Secrets of Sandhill Island

by Peggy Chambers

  Someday, he would introduce himself again to this woman who had ruined his life. Someday, but not yet. He had a plan simmering in the back of his mind. It had not fully come to fruition, but it was there.

  Chapter 3

  In her dreams that night, the waves were bigger than a corporate tower. They washed over the tiny boat, soaking her until she couldn’t breathe. Gasping, Meg woke up wet, drenched in sweat not sea water, and found she was in her own bed. Outside her window a restless wind blew and lightning crackled in the distance. A storm was brewing, and not just in her dreams. Without warning the rain pelted her tiny bungalow, blowing in on her bed. She rose quickly to shut the windows.

  Wrapped in a throw that lay on her couch, she padded outside onto her porch barefoot. The storm clouds gathered around the rising sun. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning, she thought. Her father used to quote that old saying. The wind whipped around and blew a salty spray on everything in its path. It would be impossible to get into the garden for hours even if the storm let up. And she knew she could not sleep in the muggy house with the windows shut.

  Instead, she took a shower and put on jeans and a tee shirt, pulled her hair back away from her face in a clip and began cleaning the old house. The tired linoleum floors shone as she scrubbed them with lye soap and a brush in a bucket of water. Most people these days never scrubbed a floor on their hands and knees—but, that was how she was certain the corners contained no grime. She remembered Mariam scrubbing her mother’s floors that way.

  The rain continued to blow and the wind changed directions over and over. She opened one window and it would rain in and she would have to close it again. She went through the house opening and closing windows as the wind changed its mind about which way to blow. At least she wouldn’t have to water the garden today. However, she might not sell a single vegetable. If she couldn’t get into the garden to pick them or pull her wagon into town, she would have to stay home.

  Finally, the winds let up. But, the rain continued to pound the ground as puddles formed and drops splashed. She might as well rest today, chances were slim she would sell anything. She found a corner near a window and curled up with a book. The rain-cooled air felt good on her warm, moist skin. Soon she was asleep again, but the dream was different this time.

  Blue-green water streamed by the side of the boat in the current. It pulled along horizontal to the shore this time of the year and Evan said that was where the fish were. Meg looked out into the distance at dark navy water, so dark it was almost black. The gentle waves rolled up and under the boat and she watched dolphins playing in the distance. Salt air up her nostrils, she breathed it back out slowly. This was home. She loved the sea almost as much as Evan. The deep dark water held secrets it never gave up. She felt his arms around her as she stared out at the water.

  Leaning her head back against his chest she felt his lips on her ear and neck. They had been out most of the day and there was sure to be trouble when she got home. Meg feared that her father had guessed she was not with her girlfriends in Corpus Christi for the day as she had said. Rowdy told Evan that Graham had been asking around about him. But, that only pushed her closer to her lover.

  His hand slid down the front of her blouse and she arched her back, breathing in his scent deeply. She wanted to stay this way forever; alone on the ocean, miles from anyone or anything, unhurried, and wrapped in his arms.

  Pulling her blouse out of her jeans, he slowly unbuttoned it. Her shirt open to the air, she felt the wind caress her body and she turned to wrap her arms around him.

  “Come down.” He took her hand and led her toward the berth. She looked back at the water one last time as the dolphin splashed next to the boat. Turning back, she found Evan was no longer there. He had gone on without her.

  “Evan?” she called, looking down into the interior of the boat where the sleeping quarters and kitchen were. She stepped down the steps, calling his name again.

  The boat gently rocked back and forth, and Evan, her beloved fisherman, was nowhere in sight. She searched the boat from one end to the other. Everything was turned upside down. The food in the galley rolled around on the floor, threatening to trip her every step. She called his name over and over, but he never responded. Where was he?

  The winds came up and tossed the boat from side to side, slinging her against the closet, knocking her to the ground. A sudden squall blew up while she was looking for her fisherman and she called him again as she climbed the steps. The waves were splashing up over the edge of the boat, whipping her blouse off her shoulders, and she pulled it closed and buttoned it. Where did he go?

