The farmers of Chincoteague rose early to tend their herds and fields, and the fishermen just as early to set out their nets. So did the birds and animals who hunted the waterways. Anna and Sam navigated a labyrinth of narrow creeks and broad ponds on their way to the channel, all connected, each filling and draining with the tides. The water teemed with all the life that is born in the brackish places between the mainland and the open sea. The marsh was a nursery for every color of tiny fish. Tight schools of silver, green and blue darted about the shallows. On tidal flats, smooth grey clams the size of a fist buried themselves in the muck, feeding on the unseen creatures within it. Out in deeper water grew the delicate, rough-shelled oysters, indistinguishable at first glance from the rocky shoals to which they fastened themselves. Everywhere scuttled the busy crabs. Tiny black fiddler crabs clung to the salt-crusted stalks of cordgrass, their oversized yellow claws on display for potential mates. Hungry blue crabs patrolled ceaselessly for a meal, while their smaller cousins molted and grew in the rich estuaries all around them.
For the island birds it was an unending banquet, a table set long ago by the Almighty and replenished without fail. They were drawn to the marsh by the lure of food, and the marsh did not disappoint. No corner of the islands was free of its contingent of birds; they were a part of its landscape. Some soared the skies, wings tilting in the salty breeze. Some floated serenely on the surface of the water. Others plied the shallows on tall, skeletal legs. Anna had known them all since she could walk, introduced to each variety by her father. She had drawn each feathered creature in every part of its life. They accompanied her from the earliest days of spring until the harsh breath of winter turned the marsh to ice.
For Sam, they were all new.
Not long after they set out, she asked him to stop and gather grasses from the bank. She used them to transform the skiff's appearance so that it melted into its surroundings. She fastened milkweed and flowering vines to the oarlocks, and covered the gunwales with bunches of cordgrass and cattail as the market gunners did. Sam was astonished at how invisible they had become. Low to the water, disguised as she was, the skiff became a part of the marsh. Anna brought out the little hand paddles, carried in the hull. Lying prone, arms extended, a hunter could use them to move like fog along the surface of the water, concealed and silent.
She plucked citronella grass and marigold. She wove the stem of a marigold into the band of his cap and showed him how to crush the stems and flowers onto his skin to keep the mosquitoes at bay. He was delighted.
“You'd win the affection of every sailor in the Navy with this, Anna,” he told her. “I don't believe any of them know about it. We just endure the bugs.” She smiled. On Chincoteague, everyone knew about it.
Sam settled into a rhythm, the tips of his oars forming little whirlpools that scattered the tiny fish. The skiff was sound beneath him. Her builder had understood his task well; she slipped through the water like a sharp knife, her tapered stern leaving the narrowest of wakes behind them. Sam swelled with pride at the results of his carpentry. The boat was as seaworthy as it had ever been. He was happy to give this gift to Anna.
As they rounded a bend, she held a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be still. He paused in mid-stroke and docked his oars gently, eyes searching in the direction she pointed. They drifted past a white egret hunting at the far bank, standing tall above the water on backward-bent black legs. Its snakelike neck was extended ahead, positioning its perfect dagger of a bill for a strike. It stood motionless as they slipped by, its head cocked to one side as if listening. Then it struck, faster than Sam's eye could follow. When the bird pulled its head from the water it held a fish; its meal secure, it fled, lifting itself with wide, snow-white wings onto an overhanging branch.
The wind picked up as they crossed the Assateague channel. Sam judged it to be only a quarter-mile or so, not too wide a stretch of water, but he could feel the effort as the breeze turned against them and the current flowed across the skiff's path towards the channel mouth. Anna steadied herself, hands flat on the deck, as salty drops of spray kicked up into her face. She knotted her shawl about her neck, her mother's good knitting warming her. Sam's back was to the sun, higher now in the morning sky. He studied Anna's face, rosy and bright in the glow of the new day. A smile played at the corners of her lips. It rose to meet her dark eyes like the perfume of a strong flower rising into warm summer air.
