Widows walk, p.1
Widow's Walk, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Widow’s Walk
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Annie would complete the task this time; complete it the way it was meant to be. She saw the need through the eyes of the wind, heard it in the voice that spoke to her in her dreams, and felt it when their dreams merged and became her own.
She paced the widow’s walk and looked out over the bay with new strength. It was a power once someone else’s, but now discovered as her own, and would be used to bring the light.
In the distance, the wind carried the sound of laughter.
Soon the truth would be acted on. They would look for the light coming across the bay, and their souls would know that everything was set right again.
Tonight it would all end.
Tonight it would all begin.
The branch over the walk rippled and shook, and leaned further over the edge.
Annie took little notice. Instead, her attention was pulled to the choppy surface of Lullaby Sound. There was nothing yet.
But soon, very soon now, she would look out across the water and see the light from his boat that meant she had successfully corrected the wrongs, and he had returned for her.
Widow’s Walk
by
Wendy Webb
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Widow’s Walk
COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Wendy Webb
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Abigail Owen
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2020
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2880-5
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2881-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Steve;
To the Dark River Writers past and present;
and to the memory of friends greatly missed.
You are why.
Special thanks to editor Claudia Fallon—
You showed me how.
Chapter 1
Annie Cameron yanked a suitcase out of the car trunk, smoothed the rolling hem of her denim skirt back into place, then looked to the far end of the dock where a little launch bobbed up and down in the water. A slender, gray-headed boatman waved as if he had known her for years. She waved back, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and leaned into the back seat of the car.
“Charlie? Grandma? Time to get your things together. We’re going for a boat ride.”
As usual, there was no answer or a response of any kind.
“Charlie, honey? Come on now. I don’t think that man on the boat will wait forever, and there’s no other way to the island.”
Her ten-year-old son nodded, pushed his glasses further on his nose, hesitantly unloosed his seatbelt and that of his grandmother, then reached for the door.
“Of course, he’ll wait. That’s his job.” David Cameron exploded from the driver’s side of the car, slammed the door shut then walked to the trunk to wrench more suitcases out. “That man can wait all day with what we’re paying him.”
“I thought you were in a hurry to get back to Atlanta to meet the contractors. That’s what you said.”
“I’m well aware of what I said.”
That familiar tightness formed in her husband’s jaw as they approached the same uncomfortable topics. “You said you had a meeting with the contractors. You meant contractors, didn’t you? Not a meeting with someone else?”
David pulled the last suitcase out. “Do you really want to discuss this now?”
“No, David, I don’t. Not in front of Charlie anyway.”
“You coddle the boy too much, pamper him like a puppy. Always have. That’s why he’s the way he is.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
“No, Annie. I don’t know it. All I know is what I see.”
“You’re never home. How can you see anything?”
She caught a motion out of the corner of her eye. Grandma, as frail and brittle as a dying twig, had come around the car to put a protective arm around Charlie. She glared at Annie and David with clarity in her brilliant blue eyes as penetrating as it was rare.
Clearing her throat, Annie changed the subject and forced a lighter tone to her voice. “We’ll be fine down here while the house is being renovated.”
“You won’t recognize the place.”
“And I’ll make sure Charlie keeps up with his school work.”
“What’s that?” David tucked a suitcase under each arm and grabbed for more.
“His assignments. From school. I’ll see to it that he gets the work done.”
A smirk crossed his face then instantly disappeared. “Of course you will. And I’m sure Charlie will be at the head of his class.”
“‘Heigh, my hearts!’” The booming voice commanded immediate attention. “‘Cheerily, cheerily, my hearts! Take in the topsail.’” The man offered a hand to David then to Annie, Grandma, and Charlie. “The name’s Winston Mann, and as soon as we get boarded, we’re ready to go.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Mann,” Annie said, popping to mock attention. “I’m Annie Cameron, from Atlanta, and I think we’re ready now.”
“Well then,” he said with a broad, friendly smile, “let’s to it.” He scooped up luggage into his leather-brown arms and headed to the boat at a brisk pace that equaled his banter. “‘Tend to the master’s whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough.’ Watch your step. This dock has got to be older than dirt. There you go.”
Stepping easily onto the bobbing craft, he worked effortlessly with the weight of the densely packed suitcases. It was if his slight frame had to be held in check. Standing back, arms akimbo, he surveyed the result of his work and nodded with satisfaction.
“Yup. I think that’ll do it. Let me help you get on, Annie Cameron. Your mother can sit aft.” He winked. “That’s the seat in the back.”
