Kristen had lived on the island for almost a week before she encountered Jake Beardsley. What a grouch!
On Thursday, when she and Janelle took a shortcut through his backyard, the old man came bounding out the back door. Like a little bantam rooster, he jumped up and down, waving his arms and shouting, “Get out of here. I’ll not have you nosing around my property. Can’t you see the boundaries?” He pointed to some crude stakes joined with nylon fishing line, obviously erected to define his property lines. “I’m tired of people tramping around trying to look into my windows!”
Frightened, Janelle ran as fast as her small legs could carry her, and headed for the shelter of her own house, but Kristen stubbornly held her ground.
“Well, excuse me! Obviously I have offended you by stepping on your sand.” She drew herself up to her full five feet, two inches. “But,” she continued, “I can assure you that neither Janelle nor I have the slightest interest in looking in your windows, and you can rest assured that we will not walk through your yard again.”
Not to be so easily pacified, he ranted on: “Baxter tries to outdo me on everything. He thinks he’s the checker champion of the world. Now he even sends his spies around to keep up with what I’m doing. Well, I’ll not have it, I tell you.”
Kristen tried to control her temper, making allowances for his advanced age. Feeling a small prick of guilt, she forced a smile and bade him good-bye.
When she returned to the house, Mrs. Baxter was comforting a visibly shaken Janelle. Mr. Baxter tried to look sympathetic, but mirth sparkled in his eyes.
“Jake Beardsley’s okay, honey. I guess I should just let him win at checkers once in a while.”
“He reminds me of Rumpelstiltskin in my fairy-tale book,” declared Janelle, the beginnings of a smile starting to show.
“Rumpelstiltskin!” repeated Mr. Baxter. “That’s a good name for him.”
And it was a name that stuck. Since that day, each time they passed his cottage, Janelle would point to it and say, “There’s Mr. Rumpelstiltskin’s house,” and they were ever so careful to give his yard a wide berth.
On Saturday morning, Kristen and Janelle were on the beach early to find the prettiest seashells washed ashore by the morning tide.
“Look at this one, Kristen! A perfect lady’s slipper.” Janelle added the tiny pink shell to her growing collection. Even as she worked, the girl kept her beloved toy bear tightly cuddled in one arm.
“Time now for our walk in the water,” Kristen announced. Since their first experience of going into the gulf together, they had made it a daily adventure. The biggest breakthrough was the first day that Janelle consented to let Timmy sit on a blanket and watch from the shore. Now she placed him on his perch and took Kristen’s hand.
Gone was the tense, death-grip hold of those first few adventures. Now the petite hand Kristen held in her own was almost relaxed. Stepping forward, they stood in water that gently lapped at Janelle’s chest and Kristen’s waist.
“If you can stand here alone for just a minute, I’ll show you how I like to float.”
“Okay, but don’t go off and leave me.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that.” Slowly, without causing a splash or a wave, Kristen placed her face in the water, and floated with arms outstretched.
Standing beside Janelle once more, she held her hand and said, “I wish you could see what it looks like under the water!”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s beautiful. You can see the bottom, and you can almost pretend that you’re a mermaid.”
“I can’t see the bottom,” Janelle complained, as she leaned forward, almost letting the tip of her tiny nose touch the water.
“You could if you put your face into the water and opened your eyes.”
“Will it burn my eyes?”
“It didn’t burn mine. But you have to remember to hold your breath.”
Janelle stood thinking for several minutes, and then slowly, slowly, she lowered her solemn face into the water. It rested there for only a few seconds, but when she stood up, her eyes were shining with delight. “It is beautiful. I really did feel like a mermaid!”
Kristen hugged her. “You’re the nicest mermaid I ever met. Shall we go up and dry off now?”
“I want to look just one more time.”
This time, the face was submerged deeper and longer, and when she came up for air, Janelle gleefully held her hand high in the air. “Look what I found!”
“A beautiful white sand dollar. What a treasure. Be careful with it, though. They break easily.”
The excitement of her newfound treasure made Janelle forget to hold Kristen’s hand as she splashed her way back to shore. “I’m going to save this to show my daddy,” she squealed happily.
“I’m very proud of you, Janelle.” And Kristen was. They had a long way to go, but they had made a good start. She fervently hoped to help Janelle overcome this and some of the other fears in her young life before the summer ended.
“Did you know that there’s a legend about the sand dollar, Janelle?”
“A legend? What’s that?”
“It’s a story that’s been handed down through the years. This is a very old one. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, I would.” Janelle cradled her treasure in her little hands as Kristen began to recite the age-old tale.
“The sand dollar represents Jesus. Do you see the holes in it?”
“Yes, I see four around the sides, and one bigger one toward the middle. Do they mean something special, too?”
“The four little holes represent the nail holes where Jesus was nailed to the cross, and the one in the middle is where the spear pierced his side. Now, look for a star.”
“I think I see it,” Janelle chirped.
“Of course. Etched right there on the face of the sand dollar. The star stands for the Star of Bethlehem that led the shepherds to the manger where Jesus was born. And there’s one other thing.”
Janelle studied her treasure for the one remaining secret. “I don’t see anything else.”