Sam had seen the pain in her face plainly when her heart was troubled. On some days it refused to leave her, circling behind her eyes and stiffening her slim neck so that she seemed to wear a mask. On those days he could neither amuse nor comfort her, and they spoke little. Today her face was a window opening onto her deepest joy. It kindled a fire within him, and made him strong.
In due time he reached the shore of Assateague. A small creek would lead them across a pond to the lighthouse. Its brick column rose into the skyline ahead, outlined starkly by the bright sun. They traversed the shore until Anna located the mouth of the creek. Sam turned the skiff upstream into its mild current. As they skimmed the bank, a muskrat leapt from its burrow, launching its bullet-like body into the water. Its oily fur shed bubbles of air as it sped away ahead of the intruders. They were close now. Anna knew Elizabeth would have risen long ago to begin her day. She would not be expecting visitors but would welcome her friend as she always did.
Chincoteaguers did not call on Elizabeth for the sake of friendship. They were a tolerant clan, to be sure, and many displayed their fair share of quirks, but Elizabeth Reynolds fell far outside any circle of island society. Only when misery had set up camp on their doorsteps did the people of the town make the trip to Assateague to see the medicine woman. When a boat appeared, Elizabeth knew it was time to douse her fire, put away her pipe, and gather her supplies. Anna Daisey was different. Both women treasured their old friendship. Anna’s visits were the thing Elizabeth welcomed most.
Anna's heart raced as the lighthouse loomed larger. No one cared for Elizabeth the way Anna did. Would Sam? Small darts of fear stabbed at her. Surely he could not fail to love Assateague as she did—but it was so different from the Pennsylvania home he had described to her. Would it lift his heart as it lifted hers? Sam and her island were about to meet. She closed her eyes against the sun and said a little prayer that the introduction would be a good one.
The earth grew sandier and lighter as they moved farther towards the shore. The banks of the pond displayed the last blooms of the beach peas and mallows that consumed them in green tangles at the height of summer. They were close to the sea. The lighthouse had not been built very tall, but its location was well chosen. It stood on a small height of land, sheltered by rolling dunes. The barrier island came to an end not far south of the lighthouse; to the north, the wide beach stretched for miles. Its fine, pale-grey sand was washed out to sea by storms and returned by the endless surf.
They reached the flat spot along the bank where Anna always beached her boat. Sam glided the bow of the skiff onto the sand. He leaped onto solid ground and dragged it further up. Rising to her feet, Anna stepped lightly onto the deck. He took both her hands and lifted her downwards.
Elizabeth’s tent was pitched beside the lighthouse. Its gossamer side panels billowed in the breeze. Anna knew it would not stand much longer, but for now she could still enjoy the warm afternoons in her outpost on the sand. As they walked across the low dunes, Anna spotted Elizabeth coming from the lighthouse carrying a muslin sack. Anna raised her arm in greeting, running instinctively towards her friend. She hugged her around the neck as they met. Sam followed, unsure of himself. As he reached the two women he removed his cap and began to extend his hand in greeting. Anna turned to make an introduction, but none was necessary.
“This must be one Sam Dreher,” said Elizabeth.
“Ma’am,” Sam responded, bowing slightly.
Elizabeth turned to Anna. “Look at this one, full of manners! Did you school him, girl, or was he raised suc
h a gentleman?” She did not wait for an answer, but gestured towards the tent. “Let’s be seated by the fire. When you people are my age you won’t take weather like this kindly, I promise you. Put the kettle on, Anna.” Sam held the tent open for her. Anna swung the teakettle over the crackling fire on its iron hook. They sat side by side on a wide bench. Elizabeth went back into her room and returned with a small wooden box full of powdered tea. Tossing a fistful into the kettle, she settled herself into her twig chair, putting up her feet. Her ankles were wrapped in rough woolen cloth. She smoothed her skirts over the lap and reached for her pipe.
“Do you smoke, Sam Dreher?” She motioned to Anna, who lighted a cedar splint in the fire and handed it to her.
“Not regular, Miss Reynolds. Never developed the habit.”
She smiled broadly. “I believe I was just a girl when someone last called me ‘Miss Reynolds.’ Your Anna calls me Elizabeth. So can you, then.”
