by J. K. Holt
When she reached the boardwalk, Tess turned south and faced its length, an aging expanse of wet wood that clung to the earth like an ugly barnacle until it disappeared behind a bend in the shoreline, where she presumed it continued onwards and outwards along the span of the town.
Somewhere out there, she’d been plunked down this morning, clueless and soaking wet. Cleary, not much had changed.
She followed the boardwalk, jogging to keep warm. Most houses along this expanse faced inwards, their backs to the sea as if shunning an embarrassing lover. It felt an understandable response to the harsh mistress of the hour, who spewed choppy waves and froth high into the air as if throwing a tantrum over being ignored. The wind and waves competed with the sound of the gulls, screeching overhead as they circled the piers, searching for discarded leftovers from the day’s catch.
“House” was a kind term for the rotting shanty she found a hundred yards further along, with a small sign nailed to the front door advertising Giles’ Sundries and Supplies. However, the few shutters that remained, as if to spite the brutal sea winds, were painted a bright cheerful yellow. Overall, it gave the impression of putting lipstick on a pig, though Tessa admired the attempt, even if futile. She drew to her full length before knocking on the door, rehearsing her pitch for the job she had no prior experience to prepare her for and conscious of speaking as little as possible to hide the obvious accent.
No answer. For several minutes she stood, bouncing, knocking again despite the urgency the multiple knocks betrayed, because some part of her felt that there was someone inside. Movement at the window drapes caught her eye, but she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t a trick of the light. Light! Of course- she should be able to tell if there was someone inside. She snuck closer to the window, aware of how creepy she was being but too desperate to care, and glanced in. The curtains were drawn, but they were gauzy things of no substance, and she could see the barest outline of the room beyond. This was the window in which she’d thought she’d seen movement, but now she doubted herself. There was no tell-tale glow emanating from within, indicating a person uninterested in answering the door.
Now, with dwindling hope of rescue from the hostile weather, Tessa felt the first twinges of true worry. Until now, she’d managed to bop along, with every past problem offering its own small resolution, to the next pertinent problem, but her one current plan had dried up and she was now in the uncomfortable position of being rudderless.
Had the weather been better, Tessa might have decided to continue walking, searching for some semblance of a makeshift solution, but the storm brought with it still cooler temperatures; her teeth began to clatter noisily and it wouldn’t be long before the rest of her muscles would follow suit. She could no longer be picky about finding shelter. She walked back to the boardwalk and searched as she went until she found a divide between it and the dune it abutted. She shimmied through the opening, half sliding, half crawling, underneath the boards. She was still several feet above where the water met the rocky beach below, and while the rain no longer hit her from above, now the spray from the ocean fell like a heavy mist on her face. She groaned in frustration and allowed herself one useless kick at the dune before she turned in a semi-circle, surveying the scene before her eye caught on a darker shadow further up the beach.
It was an abandoned row-boat, which, upon closer inspection, had seen its share of storms. Upside-down and half buried beneath the sand, several of its back planks had been broken off, while the rest resided in various stages of rot. Not seaworthy, sure. But shelter-worthy?
Tessa dug at the sand for several minutes before she could gain a good grip on the underside of the boat to pull; she braced her back and heaved, but nothing happened, the wet sand acting as a deep anchor for the discarded vessel. She changed her tactic, digging along the outer wall of the boat and clearing as much sand as she could cup with her hands, until the shell of the vessel was mostly unearthed. Again, she bent down, grabbed the side, and pulled, crying out from the exertion. Slowly, the sand relented, and with a large sucking sound, the boat began to rise. Pushing with all her might, she rotated it enough to create a crevasse between the sand and the boat. With little time before her arms gave wave to fatigue, she made a quick decision and half propped, half skidded under the boat, before allowing it to drop from its own weight back onto the sand.
