Driftwood Point

by Mariah Stewart

“Everybody told me you were the guy around here. That you knew this area like the back of your hand.”

  “That’s true.” Alex nodded. “Born and raised in these parts.” He couldn’t truthfully say on the island. “I know the people here. I know the laws. I know how to go about getting the most of what you want without tying up your project for the next ten years while you deal with the EPA.”

  “So let’s say you’re me. What would you do?”

  “I’d find out what properties might be available for sale and I’d talk to the owners, see what they might take. Then I’d see where the available properties are located. You don’t want to build a big brand-new place next to a cabin that hasn’t seen a new coat of paint in two centuries and won’t for another two.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to know what’s available, then sit down with your architect and see what he can do.”

  “I already told you my architect—”

  “From what you’ve already told me about the plans your architect has drawn up, they’re for houses that will never be built on Cannonball Island. Bring your guy out, let him see what the terrain is like, what the area is like. If he’s good—and if you’ve hired him, I’m sure he is—he’ll want to design places that fit into the environs here. Places that are plain but beautiful in their simplicity. Places that respect the unique historic nature of the island.”

  “Places that look like they coulda’ been here all along.” Brian nodded as if seeing the light. “Yeah. That could be very classy. My ad guys would go crazy with the concept.”

  “Keep in mind that the cabins that are already here are very small. Anything too large is going to look out of place.”

  Brian was still nodding. “Small houses are all the rage now, right?”

  “I hear they’re on trend.”

  “You think we can get the go-ahead on something like what you talked about? Think we’ll find enough folks around here who’ll sell?”

  “I think there are enough that will make it profitable for you.”

  “I’d been thinking more like eight or nine on the point.”

  Alec shook his head. “That will never happen. As far as I know, the point is not for sale.”

  “You’re killing me, Alec.”

  “Sorry. You need to know up front what’s feasible and what isn’t. I’m just trying to be frank with you. I wouldn’t want to see you get into a situation where you sink a lot of money into the project and end up getting burned in the end.”

  “All right. I appreciate that,” the builder told him, “and I respect your honesty. I’ll talk to my architect. You get me a list of people to talk to out here, and I’ll send someone out to—”

  “No. If you want to buy, you have to do the talking yourself,” Alec told him. “I’ve said before that the islanders are a different sort. They’re not going to deal with a middleman. If you want their property, you’re going to have to sit down with them, look them in the eye, tell them why you want it and how much you’ll pay.”

  “How would you go about getting that conversation started?”

  “I’d invite everyone to a meeting, here on the island. I’d have the plans for the houses I’d like to build, and I’d tell them what I want to do. I’d let them know I wasn’t going to try to steamroll over anyone, but I’d like an opportunity to buy some land on the island, if anyone was interested in selling.”

  “And if no one bites?”

  “Then you’re looking for another place to build. You can’t buy what no one wants to sell.”

  Brian scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Hey, if you find it’s more trouble than it’s worth, that’s okay, too.” Alec shrugged. He almost hoped that in the end, Brian Deiter would walk away, but something told him that wasn’t going to happen. The best he could do was to help protect the interests of the islanders while still giving solid advice to his client, the guy with the fat wallet and dreams of building luxury homes on this historic bit of ground.

  “I’ll get back to you.” Brian started to his car, then turned back. “I heard you were a straight shooter. I appreciate that.”

  “No point in encouraging you to waste your money.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Brian got into his car, started the engine, and drove off, his left hand waving out the window.

  Alec let out a long breath, one he felt he’d been holding since he got into his car back at the office. He was used to dealing with developers like Brian Deiter, but he’d never been comfortable with the situation. He’d been referred to Deiter by his college roommate, who was married to the developer’s sister, and while he appreciated the work, he had mixed feelings.

  Cannonball Island had always held a deep fascination for Alec, one that went way beyond his crush on one of the residents. There were the stories of how the island had come to be inhabited, of the men and women who’d been driven across the slow-moving branch of the New River to a place where there was no shelter and few trees—simply because they’d supported the British in 1812. That the small community had not only survived, but thrived, had been nothing short of a miracle. Tradition had said that only scrub pine and dune grass and beach plum grew on the island back then, but that first year, the newly displaced band of exiles managed to raise crops and build shelters. Having brought with them what they could carry from their homes in St. Dennis, many had cash to spend, and more than one had relatives in other towns who were more than happy to supply the lumber they’d use to build their homes. Over time, the islanders settled in and made their own way, mostly on the water, but for many, the bitterness toward the residents of St. Dennis for what their families had been made to endure and what they’d had to leave behind never died but was passed from one generation to the next.

  Like Lis’s father, Alec recalled. It had been no secret that Jack Parker had never gotten over the fact that his family had once owned a handsome house on Hudson Street right around the corner from the storied Enright mansion, the largest home in town. Jack wasn’t the only one who’d harbored resentment against St. Dennis and its residents, many of whose ancestors had been the very ones who’d driven their families off land they’d settled. It was a black mark against the town’s history, but these days almost no one in St. Dennis gave it a thought except maybe on one of the days of the year the town celebrated its past. The injustice, however, still lived on in the minds of some of the descendants of those who’d lost so much.

