Wynn in the Willows

by Robin Shope

  “The new owners of the Inn will be smart to keep Chef Frank,” Owl said.

  “Keep him and give him a raise.” Faith added.

  “Oh? Has the Inn been sold?” Wynn asked.

  “Not yet, but it’s up for sale,” Sheri answered. “Are you handling the property, Faith?”

  “I am.”

  “And here Chef Frank is now!” Owl announced.

  Frank arrived at the table wearing his kitchen uniform; all white and starched. He was all belly and boastful as he greeted them. “I am personally preparing your dishes and will be ready for presentation in about twenty minutes. You are my guests. What appetizer may I bring you to enjoy as you wait?”

  “How very thoughtful of you,”Roxie said.

  “You know a plate of calamari to share might be a nice appetizer while we wait,” Faith suggested.

  “Yes, and I hear your caramelized onion focaccia is wonderful.” Owl suggested. “Oh my—we’re like lambs being lead to the slaughter aren’t we?”

  “Thank you, I take that as a high compliment. I hear we have a birthday girl lunching with us today.” Frank winked at Wynn.

  “Yes, we do,” Wynn said, smiling.

  “Wynn, I do believe my brother has his eye on you,” Faith murmured.

  Faith’s words made Wynn’s stomach twist into a knot. She had come to the island on assignment, certainly not to be the fodder of the latest gossip.

  “Well, Chef Frank must wait in line. Wynn has a date with my nephew, Doug.” Owl informed them.

  “What? I do not have a date with Doug Reed!” Wynn protested. “Who told you that?”

  “He did. Doug told me you were checking him out with a pair of binoculars, right after Boone’s funeral.” Owl answered.

  “Technically there really wasn’t a funeral, remember?” Jackie pointed out. “So Wynn, tell us, did you like what you saw through your binoculars?”

  “What else did he tell you?” Wynn ignored Jackie’s questions.

  “Nothing. “

  “Is there more to tell?” Sheri asked Wynn.

  “Of course not!” Wynn tried to smile. “Owl, when did your nephew tell you about the binocular incident?”

  “The day after ‘the incident’ occurred,” Owl answered. “He said you agreed to go sailing with him.”

  “Doug did mention sailing, but I told him I was too busy.”

  “That’s the truth. You are too busy.” Roxie insisted.

  “Since you don’t have a phone, Doug told me he was coming by your place tomorrow morning at six and to let you know.” Owl grinned.

  “Doug is a really nice guy. Go, have a good time, Wynn,” Jackie encouraged.

  “And tell us all about it at the next club meeting during refreshments,” Sheri begged.

  “Wynn is new on the island and Doug knows it like the back of his hand. He can help her with research,” Faith said.

  Doug was the only person Wynn had met who listened without offering platitudes or Bible scriptures.

  A Monarch butterfly with delicate patterned wings landed on the white linen tablecloth in front of Wynn, immediately causing her blood pressure to drop by ten points. Then the insect moved its wings together before it took to the air again. Wynn’s gaze followed as it flittered across the veranda before heading to the purple butterfly bush, soon disappearing from sight.

  The sound of a cart on squeaky wheels broke Wynn’s concentration as Frank placed the appetizers on small plates in front of everyone.

  Just as Owl filled her bowl with the soup, Paris handed her a phone message. Her eyes widened and she fell back, dropping the note into the onion bouillabaisse right on top of the rouille toast. Her right hand flickered to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

  Immediately Jackie leaned over the table waving a napkin. “Stand back everyone! Owl needs air!”

  “Oh, no. It’s Mae!” Roxie grabbed the note and read it.

  The women gasped.

  “Mae’s had a heart attack. I must leave right away and go be with her,” Owl spoke through tears, hoisting herself up.

  “Owl, you’re too upset to drive. Let me take you.” Wynn reached for her purse.

  “No, no—I’ll just go by myself. Paul will meet me. I’m all worried up. Remember to pray for Mae?”

  “We will,” Sheri promised.

  Owl left in a flurry of goodbyes.

