Nantucket Rose

by CF Frizzell

  The Eagle rolled again just as Maggie stood. Stumbling, she grabbed the table, swiped at the passing iPad and missed, and watched it hit the floor.

  “Damn.” One hand still clinging to the table, she edged into the aisle and stooped to retrieve it.

  “Got it.” A long arm in charcoal gray canvas reached the iPad first, and Maggie straightened just inches from a uniformed Eagle crewman. Woman. Their proximity briefly unnerved her, and she froze in the grip of bright, electric blue eyes beneath the brim of the sailor’s ball cap, the austere expression across slim lips and angular jaw.

  Wow. Do you light up the night with those eyes? An extra beat passed before she realized the sailor held up her iPad.

  “Oh. Thank you.” A few inches taller than Maggie, the woman stood formidable and thickset around the shoulders of her jacket, athletic and steady.

  “Y’welcome,” she said, her voice just above a mumble.

  Then the ship ducked out from under Maggie’s feet and her knees buckled. Instantly, the sailor cupped her elbow, the hold expansive and firm, and Maggie regained her posture just as the boat shuddered again.

  “Whoa,” she gasped. “Thank you. Again.”

  The sailor stepped back, assumed a slightly spread stance, unfazed by the Eagle’s motion. “Best to stay seated.”

  Maggie sat quickly.

  “Ah, y-yes. You’re right.”

  The seaman touched a finger to her cap and spun away. Maggie watched her stride the length of the deck to the stairwell, grip the railings in each hand, and swing down, out of sight.

  How have I never noticed you before?

  *****

  The overcast afternoon made Ellis Chilton shrug deeper into her jacket as she walked up to Main Street from the waterfront. So typical of Nantucket, the westerly breezes had shifted to northerly, pushing the April morning’s pleasant temperature down to chilly, and she was tempted to turn around and spend the rest of her day off at home with a good book.

  It had been a long while since she’d given herself a “free day.” Home renovations were always her main focus, hard labor alone, which she preferred, and time-consuming, especially when she had precious little to spare. After several years of part-time Steamship Authority service, the promotion to chief mate four years ago commandeered the bulk of her waking hours; work at home ate up the rest—and she liked it that way. Today, with renovations nearly complete, she treated herself to this escape.

  She paused on the corner and looked up the length of Main at its centuries-old intersections with other cobblestone streets, the brick sidewalks and their benches, the rugged oaks whose long reaches promised shelter once buds blossomed. The setting, its character and atmosphere, could be traced back to Nantucket’s glory days of whaling, and nostalgia and respect for that era always drew Ellis to a stop.

  The historic horse trough that centered the street lacked its seasonal floral display at the moment, but she looked forward to seeing it overflow with flowers when Nantucket’s annual Daffodil Festival began next weekend. She warmed at the prospect of sunny, colorful planters and window boxes again lining every street, insistent in their brilliance and brightening everyone’s spirit. She knew boatloads of tourists and seemingly every resident would descend on this quaint downtown district to celebrate spring with parades, exhibits, and picnics. Ferry work would double, and pushy off-islanders would irritate her, but the festival had been putting smiles on faces for nearly fifty years. Distinctively Nantucket, it drew residents out of hibernation, sent the green light to tourists, and basically opened the isolated community’s windows to another refreshing season. Ellis counted on that optimism as much as the island did.

  Her friend Jeannie, a dispatcher for the Authority, trotted across the street, waving. “I’m amazed you actually showed,” she said as they turned down South Water Street. “It’s about time you took some R&R.”

  Ellis couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent a Sunday afternoon in a bar with a friend. Jeannie probably couldn’t either, bubbling like the occasional tourist she was. Shorter than Ellis and hefty in build, she beamed up at her from behind unnecessary black sunglasses. Ellis shortened her stride so Jeannie could keep up.

  “I figured I’d take the afternoon. I have to hit the supermarket later, anyway.”

  “Right. Best not to food shop on an empty stomach, so we’ll get lunch. I love the massive sandwiches at Dell’s, and we can sample a bunch of their microbrews. Not bad for a little place on the wharf.”

