by Anna Schmidt
Margery’s houseboat was tied up at one end of the pier, a pier that he was surprised to see had been fully rebuilt. To either side, small boats in various stages of repair bobbed in the calm water of the creek, the pulleys used to raise their sails clanking against metal poles as if someone were picking out a tune on a row of glass bottles. A tarp covered what had been the roof of the bait shop, but the place appeared deserted, abandoned even. The creek waters smelled faintly of dead fish and the fuel that had obviously leaked out of the damaged boats. In addition to the bait shop, Margery made her living running fishing trips and renting boats to tourists. From the looks of things, the bait shop was closed, and other than the small boat Margery used to get around, there wasn’t a vessel worth chartering among the half dozen tied up at the pier.
He eased his craft closer to the houseboat. Margery had once told him that the day she buried her husband she had returned to the marina, boarded the houseboat, and stayed. After a year she had found the strength to return to the house they had shared and clear it out before putting it up for sale. All of this came back to him now as the boat she’d loaned him rocked gently and he tried to decide on his next move.
His heart was beating so hard it was as if he could hear each thud. It had been a very long time since he had reached out to anyone. It came back to him that Samuel had mentioned the fisherwoman was staying with Jeannie Messner. But there were definite sounds of occupancy coming from the houseboat.
“Margery?” He sniffed the air as he brought his boat closer to the side of the houseboat. Coffee. Bacon frying. If vandals had taken over the place, they were surely making themselves at home.
“Margery?” This time he shouted the name.
“What?” Margery barked, coming onto the deck, waving away an unseen bug with a spatula. Then she saw him, and her eyes widened, as did her smile. “Well, now, will you look at what the tide brought in! Praise God and pass the cranberry sauce—I never ever thought I would see this day.”
He threw her the rope. “You gonna help me tie this thing up and invite me in for breakfast or stand there yapping all morning?” he grumbled.
True to form, Margery made no further comment about his unexpected visit. Instead, she guided him the rest of the way into her pier and looped the rope over a post. Then she gave him a hand as he made the short leap from boat to pier and led the way into the galley kitchen, where she turned on the gas under the skillet and cracked four large eggs into the bacon grease.
“Moved back here four days ago,” she announced. “Jeannie’s place was nice, too nice for the likes of me. Lots of pretties in that house, and you know me, clumsy as the day is long. I kept worrying I might break something. And with school starting they were all busy with that. Truth be told, I could not wait to get this old bucket in good enough shape so I could bunk here again.”
John attacked the food as soon as she set the plate in front of him. He’d been eating little other than prepackaged meals or canned goods for days now, and he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d had a hot meal. “Good,” he muttered with his mouth full of scrambled eggs and biscuit. He glanced up when he realized Margery had stopped talking and was leaning against the sink, arms folded as she watched him eat.
“Didn’t you forget something?”
John felt color rise to his cheeks and was grateful for the sun-scorched skin that he assumed hid his embarrassment. “Sorry,” he muttered and put down his fork. He leaned back and waited for Margery to fill her plate and join him.
“I’m touched,” she said as she set her plate down and took the chair across from him, “but I was talking about saying grace. I thought a good Amish man like you—”
“I …” John decided not to debate the point. Instead, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. After a moment he resumed eating.
“Arlen’s sending me some help today,” Margery said.
“MDS team?”
“Not officially. Just neighbors helping neighbors, as Arlen likes to put it.”
He drank a full glass of orange juice before he found the nerve to make his next statement. “I have some time if you can use an extra hand.”
John was pretty sure it was his unsolicited offer to help that had struck Margery speechless for once. But when he glanced at her, he saw that she was fighting the urge to burst into laughter. “What?”
“An extra hand and maybe one good leg,” she managed, her laughter escaping as she pointed to his cast and wrapped ankle, “is about all you’re in a position to offer.”
John couldn’t help himself. The situation was so ridiculous that laughter seemed the only response. And once he got his own good humor rolling, it seemed as if he had unleashed a wellspring that had for far too long been capped.
Hester and Arlen exchanged curious glances as they walked the length of Margery’s pier and heard her hearty laughter rolling out the open windows of the houseboat. Then they heard the unmistakable raspy growl of John Steiner’s voice. “All right already,” he was saying, but he was laughing as well.
“Hello,” Arlen called as he stepped onto the deck and then offered his hand to Hester.
Margery stuck her head out the missing door. She was wiping tears of merriment from her eyes with the hem of her oversized T-shirt. “Come on in and have some breakfast,” she invited. “You are not going to believe who has offered to lend us a hand.” This last seemed to set her off all over again, and when Arlen and Hester stepped into Margery’s cramped living space, Hester was stunned to see John apparently still recovering from whatever joke Margery had told. The effect that his smile had on her was unsettling, and she looked away.