  Alec would do the best he could to protect the island environmentally and culturally, while at the same time offering economic opportunities to the residents. If the development was approved, there would be jobs to be filled. Alec knew of at least four guys from high school who’d left the island to find work only to discover that jobs were scarce in places other than Cannonball Island. And for those who had land to sell in the areas that were appropriate for building, there’d be fair market value offered from the buyer. Alec would see to that.

  It was inevitable that someone, someday, would build there. In the right hands, a certain amount of development could be very good for Cannonball Island. In the wrong hands, it would be a disaster. Which meant that Alec had to ensure that the reins for this project remained where he could see them—preferably in his hands. He just hadn’t figured out quite yet how to make that happen.

  Chapter Four

  Lis sat on the new back steps of the Cannonball Island General Store and watched Ruby water her flower garden, which along with the family graves was enclosed by the newly painted white picket fence.

  After a few moments of silence, Lis asked, “So what do you have growing this year, Gigi?”

  “Much as every year,” Ruby replied. She turned off the hose. “I started this garden when your mama was younger than you. Added on over the years. I like to think of it as my memory garden. When I see my flowers come back every year, makes me think of where they c
ame from. There’s a little bit of this from one, a little bit of another from someone else. Some folks gone now, but a piece of their garden still be blooming right here on the island.” She turned the hose back on and continued with her task.

  “Nice that your friends shared their plants with you.”

  “I did in kind.”

  “What did you share?”

  Ruby turned off the hose again. “Some of that red hollyhock be growing over at Hedy’s these days. She passed on seeds to her daughter and her granddaughter who lives over to Annapolis. Gave some to Jenny Painter four years back. You go past the Painter place, you’ll see ’em growing like weeds out front of their fence. Those black-eyed Susans, them come from Libby Allen. Grow so fast and spread so far I have to pull some out every summer. Take over the whole yard, if I had a mind to let them.” She leaned over to check the buds on an airy-looking plant with lavender blue flowers. “This here is geranium,” she told Lis. “Got a shoot of this from Mother Bristow when I first moved here from the old house on the point. She was the widow of Reverend Bristow, who used to preach at the chapel over to the village.”

  Ruby picked a flower and handed it to Lis as she straightened up. “She passed not long after giving her plants away. Some to me, some to Abby Turner, a bit to Virginia Larson. You walk around the island with your eyes open, you’ll see this blue geranium growing here, there, and everywhere.”

  “It doesn’t look like any geranium I ever saw.” Lis held up the flower. “And I’m sure I never saw a blue one before.”

  “Well, that’s what it be.”

  Ruby went back to her watering.

  “Which one’s your favorite, Gigi?”

  Off went the hose. “All of them. Can’t pick a favorite amongst your children.” She started to turn on the water, then looked over her shoulder at Lis and asked, “You ’bout done with your questions now? You got anything else you need to know right at this time? ’Cause I would like to finish up here before the store gets busy. Right about two or three, folks start to stop by for this or that.”

  “I’m done.” Lis nodded. “For now.”

  Ruby watered the flower bed on the far side of the porch, then turned off the water for good. She wound the hose around her arm and carried it to the hose bib, where she left it coiled on the ground.

  “That’s a neat-looking hose,” Lis observed. “What’s it made of?”

  “Some sort of soft thing,” Ruby told her. “Not near as heavy as the old rubber kind. Easier to carry, easier to put away.”

  “You buy that at the hardware store in St. Dennis?”

  “Carl down to the store don’t carry these, best of my knowledge.”

  “You send for it?”

  “I thought you were all over your questions for today.” Ruby planted her hands on her hips.

  Lis made a zipping motion across her mouth.

  “Guess then it’s my turn.” Ruby dried her wet hands on her apron. “You find what you be looking for over to St. Dennis this morning?”

  Lis’s jaw dropped. How could Ruby have known . . . ?

  “Less my eyes be failing me, that be ice cream on your shirt.”

  Lis looked down at the front of her T-shirt. Sure enough, there, right in the middle of her abdomen, was a small blob of something faintly pink.

  “Stopped at Steffie’s, be my guess.” Ruby folded her arms across her chest, a glint of aha in her smile.

  “There’s sure nothing wrong with your eyes,” Lis muttered.

  “Should there be?”

  Lis shook her head. “You just . . . you never fail to amaze me, Gigi.”

  Still smiling, Ruby climbed the steps and folded herself into one of the rocking chairs. Lis shifted her body around to face her. In this morning light, the lines on the old woman’s face were more noticeable than usual. Not for the first time, Lis was struck by the beauty that radiated from within her great-grandmother. The woman had an aura, a presence. What would it take, Lis wondered, to capture that radiance, that knowing Ruby seemed to possess? What color could re-create the clear blue of those eyes, the pure white of her hair, and the softly tanned skin of that remarkable face? Was Lis artist enough to even attempt such a thing? She’d never liked painting portraits, but maybe . . .