  At the real estate office ahead, an older woman working on a window box paused at their approach and pushed up the sleeves of her bulky sweater. She waved an empty flowerpot at them. “Ellis Chilton. When’s this weather going to turn?” She pointed to the sky. “Afternoon’s turned into November, for heaven’s sake. How can I put my arrangements out here in this?”

  “Your shop will be gorgeous as always, Abbey,” Ellis said as they passed, “and I’m sure you’ll win this year. Just don’t put the snow shovel away yet.”

  “Oh, pooh!” Abbey tossed a hand at her and returned to work.

  “The forecast is calling for a sunny weekend, at least,” Jeannie said, and they turned the corner toward the waterfront.

  Cold gusts off the ocean roared up Broad Street, and Ellis and Jeannie dipped their heads into the wind. They made room on the sidewalk for a well-dressed couple strolling in the opposite direction.

  The man nodded at Ellis and she nodded back. “Mr. and Mrs. Bergstrom.”

  Four paces later, Jeannie spoke. “He didn’t seem too friendly.”

  “Decent guy. Banker.”

  “Ah.”

  She said no more, and Ellis knew Jeannie was putting together pieces Ellis didn’t care to discuss. Ellis’s past experiences with the bank hadn’t been pleasant and, Nantucket being a small, close-knit community, everyone knew it but never broached the subject with her. Those painful times had led her to find work with the Authority and turn her life around. As much as Jeannie loved to gab, she knew not to pry, and Ellis was grateful, but that didn’t mean Jeannie fell silent for any length of time.

  “I don’t think I could’ve hung around here all my life like you. Everyone on this rock knows you. I’d have been a paranoid, claustrophobic basket case by high school.”

  Ellis snickered. “High school just got in my way. I never wanted to come off the ocean to sit in a room all day, but you do what you’re told.”

  “But you did leave for college.”

  “Dad always said it was Mom’s dream for me to go, plus, I figured it would benefit the business.” She shrugged. “I picked Suffolk in Boston on purpose, spent as much time racing back here as I did in classes.”

  “For your dad.”

  “Yeah. He’d only hire a helper when he absolutely had to, and made me crazy, worrying.”

  They crossed to Dell’s bar on Easy Street and Ellis looked ahead, down Steamship Wharf to the sea beyond. They’d had a good thing going, she and her father, running freight to and from the mainland and the Vineyard, rugged but exhilarating work that had been in her blood since she was a little girl. Generations of salt water, not blood in their veins, Dad always said.

  Jeannie nudged her as they entered the small, softly lit bar. “I still can’t believe I got you to join me here.” She removed her sunglasses and led them to a pair of stools opposite the television hanging behind the bar. “Yankees are in town,” she said, studying the screen. “When’s the last time you went to Fenway?”

  “Two thousand four,” Ellis promptly answered, knowing Jeannie would be surprised.

  “When they broke the curse?” Incredulous, Jeannie made the bartender wait for her order. “No way.”

  “Twice. Regular season and playoffs.” Ellis ordered a beer and a pastrami sandwich as Jeannie continued to stare at her. “Order, will you?”

  Jeannie rattled off what she wanted and spun back to her. “You, who never leaves your precious Gray Lady, the land of foggy bliss? How’d that happen
?”

  “The tickets were gifts from a friend.”

  “I went just last year. My luck, the Royals kicked our ass.”

  A patron two stools away leaned in their direction. “At least you both got to see Big Papi play.”

  Ellis and Jeannie turned and agreed readily, but beyond him, an attractive woman paying for a takeout order at the end of the bar caught Ellis’s eye. Dressed in a fitted forest green leather blazer, jeans, and knee-high cowhide boots, she slung her bag over her shoulder and laughed with the bartender as she prepared to leave. Her bright, sincere sound easily carried over Jeannie’s conversation with the man nearby. A sense of familiarity struck Ellis, especially when the woman turned toward the door, a small wheeled suitcase in tow.

  The wind no doubt had mussed those auburn waves free of their clip and brought a rosiness to her cheeks, and those dark eyes seemed to dance beneath slim, slightly arched brows. Ellis tried not to stare as she struggled to recall if they’d ever met.