“Well, now, this is a nice surprise,” Arlen boomed as he grasped John’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “How are you faring over at Tucker’s Point, John?”
All traces of humor disappeared. When Hester glanced his way, she saw that John’s deep-set eyes had darkened like storm clouds over the Gulf. “Well enough. I should thank you for sending Samuel to check in on me from time to time. The loan of his camper has been a special blessing.”
Hester and her father exchanged a look. Neither of them had had any idea that Samuel had continued to visit John after he had gone out there to leave his camper.
“Samuel makes his own choices,” Arlen replied.
The tiny space was suddenly filled with silence until Margery came to the rescue. “Well, we’ll get nothing done standing around here jabbering. Go on out there on the deck where there’s more room. Find some shade and have something to eat. Whoo-ee! Guess this is what folks up north call Indian summer. Cool nights and scorching days. Welcome to autumn in Florida.”
“We ate at home,” Arlen told her, “but I always leave room for at least one of your biscuits, Margery.”
“Let me help you,” Hester offered, taking down two more plates from the open shelving above the sink and holding them while Margery dished up bacon with one hand while scrambling more eggs with the other. Hester was glad to see John take his almost-empty plate and coffee mug and follow her father outside. “When did he get here?” she asked Margery in a near whisper.
“John?” She glanced at the clock and shrugged. “Half hour ago. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I saw him out there, steering that old piece of junk of mine with one hand.” She chuckled. “I’ll bet it took him near quarter of an hour just to get her fired up and backed away from his pier, but the man is stubborn.”
“What does he want?”
“Want?” Margery looked at Hester as if she had suddenly started speaking in tongues. “He says he’s come to help.”
“After two years?”
“Oh, honey, it may seem like two years, but that storm blew here only just over a month ago.” She topped off the plates Hester was holding with two hot biscuits each. “Oh, I get it. You mean why come now when he’s never made the move before?”
Hester nodded and waited for Margery to pour coffee in two chipped, mismatched mugs.
&n
bsp; “People change all the time,” Margery said. “Admittedly some take longer than others, but he’s here, and that’s the main thing.” She led the way out to the deck, where John and Arlen had found shelter in the shade. John was pointing to something above them, and Arlen was nodding.
“You want a refill?” Margery asked John. He held out his coffee mug.
“Get it yourself,” Margery barked. “This cook’s done her thing for the morning.”
Hester watched as John got up and made his way back to the galley. He was limping.
“What happened to your ankle?” she asked.
“Stepped in a sinkhole and twisted it,” he replied and disappeared inside.
“One good leg and one good arm?” Margery called after him. “You’re a real bargain, John Steiner.” She turned her attention to her breakfast but gave Arlen a conspiratorial wink. “I think the boy might be coming around finally.”
“He looks terrible,” Hester whispered back.
“I expect he’s not sleeping much. He was pretty bitten up before Samuel brought the camper and mosquito netting and such.” Margery glanced up as John started back toward them, his plate loaded with the rest of the bacon and biscuits. “You’re gonna eat me out of house and home,” she growled.
“I figured we’d all save energy if I just brought out what was left.”
“Yeah, everybody knows you’re a real sweetheart,” Margery said as she helped herself to another biscuit from the plate and plopped one onto Arlen’s plate.
Hester was sure she wasn’t seeing right. Had John Steiner almost smiled as he took his seat again? Somehow Margery had gotten to the man, won him over.
The crunch of car tires on packed sand and gravel followed by the slamming of car doors and voices told Hester that the rest of the crew had arrived. Arlen and Margery went to meet them and help with the unloading of supplies. Hester started to clear away the breakfast dishes.
“I can do this,” John said. “You go on and help Arlen and the others.”
She glanced at the cast that looked as if it had been through its own hurricane. “Let me look at that,” she said, taking his arm before he could refuse. “What have you done to yourself?” she muttered as she examined the fiberglass cast that in places was worn down to his bare skin.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, pulling his arm away and ducking his head to clear the galley doorway.
“You are not fine, John. Your wrist probably needs resetting, and then there’s the matter of that ankle. You’re wearing a compression bandage?”
“I do what I need to do to get around.”
“And you’re wearing flip-flops? When you’re working in areas hard hit by a hurricane, that is just plain stupid. With all the debris, you could easily trip or step on a nail.” She followed him inside and set down the stack of plates she was carrying. “As long as I’m here, you might as well let me take a look.”
“Don’t do me any favors, lady.”
Hester released a weary sigh. “Could we call a truce here and agree that you might actually benefit from my examining you?”
