As the Tide Comes In

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “Your phone told you when you arrived?”

  “I keep losing track of time, and the calendar had notes of when my plane arrived, and it highlights each new day.”

  “It’s good that you’re clearheaded enough to know you were losing time and how to center yourself. That says good things about you.”

  She wiped her forehead, looking a bit agitated, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Problem?”

  “I don’t need you to assure me I’m worthy of breathing air. Okay?”

  Somehow standing under the silvery moon while inside a garden felt like déjà vu, but that made no sense.

  “Okay.” He cut another section of barbwire. “Your head injury— Did that happen before or after you arrived?”

  “Before.”

  Things were already making a little sense, but he wouldn’t ask for her name again. It would make him sound as if he didn’t trust her, which he didn’t, but sounding that way put people on the defensive, and an EMT’s goal was to calm victims and win their trust.

  “Okay, just a few more snips. I’m on your side. You know that. So could you do me a favor and come inside? I need to tend to the cuts and scrapes.” He also needed to get enough information to reach out to her family. “My mom has a good first aid kit.” He gestured toward his house.

  The young woman’s eyes grew large, and she backed away as far as the remaining barb would allow. “One of the women who live here is your mom?”

  Disappointment with his mom twisted inside him. He needed to talk to her about this, about how to treat people even in the face of fear. “No one’s home right now. It’ll be just you and me, but when Mom realizes what she’s done, she’ll be so very sorry. I’m a pretty good cook. I could fix you a plate of food, maybe some French toast, bacon, and a nice glass of cold milk. Do you like milk?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He removed the last barbwire.

  She glanced at the house and then behind her, and he feared she would bolt.

  “It’s safe. I promise. I won’t let anyone threaten, chase, or yell at you.”

  She aimed the flashlight at his face. He clenched his eyes shut before trying to open them, hoping to look as nonthreatening as he knew how.

  He gestured for them to start walking toward the house. “How did you get hurt?”

  “I got them out. I called and ran and ran, and I got them out before the tree fell.”

  He was sure that made sense inside her head, but he wasn’t able to put too much together from it. “A limb of a falling tree injured your head?”

  She nodded.

  He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the keys to his mom’s house. He unlocked the door, flipped on the light inside the kitchen, and waited on the young woman to go inside first.

  “Who did you get out?” He went to the medicine cabinet and got the first aid kit.

  “My brothers.” She nodded her head, reminding him of a bobblehead doll. She looked as if she was caught in a conversation inside herself. “I did. I got them out. They’re all I have.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Everything. All of it. There is nothing else. And I…I got them out.”

  He’d seen a lot in his years as an EMT. Knowing people and trauma as he did now, he wasn’t sure she had gotten them out.

  “You can sit right here.” He pulled out a tall barstool.

  She sat. “I was out for an early-morning run while they slept, and a storm came out of nowhere.” Her eyes reflected confusion. “I reached them. I did. I reached them.” She kept mumbling that same phrase while Gavin cleaned out the cuts on her arms, dabbed ointment on them, and covered them with Band-Aids.

  Several car doors slammed.

  The young woman stood, fear radiating from her eyes.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe. They’ll apologize to you, every one of them.” Gavin motioned for her to sit, but she backed farther away.

  She pointed at his face. “No.” She glanced toward the garage door and then glanced at the side door, evidently plotting her escape. “Thank you.” She touched her arm near one of her puncture wounds. “I…I owe you.”

  “You’re confused and hungry. We can help.”

  “We did it.” His mom’s voice was clear, coming from the driveway and heading their way. “We won again.”

  The young woman bolted out the side door. Gavin followed her.

  She turned and held up her hand. “No!”

  He stopped, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he thought a second encounter with the Glynn Girls would be more traumatizing than her spending another night on her own in the balmy night air. She disappeared into the darkness.

  “Gavin?” His mom came out of the house. “What are you doing here?”

  “You caught someone in your trap, and I had to cut her loose, literally. Really showed her who’s the boss, Mom, and even inflicted more pain on an already injured woman.”

  Mom looked toward the area where the girl had disappeared. “I’m sorry, but she was stealing.”

  “She was hungry.” He went back inside.

  “Then why not knock on the door and tell us that?” Sue Beth asked.

  “Yeah.” Mom followed behind him.

  “More injuries?” Dell asked.

  “She’s recently had a head injury and surgery. I saw the sutures.” He put the first-aid items back into the kit. “Someone somewhere is missing her. I’ll make a few calls and see what I can find out.” He closed the kit. “If you see her again, try being less fearful and mean.”

  “We’re not scared.” Mom scowled and put her hands on her hips. “And we’re never, ever mean.”

  “You used barbwire to booby-trap someone who was hungry, someone who left what seems to be her last three dollars on the counter at Sapphira’s to pay for the tomato, cheese, and two slices of bread she ate.”

  “If she’s so innocent, why did she run?”

  “Uh, last time you saw her, you ran at her and yelled at her. Did one of you actually brandish a gun?”

  “Not a real gun,” Dell said. “It was that wooden one your dad made for you and painted black when you were little. I guess in the dark it looked real.”