  13

  Paris returned with the entrees; Red snapper sautéed to perfection, served with pine nuts and fresh asparagus, and arborio rice cake salad with a parmesan caper dressing.

  “How sad Owl is missing such wonderful food,” Sheri said.

  “I’ll take a to-go box to her later.” Faith promised.

  “Poor Owl, poor Mae. Is Mae Owl’s mother?” Wynn asked.

  “Oh no, dear, Mae is Owl’s pet pig,” Aunt Roxie explained.

  “Pig!” Wynn exclaimed.

  “When Owl was young, she was quite beautiful. I’ve seen pictures.”

  “I bet it was the reason that man kidnapped her and took her off the island,” Faith murmured.

  “Rumors. That never happened,” Sheri said.

  “Folks on the island seem to think it did happen, Sheri. Besides, wasn’t she gone for a while? Reeds aren’t known to be gone from the island for more than a few days at a time,” Jackie insisted. “It’s bad for them. Brings on bad weather, they say. Even though weather is in God’s hands.”

  “The reason Owl left the island was to learn a trade.” Sheri continued.

  “Oh? What trade was that?” Wynn wanted to know.

  “Belly dancing.”

  “No, no, no. That’s wrong, too,” Roxie insisted.

  “It’s the truth!” Sheri said.

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler to just ask Owl?” Wynn inquired.

  “No, that is downright impolite,” Faith told Wynn.

  “We don’t ever pry into anyone’s life,” Sheri said.

  “No, never,” Jackie agreed.

  A chorus of Happy Birthday wafted over the restaurant, sang by servers waving sparklers. Chef Frank carried a cake in the shape of a flower. Candles burning, he placed it in front of Wynn. “Go ahead and make a wish.”

  Twenty-six year old Wynn closed her eyes and blew out the candles. “Do you know what just chemically happened here?”

  “Yes, you’re going to get your wish. Now open your presents!” Jackie urged.

  Wynn looked around the table at the women, grateful for their acceptance. The gifts were thoughtful, too. Natural soaps made from goats milk, a book about Willow Island, a personal invitation to go walking with Owl, and a beach snow globe with a backscratcher attached.

  “When you scratch, you make it snow!” Sheri illustrated her gift.

  “A two-in-one gift. Thanks!”

  Last was Jackie’s, a gift certificate for a day at a spa for a massage and full facial.

  After lunch, only Faith, Roxie and Wynn remained to drink tall glasses of cranberry juice while watching the sailboats in the harbor.

  Frank returned with an invitation to show Wynn around the Inn. They started the tour in the gardens.

  “Doug Reed designed the gardens and picked out every plant.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Each garden was like a separate outdoor room with a different theme, but somehow it all tied into one another and flowed beautifully without obstructing the remarkable view of the lake.

  “It only took one season for the completion. The owners were thrilled to snag him when he moved back from Chicago. It sure jump started his business here.”

  “Doug lived in Chicago?”

  “He had a successful architectural business, but something pulled him back this way, and he started creating gardens.”

  “Not a bad choice.”

  “Next stop is the kitchen,” Frank held open the side door. The short corridor opened up into a large kitchen filled with activity. Cooking pans and fat boiling pots sizzled on top of burners alive with open flam
es. Loud voices shouted at one another about a customer’s order being late.

  “Some people say the kitchen is the heart of the home, but I call this my command center. It’s the heart of the Inn.”

  They reached the meat locker. Hesitantly, she slid into the over-sized jacket Frank handed her, and stepped into the freezer to have a look at the dead animals hanging on meat hooks.

  “We get our beef, pork and mutton locally from farms on the mainland.”

  Wynn stopped in front of one carcass that wasn’t farm raised. She scrunched her nose, looked closer, and then drew back. “Bear?” Wynn read the tag on one hunk of meat.

  “Very good. Bet you don’t know what kind of bear.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The carcass you behold is polar bear,” he admitted proudly.

  “But polar bears are listed as a threatened species.” Wynn was aghast. She looked at him, struggling to associate the image of a well respected chef with a man who would serve up an exotic for the price of a meal.