“No, you can’t see it because we don’t want to break it open. Perhaps we’ll find a broken one someday soon, and I can show you what’s inside.”
“Can you tell me, anyway?”
“Inside are five perfect little white doves. They’re a symbol of praise.”
Janelle had a moment of indecision. She wanted to see the doves, but she didn’t want to break her prize.
“If you sit right here, I’ll swim out to the sandbar and get another for you to break open,” Kristen told her.
Janelle sat in the sand and watched Kristen’s smooth, fluid strokes carry her the short distance to the sandbar. She made it look so easy. Then her head disappeared beneath the surface of the water as she dove to search for a sand dollar. In minutes she was back on the beach, the sand dollar in her hand larger, though not as nearly perfect as Janelle’s. Its edges had been chipped and battered by the tides, but it still carried all the outward signs of its legend, and as Kristen broke the fragile shell in the middle, five white porcelain dove-shaped pieces fell free.
Janelle gasped as she retrieved them. “Could I keep these with my sand dollar?”
“Of course. I got them for you.”
The sun rose higher in the sky, the morning grew warm and they began to gather their shells and sea treasures, along with Timmy and the blanket. “Are we ready for a glass of Mrs. Baxter’s own special lemonade?” Kristen asked.
“Oh, yes, let’s hurry!”
In the house, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter were busy getting everything in tip-top order for the guests. Wes and Marla would be arriving in the afternoon, and Jeff Garrett was invited for dinner at seven.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Kristen offered, picking up one end of the leaf Mr. Baxter was adding to extend the dining table.
Mrs. Baxter was busy in the kitchen, rolling dough for her piecrusts. “You girls will have to fix your own lunch today,” she said cheerfully. “There’s plenty of fixin’s for sandwiches in the fridge.”
“Don’t you give a thought to us, Mrs. B. We’ll all pitch in and help. Janelle and I will set your table, and we’ll make sure it looks beautiful enough to do justice to your cooking.”
“I can’t wait to see Daddy. He’ll be surprised when he sees our shell collection, especially the sand dollar.”
“Will you show him your drawings and paintings, too?”
“Some of them,” she replied, “But the special one I’m doing of the Janni Lu is going to be a surprise for his birthday in August.”
Kristen felt a stab of sadness as she thought of August, her last month here on the island.
What did the future hold for her? Could she go back to Atlanta and continue to work at Bradley, Bradley and Kline, just as though the summer had never happened? Could she see him every day, concealing her love for him, knowing he had pledged his heart to another? And how about Janelle? Would she ever see her again after the summer ended? These questions and more weighed heavily on her mind as she moved up the stairs to her room.
Kristen spent the afternoon cleaning her room. Then, remembering that she would be sharing the bath with Marla, she scoured and mopped, polishing the chrome to a lustrous shine. Fresh, fluffy towels were hung on the racks, and the pink ceramic soap dish was filled with dainty, shell-shaped soap. With everything sparkling, she sat down to write some cards and letters to her family and friends back home.
Her door was open, so she heard Janelle when she crossed the hall. “Come on in,” she invited. “Will you stick the stamps on my cards for me?” With her willing helper beside her, she put the finishing touches on her correspondence and stacked it on her desk.
Late in the afternoon, they went downstairs to help with the dinner preparations.
Mrs. Baxter found a large glass bowl and asked Kristen to make a salad. While Kristen washed and tore the salad greens, Janelle selected the silverware and began to set the table.
Kristen was as jittery as a jumping bean just thinking about the impending visit, but she tried to project enthusiasm, for Janelle’s sake.
They were working so hard that they almost missed hearing the crunch of shoes across the yard.
“Why, they’re here already,” exclaimed Mrs. Baxter, as she threw open the back door.
Janelle flew by like a zephyr, and flung herself into her father’s arms.
Laughing, he twirled her around. “And this, Marla, is my daughter, Janelle.”
The three stepped into the kitchen for further introductions, and Kristen extended her hand. Marla’s glance went from her head to her toes before she responded to the gesture by offering her own hand in return.
“So you’re Janelle’s little friend,” she said coolly.
Very tall, and very slender, Marla looked as if she had just stepped from the pages of Harper’s Bazaar. Her stylishly cut short hair was the color of orange-blossom honey, and her eyes seemed to match. She was chicly dressed in white gabardine slacks, white silk blouse, and a red linen blazer. Her slender neck was encircled by a massive gold chain that matched the one that dangled from her wrist. Kristen looked at her delicate white sandals and wondered how she had managed to get from the wharf to the house.
Little friend, indeed! Looking directly at Marla, Kristen forced a weak smile.
“I’ll carry your bags upstairs, honey, and show you your room,” Wes volunteered.
Kristen winced at his term of endearment, then chastised herself silently for stooping to such petty jealousy. Wanting to extend the “olive branch,” she offered, “I’ll finish setting the table. Mrs. Baxter has everything else ready, so you can all go get ready for dinner and leave the finishing touches to me.”