  “That aside, it’s illegal to set a booby trap. Maybe you should call the police on yourselves.”

  “Illegal?” Sue Beth gasped. “Then what Luella said earlier tonight was true.”

  He looked at Luella. She held up her hands. “When your mom screamed for help, I ran outside banging pots and yelling to scare off whoever had frightened her, but I wasn’t a part of setting the trap. We came back here to disassemble it.”

  “She’s right,” Mom said. “When Luella told us it was illegal to set a trap, we left what we were doing and came here. Still, there should be some way to keep no-count people out of our garden.”

  “No account?” Gavin could hardly believe his ears. Had she not heard him describe the young woman as traumatized and injured? His mom had struggled emotionally since his dad died, but in this moment he hardly recognized her. This wasn’t a matter of her gut saying a particular someone may not be trustworthy. This was her judging everyone who was in a bad situation as less worthy than herself. “Mom, are you proud of me being a fireman?”

  “Very much so, but what’s your point?”

  “If firemen thought the way you just expressed, we’d need proof of someone’s worthiness before being willing to put our lives on the line. It’s wise to be cautious, Mom, but you crossed over into thinking you’re better than someone in need.”

  “It sounds like she’ll return. If not here, then to Sapphira’s place,” Luella said. “We’ll get some fresh produce and put it in baskets for her. Maybe clothing too?”

  He nodded. “She seems to have only what’s on her back.”

  “Oh, the poor thing.” Dell d
ug through her purse and pulled out her phone. “What size is she? I’ll buy her a couple of shirts and shorts and underwear.”

  “That’s just asking for trouble,” Sue Beth said.

  Dell rolled her eyes slightly. “Gavin, any idea what size?”

  “No, but I’d guess she’s about five feet, five inches, a hundred and fifteen pounds.”

  Dell typed the info into her phone. “We’ll go out immediately and get some things for her. Right, girls?”

  “Yeah,” Julep said.

  “I’m in too, I guess.” Sue Beth nodded. “Seems like I’ve been too busy sounding like my grandma did about her garden.”

  Luella glanced at the clock. “The only clothing store I know of that’s still open is the boutique on Market Street, and it closes in thirty minutes. We better move it.” She held open the door, and the four of them hurried back to the car.

  Gavin needed to get back to work. Before he left his mom’s house, a loud beeping sound echoed in the quiet. It dawned on him that it was a work truck of some type backing up. Hadn’t he heard that same sound about thirty minutes ago? He’d been so focused on the woman that he hadn’t realized he’d heard it until now. The buyer! Oh no, no, no. He stormed out of the house and across the backyard of his mom’s house to Sapphira’s property.

  The dim light of the carport reflected against the flat blue tarp where shiplap used to be. He lifted the tarp. All the shiplap was gone. He went to the mailbox to see if the man had left the check there. He hadn’t. Gavin hurried inside, half hoping to find a check but expecting to find the wood was gone.

  He was relieved to discover the stacks of shiplap inside the house were still there. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called the buyer. He got a voice mail.

  “Mr. Ashe, this is Gavin Burnside. The shiplap has been picked up. We need to discuss payment ASAP.” But Gavin knew that tracking the man down and actually getting paid wasn’t likely. He wouldn’t give up easily. There had to be people in the neighborhood with surveillance cameras.

  He looked up, staring at the water-stained ceiling. “I needed this sale.”

  “I…I got them out. I did.” The whispery voice echoed through the room.

  Gavin eased across the floor, searching for “Mary.” He spotted her sitting on his mattress, holding her knees and rocking back and forth.

  “I called. I reached them. I got them out in time.” She looked up at him. “I did.”

  Great. Just what he wanted, absolutely no place to rest while he stayed here all night to keep watch over what was left of the shiplap. He sighed. “Yeah, I heard that same thing.” He motioned at the mattress. “Go on. Lie down. You need sleep.”

  She raked her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face. “Why are you in my house?”

  “What?”

  Her eyelids opened slowly, looking heavy. “We’ve met.” She gestured at his tool belt. “You’re here to fix my roof, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, maybe.” What was he supposed to say? “But why I’m here aside, one of us needs to sleep. I volunteer you.”

  She drew a breath, shaking her head as if trying to ward off the sleepiness. A moment later her eyes searched his. “We need to talk about your work. You’re taking too much of my house apart. I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. It might make more sense in the morning.” But only if her thinking cleared, and he doubted that one night’s sleep would make that much difference.

  “I didn’t let that man take any shiplap from inside. He tried. Wanted the wood. I said no. You had no right to sell any shiplap.”

  “You saw the man?”

  “Yeah. Brusk, mean man.” She rubbed her arm near where the barbwire had cut her.

  Gavin’s mind raced with hope that she could help. “Could you pick him out of a lineup?”

  She stood quickly, stumbling before she grabbed Gavin’s shirt. “No police.” She balled her fists around his shirt and tugged. “Please, Gavin. Please.”

  He needed to file a report, but he could keep her out of it. “I need to file a report.”

