An Island Between Us

by K'Anne Meinel

  Table of Contents

  AN ISLAND BETWEEN US

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  ~THE END~

  THE JOURNEY HOME

  CHAPTER ONE

  TO BE CONTINUED...

  AN ISLAND BETWEEN US

  A Novel by K’Anne Meinel

  E-Book Edition

  Published by:

  Shadoe Publishing for

  K’Anne Meinel as an E-Book

  Copyright © K’Anne Meinel July 2019

  AN ISLAND BETWEEN US

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  Dedicated to anyone who thinks I’m writing about them.

  I am.

  K’Anne

  CHAPTER ONE

  As the ferry finally docked, Marion breathed a deep sigh of relief. The trip had been long, too long, and she worried that it would be impossible to make money with the idea they were pursuing. Maybe this had been a wasted trip? It was a wild idea, and she worried that she and Barbara were crazy to even entertain these thoughts. But it felt right, and they had to try. It felt like if they didn’t get out of their boring life, they would smother from the sameness of it all. If their lives alone didn’t kill them, someone else would. You see, they were a lesbian couple. They’d managed to fool some of the townspeople in the small village outside of Boston where they were escaping from, but some people were suspicious that two young widows living together and not searching for husbands were perhaps more than they appeared. Marion didn’t really care, but she worried that Barbara might accidentally be hurt if anyone realized what they were to each other.

  As the ferry hit another wave and caused her to sway on her feet, she wondered if she was going to be sick once more. She hoped not. Already, people were staying well away from the seasick woman but thankfully, not Barbara. Barbara held a basin for her time and again, mopped her brow, and even fetched water from the drinking fountain in the corner to soothe her acid-filled stomach. The hours on this ferry had been hell. They hadn’t realized how long it would take to get to this corner of Maine. She was also craving a cigarette, having smelled the smoke from the one that was inevitably planted in the corner of Barbara’s lips. She knew if she had one puff though, the motion sickness she was suffering would only get worse.

  “We’re almost there,” Barbara said soothingly, her cold hand lovingly caressing the forehead of her sweaty and sick girlfriend. She removed her cigarette with her other hand and flicked the ashes onto the deck of the ship without a thought. Looking at its length, she took one more drag, before flicking it over the rail.

  “Sadly, we have to make the return trip,” Marion mumbled as she took deep, cleansing breaths—in through her nose and out through her mouth—and hoped she could keep down the water in her stomach. There was nothing else. The last food she had eaten was dinner last night, at least thirteen hours ago. She could only hope that when she touched land again, she would be able to eat. The cool, crisp, and clean air of this part of the world felt good on her face and in her lungs...she could taste the air.

  “That’s days from now,” Barbara reminded her, wondering how someone so steady could succumb to seasickness. The trip hadn’t been that bad, and she’d ridden it out with no problem at all, but her petite, effeminate, and fastidious girlfriend had started puking within hours of boarding the ferry. Still, this was the easiest way to get to where they were going.

  The rockiness of the ferry began to smooth out as they came into the bay and headed for Franklin. The town was spread out along the mountainside, and for a moment, the dreary fog that had accompanied them all morning lifted, giving them a brief glimpse. Hearing Barbara’s intake of breath and feeling the difference in the motion of the ferry, Marion began to get up for a look. The fog closed in again almost instantly, and the rain continued, but she had gotten a glimpse, and that sight had given her hope. For a moment she forgot about her rolling stomach and the long, gruesome trip they had taken. This was for their future, their dream, and she wanted desperately to make it work.

  They had taken a few days off from the mill where they worked. This was unprecedented. They’d worked hard during the war and even afterwards when their husbands hadn’t come home. Finding each other and feeling an attraction had been a surprise. Acting on that attraction had been something neither had anticipated. Discovering that they could love another human being, another woman, had been a wonderful experience for both.

  Pooling their resources and their families, they had come together under one roof. Their sons shared a bedroom, Marion’s daughter had her own room, and for anyone who wondered, the two adults shared a bedroom with two double beds for propriety’s sake. The fact that only one bed was frequently used was known only by the women since they rose before their sons and daughter and went to bed after them. Their bedroom door was locked when they were inside and only a loud banging on it would have them get up to see which child needed their mother. Many was the time that Marion or Barbara had rolled on the unused bed to make it look like they didn’t share the same bed. So far, their children hadn’t caught on, but people in their small town had started whispering. They wondered why two women in the prime of their lives hadn’t begun looking for new husbands to replace the ones they had lost in the war. There was an abundance of men, who had come home to take over the jobs the women had been doing in the factories during the war. The independence displayed by these two women was the antithesis of how women in post-war America were expected to behave, so their very lives were being questioned.

