An Island Between Us

by K'Anne Meinel

  Barbara’s feelings were hurt by Marion’s waspishness, and she went out to chop down trees they needed for the remaining cabins. The snow made it easier to pull the logs, but the cold made it hard for her to breathe when she worked up a sweat under her layers of clothing. It was a miserable time but at least she could escape the cabin.

  “No dinner?” Barbara asked, returning after chopping down a dead tree near the location of the fourth cabin.

  “You make it,” Marion replied, hiding in their bedroom and reading a book to avoid the children, who were bored and getting on her nerves. They did their daily chores, reluctantly in the severe cold, but at least it got them out of the cabin for an hour; however, an hour was not enough for Marion to really get some alone time.

  Barbara did make dinner, slamming cupboard doors and drawers as she fired up the stove and made a vegetable stew because they were running out of meat. She had wimped out on killing a deer and didn’t want to kill their sheep. The chickens and especially the guineas hadn’t fared well that winter, and they’d been plucking feathers from the dead animals since what seemed like Thanksgiving.

  “This is good,” Brian tried to compliment Barbara, but the strange silence between the adults had settled over the whole cabin.

  Even the dogs could sense the coldness between the two women and avoided them. Both women had taken to sleeping in their separate beds alone.

  “When will this infernal snow stop coming down?” Marion bitched, looking out the window as the wind blew it into drifts.

  “Maybe, if you went out in it, you’d clear the cobwebs from your mind and not feel so trapped,” Barbara advised and immediately regretted her words as Marion fixed her with a glare.

  Marion had no choice but to go out in the snow later that day. Barbara had to shovel off the roofs of the two summer cottages, their shed, and the chicken coop, and she was on their cabin when she slipped and fell off. The children had been watching wrapped in scarves, mittens, and winter clothes, and they screamed as she lay on the snow drifts she had been shoveling off the steep roof. Marion was out the door like a shot, grabbing her winter jacket from the hook by the door.

  “Oh, my God! Barbara, are you okay?” she asked, concerned, as she ran to where the brunette lay.

  It was the depth of the snow drifts she had pushed off the roof that saved her from being really and truly hurt. The strain of the heavy snow and all her hard work as she struggled through it made her sore.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said as she tried to weakly push herself up out of the snow.

  “My God, have you broken anything?” Marion tried to help her up and look for anything broken at the same time.

  “Hang on. Let me get up,” Barbara said, struggling. Once erect, they began to swat off the clinging snow.

  “Ow,” Barbara said as Marion slapped at her clothing a bit harder than she thought was necessary.

  “Is that ‘Ow, that hurts from the fall’ or ‘Ow, that hurts from brushing the snow off me?’” Marion asked as she continued swiping at the snow.

  “That’s, ‘Stop smacking me, or I’m going to start in on paybacks!’”

  Relieved that Barbara hadn’t been hurt, Marion stepped back. Looking up at the larger woman, she asked, “Oh, yeah? Like how?”

  Barbara immediately scooped up snow and began to make a snowball, the snow didn’t pack well, it was too cold, but the intent was there.

  “Now, Barbara, you know I was kidding,” Marion began, backing up and holding her hands up in defense.

  “Well, you have been ornery lately, and I think you were taking it out on me with the smacking,” Barbara returned, squashing the snow tightly together with sheer force.

  “Don’t,” Marion warned, but she was laughing too. She was certain she could outrun or at least dodge the snowball before it landed. She was wrong, and as she turned to run, it landed squarely in the center of her back, exploding up into her hair and immediately starting to drip down the inside of her collar. “Arggh!” she exhaled at the cold, bending down to scoop up snow to make her own snowball and return the favor. The snowball fight was on, and the children and dogs joined in. Yelling, whooping, and barking ensued in all the commotion as they all worked off the funk they had fallen into. The snow clung to everything, and they finally stopped, conceding that despite the fall, Barbara was the master snowball thrower. They tromped into the screened porch to shake out their snow-covered clothing, sharing laughter over the unexpected event.

  “That was something,” the children exclaimed, not having had fun with their moms like that in a long time.

  Everyone had rosy cheeks and was puffing from the exertion. Barbara had to put away the ladder and shovel, figuring the other half of the roof would melt in the sunshine that had managed to squeak through the fluffy clouds. As she entered the screened porch to shake out her own clothes, already unbuttoning her jacket, a carefully aimed snowball hit her directly below her chin causing it to blow up in her face. Gasping in surprise, she couldn’t help but hear Marion’s explosive laughter.

  “Oh, I’m sooo sorry,” Marion tried to get out between the laughter. “I didn’t think I’d actually hit you!” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t missed by a mile. Her aim was terrible, which had been proven in the snowball fight with the children. She carefully gathered up the snow they’d tracked in, and using the slightly melted mess, she fashioned the snowball that was now plastered to Barbara’s surprised chest.

  “Oh, yeah?” Barbara challenged, more amused now that the initial surprise had worn off. “Remember my friend, payback....”