“That seat’ll do just fine, thanks. She’s David’s mother actually. I take care of her.”
Annie glanced at David on the dock, caught the hardness in his gaze, then returned the look and immediately regretted the pettiness of it all. Being cold to others wasn’t in her nature, but somehow, recently anyway, this was a disturbing new wrinkle to her otherwise easy way. She would have to work on doing better and now was as good a time as any.
“Is this seat okay for me and Charlie?”
“Charlie, huh? A name fit for kings. That seat’s fine. Mr. Cameron, you can have the seat right there.”
“No, thanks. I’m not going on this trip.”
Mann paused at this news, glanced at Annie, then David then back to Annie. “That right? Well, you just let me know when we might be expecting a visit—you got my number—and I’ll be here quicker than a June bug on a cow-pie.”
“Soon, I hope,” David said, shrugging. “I’m not sure. I’ll let you know.”
“A long weekend, maybe?” Annie asked. “That would be nice.”
“Maybe.”
And then David was gone, across the old dock, and back to the car without so much as a wave to his son or a kiss on his mother’s cheek.
They watched him go until Mann broke the silence. “You gonna be okay, Annie Cameron?”
She nodded mutely.
“I see.” Mann turned the key to the engine. Nothing. He turned it again. “Errand Two can be as ornery as the wife when she wants to be.”
Or a husband. It was David’s idea, his insistence, that the family stay at another place while the house was being renovated. That meant all of them together, one happy family, and in a place a damn sight closer than four hundred miles and a boat ride away from the renovations, school, and the usual obligations.
She shook her head and decided not to dwell on David’s behavior or the now convoluted reasons that brought her to this place. There was an adventure ahead of them, and adventu
“Errand Two? Does that mean there was an Errand One?”
Mann cranked the engine. A rumble came from under the boat, then a gurgle of water from behind.
“Yup.” He paused as if deliberating whether or not to continue. “She crashed against some rocks in a storm a few years back.”
The engine coughed then roared to life in a cloud of blue smoke. He engaged the gears, and they backed away from the dock and turned parallel to the shoreline of the lunchtime busy town.
“‘…though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstaunched wench.’” He pulled out a baseball cap from the dashboard and wedged it onto his head.
“That line is from The Tempest. One of Shakespeare’s finer plays. You might have noticed I tend to quote from that work when I’m out and about doing boat duty.” He glanced at them. “Or maybe not. Fortunately for us,” he yelled over the din of the engine, “we haven’t had any bad weather to speak of pretty much since. Folks on the island have gone a little soft about preparing for a storm. I guess they think something like that can’t happen again. And maybe they’re—” He stared at the shoreline.
Annie twisted in her seat to follow his gaze.
There, on a park bench that looked over the water, sitting as still as a weatherworn statue, was a woman dressed in moonless, midnight black. She was clothed from the black veil that hid her face to the simple dress, gloves, and opaque stockings that covered her legs and ended in severe pointed black shoes. As the boat passed, she rose slowly, as if by a mere inch at a time, until she had reached her full height and stood tall and unwavering as the wind shifted and blew from inland to island and sea. Her dress rolled gently about her and revealed a body that could be little more in girth than a skeleton. There was no other gesture or sign of recognition on her part, save for the motionless affect of her posture when she stood at their passing.
Mann pulled his ball cap off, rubbed an arm across his sweat-covered brow, and turned the boat away from their sight of the woman and into the inlet that led to the island. “Something like that can’t happen again. It can’t.”
“Who is that woman, Mr. Mann?” Annie asked.
He dismissed an answer with a wave of his hand and pulled the cap back on his head.
“Mr. Mann?” This time there was not even a wave forthcoming. Annie turned for another glance at the woman and saw she was gone. The park bench was occupied by a couple sharing a strawberry ice cream cone. Scanning the waterfront town, she saw nothing but the bustling activity of townspeople on a lunchtime break.
There was no woman in black. Anywhere.
Instinctively she pulled her over-shirt tighter around her and reached for Charlie’s hand. He did not close his fingers around hers as usual but stared at some distant spot that only he could see. If Annie didn’t know better, she would have guessed Charlie was unaware she was there. But she did know better. She knew better than anyone how tenuous Charlie’s hold was on the world. He was wired differently; she explained simply to those who bothered to ask. A definitive diagnosis was impossible to come by, but the end result of losing him forever to his internal world was always a threat.
She saw the old woman’s sweet face a picture of peace by way of a quick doze. Eyelids fluttering, perhaps Grandma was dreaming pleasant thoughts. She shifted slightly in her seat; her lips moved without benefit of sound.