  As the ferry bumped into the dock of Franklin, Maine, they both breathed a sigh of relief. Gathering their single suitcases and purses, they got in the queue to leave the ferry and get on the dock. Entering the station, both were pleased to be back o
n solid land. Barbara led the way as Marion was still fighting her nausea, but surely, being on land would help to ease that.

  “Excuse me. I’m looking for a Henry Wheeler?” Barbara asked at the ticket office. Her accent had the man looking up at her, immediately identifying her as someone from out of state and not a local.

  “Ayuh, that’s ‘im over there,” he said, thumb pointing to the corner where an older man stood, hands in the pockets of his overalls, viewing the crowd. He looked comfortable, rocking back and forth to a tune in his head as he looked about at the throng of passengers getting off the ferry. Some were being greeted by family, and others were making their way through the crush.

  “Thank you,” she answered politely and led the deep-breathing Marion towards the man.

  “Mr. Wheeler?” Barbara asked brightly as they approached.

  “Yup, that’s me,” he answered, looking her over and then glancing at the petite blonde.

  Marion knew what he saw. She’d known that her looks were the ticket to her future. They had landed her a good and handsome husband, a fine home, and a future that was assured. Then, World War II had hit and ruined it all for them. Her son and daughter were left without a father, and the small amount of money the government had given her hadn’t been enough to survive on. Fortunately, Brian had taken out life insurance. They’d lived on that until she found a job and eventually sold their house. His family hadn’t been happy about that, but she felt she didn’t need such a big house when the larger family they anticipated would never be born. Today, that face had gone through hell on the trip here and looked pasty. She was not looking her best.

  Eventually, after meeting Barbara, they had moved into an apartment together. In theory, they were pooling their funds and saving towards their future...also together. A short, blonde woman, her hair cut short in the current post-war style, Marion had been cute as a button when Brian met her. Worry and having borne children had caused her to put on a few pounds, and now, she was curvy, almost voluptuous...some might, if they were nasty, call her dumpy. She looked tired, worn, and overworked. Mr. Wheeler took that all in as he looked at her before flicking his eyes to the woman next to her.

  Barbara was tall, stocky, and could have passed for a man if not for her carefully made-up face.

  “Are you Marion Whiting?” he asked, glancing at the blonde to be sure.

  “Yes, and this is Barbara Jenkins,” she answered, introducing her companion.

  He glanced outside at the weather and then looked back at the two women, unsure. “Did you want to go see the land today?”

  “It rains a lot here, doesn’t it?” Marion smiled as she asked, glancing outside as though to confirm her statement.

  He nodded and waited for her to answer his question.

  “Do you think it will clear up a little later?”

  He looked out again, considering, rubbing his chin. “Ayuh, it could clear up, but then again, it might not.”

  Marion looked puzzled at this answer. Trying not to lose her cheerful attitude she glanced at Barbara and gave her a grin. “Well, we’ve been traveling far too many hours without a meal. We’ll check into our hotel. Would you like to join us for lunch, Mr. Wheeler?”

  He looked surprised that she would make the offer. “No, no, my Martha will have dinner on the table,” he told her. “It’s a good, long way out there. Maybe we should go tomorrow?”

  Considering they only had a couple of days, this limited window of opportunity seemed to be slipping through their fingers. Marion glanced back at Barbara again and saw her chin make a gesture, telling her to go ahead with whatever she meant to say. “I was hoping to see it today,” she said firmly. She knew it would be cold, wet, and not an ideal situation, but they couldn’t afford not to see it as soon as possible and make up their minds.

  Stroking his chin, he considered. “I guess we could go later,” he said slowly, thoughtfully.

  “That would be wonderful. Could you point us to our hotel? Maybe a diner?”

  In his slow, methodical way Mr. Wheeler began to point out the layout of the town. The mist was too thick to see everything he was pointing out, but as he spoke it lifted enough to make out where they needed to go. They watched as he made his way out wearing his rubber Wellingtons, the wetness soon drifting off the point of his hat that matched not only his boots but his knee-length coat, which was open to reveal the overalls. By then, Marion was able to breathe easier. The cool air and solid ground were helping, and they set out for their hotel. Barbara carried their bags while Marion held a large umbrella over them.

  “I don’t think that was an auspicious beginning,” Barbara murmured as they trudged along, not nearly like the long-legged stride their guide had taken. She was pleased to see the color coming back to her girlfriend’s pale face, and her chipper attitude hid the nausea she had felt all night long.