  The children were delighted. It had been wonderful to see their parents playing instead of fighting. The atmosphere in the small cabin lifted immeasurably.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  They worried less about the weight of the snow on their cabin than the ice that was now building up.

  A combination of snow, melt, and sea spray was causing a buildup of ice on the dock, the rocks, and everywhere else. It made for very hazardous hiking, no matter where they went on the island, not to mention trying to use the boat to go across and get their mail. Many was the time they decided not to venture off the island as breaking ice off the boat and readying it for sea travel was too laborious. They tried to keep each other amused inside the cabin. Marion was stacking the pieces of cabin wall she was building in the screened-in porch, but she started to run out of room and was forced to begin stacking it outside against the cabin. Of course, she worried about the weather warping it despite the tarps she placed over it.

  More than once, they slipped and fell on the paths while trying to get to the cabins. After Barbara returned battered and bruised from trying to take some of Marion’s creations to the cabins and get them out of the way, it was decided there would be no further unnecessary excursions. The thought of a broken limb or something worse on their remote island was terrifying to both women.

  They spent a lot of time working with the children on their studies and trying to keep them amused. The children exhausted their knowledge of card games and Marion made a homemade cribbage board. But even the novelty of that wore off after a couple weeks of intense play. The two mothers determined to get more board games. Their supply was rather limited, and they realized their guests might enjoy the games too. They also finished reading their limited supply of books and both wished they could get to the town library for more stories.

  “I’m going to find a used bookstore and buy all their adventure novels,” Marion threatened as they read through Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson for the third time. Robinson Crusoe and Swiss Family Robinson were also well-worn at this point, and the children were determined to build a tree house next year.

  That statement led to a discussion about what other books they should have in their library including Tom Sawyer and Gulliver’s Travels as well as some others they hadn’t heard of before. They discussed the options and shared them with the children. The idea of searching for the books in a use
d bookstore had at first sounded boring to the children, but now, they thought of it as a search for treasure and looked forward to the excursion when they had the time, the money, and the opportunity.

  Next, they tried to teach the children to dance using the radio, which really interrupted the customary peace and quiet they were all used to now. Every now and then, they gave the children hour-long dance classes. The children laughed at some of the dances the two women tried to teach them. It was so aggravating. Teaching them to waltz or foxtrot was too boring, especially for the boys, who were their main partners. Brenda liked it when a song came on that they could do the jitterbug or charleston to. Even the boys liked these more exciting songs, which required more invigorating dancing than the more sedentary waltz. Barbara liked being able to hold Marion as they demonstrated the various steps for the children. The adults used the books they borrowed from the library to learn how to mambo and cha-cha. It was a great way to exercise with the furniture pulled back from their wood floor and the carpets rolled up.

  “Oh, I’m beat,” Barbara admitted as she collapsed undaintily into a chair while fanning her sweating face. Richard grinned unrepentedly as they had been trying a samba, and he was the first to get all the steps right.

  “Anyone else want to try?” he asked enthusiastically, looking at Marion and Brenda expectantly and holding out his hands encouragingly.

  “Oh, no. You are too rough,” Brenda said, backing away and holding her hands behind her, so he couldn’t reach for them.

  “I think we need to find our record player and some records, so we don’t have to wait for this darn static-filled radio to play the songs we want to dance to,” Marion complained.

  “Didn’t you say most songs have a beat you can adapt to the dances?” Brian asked, feeling proud of the stately waltz he had achieved. He hadn’t wanted to try at first, but Richard and Brenda were having so much fun with their moms that he joined in just to learn.

  Turning off the radio, Marion answered him with a smile. “You’re right. You can dance to most songs; you just have to listen for the beat and tempo.”

  “What about those songs they are calling rock and roll?” Richard asked.

  “I am not sure I like them,” Marion admitted, sitting on the arm of the chair that Barbara was sprawled in, looking very unladylike.

  “C’mon, you’re a jive bomber,” Richard stated, laughing at her.

  “I’m a what?” she sputtered, laughing in return.

  “Don’t you think I’m a good dancer?” Barbara challenged him, cracking up at the phrase he had used.

  “Of course, you are, Mom,” he said, suddenly contrite and worrying that he had offended the older woman.

  “I’m just busting your chops,” she told him affectionately.

  “That was a gas,” Brenda admitted, sitting on the couch they had managed to bring over from the mainland in a similarly unladylike sprawl to Barbara.

  “I need a drink,” Marion said, hopping up to get some water.

  “Are you a swigger now, Mom?” Brian teased.

  She laughed at him. “I couldn’t tell you the last time I had a drink,” she admitted. It had been a long time since she had even gone out anywhere that served alcohol. She didn’t mind. Everything she needed was here in this cabin. “Anyone else need some water while I’m up?” she offered.

  “I thought you old geezers needed a swig now and then?” Brian continued teasing.

  “The only swig I need now and then is a cup of joe,” Barbara admitted, but knowing how low they were on that she amended, “but I’ll take a cup of water.” She really loved how fresh and clean their spring water was, especially since she and Marion had figured out a filter system to protect against anything that might be living in their source.