With little light to see through, and even less room to maneuver, Tessa was consumed by immediate self-doubt regarding the soundness of her decision. She pushed against the ribs of the boat above her, unable to shake the feeling that it was slowly sinking back into the sand, soon to imprison and suffocate her. With her sight-line to the sea obscured, she realized she also had no way of knowing if the tide moved closer. If it came up much higher than it was now, she could be trapped, without the needed leverage to raise the boat in time. Well, congrats girl, you just found yourself a nice little coffin to drown in.
Fear of drowning, though a powerful motivator, did not spur Tessa to action. Truly, she couldn’t bring herself to move, her fears competing with the relief of being, at least momentarily, away from the continuous cold of the wind and the spray. She rolled, her back finding the side of the boat, and pulled into a fetal position. Too tired to move, too dazed to think, and too cold and afraid to sleep, she existed in a state of frozen stupor, blinking against the sting of salt in her eyes and fantasizing about any and all things warm. She wondered, could you imagine a mug of chocolate while slipping into hypothermia just as a parched man in the desert spies an oasis? If so, bring on the delirium. Please.
Sometime in the darkness, the fatigue finally took her, and she drifted into oblivion.
∞ ∞ ∞
Tessa became aware of the dull pain of cramped muscles first. An attempt to shift position only awakened her shoulder blades and neck, which now joined the fray of muscles screaming for attention, and she moaned, rolling onto her stomach and getting a face full of wet sand for the effort. She spit it out, alarmed, and pushed herself up, smacking her head on the seat of the boat. Oh, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell. Her pulse rammed into her throat and she forced herself to stay still, breathing in and out, processing the where and the how.
As she lay, waiting for the throbbing in her head to subside, the information came back to her slowly. She chuckled and shook her head, incredulous. So, Alice’s adventures in Wonderland continue, she thought to herself. Well then, on with the story. She pushed up slowly, careful to avoid the low plank of the seat this time and angling her head to get a look at the bottom of the boat. The slight light that came through the hold at the base only succeeded in providing enough light to make out the dim shapes of her feet. It was still night. The crashing of the waves did seem to have grown in volume a bit, however, which was slightly worrisome. More concerning, now that she gave it a bit of thought, was that the sand was thoroughly wet where she was lying. She dug her hand down a bit and found standing water just six inches below the surface.
Crap. I am about to drown. The tide was coming in, no doubt. Tessa scrambled, turning until she was on her knees, and lifted her body until it was flat against the floor of the boat above her. Grasping the seat plank with both hands, she positioned until she was as sure in her footing as she could be, and then she pushed. A brief, insatiable surge in panic rose when the boat clung stubbornly to the sand, but it then began to move once again, and she forced herself to full kneeling position and then shifting to standing, pushing, slipping against the wet sand. With a He-man-like yell, she stood, shifting to one side so the boat fell away, but not quickly enough to avoid the sliding side plank of the boat, which clipped her neatly in the shoulder as it fell. Her yell turned to a scream of pained rage, and she kicked the boat. The boat responded by bruising three of her toes.
She fell onto the sand, grasping her foot and releasing every swear word she could think of. She stopped just short of telling the boat its mother never loved it, but only because she owed it some allegiance to givi
ng her shelter.
“Stupid old boat,” she muttered, once she’d exhausted herself. “You broke my friggin toe.” Her shoulder throbbed, indignant. “Oh yeah, and my shoulder. Not sure you can break that, but you damn well did SOMETHING. Stupid… stupidhead.” She harrumphed and turned, leaning her back against the boat. “I still hate you,” she reminded it, lest it get the wrong idea. At least the rain had stopped.
She waited for a while, drifting in and out of a light sleep as the light grew and the waves continued to rise. When a rogue wave slammed into her, she jolted awake again and rolled out of the way just before the boat rose and drifted a foot or so with the water before settling again. She wondered, now that she’d dug it up, if it would stay ashore or head out to sea to find a watery grave. Something in her hoped it would be the latter- it seemed more dignified for an old dingy like this.
She climbed up the shore a few feet before attempting to get comfortable again, pushing back her dark wet curls from her eyes and crossing her arms, shaking her head at the absurdity of her situation.