  “Well, if you wait for spring sunshine in Maine, you might have to wait a while,” she quipped with a smile. She too was worried that this dream of theirs was merely an impulse, and she already knew their families would balk at their idea once they heard.

  They checked into the town’s only hotel and were surprised yet pleased when they were informed there was only one queen-sized bed and they would have to share. They pretended not to mind.

  They freshened up and Marion changed her clothes where some of the sick had splashed. She was finally feeling dry and comfortable in her clothes. She washed out her dress to lay it out and let it dry. They went back out into the weather, barely needing their umbrella any longer as the sun had burned off the mist and the rain had gone out to sea. The diner was full of locals who stared at the two women as they ordered. Marion was able to eat, which further calmed her nervous stomach. She was feeling fine as they made their way back to the hotel in time to catch Mr. Wheeler, who was just leaving the lobby.

  “Mr. Wheeler?” Marion called as he turned away from them.

  He stopped, surprised to be addressed and then smiled slightly upon seeing the two women. “I was just leavin’,” he told them in his slow way. He looked at them and their outfits, looking them up and down. Women wearing pants was still a new thing to a lot of people.

  “We just finished our lunch and were hoping to find you,” she answered sweetly, glancing at Barbara and exchanging a look.

  “Ya still want to go out and take a look?” he asked, staring at their outfits.

  “We’d love to,” she answered, trying to smile but unsure if he was happy with the idea or not.

  “Me boat’s this way,” he pointed down towards the docks, away from the ferry. He clearly didn’t approve of women wearing dungarees but turned away quickly.

  They followed him and were surprised at the small boat but got in gingerly where he indicated. He started the small motor and headed out of the harbor into the open sea before heading northeast with confidence. Both women held on tightly to the small boat, balancing against the oncoming waves, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

  Barbara worried that Marion would get seasick again and glanced at her repeatedly, but she seemed to be holding her own.

  Marion wondered if her full stomach was a mistake, but this smaller boat seemed to ride the waves differently. The water was closer to them, and while they couldn’t see as much, it felt better. She looked out as far as she could see from her seat and was pleased to see a patch of sunshine trying to eke out a spot in the overcast above them. The fresh breeze seemed to help her overcome any lingering nausea that might have reared its ugly head.

  They saw several islands as Mr. Wheeler motored along, seemingly unaware of anything but his intended destination. The islands looked quiet and unassuming. They were full of lush foliage and tall trees, and the rocks surrounding them made some of them appear menacing. There was no sign of life. Marion pointed out different trees, but Barbara looked out at the water, wondering how far out they were going. Finally, Mr. Wheeler turned towards almost open sea, and they spotted an island. It didn
’t look like much as he followed along its rocky coastline. The kelp along the stony shore wasn’t promising. In fact, it looked downright foreboding. A narrow opening turned into a cove, which widened out into about a half-mile-long lagoon and looked promising. He drove the smaller boat right up onto the “sand,” which was more rock than sand. Fortunately, this island’s shores didn’t have the large boulders of the other islands or those shores that the ocean constantly pounded on.

  “This is ‘er,” he spoke for the first time since they had left Franklin and pointed with his thumb behind him from where he was tying off the small craft.

  Both women carefully got out of the boat and looked about. The small cove would be perfect for landing a craft such as the one Mr. Wheeler owned but they knew they would need a bigger one if they were to make this project work. Barbara looked at Marion, wondering at her thoughts. Marion was looking avidly about, expanding and making plans from her vague ideas now that she was seeing the island.

  “Well, let’s look around, shall we?” Barbara asked, trying to sound enthusiastic. Marion smiled as she eagerly began the walk up from the small beach despite there being no path.

  “Someone once had a shack up dere on the bluff,” Mr. Wheeler offered, not too enthusiastic about traipsing off into the woods where the women had headed. Still, he had been surprised to get their letter inquiring about his ad, which had read:

  ‘Small island on the Canada/United States border. Excellent timber. Whimsical Island. Serious inquiries via P.O. Box 102, Franklin, Maine.’

  He was certain he was wasting his time with these two women. Still, they had traveled all the way from Massachusetts.

  Barbara had been the one to find the ad in the newspaper and show it to Marion. Marion hadn’t even thought about it more than an hour before she wrote the serious inquiry letter to Mr. Wheeler. “Remember how camp seemed to be the best place there was when you were a child?” she enthused as she made plans for an island she had never even seen.

  “Marion, I didn’t go to the same camps you did,” Barbara pointed out. They hadn’t been in the same social classes and camp was not an option for her. The one year Barbara had been able to go to camp hadn’t endeared her to the idea in the same way it obviously was taking hold of Marion.