  The woman walked with a poised authority that commanded the door to open, but of course it didn’t. With food in one hand, she released her luggage to shove the door open, then grabbed the suitcase handle again and tried to slip out before the door closed.

  Ellis suddenly found herself holding the door open, close enough to see exasperation turn to surprise on the woman’s face, just before a blast of ocean air made them both blink.

  “Thanks so much.” The woman hauled her suitcase across the threshold.

  “Y’welcome. You had your hands full.”

  “I should’ve backed out.” She let go of the handle to swipe hair from her face. “I wasn’t”—she looked directly at Ellis and her eyes widened—“thinking. Hello.”

  The chilly wind found its way inside Ellis’s collar, and she blamed it for the tremor in her chest and completely forgot she still held the door. Delivered softly with a warm smile, the single word carried a hint of recognition, but as much as Ellis wanted to solve the mystery, she was too lost in the winsome face before her.

  “Hello,” she managed.

  A patron inside yelled at her. “Hey, shut the door, will ya?”

  Jolted from her haze, Ellis stepped out to let the door swing shut and inadvertently closed the distance between them.

  The attractive stranger edged back, fumbling for her luggage handle.

  “Sorry to keep you,” she said and promptly moved out to the sidewalk. “Thank you for the assist. Again. It was nice seeing you.” She flashed a smile and walked away.

  Ellis stared after her, taken by the definitive, feminine lines of her jacket, the way they hugged her shoulders and back, the way the wind tossed her hair. She walked confidently, as if daring the bricks and cobblestones to twist an ankle. The suitcase bobbled along behind her and drew Ellis’s attention to the slight sway of her hips. She could only shake her head. So we have met.

  Jeannie banged through the door and stopped short when she found Ellis still looking down the street. “You let her leave? Shit, El. When are you going to stop gawking at them and make a move?” She punched her arm playfully. “Jeez, she was hot.” Ellis looked at her blankly as a memory fought to take shape. Jeannie tugged her back inside. “Come on. The Sox have bases loaded with no outs.”

  Chapter Two

  “Retta, no!” Maggie flung aside her copy of Coastal Living and sprinted after the ever-ready athlete that was her chocolate Labrador retriever. “Retta, come!” Retta and her selective hearing were on a mission: a toddler’s pink rubber baseball rolled up the ferry deck’s main aisle.

  But then the door to the snack bar opened into that aisle and hit the ball back. It bounced over Retta’s head and she jumped for it, oblivious to forward momentum that sent all her sixty-two pounds into the legs of the sailor who’d just emerged. Both seaman and dog tumbled to the deck.

  “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” Maggie snatched up Retta’s rainbow-colored leash and urged her back, away from licking the sailor’s face. “Retta, behave.” Recognition suddenly made it difficult to speak. As if I need to keep bumping into you. “This is so embarrassing.” Did I just say that out loud? “Um…Hello. Again. Are you all right? Really, I’m awfully sorry.”

  “It’s okay. No harm done.” The seaman straightened her lanky frame, but not before Retta could lick her cheek one more time. The woman scruffed the fur between Retta’s ears good-naturedly and scooped her cap off the floor.

  Maggie watched her resettle it over short coal-black hair, and took note of the name “Chilton” engraved on the brass name tag clipped to her uniform shirt, the very sharp, form-fitting uniform shirt. Damn. Now even more uncomfortable, she resorted to familiarity to ease the awkwardness of the moment.

  “Hello again.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Um…This is on me, my bad. It’s Retta’s first Nantucket ferry, so she’s excited—plus she loves people and playing catch.” Chilton appeared to listen carefully, her steady look unreadable and dangerously consuming. “Well…I mean…” Maggie stumbled on, “she’d been good for the first half hour, but I should’ve known she wouldn’t contain that energy for the whole trip. I’m really sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

  She held her breath, awaiting the response, truly apologetic and not wanting anything to spoil this big day. Until now, everything had gone according to her meticulously organized schedule, even this morning, when she’d awakened before dawn at her sister’s home in Hyannis to catch this first boat out. Her adventure had officially begun. She didn’t need this added excitement. Of all the crew members, at least Retta picked the hot one.