A while passed, and the light grew. She watched as the sun rose, fiery and red on the horizon, proud in its splendor. “Show-off,” she muttered, but remained transfixed.
Occasionally, footfalls echoed above her head, reverberating along the piers. The fishermen were heading out. Tessa felt a longing to join them, to sail out, closer to the sun, the unending horizon. But her head prevailed and she remained hidden. She played with the sand, sifting it through her fingers. With the knowledge that her (stolen) clothes were pretty much ruined came the relief that they couldn’t become worse; she was unconcerned by the sand and debris covering her and absently began to shovel the sand onto her lap, running her hands over the smooth grains as she weighed her options.
She knew she’d have to head back towards town, but fear of the questions that might arise from any passers-by who saw her current physical state made her reluctant to begin the trek. Instead, she watched the waves break, surrendering herself to the higher power of the sea for guidance, support. Tessa knew she wouldn’t walk away with answers- she wasn’t that deluded- but she hoped she might feel more grounded, somehow more certain in whatever she had to face yet.
The sun had risen above the boardwalk when she finally chose to leave, chasing the demands of her stomach as much as she was responding to her numb butt’s desire to move. Instead of the streets, which she knew might be getting crowded, she followed the now-quiet boardwalk back towards town, searching for the bright yellow shutters of the house of Giles. She held little hope that he’d want to hire her in her current state, but with no other leads to follow, she persisted.
But the house once again appeared empty, and no one beckoned at the sound of her knocking. She continued on, now without any real goal other than to avoid prying eyes.
The walkway eventually led her past the market, already beginning to come alive from the sounds of it, towards the northern-most tip of town. The boardwalk eventually ended, and in its place a sharp, ruddy shoreline continued, too steep to follow. A small mountain range loomed ahead, beyond the houses and farmland. Tessa observed the vista for only a moment before turning around, making her way back- there was no help in that direction.
Without a clear destination in mind, Tessa felt directed by a source unseen when she abandoned the relative safety of the pier for the next street parallel to the shore. She walked slowly, observing the fronts of the buildings here, most residential by the looks of it. Now-empty flower boxes adorned the bases of windows, and the reminders of children at play were stowed occasionally near doors- discarded shoes, wooden toys, and the other bric-a-brac of youth.
Tess continued on, turning randomly along the way, until she stopped wonderingly in front of a familiar sign. She’d found her way back to the Muddy Gull. Providence, or dumb luck? She didn’t care. She hesitated only a moment before deciding.
Blessedly, Gowan was alone when she yanked open the door and stumbled, gracelessly, back into the shop. He looked up from the display case and snorted. “You look like a water-logged rat.”
“Thank you, that’s touching,” she replied drily. Aware of her appearance, she stood hesitantly at the threshold, jumping slightly as the door latched loudly behind her.
He cocked his head. “Are you to be a stray that follows me around because I threw it some scraps?” His tone was not unkind.
Tessa shrugged. “It’s entirely possible.”
“Find any work yet?”
She raised an eyebrow in reply.
“So no, then.”
“As it turns out, it’s difficult to do when I’ve been given advice not to speak to people.” Though she knew it was unfair, he felt a safe target to direct some of her current frustrations.
He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he didn’t mind. “Aye, that. Yeah, I did wonder if it might give you some trouble.” He chuckled, looking back down at his work on the table. “Giles wasn’t hiring?”
“He wasn’t there, or didn’t come to the door at least. I waited for a while, knocked a bunch of times- nothing. Tried again this morning, too.”
“You waited last night- in that weather?”
Tessa shrugged. It was unspoken. I had nowhere else to go.
“Daft luck. Giles is more than not there, but sometimes he goes across town to be with the mistress. Leaves his hand behind, though that one… well, he isn’t much for talking, if you understand my meaning.”
She didn’t. “Oh…okay, I can try going back again, I guess.”