Charlie’s hand twitched in Annie’s.
Grandma mouthed another voiceless word.
Another twitch of Charlie’s hand, and then it stilled.
Annie looked from one to the other then dismissed the act as a trick of fatigue after a long drive. Raising her son’s hand to her lips for a kiss, she mumbled a word of thanks he and Grandma had each other. The two were so fond of each other.
Mann steered the boat into shallow water filled with a maze of marsh grass that broke the brown surface. The scent of salt, of decaying fish, of aged gasoline, and rancid oil punctured the air and left a bitter taste.
A flick of Mann’s wrist on a lever dropped the decibel level of the engine and the speed. Now there was only the tick-tick-tick of the engine as they gently navigated the marsh grass and dark surface of the inlet waterway.
“Gotta be careful here. Low water can be hard on the hull. Not to mention the undercurrent that can creep up. These can be dangerous waters if a body doesn’t know what they’re doing.” He sighed deeply and looked up. “Buttermilk sky.”
“What’s that?” Annie asked.
“Some say it means rain, maybe a storm.”
“A storm?” Annie watched the sky with suspicion. “I don’t like storms.” Nervously she rolled the curling hem of her denim skirt back and forth and brushed away a strand of brown hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Not anytime soon, I hope.”
“Hard to say. On an island in September, it’s always best to expect the unexpected.”
“How often do the unexpected happen?”
“Hard to say, ’cause it’s—”
“Unexpected. I should have guessed not to match words with someone who recites Shakespeare.”
Mann nodded sagely, then cupped his hands around a pipe and tried to light it. “Worse one was a Maritime High. Kinda like a hurricane nearing the offseason. Good news is we haven’t had one of those in an awfully long time. It’s an unusual thing, and very rare, a Maritime High.”
“But you’ve had other storms?”
“Yup.”
“Bad ones?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you, Mr. Mann,” she said, wrapping her arms around Charlie.
He looked up at the sky again, a buttermilk sky, and then at Annie. “Nah. Maybe a little rain, a soft rain. Nothing more.”
The air turned fresher, a little crisp. The marsh grass became sparse, the water open.
Mann pointed over the front of the boat. “Lullaby Sound is just around that little island up ahead and to the right. In no time, you’ll be able to see Mico Island.” He tried lighting the pipe again then puffed victoriously. “You like horses, Charlie?” There was no answer. “Not much of a talker, are you? Well then, I’ll just have to do the talking.”
Annie smiled. There was no doubt in her mind Mr. Mann relished the idea of being the talker.
“Jekyll Island is to the north of us. That’s where the rich folks used to live before WW Two. Called their summer home a cottage, but the damn things were bigger than any house I ever lived in. Down south of us is Cumberland Island. There are lots of horses there, wild ones, and wild pigs, too. The official term is feral pigs and horses, but that’s too fancy, so we’ll just say wild, okay? Okay.”
Annie smoothed back the hair on Charlie’s forehead and kissed him. “You like horses, don’t you, Charlie? Sure, you do.” She tweaked his nose then looked over at her mother-in-law.
Grandma was awake now and intent on the workings of her hands. Open, close, open, close; she was like a pianist preparing to perform. The blast of clarity in her eyes before she got on the boat had turned empty and hollow again. Her senility was getting worse.
Annie finally recognized the void in Grandma’s eyes for what it was. No amount of excuses, no matter how good they sounded at one time, could hide the sad facts of what it would mean to take care of Grandma. An overwhelming pity surrounded Annie then a nagging guilt at realizing the pity was not for Grandma.
Charlie shifted his position and buried his head deeper into Annie’s shoulder. His eyes never wavered from Winston Mann.
“Yup, Mr. Charlie. Your whole family is running me ragged with conversation. Would you like to hear a story?”
Motionless at first, Charlie just perceptibly nodded then pushed his glasses higher on his nose.
“Okay, then. Did you know there was a King Charles? No? Actually, there was more than one. And I’m kinda thinking that they may have even gone by the name Charlie. Well, maybe not, and none of this really has anything to do with my story, but I did want to get your attention. Have I got it? Good.” Mann pushed the boat into a higher speed now that the water was clear and smooth. “We’re headed to Mico Island, right? Well before you got here, even before me, if you can believe that, there were plenty of others who came to this island. Spanish folks came and built missions, Indians lived here, too, and there were forts built by the English. Now, none of these folks live here anymore, and there’s no forts left, but they were here just the same.”