  “Folks on my side live long,” Ruby was saying. “Not that I’m fearing the hereafter, mind. Nothing fearful about seeing them who gone before. See my Harold, my sisters. My mother and father. The baby son we buried, me and Harold. The daughter we lost to influenza. Eight years old and pretty as them roses growing around the front porch. Resting all peaceful, just waiting for me. Now, Harold and my mother and father, they be laid right down there on this side of the fence. The babies, well, they were laid to rest down by the old house on the point. I been thinking about moving them up here so they can be with me and their daddy. Never did hear of anyone moving a grave, though.” Ruby stopped rocking for a moment and asked, “You think that would be bad luck for them? Being moved after being in one place all that time?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Lis was somewhat taken aback. “I never thought about . . . well, about doing something like that.”

  “I swear, I don’t know what’s right. Me and my Harold talked about it, but he died before he ever said.” Ruby resumed rocking. “Decision might come to you and Owen, by and by, if I don’t figure out before I go.”

  “I don’t like to think about that, Gigi.” The words stuck in Lis’s throat.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’d miss you too much.”

  “Much as you miss me when you’re off doing whatever, and I be here?”

  “I know. I should spend more time here. And I will.” Lis nodded. “I will. Just don’t leave me yet, Gigi.”

  “Got no plans for soon. We’ll see. It’s all in his hands, and he keeps his plans to himself, no reason to let me know ahead ’a time.”

  Ruby stood and turned toward the back door, then paused to glance over her shoulder and look Lis in the eye. “You don’t be worrying about what you can’t change, what’s past or what’s to come. Dying is like living, all part of the same. You be born when he say it’s time, you go on back when he calls you. Be up to you and Owen to bury me right. Don’t be forgetting where I need to be. And don’t be letting your cousin Chrissie Jenkins have a hand in it. That girl be too fancy by a mile. Sent her grandmother to her grave in a pink satin-lined coffin. I never saw such a thing. A box is a box and you need to keep in mind where it’s going.”

  She patted Lis’s head before heading inside. Lis heard voices from the radio that Ruby had turned on in the store, heard a window being opened to bring in fresh air from the bay. When Alec had talked Ruby into renovating the building, Lis wished he’d talked her into central air-conditioning. It hadn’t been too hot the night before, but Lis was betting tonight would be uncomfortable. The humidity already was rising along with the temperature.

  She picked at the little sludge of ice cream that Ruby had noticed, and she smiled. Damn, but that woman really didn’t miss a thing. If Lis had to put money on it, she’d bet that Ruby knew where she’d been and whom she’d been talking to.

  Alec Jansen. She hated to admit it, but as her mother would say, he’d grown up real nice, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. He’d been all too hot for his own good back in high school. Nice to see that some things never change. She’d never let on to anyone, not even to her best friends, that she thought he was the best-looking guy in their class. She’d been grateful that he’d always sat behind her; otherwise, it would have been all too apparent to everyone else that she had a crush on him. She’d be staring at him all day long, and her secret would be out.

  Her mind wandered back to those days, when she and Judy Compton and Margaret Townsend were inseparable, mostly because they’d started kindergarten together and because the only other two girls in their class
from Cannonball Island were the Doran twins and they only spoke to each other. The school on the island went up through fourth grade, and more often than not, grades intermingled because there might only be one or two students. Lis’s year there were eleven—five girls and six boys—who eventually were sent across the bridge every day to the elementary school in St. Dennis.

  Lis would have loved to have been friends with some of the girls she met there, girls who didn’t live on the island but who were smart and seemed like they’d be fun to know, but her father wouldn’t hear of it. Lis often wondered what those friendships might have been like. Jack Parker’s dislike of all things St. Dennis had been the source of most of Lis’s teenaged angst. She wouldn’t dare defy him—he had a well-earned reputation as a hothead—but there were times when she came this close to going behind his back.

  Lis would have given anything—anything—to have accepted Alec’s invitation to the junior-senior prom, would have been the happiest girl on the planet if she could have said yes when he’d asked her. But the situation was more complicated than she’d been able to express that day. Maybe if he’d approached her in private, she’d have been able to explain. But he’d done it very publicly, and she couldn’t find the words to talk about her father’s deep-rooted prejudice in front of everyone in the lounge. So she’d just said no, and left it at that. She spent prom night in her room, staring out the window, pretending to be in the garishly decorated but dimly lit gym, dancing in a beautiful dress with the best-looking guy in the junior class. Of course, she was wearing a blue satin gown, à la Cinderella at the ball.

  She was certain that Alec had forgotten the incident, especially since everyone knew he’d taken Courtney Davison, and from all reports, had himself one heck of a good time in the backseat of Ben McLemore’s car. But Lis remembered the way her heart had first leapt with joy, then crumbled with pain and disappointment, and the look on Alec’s face when she turned him down. Whenever she looked back on that day, she felt her heart fill with anger all over again. Anger toward her father, anger toward her mother, who wouldn’t—or couldn’t—stand up to him, anger toward the people in St. Dennis who drove her ancestors onto the island and gave her father an excuse to be a mean SOB.