Tess stood there, miserable and uncertain, unable to muster the dignity to leave before asked to do so. A flicker of real fear took hold in her throat, and she suppressed the whimper that threatened to follow. What was she going to do?
Gowan sighed. “Can you sort? Collect inventory?”
“Uh, well I’ve only ever worked at the local grocery store, but… I think so? Or, I could learn quickly, I’m sure of it.” Tess would do anything it took, if it meant that Gowan knew of someone else who might hire her.
He shook his head, as though at odds with himself. For a moment, it seemed as though his aura tinged, flecked with bits of green, before settling back to its normal steady glow. Tessa blinked, rubbed her eyes, and attributed it to lack of sleep.
“You can’t talk with the customers until you’ve got that voice a bit more in control. So you’ll be fairly useless to train for the first bit, I’m guessing,” he said, and it suddenly dawned on Tessa what he was thinking.
“I’ll do whatever you need, I swear,” she said.
“No promises I’ll keep you on past that- depends on how useful you are to me, understood?” He met her eyes, his gaze serious.
“Yes, definitely.”
“You’ll have a bed here, and I’ll pay you a bit, but it’s not work you’ll get rich from.”
“Of course, I-I understand. That’s fine.” Tess would have agreed to anything, at this point, and she doubted she was hiding her desperation.
“And here’s the other piece, and this is most important.” He made sure she was paying attention. “You’re my kin.”
Tessa was stunned by the display of allegiance. “I don’t expect that kind of loyalty, Mr. R- err, Gowan. I mean, we barely know each other.”
“You misunderstand, girl,” Gowan replied, shaking his head. “We’ll need to tell others that we’re related. You’re from Merktown- since that’s been your lie so far, we’ll just continue it. Let’s see…my older and estranged sister, your mother, recently passed away and you came here to work for me. Good?”
“Oh, okay. I mean, do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Look. If I’m employing a comely young woman who’s bedding here and hiding away, which you will be doing until I feel you won’t draw attention, then the rumors will swirl quickly about the nature of our relationship. Unless we’re related.”
Ah. She nodded.
“Understand that I’m taking a risk taking you in this way. If others find
out that we aren’t actually related, or if you do anything to bring attention to me or get caught up in anything, I’m tainted by association. Understood?”
Tessa felt weak from relief. “Yes, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”
“Alright then. I suppose we’ll figure out the rest as we go along then, eh?”
Tessa was grinning from ear to ear. She nodded.
∞ ∞ ∞
The days became routine, in an oddly comforting way. Tessa learned the ins and outs of the shop as she tackled the chores and work that Gowan assigned. She stocked shelves with newly acquired items that Gowan was always tottering in with, and she quickly learned his own quirky methods of bookkeeping and categorizing all that came into the Muddy Gull.
Always, she stuck to the periphery when customers entered the shop, grabbing anything Gowan asked of her but keeping her interactions with others to a minimum. Instead, she listened, studying their mannerisms and their accent. Then, she practiced. She made it a game, never to talk without speaking the way they did, even when only thinking aloud. When they were alone in the shop, she’d try it out on Gowan, reading his grimaces and raised eyebrows as signs of a mispronunciation. Tessa had always had an ear for accents. Now, she picked it up quickly out of need.
Gowan slept on the second story. A small room in the back of the shop contained the bare basics of a kitchenette, complete with a stove, while another door led to a cluttered back alley. Up several steep wooden steps was Gowan’s bedsit, consisting of a large room section dedicated to storage for the shop, with his spartan bedroom at the front (a direct contrast to his cluttered shop below), and a large picture window looking down on the street below.
As for Tess, she slept on the tuckaway cot, the same one she’d spotted during her first foray into the shop. She was up, bed tucked away, before Gowan opened shop every morning. It wasn’t what she’d call comfortable, but it certainly beat sleeping under a boat. This was her new way of forcing perspective. Whenever she felt yearning for some previous luxury, she need only remind herself of how bad it could easily have been for her.