Sam felt himself coloring slightly. His Anna.
The medicine woman drew deeply on her pipe, exhaling a column of blue smoke that quickly rose to the peak of the tent. “You come from Pennsylvania, Sam Dreher?”
“Yes, ma’am—Elizabeth.” He looked quickly over to Anna. A smile flashed onto her face.
“And you would be a Union sailor.”
“Yes, Elizabeth, ship’s carpenter of the Louisiana.”
“Which has brought you here to my Anna.”
It had.
“And where will it take you after this?”
He did not know. Not knowing was painful now. “I am most fortunate, I believe, to have come here. I would not choose to go elsewhere, Elizabeth, given the choice.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding her head. “And are you given the choice?”
He could not reply.
“What do you think of the fighting, Sam Dreher?”
He measured his words. He had given it much thought. “It is my hope that we will prevail. It is a terrible and sad business, but we must succeed if the nation is to survive. Mr. Lincoln has made the case well, I believe. I myself joined the navy to do my part for that cause.”
“You admire Mr. Lincoln, then?”
“I do. He is a good and decent man.”
“He is very tall,” Elizabeth finally replied. “I saw his picture at the Post Office in Chincoteague. He may have signed the paper they use to pay me, him or one in his employ. They send me money from Washington for keeping this lighthouse.” She pointed to the brick tower with the well-chewed stem of her pipe. “They have for years. Mr. Lincoln does not want sailors to drown.”
“Have sailors drowned?”
“Not very many.”
Steam rose from the kettle. Anna bent forward. “Tea, Sam?” She swung open the lid of a crate and pulled our three mugs. It was their beach cupboard. “Thank you, Anna,” he said. She poured the greenish-gold liquid into the mugs; tiny bits of leaf floated on its surface.
“This is made from Virginia Rose. When the flowers fall, the fruit is left behind. The birds will eat them, but we get them first. It’s one of the first things Elizabeth showed me how to make.” He sipped the lot liquid cautiously. Navy tea was strong and dark. This was entirely different, light and tasting of fruit, but powerful like the juice of a lemon in his throat. He liked it.
Elizabeth set her mug on a box to cool. “How does the fighting proceed, then, Sam?”
“It proceeds well, we are told. At least it proceeds well at sea. There is little opposing navy to speak of, and few battles. The coastlines are contained by our ships, and peaceful for the most part.”
“What do ship captains do when the coastlines are peaceful?”
“Blockade, Elizabeth. It is a blockading action, so that supplies and arms may not go up and down the coast, and the rebels”—he caught himself—“the opposition may end quickly, with less bloodshed. The blockade is very successful, from all accounts.”
“And the fighting on land, away from the peaceful coastlines?”
“At first it did not go well, but the generals have had successes in Western Virginia just last month. We hear less about the battles on land.”
“Less than you hear about the successful blockade.” He nodded. “Are Chincoteague oysters part of the blockade?”
He shook his head. “No, Elizabeth. Because of the island’s loyalty to the Union, they are not. That is why we are here.”
“Men’s battles divide a nation,” said Elizabeth, reaching for her tea. “And their stomachs unite it.” She took a hearty sip. “And you, Sam Dreher, with our Anna.” He shifted on his seat. He had discussed his feelings for Anna with no one save Ethan, and even with his friend he had spoken little. It was clear that Elizabeth was judging him. He could only hope for the best.
Anna was relieved to see Sam passing muster with Elizabeth. It was not easily done. Elizabeth was, above all, honest. She was not one to mince words. She got along well enough with those who could deal with her on her own terms. If they could not, she was happy to dismiss them sooner rather than later. She had no use for those who were deceitful or full of pride. Anna watched Sam carefully as Elizabeth challenged him. His back was straight and his head held high. He looked her full in the face and spoke with conviction. She watched his profile in the sunshine as he spoke. His face was long, a bit too long, perhaps, but his features were set perfectly upon it, framed by his thick, dark hair. He gestured with his hands as he spoke; his hands expressed what his words could not. She watched his strong fingers, and remembered them working the plane so carefully on the skiff. She remembered them caressing her face as he kissed her. She felt herself coloring as the conversation faded from her ears.