He eyed her suspiciously.
“If you want to help Margery, then you’re doing her no favors by not taking care of yourself.” She took down Margery’s first-aid kit from the shelf above the door.
She decided to maintain her professional demeanor in spite of the fact that what she really wanted to do was to lecture the man that his refusal to accept help when it was offered had endangered his health.
“Did you ice it?” she asked as she removed the filthy compression bandage and dropped it in the trash.
His answer was a snort of derision that she suspected just might be covering a grimace of pain as she probed the bruised skin. “Sure. I used the icemaker on my refrigerator. You know, the one that got thrown halfway to Siesta when the hurricane blew through?”
She glanced up at him. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice.” She continued to examine him, her fingers working their way over the arch of his foot and up and around his ankle.
“You’re going to bite the tip of your tongue off,” he said.
From her kneeling position on the floor next to his chair, she looked up to find him studying her closely. His eyes roamed over her features, her hair, her prayer covering. “Why are you always so angry, Hester Detlef?” he asked when she quirked an eyebrow at him.
“If you take my seriousness about my work for anger, then maybe that’s because you’re the one who walks through your days with barely concealed hostility.”
“Maybe I’ve got my reasons.”
“I’m sure you believe that you do, but I would remind you that the people you have been fortunate enough to meet here have nothing but your best interests in mind. They—we—do not deserve to be treated with such—”
“Got it. And so we come back to you.”
She decided to ignore him. “Point your toe,” she instructed and was amazed when he complied. “Now trace the letters of the alphabet using your toe like a pencil.”
“Why?” He eyed her with suspicion.
“Because my goal in life is to make you look as ridiculous as possible,” she snapped. Then she forced herself to swallow her annoyance. “It’s a rehabilitation exercise, one you can practice on your own while your ankle heals. Try the vowels.”
He slowly traced the letter a and then an e.
“Good,” she said. “Try that later with the entire alphabet and repeat it three to five times a day. It will help improve your range of motion.”
“What else?”
She checked to see if he was baiting her, but he was continuing the exercise on his own. “Okay, here’s one more. Put your foot flat on the floor. You need to be sitting in a chair for this one.”
“I am sitting in a chair,” he pointed out.
“I mean when you do it on your own. Foot flat on the floor. Now move your knee from side to side slowly while keeping your foot pressed flat.”
He tried it.
“Slower,” she instructed. “Good. Do both of those three to five times a day, and it should help.” She took out a tube of ointment and started applying it to the insect bites on his good arm. Then she stood up and bent over him to treat the bites on his face. She paused. It was her turn to study his features. His skin was scorched a deep russet. The beginnings of a beard had sprouted on his chin, golden-red like his hair. His eyes were deep-set under a strong forehead accented by thick eyebrows that had been bleached almost white by the sun. His eyes, fixed on hers, were the verdant green of a tropical forest. And yet his overall appearance was that of a man who was deeply troubled, who had known great sadness in his life. Hester felt a twinge of empathy for him.
“We, my father and Samuel and the others included, do not wish to cause you further pain, John,” she said as she continued to apply the salve to his cheekbones and temples. “I don’t know why it seems important to say this to you, but you are safe here.”
She stepped back, recapping the tube of ointment as she checked to be sure she hadn’t missed any bites. “Better,” she said more to herself than to him. “As for that wrist,” she went on, “we’ll have to go into town for that to be looked at. It may need to be reset.”
“Now?”
“What’s to be gained by waiting?”
“I came here to help Margery.”
“There’ll be plenty left to do once we go and come back.” She took a fresh compression bandage from the first-aid kit and knelt to wrap his ankle.
“I thought you said this wasn’t a good idea.”
“I’m just covering it loosely. It will serve as a reminder to you to take care as you move around on it, at least until we can get you a proper pair of shoes.”
She put away the first-aid kit and poured water over the dishes to let them soak while they were gone. “Coming?” She waited by the doorway.
“Coming,” he said as he grudgingly got to his feet.
Hester took visual stock of the room until she spotted a
walking stick leaning against the wall. “Use this,” she said. “We’ll stop by the distribution center as long as we’re in town and find you some work boots and a hat that properly covers your ears, neck, and face.”
“Don’t push it,” he muttered as he followed her onto the pier and walked on toward the car while she collected car keys from her father and explained why they were leaving. To her surprise, when she got to the car, he was holding the door open for her.
“Thank you,” she said as she slid in and pushed the key into the ignition. She watched him walk around the front of the car and with some satisfaction noticed that he was not limping nearly as badly as he had before she’d treated him. She also couldn’t seem to stop noticing that John Steiner was one good-looking man.