  “Threatened or not, they are not under federal protection in Canada and can still be legally hunted there. Each winter a select group of hunters provides the inn with a single carcass to be served to a specified elite clientele. We don’t have it on the menu, but members know to order it when they arrive. By the way, I have a wonderful recipe. It would be my pleasure to serve polar bear to you in the private dining room some night soon.”

  “By no means!” Her estimation of his character took a nose-dive.

  “You say that now, but once you taste it, you’ll change your mind completely; threatened, or not.” Lifting his fingers to his lips, he kissed them.

  “It’ll never happen.”

  They came out of the freezer in uncomfortable silence.

  A pastry chef was filling a tray of small tarts. The men tipped their mushroom hats in greeting. It was obvious there was rivalry between the two. When introduced to Mario Barilla, Wynn was greeted cordially, but coolly.

  “What was that about?” Wynn asked as they walked away.

  “Competition. Mario wanted to be Head Chef, the position I now hold. To hold a spot like mine, you need to be able to create a wider spectrum of foods. He is only a pastry chef. You’ll have to excuse his discourtesy; he may have mistaken you for a perspective buyer of the Inn, and wasn’t happy that it was me, not the present owners, showing you around. Come Wynn; I want to show you the Inn’s front entrance.”

  The foyer was splendid. As large as the reception area, it was surprisingly warm and cozy. A twenty-foot, one-hundred-year-old, hand carved oak counter greeted guests. The rest was divided up into smaller areas defined by couches and chairs. Palms and other exotic plants were thriving in huge pots artfully placed around the room. The windowsills were made of exquisite, foot wide, Italian marble that matched the fireplace in the grand entrance. Every window framed an exquisite view of the sea.

  This used to be someone’s private residence. Wynn marveled. She went to the grand piano at the far end of the room, sat on the bench and stroked the ivories.

  “You play?”

  Her answer came with her fingers dancing across the keys. Wynn played a popular song. When she finished everyone clapped. She looked up, gazing around the room, still dreamy with song. A particular painting caught her eye.

  “Captivating, don’t you agree? That is how the Inn looked when it was built in the 1800’s as a home.”

  On top of the tallest peak of the cliffs which overlooked the western coast of Willow Island was the Willow Mansion, perched like a crown on a king’s head. The stained glass windows glowed like rubies, diamonds and emeralds.

  “It’s breath-taking.” Wynn ran her fingers over the gilded gesso edge. “This frame looks to be original.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. Antiques aren’t my specialty.”

  The house was a deep purple whereas now it had white siding. The color was more practical, but not as charming. Although the mansion had several verandas, they had been enlarged since the time of the original design. Oversized parking lots for patrons had eaten into the landscape, as well as a newly minted golf course. The painting portrayed twilight and one of the windows on the top floor glowed. A female figure stood in the lighted room. In the bottom right corner there was a signature, Anna Reed.

  Wynn felt a sudden chill.

  “Wynn!” Roxie came up. “I’m going home with Jackie for the rest of the day.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Roxie and Jackie exchanged anxious expressions.

  “Fine. Everything is fine.”

  “I’ll see you for dinner, then?”

  “Go ahead and eat without me tonight.”

  They headed to the parking lot.

  “I’m free this evening,” Frank offered light-heartedly, rocking back on his heels. “Seems to me you are as well.”

  “I really should be leaving, too. Thank you for the lovely meal, and the chocolate cake was beyond scrumptious.”

  “But, I thought we’d get together later.”

  “Oh, no, not today.”

  “Another time?”

  “Perhaps.” Wynn offered a token of hope, which seemed to satisfy Frank.

  When Wynn arrived at theTree House, she peered over the steering wheel.

  A four foot tall black mailbox had mysteriously bloomed while she was gone. Silver brushed letters spelled out Wynn Baxter. She pulled the box open and found a common fossil. Wynn ran her hand over the smooth stone. “Doug, thank you,” she whispered.