  Did he fall overboard in the storm? What about her, was she alone on the boat and how would she get home? Scared and unable to find Evan, she berated herself about her concern for her own safety. She couldn’t find Evan anywhere and the storm was gathering speed!

  She woke with a start and realized she was not on the boat, but again in her own home and the rain had finally stopped.

  Wiping the cobwebs from her brain, Meg came back to reality as she walked to the back door to look at the rain-soaked garden. The sandy soil still drained well, even with the addition of the loam she had added over the years. But, even sand had to have time to drain after a deluge. She stared out at the soggy garden.

  There in the middle of the squash plants was a fat, brown bunny happily munching her leaves. Leaves she was not willing to share. She sold the best produce to the locals or tourists. The rabbit had no idea how hard it was to grow a garden in a salty environment. She kept only the ugly, twisted, and blemished ones for herself and canned many of them for winter. No, she would not share her vegetables with the rabbit who would take more than his share. How it got to the island she would never know, but he had to go—and she knew she couldn’t kill the poor little thing.

  Pulling on her rubber boots caked with mud from the last time it rained; she eased the door open slowly and stepped out onto the rickety wooden steps. They leaned to the left even more in the wet soil. Slowly, she went down the steps, eyeing the bunny the entire time. He looked up and munched, his furry nose wiggling. He seemed unconcerned about the giant human looking at him. The squash blossoms and leaves were just too tempting. Meg picked up a piece of a broken clay pot at the bottom of the stairs. She was never a pitcher and she didn’t want to hit the rabbit, only scare it.

  “Shoo!” She lobbed the shard of pottery at the rabbit. It landed short and the rabbit hardly flinched. Hands on her hips, she looked at her nemeses and he looked back. Picking up a dried branch from beside the house, this time she ran at the furry rodent, yelling and swinging the branch. Grabbing a mouthful of squash blossom with the tiny squash still attached, it turned, hopped to the back of the yard, twisted around, and looked at her once more.

  “Go on!” And the rabbit disappeared around the corner and up the sand dune to hide in the grass. But, she knew it would be back. She never had to fence in her garden before, but short of making a rabbit stew, she knew that would be her only means of defense now that the creature had found her little patch of heaven. Besides, her mother always said they were born pregnant—at least, they multiplied like they were. If it came back and brought its whole family, she would be out of business in a week. She walked the length of the garden following the rabbit’s footprints and saw all the havoc it had wreaked since the storm finished, shaking her head and wondering what else the furry rodent could do today.

  At the back of the yard where the trellises stood she noticed the blackberries were finally ripening. There might be enough for a basket today. The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds and the squash and tomatoes were ripe and ready to be picked. She was already in the mud and wearing her rubber boots, so she might as well harvest the vegetables.

  Grabbing a basket from the back porch, she wandered the rows and picked the freshly washed vegetables. She looked around at her homegrown veggies, some still partially green, and decided to pick everything that was ready, eve
n the ones that were not quite as ripe as she would like, since the rabbit would most likely be back as soon as she was gone. Her wagon would be overflowing on the trip to town today.

  Lastly, she picked a pint basket of blackberries. The first berry of the season she kept for herself as she placed it on her tongue and bit down. She did very little for herself in this quiet life she had chosen, but this was one luxury she indulged in. The tart juice filled her mouth with joy, and she smiled, wiping her chin with her sleeve. She knew they would sell first, so she pulled her wagon into the garden and carefully filled it with baskets, leaving the berries for the top.

  The wagon overflowing, she tugged and pulled it up the hill into town hoping to sell all that she had. She knew her chances were slim, but if they didn’t make it to market, it was a sure bet they would be eaten for free. By the time she got to her stand, she was soaked in sweat from dragging the heavy load.

