interstate, except this was on the water.
She watched, open-mouthed, as Owen unfurled one sail that he called the mainsail and then a smaller sail at the front of the boat that he called the ‘Genoa.’ Their sails were crisp and white with a border of navy that matched the hull. The wind picked up in the sail and began to pull them along. Sylvia gasped in delight. She knew, at once, why Owen loved sailing. There was absolutely nothing like this feeling. It was a feeling of freedom, of flying and of joy.
“Can you go below and grab me a beer?” Owen asked Sylvia.
“Sure,” she said, breaking out of the reverie.
Sylvia hesitated at using her sea legs. She found it wasn’t too bad to climb through the hatchway and pull a cold beer from their small refrigerator. She took the time to pour herself a glass of wine in a plastic cup. It was an odd feeling, to feel the boat moving through the water beneath her. She didn’t have anything to compare the feeling to. The only comparison was the moving sidewalk at the Philadelphia airport, but that was definitely a poor comparison. This was more like flying while standing. She liked it - a lot. Smiling, Sylvia ascended the stairs and handed the cold beer in a cozy to Owen, who was standing proudly at the helm. She sat on the bench near him. He took a swig from the bottle and placed the beer in a holder near the wheel. Sylvia sipped and looked at the vista before her. On her left were tall cliffs in varying oranges, terra cotta and buff shades. It looked as though someone had taken a wet brush and ran through parts of the cliff like a watercolor.
“Those are the clay cliffs near Turkey Point,” Owen informed Sylvia.
“They’re beautiful. They look like primitive art of some kind,” Sylvia said.
There were a few people on the beach and a couple of small sailboats anchored from the cliffs.
“It’s a favorite spot,” he told her, “but, the hike from Route 272 is very, very steep. We can hike down sometime. It’s near the lighthouse.”
“Okay,” she agreed, intrigued by the cliffs.
The wind pulled them along and Sylvia asked Owen how fast they were going, not really knowing how it would translate into miles per hour.
“We’re sailing between five and six knots,” he told her. “That’s about five miles per hour. It’s a beautiful, leisurely sail.”
Sylvia thought they were going quite fast. She never dreamed that this feeling would only be five miles per hour. But the world continued to go past her. Owen pointed out the cliff and the lighthouse. She felt the boat shift just after that. Owen told her it was because of the Elk and the North East Rivers meeting, therefore causing the currents to merge. He bit his lip and concentrated on maneuvering the boat. He was busy at the helm adjusting for the changing current. Sylvia was quiet and a little tense until they were smooth sailing again. It took a few hours and Owen pointed out various sites from his charts, but they reached the anchorage Owen had planned as the sun was beginning to set.
Owen told Sylvia he wanted to steer clear of the shallow inlet at Churn Creek. He told her the tide turned somewhat dramatically and he tried not to run aground. He seemed tense as he maneuvered the boat between what he called ‘day markers’ and crab pots. Sylvia saw them but really didn’t understand the challenges. Sailing was going to be an education for her.
There were six other boats at the anchorage. They waved to the other cruisers when they were settled. Owen dropped anchor and took down the sails, explaining to Sylvia what needed to be done and how.
“Is there going to be a test?” she teased him.
“Absolutely,” he told her raising his eyebrows and he gave a seductively, low laugh, “and totally ‘hands on.’”
“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,” she continued to tease him. “This sailing stuff is daunting.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “You’re in good hands.”
He went below to refresh their drinks and he brought up some crackers and cheese that he had in the refrigerator.
“Ahh,” he said, relaxing on the seat cushions. “Now, I can relax.”
Sylvia went over to him to rub his shoulders. She was surprised at how tense his muscles were.
She looked at him, “Are you okay?”
“Absolutely,” he told her, “but, I haven’t done this in a long time. I love every millisecond, but I have to get used to sailing again.”
“Okay,” she said, “just wondering. It was a fabulous, first sail for me. It’s gorgeous here.” She looked at the sandy beaches and the wooded shoreline in the protected cove. Sylvia could see where it got its name of Still Pond.
There was an occasional rocking of the boat from the traffic on the bay outside of this protected cover, but other than that, it was quiet and still. As the sun set, Owen pointed out some bald eagles, roosting in the trees, near the edge of the water. Civilization seemed far away. They had pulled into the southern portion of the cove. Sylvia could see some high bluffs on the western part of the cove that was a natural protection for all of the boats.
“On another sail,” Owen told Sylvia, “we can sail here, anchor, and then take the dinghy to shore to swim and explore.”
“That sounds like fun,” Sylvia said.
“No time for it on this trip,” he said, “We’ll need to get up early to get started on our journey to Baltimore.”
“Have you talked with Scotty this week?” she asked.
“No, just emails. He’s been on the road again,” Owen told her. “We’ll give him a call as we approach Baltimore and give him an estimated time we’ll be arriving.”
Owen stood up and stretched and gave an enormous yawn. “Lord, Sylvia, I’m tired!” he told her. “I’m headed below.”
Sylvia followed him through the hatch and down the stairs. Owen had warned her about limited water r
esources, so their ablutions were brief. Owen headed to the bunk, stripping off clothes as he went. Sylvia went to one of the cupboards in the salon and pulled out an adorable, yet, sexy, lacy baby doll nightie. She had wanted to surprise Owen on their first-night sailing. She put on the nightie and brushed out her hair. When she went to their berth, Owen was sound asleep and snoring like a freight train. Smiling, she sighed and shook her head.
With another sigh, Sylvia went to where she stowed her clothes and pulled out a very, light robe. She filled up her wine glass and came out onto the deck. When they had first pulled into Still Pond, they could still hear many boats zipping up and down the C&D Canal. Owen had commented that it was just like home. As the light faded in the western sky, the boating traffic became lighter and lighter. All was quiet and peaceful. Occasionally, she heard a muffled sound from one of the other boaters, but she couldn’t hear the conversation. Insect song overtook the boating sounds. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the quietude. Stars that had just been popping out earlier, one by one, had filled the sky with a sparkling brilliance. The water reflected the starlight in a dark, dazzling beauty. Sylvia sipped at her wine until she was tired and slipped below. She crawled into bed next to Owen and snuggled against him, despite the warm weather. The boat rocked gently and Owen’s arm automatically reached out to touch her as well as a toe on his foot. Sylvia smiled in the dark and went to sleep.
The Blossoming: The Third book in The Green Man Series Page 12