  “I’ll help!” Brenda got up energetically to pull out some cups out for everyone.

  “Aren’t you the eager beaver?” Marion teased and tousled the little girl’s hair as they filled cups for everyone. The dancing had been quite energetic.

  “I think dancing is killer diller,” the little girl stated ingeniously as she passed out the cups.

  “It certainly teaches you balance and coordination,” Barbara admitted, taking a long draught. She was exhausted, and she had to admit, a little sore.

  “I think some of those dances are for fuddy-duddies,” Brian put in, taking a drink.

  “Well, the dances may change over the years, especially with that rock and roll coming into play,” Marion said. It was obvious she didn’t like the songs they heard now and then on the various stations. Their reception out here on the island was limited because there were so few stations anywhere near Franklin for them to catch, and the towers had limited range. “It will also change when you get doll dizzy,” she mentioned to Brian and glanced at Richard.

  “I’m never gonna get girl crazy,” Richard asserted stoutly.

  “You won’t be asking to borrow the boat to go across and see your girl?” Barbara asked, amused.

  “I think if I asked to borrow the boat, you’d snap your cap,” he teased back, but he was intrigued. “You’d let me use the boat? By myself?”

  “If Richard gets to drive the boat, I do too,” Brian put in quickly, asserting a claim.

  “That’s years away,” Barbara told him, taking another drink of the cool and refreshing water. At least I hope it is years away, she thought.

  Barbara was pleased when Marion hauled out the record player and played records they had both saved over the years. Both women were Doris Day fans. Secretly, Barbara thought Marion looked like the her but was prettier than the famous blonde. Still, a Doris Day song on the radio would stop them in their tracks to listen to her melodic tones. The records of the swing or big band era helped teach them all to dance, and when they listened to the radio, it was their favorite genre.

  Music helped to pass the time while teaching the children to dance and showing them they didn’t have to work every minute of the day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The next week, the snow, which had continued to fall, turned to water faster and caused runoff, channels, and a boggy atmosphere. Their sheep did not fare well as it was wet all the time. They were all swollen with their young, and their wool was not drying well with the sleet that came down. Barbara put them inside the shed they had built for them, but even then, the water crept in on the straw laid down for them to eat and lay on. They were miserable.

  “Come on, Feathers. Get them out of there,” Barbara called, opening the gate as Feathers and Barkley herded the half dozen sheep out of the fenced-in enclosure. She was pleased to see that Barkley was maturing and copying Feathers as he learned to herd the sheep. Some of it was instinctive, but he also listened to the commands the woman had learned, watching her and his charges.

  “Where are you taking them?” Marion asked, watching from where she was pulling snow back from the porch.

  “I thought I’d put them up on the point. It’s dry there and rocky, and the snow has melted, so they can find last year’s grass. They have to get out of here,” Barbara indicated the entire meadow, which had become a swamp. “Maybe they will get dry out there.”

  “I know the feeling,” she admitted. They hadn’t gone anywhere since they had mailed that last series of letters in response to the bank and government letters, and she wanted to go into town to see if they had any more responses and maybe another rental request. Franklin had never looked so good before; at least it was off the island. The frothy white water in the cove and in the ocean beyond it forbade them even attempting a trip though. Winter storms whipped the water into something dangerous.

  It was late March, almost April when they finally got into town. They knew the glossy appearance of the water was deceptive. There was a strong current coming down from Canada just outside their little bay, and their boat gamely fought it as they crossed almost to Fir Island, steering around it and going past Amethyst and Tourmaline Island before heading into Franklin.

&nb
sp; They went directly to their pier, tied off, and the children and adults tumbled gratefully out of the boat. At least the boat was looking better. They had sanded down the top, which had been greatly weathered by time and neglect, and it now looked shiny and rich. With the coat of varnish they applied, it looked almost new. They had shined up the windows on the boat, and it looked handsome. They’d also polished all the metal, which shone prettily. So long as no one looked in the boat and saw the ripped cushions—only one of which they had replaced with their own sewing efforts—they would think it a nice-looking Runabout. They all flung their life preservers back into the bottom of the boat before trekking off towards their truck. The piles of pallets were dangerously high, unbalanced, and they moved a few of them aside to clear their path. The truck hadn’t been used in a while, and it took a moment to turn over.

  “C’mon, ole girl,” Barbara said as she turned the key over and over before it caught.

  “Who’s an old girl?” Brenda asked, curious.

  “The truck, silly,” Richard told her.

  “Why is the truck an old girl?”

  “All cars and trucks, even boats, are called girls,” her brother told her.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “It’s because men usually name them,” Marion said without rancor. She tried not to let her personal feelings about such things enter her explanations to the children.

  “That isn’t fair,” Brenda said, annoyed for her sex.

  “Well, then it’s up to us to change it, isn’t it?” Marion said, smiling as reached out to squeeze her daughter’s hand.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Brian shrugged.