  She stopped at the tiny stand in town and found the tourists were already out and had passed her by. She could hear the air conditioner humming next door.

  “Mornin’, Meg. Nice rain we got this morning.” Mr. Sanders waved as he swept his front porch.

  “Yes, very nice.”

  “You’ve got a bounty there. I’m surprised you could get into the garden with the mud.”

  “Boots.” She pointed to the muddy rubber boots on her feet. She was still in her jeans and tee shirt with no hat on her head. Unprepared to leave, she pulled her wagon to market without thinking of how she was dressed. It would be a hot day with no hat.

  He nodded and smiled as he swept the puddles from around his door.

  “You’re late. I wondered if you were coming in at all. Nice rain we had this morning.” Alex smiled at her from his doorframe, coffee in hand. “The tomato was delicious by the way. Have any more?”

  “I’m late because of the wet garden, so I waited until it drained. Yes, I have tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, and blackberries.” It all came out sounding stiff. That might have been the longest conversation she had held for months and it didn’t come out of her mouth with ease.

  The man with the gray-brown hair walked over as she placed her produce on the stand and hung out the open sign. The vegetables filled the little stand to the hilt, and there was still more in the wagon for later. She hoped the tourists came back or she would be carrying much of it back home this evening.

  Alex walked along looking at the produce and rearranged it as he went. He picked up several squash and artfully posed them in different positions along the rough wooden stand. When he realized that Meg was watching him, he stopped.

  “Sorry, force of habit. I rearrange things to look like I think they should. It used to drive my students crazy when they were painting a still life.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  “Well, used to be. I taught art at the university. Now, I paint what I used to teach. You know what they say, ‘those who can, do; those who can’t, teach those who do.’ Well, I decided to be one of those who do.”

  “It’s wonderful to be able to do what you love in life. The blackberries are the first of the season.” She gestured toward the berries.

  Alex ran a thumb lightly over the berries and held one up to the light. “Beautiful. I’ll take them—and some tomatoes.” He began to pick the softer and riper ones, avoiding the ones with a small amount of green.

  “What else is growing in your little truck patch?”

  “You a vegan?” Meg asked.

  “No, just a connoisseur of good food. I know what I like.”

  “Well, I might not have anything when I get back. There was a rabbit this morning when I walked out back, and he was making himself at home.”

  “Rabbit huh? Did it get under the fence?”

  “I’ve never fenced the garden in. I hope I don’t have to now.”

  “Well, where there’s one rabbit there’s normally more. How do you feel about rabbit stew?”

  Meg shuddered.

  The wrinkles around Alex’s eyes deepened, his grin widening. “I’m kidding. Maybe a fence is a better idea.”

  “I don’t know anything about building a fence.”

  “I’ll help. I’ve built fences for the theater group at school—how much harder can it be?”

  “No, I couldn’t impose. You have things to do and that wasn’t what I meant when I said I didn’t know how. Really. It’s okay.”

  “I insist. We’re neighbors and that’s what neighbors do—they help each other. You provide me with vegetables and I can help you with the fence. Anyway, if I don’t, there might not be any vegetables for me anymore.”

  “Well, we’ll see.” The same tourist in the khaki shorts and black socks walked her way with a scowl on his face.

  “The cucumber I bought yesterday was bitter. I hope you have a better selection today.” He scowled. Flakes of skin were peeling from his red nose.

  “I’m sorry. Here, take a free one to make up for it. Try cutting the ends off next time, the center is normally sweeter.”

  “Humph.” He took the cucumber and walked away without buying anything.

  “I don’t know how you put up with that every day.” Alex watched the man walk away with his free cucumber.

  “He won’t be here very long. Most tourists stay a week or two and then go back home.”

  “Well, nothing I have eaten from your garden was bitter. Maybe it was just his attitude.”

  Meg smiled. Her new neighbor was engaging and easy to talk to, unlike most people she encountered.