  “No.” Her voice was husky. “I…I can’t make heads or tails of anything. But they’ll take me somewhere, and I’ll never find my brothers.”

  He hesitated, and her eyes darted from one door to another, and as much as he just wanted to be left alone, he didn’t want her to run off, not like this. “They could help locate your brothers.”

  “No. You don’t understand. If the authorities find out, they’ll take them from me. I’m just eighteen.”

  What? He knew she’d passed eighteen about a decade ago. Still, if she was this confused, it made no sense to include anything about her being able to identify the man in the police report. He’d go to the station to file the report and leave her out of the report altogether.

  He led her back to the mattress on the floor. “No police. I agree. Now get some rest.”

  She sat on the mattress, her brows knitting slightly. “What did you do with my bed?”

  He forced a smile, but he was more than ready to end all conversations. “Let’s stop talking now. You need rest.” And he needed time to think and gather his wits and pray about the stolen shiplap before he exploded with frustrations.

  “You don’t want to answer my question about the bed?”

  “Like I said, you need rest. Just do us both a favor and lie down and close your eyes.”

  “You just want me to stop talking.”

  She was astute, even when too confused to know where she was. He didn’t answer, and she lay down. A moment later her eyes were closed and her breathing was even.

  What a royal mess. He needed a way to get his shiplap back or be paid for it. He needed more time to meet his financial obligations. What he didn’t need was a stranger thwarting what needed to be done while thinking this was her house.

  15

  Luella lifted the multiple layers of her dress and stepped off the old wooden dock and into a small rowboat. It was a good thing their period clothing had smaller hoops rather than the full-size ones, or the four of them would never fit into this rowboat. The salty breeze swirled around her, stirring her skirts. The air was warm and humid but not uncomfortable. Overall it should make for a nice solstice celebration of friendship—if her friends could manage to get along.

  “Eek!” Sue Beth squawked as she nearly fell into the marsh. Dell, who stood on the dock, grabbed her arm and steadied her.

  “Thank you.” Sue Beth breathed a sigh and shook the heavy skirts of her dress. “I’m not used to these costumes like you, Luella.”

  “Not used to it?” Julep rolled her eyes. “We’ve only been doing this for what, fifty years?”

  Sue Beth huffed. “Well, excuse me.” She moved toward a seat in the rowboat. “And your math’s wonky, Ms. Accountant. We’ve been friends for forty-one years, we’ve recited this poem for thirty, and we’ve only incorporated the period costumes for the past five or so. And wearing a nineteenth-century dress once a year hardly makes me an expert at walking in it.”

  Julep started to get into the rowboat. “That’s right. I forget that you prefer strutting around in unmentionables.”

  “Unmentionables? Were you raised in the eighteen hundreds?”

  Dell stepped forward, getting between the two. “Come on, girls. This is supposed to be a peaceful time to reflect on our many years of friendship. I mean look around us.” Dell gestured at the sky glowing with the pink and golden embers of early sunset. It’s as perfect as Mr. Lanier described. Not raining like last year.” She stepped into the boat.

  Luella offered an arm to steady her as the vessel rocked.

  Julep followed, and Luella fought a frown. The tension between Julep and Sue Beth was getting to a boiling point. Maybe they should all consider seeing a therapist together to talk out the issues.
Wouldn’t that be a sight? The counselor would be hard pressed to get a word in edgewise.

  Julep sat down on a seat and grabbed a paddle. Luella manned the other side. Surely reciting their favorite poem would help their moods. They paddled down the meandering river, deeper into the marsh. On the shore across one lane of the highway was the famed Lover’s Oak, where years and years ago Sidney Lanier was inspired to write the poem “The Marshes of Glynn.”

  Since there were no public docks in Brunswick near Sidney Lanier Park on the marsh, it was kind of Tidal Creek Grill to let them use their dock year after year to do this.

  “This is good enough,” Julep muttered, pulling her paddle into the boat. Flecks of sweet-tea-colored marsh water spattered the hem of her dress.

  Apparently this was where they’d stop tonight to recite the poem. Luella tried to catch Julep’s eyes, but it wasn’t working. Maybe the next few minutes would shift the mood for everyone. Luella opened the bag she’d brought and passed out the four battery-powered lanterns. Dell turned each one on, clicking the flame into existence before passing it to one of the women.

  Millions of insects chirped in the marsh around them. Sue Beth held the tattered old poetry book, the one Luella had found many years ago in an out-of-the-way place off the island.

  Luella held up her lantern in the deepening shadows. She knew the poem by heart. She might as well begin.

  Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven

  With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven

  Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs,—

  Emerald twilights,—

  Virginal shy lights

  She continued through the verse. Her voice, carrying Lanier’s words, enveloped the small boat, and she could almost see the words flowing into the natural world they described. The marsh symphony played by katydids and crickets served as the perfect accompaniment.

  Each woman took a verse, as they did every year. But tonight felt different. The poem and the marsh were beautiful, as always. But it seemed they were just going through the motions. What was happening to her group of friends? As she looked at their faces in the flickering lantern light, a strong feeling rose in her chest: This could be the last year we do this.