Elizabeth rose from her chair. She plucked a gnarled driftwood log from the pile beside her, and dropped it onto the fire. “Do you like to ride, Sam?”
“Of course, Elizabeth. From the time I was very small.”
Elizabeth handed Anna two rope bridles. “On the other side of the lighthouse you will find Anna’s pony, grazing in the garden with some of his herd. She will show you which ones can be ridden.” She gestured up the beach with her arm. “If you ride northwards, nothing stands between you and Maryland.”
Anna rose from the bench, eager to see Willow. Sam stood with her. Elizabeth lifted a leather pouch from the back of the chair, handing it to Anna by its shoulder strap. “Take some food, Anna, and cider.” There were bottles of cider in the crate, along with dried fish and some flat brown loaves of bread. She filled the bag and fastened it. Anna took Sam by the hand and led him to the leeward side of the lighthouse, where the ponies were waiting. Elizabeth watched them go. “We will return soon, Elizabeth,” Anna called out over her shoulder.
Not very likely, the older woman thought.
Willow was grazing exactly where Elizabeth had said he would be. Three of his companions lingered nearby, searching for the last of the sweet plants that would soon fade with the fall. Anna approached her horse with his bridle, fitting it over his head as she greeted him. He tossed his pale-gold mane, green eyes flashing. Sam came up slowly beside her, careful not to startle the unfamiliar pony. He stoked the animal’s neck. The Chincoteague breed was small compared to the big draft horses that pulled hay wagons and worked the towpaths of canals. These ponies were compact and athletic. Their bellies were bloated from a diet of coarse grass and brackish water, but their legs were lean and powerful.
“My Willow,” said Anna, turning to Sam. “My father’s gift to me. Do you like him?” He nodded. To his eye, the horse was wild and beautiful.
She selected another horse from the group nearby, a bit larger than Willow, but quiet and unafraid at her approach. Most of its body was chocolate brown, like its face and mane. A multi-pointed star of white spread from its withers almost to its flanks, extending down its legs on either side, as if to show a rider where to crouch for the greatest speed. Anna stroked the pony’s neck, fitting it with a bridle. She beckoned Sam.
“This is Nettle,” she said. “
He’s the most agreeable pony on the island. Even Beau rides him when he comes here.” Sam ran his hands along the pony’s sides. The horse’s dark brown eyes showed no fear.
“Whose herd are they?” Sam asked her. “Why are they roaming here, so near to the sea?”
“They belong to no one in particular,” she replied, “but they have been here as long as we can remember. If you spend enough hours in the Atlantic Hotel when the ale is flowing, you will hear stories about horses fleeing the shipwrecks of Spanish galleons long ago. Each man will swear to you that his is true. Buy them more ale, and the stories will improve. My father told me some of his favorites, but he always cautioned me afterwards that it was sinful to lie.
“The horses do not leave the island, even when the tide is low. Elizabeth and I have befriended some of them. My father found Willow when he was a very young colt, and made him mine. In the summertime islanders come over and drive the ponies to Chincoteague, where the new foals are sold. Pony penning, we call it. But Willow is spoken for.”
“May I fetch saddles for us?” he asked.
She shook her head. “We ride without saddles. The ponies are not used to them, nor are we.” He paused. He had ridden tired old farm horses bareback, but only at a walk. These ponies would be altogether different. She felt his sudden concern. There was mischief in her eyes. “Nettle is most agreeable,” she offered, “and the sand is far softer than earth. Let me show you.” With that, she twined the fingers of her left hand in Willow’s long mane. With a quick step she braced her right hand quickly on his withers, and threw her leg over his back, skirts flying. In the blink of an eye she sat gracefully astride her horse, reins in her hands. Her boots stood abandoned in the sand; her bare feet dangled just behind the pony’s forelegs, her ankles framed by the hem of her petticoats.
“Shall we leave you behind, Sam Dreher?” she called. Willow was stamping the ground, ready to go. Sam swallowed hard. He did not so much fear a fall; he dreaded the look on Anna’s face as she watched him get up.
The Sea is a Thief Page 12