  Retta pressed forward and Chilton stroked her head. “You have her on a leash and that’s good,” she said, her rich tone full of official directive, “because we have strict rules about pets on board.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m very sorry.” God, you have such gorgeous eyes.

  “And you know that leashes work best when someone’s on the other end.”

  Excuse me?

  “Oh. Well, of course—”

  “Shipboard safety is paramount. It could have been a child, another passenger knocked to—”

  “I’m quite aware, thank you.” Irritation flared, compounding the embarrassment of being scolded in front of dozens of passengers. Adding insult to injury, Retta insisted on getting closer to Chilton, eating up the attention to her ears. The damn dog’s eyes were closing in blissful contentment beneath the broad, deeply tanned hand.

  “Please be cautious if you take her out for a stroll on the promenade deck. Labs love the water.”

  I know my dog.

  “Yes. We’re inside on this level for a reason.”

  “Very good.” Chilton gently lifted Retta’s muzzle and spoke into attentive amber eyes. “Nice meeting you, Retta.” To Maggie, she added a simple, “Enjoy your trip,” before walking away.

  Swell meeting you, too.

  Retta stared after Chilton, squirming where she sat, her wet ultra-sensitive nose pulsing and tail relentlessly swishing.

  “Come on, traitor. She could’ve been nicer to Mama, you know.” Maggie had to tug a bit, but Retta eventually followed her back to their seats, where she obediently sat at Maggie’s feet, still focused on the last spot she’d seen Chilton. “Hey. We’ll walk around in a little bit, but you have to behave for the next hour or so.” Maggie leaned down and whispered to the top of her head. “There’ll be other attractive women on Nantucket for you to swoon over, and hopefully they’ll be as friendly to your mama as they’ll be to you, but we’ve got to get there first.”

  Retta spared a look over her shoulder, the pleading look with tilted eyebrows and half-moon eyes that said “But I want to play with her” and went back to studying Chilton’s exit. Maggie chuckled. You’re a sucker for a gentle touch, too. She’s certainly nice to look at, but not much personality. She scratched Retta’s head, winning only a two-stroke tail wag.

  Maggie flipped the pages of her magazine, but the windows framing the main lounge dr
ew her attention to the view and the miles of ocean that surrounded them. Hardly a trace of Hyannis Harbor remained now, and she looked ahead for a thickening of the horizon, where Nantucket magically rose from the hazy edge of the world.

  Maggie knew her family still worried about her success at this venture, so removed from “civilization.” But this wasn’t escaping to a new life, as she’d told herself a thousand times. This wasn’t avoidance either, despite how her friends had lectured for the past year. This was all about a new beginning, leaving the past where it belonged, and concentrating on the future. Being single, successful, and moving forward.

  Lost in the ocean view, Maggie hoped to find “civilization” far more real on the island, closer-knit, fundamental, and rejuvenating. She believed the ocean to be the key, predictably unpredictable, vital and ever-changing. She’d already learned that the ocean and the weather it carried ashore dictated practically every aspect of daily life, and had been gifted due respect from all islanders since the original Native Americans inhabited this place. She tried conveying such newly acquired revelations to family and friends, but doubted she’d been convincing. It’s my life, my dream, and I intend to keep at it.

  Once again, everywhere around her, around the Eagle and its load of passengers, cars, and trucks, there was nothing but water, this time a mature, rich blue, majestic, imposing, and still damn cold in early May. The wind had been brisk when they boarded, and she now knew that “chilly and brisk” at the dock meant “cut through your jacket” out in Nantucket Sound. The millions of tiny white caps that randomly speckled the surface could just as easily be splashes of frost. Eyeing the promenade deck almost made her shiver.

  After all those bitter, stomach-lurching trips of the past eight months, she yearned to lounge on the open deck, work on her tan a little, and enjoy summer breezes. There was a method to her madness in taking the Authority “slow boats” instead of the “fast ferry.” These two-hour trips provided just the right excuse to relax and think, luxuriate in the view, catch up on paperwork, even though foul weather sometimes tested her love of the ocean. She only reverted to the pricier hour-long catamaran ride—or the twenty-minute plane jump—when expediency warranted.