  Climbing the steps, she considered the book of Matthew’s mustard seed parable. Others found their refuge in God, whereas she found this place her refuge from the past.

  Maybe her mother would realize just how much she needed Wynn, too, and promise never to leave again. Between her mother’s absence, Roxie’s mysteriousness, and going sailing with Doug, she couldn’t stand being alone with her thoughts anymore.

  What she needed was a good, long run.

  14

  The sun made the morning shadows vanish and took the chill off the air. The marina at Willow Island was already bustling with activity. A catamaran flying a brightly colored flag was loaded with tourists. The regular ferry that ran back and forth between Egg Harbor and Willow Island at three hour intervals was just arriving. Morning day-trippers, anxious to stake their claim to a front row spot in the sand with their umbrellas, held folding chairs and coolers.

  “You aren’t taking me someplace to hurt me, are you?” She joked as a lightness buoyed between them. “By the way, this is my first time on a schooner.”

  “That’s not exactly what I had planned for the day.” Doug laughed. “Besides, I’m probably one of the safest guys on earth.”

  “OK, can you tell me where you are taking me, then?”

  “You will know when we get there. Until then, it’s a mystery. It’s how things work around here.”

  Taking Doug’s hand, Wynn stepped off the dock into the stern of the eighty-foot schooner. Her attention was swallowed up by the style of the unique craft. “Just look at her lines! Not many boats are made entirely of wood anymore. What a beaut!”

  “She was made in the nineteen thirties, during the FDR presidency,” he explained. “We’re cheating today. My vessel is motor powered, so we aren’t pulling her sails this morning.” Doug turned the key and the engines rumbled.

  Water churned, yet the schooner remained docked until the cleats were slipped off the bollard. The throttle shifted into forward. The pier slipped away and they picked up speed. The bow pointed northeast.

  Backpack filled with enough provisions for two days, Wynn was ready for her one-day excursion. Her skin warmed; she tugged off her light jacket and tossed it aside. She lounged back on a weathered deck chair, studying Doug, trying to figure him out, while still feeling the embarrassing aftershocks of the stupid words she’d uttered when he caught her with birding glasses. The unfortunate banter had turned words to cotton in her mouth.

 
Roxie had warned her about Doug.

  Wynn suspected he was the one who built her a mailbox and left a small token inside of it.

  Taking the fossil from the backpack, she rolled it over in her hand. Was her hypothesis correct?

  “It’s a good day for sailing, but you look far too serious. What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “I am thinking about thanking you.”

  “Good. You’re having fun.”

  “I am having fun, but that’s not what I meant.” Wynn sat straighter. “I want to thank you for my mailbox.”

  “Mailbox? I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Really?” Wynn opened her hand. Holding the fossil between her thumb and finger, she displayed it and walked over to him.

  A smile spread across his features.

  “And now I have something for you.” She pulled out a red straw.

  “Thanks.” Doug stuck the end in his mouth.

  There was an inside flutter, like a breeze across her heart that she couldn’t ever remember having. “It’s beautiful here,” she said, and looked away.

  The schooner rounded Willow Island.

  Passing boats blew their horns as skippers waved.

  Wynn left the bow and leaned over the railing, briskly waving right back.

  “It’s camaraderie of the high seas!” Doug laughed, and then turned his attention to the teens hot-dogging on jet skis. There was no choice but to give them right of way. Soon, the schooner left the hodgepodge of water traffic far behind. The coast disappeared.

  Only miles and miles of total blue remained. The achingly beautiful view of the sea charmed her as much as the rich, dark handmade stained wood deck of the schooner cutting through the water.

  The man who stood at the helm looked at home in that spot.

  Wynn returned to her deck chair and listened to the sea’s voice as it sang the serene melody of all the ships that had sailed this way before them. Inhaling, she experienced an enormous sense of joy because the air was ripe with adventure and the sun shone cheerfully on the water.

  Twenty minutes later, she spotted it. The twisted spit of land rose from the water like an arthritic fist coming out of the morning sun. Waves broke against the rocky shore. The wind smelled fresh, like springtime. The coast looked rugged.