  Alex gathered the produce and placed it in the bag he brought with him. When that bag was full, he pulled another out of his back pocket and began to fill it too.

  “You can’t eat all that before it ruins,” Meg said, eyeing the bags.

  “I’ll manage.” He smiled at her again.

  His smile warmed her heart, something that most people didn’t do.

  “Meg, thank goodness you’re here!” Sam, from the restaurant down the street, was trotting toward her with a large basket. “I have an impromptu banquet this evening and don’t have enough produce. What do you have? I may have to adjust the menu.”

  Sam had his regular suppliers and didn’t shop at the lowly little produce stand very often.

  “The small party of six has turned into twenty-five and maybe more. The back room will be filled with tourists and I need to offer a choice of soup or salad.” He browsed the vegetables on the wooden planks. “What about the stuff still in the wagon? Can I look through it?”

  “Of course, Sam, come around back and look.” She smiled at Alex as she handed him back the change for his purchase. Her giant haul of vegetables might be gone sooner than she thought.

  “Okay, how much for the whole kit and caboodle? And can I just borrow the wagon and bring it back?” He had taken everything off the shelf and placed it in his own basket. “Will seventy-five dollars be enough? That’s all I have and I’m really in a hurry.”

  “That’s way too much. Here let me weigh the tomatoes.”

  “No, I don’t have time to weigh it all, just take the seventy-five and let me know if I owe you any more.” He pulled out a few crisp bills and handed them to her. “Please?”

  “Of course. Here, let me help you with that basket while you pull the wagon.” She took down the open sign and ran after the chef in her rubber boots as he pulled her wooden wagon to the back door of the restaurant.

  Returning to her stand pulling the empty wagon, she saw Alex on his front porch. His porch held several beautiful paintings on display. He sat in a rocker with a glass of iced tea and gestured to the chair next to him. “Take a load off. Now don’t say no. You have nothing more to sell. Just sit and have a glass of tea with your new neighbor or you’ll make me feel unwanted.”

  Meg looked at the man she had just met and wondered why she wanted to sit with him. “Okay, but just one glass. I need to get back home to see what kind of damage the little rascal has done to my garden.”

 
; “I wanted to talk about that.” He poured a glass of tea from the pitcher that sat on the tiny end table between the rockers and handed it to her. “There’s plenty of old lumber that I hauled out for the trash when I moved in. We could use it to fence in the garden. We could put my tools and some of the lumber in your wagon and go to work. You don’t have anything else to sell today anyway.”

  “You do.” Meg eyed his paintings. The pastel painting was a portrait of a vase of pale pink roses sitting against a blue wall. You could see a window in the background with a placid aqua sea.

  “I can do that anytime. That rabbit won’t wait.”

  “These are really beautiful.” She walked around the paintings and tried to slow him down. She liked him, but he was being a little pushy for her tastes. Besides, maybe the rabbit moved on to another garden—maybe somewhere in town.

  “Thank you. Drink your tea. We have work to do.”

  “No, really, the rabbit probably went somewhere else anyway.”

  “You know that isn’t true. To begin with, there aren’t any tastier vegetables than yours and if there were, they wouldn’t be close. I am sure he is lying in the shade with a full belly right now. So, drink up—we’ve got a fence to build.”

  Meg sat in the chair and looked down at the mud caked on her boots. She didn’t want it to fall off on his clean porch. But, the truth was she was hot in her jeans and boots and would like to go home and change to something cooler.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You get that lumber and we’ll take it to my house, but if the rabbit is gone, we won’t build a fence. I really didn’t want a fence anyway. I like the yard to be open.”

  “Deal. But, he’s not gone.” Alex smiled knowingly. He got up and began to put the paintings back in the shop. “Grab that pitcher, will you? We’ll put it in the frig.”

  Meg picked up the pitcher and carried it into the shop where the air was cool and inviting. She dared not stay too long or she would never leave. She looked around at his paintings—all in calming pastel colors.