Wes, Marla, and Janelle made their way upstairs, while the Baxters retired to their quarters. Kristen surveyed the table critically. The sterling silver flatware sparkled brilliantly, attesting to Mrs. Baxter’s constant polishing. China and crystal gleamed against the white damask cloth, but there was no centerpiece.
Kristen remembered admiring some brilliant hibiscus blossoms on the south side of the house. I’ll run out and cut a few, and still have time to dress for dinner.
The big bushes were ablaze with color, their graceful flowers unfolding bright petals to catch the last of the day’s fading sun rays. Kristen chose the loveliest blossoms, in shades of pink, red, yellow, and gold.
In the china cabinet, she found a shallow Spode bowl, elegant in its simplicity. Deftly, she twisted and poked each stem into place. She set the arrangement in the center of the table and stepped back to critique her work. It was pretty, but somehow it did not seem complete. What was lacking here?
Back outside, her eyes swept the landscape, and then she saw exactly what she needed! Sea oats, growing in mass profusion over the sand dunes. She had admired it since her first day here, its long, slender stalks generously tipped with graceful oatlike plumes. She snipped the willowy ends from six or eight stalks and laid them in her basket.
In the dining room she added them to her bouquet, then clapped her hands in delight. She stepped back and admired her work from every angle. Beautiful! Even Wes would have to be impressed with her artistry. It was about time that she did something right in his eyes! She hurried up the steps to her room.
She had showered earlier in order to leave the bathroom free for Marla. Now she only needed to wash her hands and slip into her clean clothes. Since Wes had told them that dinner would be informal, and would probably be followed by a beach get-together later, she chose a pair of casual navy blue slacks and topped them with a white jersey pullover.
Marla’s words kept ringing in her ears and rankling her spirit: Janelle’s little friend!
She untied the ribbon and shook out her ponytail, and began furiously to brush her thick, blond hair. She pulled it into a bun on the back of her neck and scowled critically into the mirror. “Too matronly looking!”
She tried again. Leaning over as she brushed, she piled the great, wavy profusion of hair onto the top of her head, twisting it into large, fat curls. No ribbons tonight. She lifted her pearls from their box and looped them gracefully around her new upswept hairdo. Standing back, she smiled into the mirror with satisfaction.
Then realization took hold. Here she was, Kristen Kelly, trying to compete with glamorous, glitzy Marla Morgan. How foolish. Now, the formal hairdo looked ostentatious, almost ludicrous, with her casual sports outfit.
Again she released her hair and began to brush. This time, she let it hang loose around her shoulders and returned the pearls to their box.
I want to be my own person, she confirmed to herself. Whatever Wes and his friends see in me will be real, and not an imitation of someone else.”
Promptly at seven, the diners began assembling on the front porch. Mr. Baxter was in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Baxter carve the meat. Kristen was downstairs first, followed by Janelle, Marla, and finally Wes.
Suddenly the usually shy Janelle bolted down the steps and ran toward the beach.
“Here comes Uncle Jeff now!” Clutching his big hand in her small one, she pulled the visitor toward the porch.
“This is my Uncle Jeff. He’s not really my uncle, but we pretend he is, don’t we, Daddy?”
Wes made introductions around the circle. “Marla Morgan, my friend from Atlanta, and Kristen Kelly, who’s with our law firm—meet Jeff Garrett, who keeps us safe and secure out here on Gaspar Island. Jeff is commander of the Coast Guard station on the mainland.”
Jeff’s rugged good looks were softened and enhanced by a big, wide grin that swept easily and often across his freckled face. Curly red hair seemed to rebel against its careful combing and, like an unruly child, went in the direction of its own choosing.
It would have been impossible not to like him at once.
“Why, you sneaky old goat,” he joked, grinning at Wes. “You’re hiding a virtual harem over here.” He included Janelle in the wide sweep of his arm, and Janelle giggled with delight.
“Can I help it if I’m irresistibly attractive?” Wes countered with a laugh.
After a few moments of getting acquainted and exchanging small talk, Wes steered the party in the direction of the tantalizing smells drifting from the dining room.
As they circled the table, Kristen stole a glance at Wes to see his reaction to her floral masterpiece.
He was smiling with pride as his eyes traveled over the perfectly appointed table, until they fell upon the flowers. Suddenly, he froze, the color draining from his face, and all traces of his smile disappeared.
Looking at Mrs. Baxter while pointing toward the center of the table, he spoke with a carefully controlled voice: “Mrs. B, who is responsible for this?”
Mrs. Baxter blushed and stammered, “Oh, Kris—that is, I—oh, Wes, someone should have told her. She couldn’t have known.”
Kristen’s anger and her inherent good manners were at war with each other as she glared defiantly across the table at her host. “Is there a problem with the centerpiece?”
Such ingrates! What could possibly be wrong with adding a touch of beauty to the dining table?
She looked around the circle and noted that the Baxters both wore expressions of concern. Marla looked mildly amused, while Janelle was obviously troubled, as she looked at her father and wondered what had suddenly made him so unhappy.
“Let’s all sit down,” Wes suggested, trying to regain his composure.
After a few moments of strained silence, he proceeded, in a voice of exaggerated calm, to explain as though he were talking to a small child: “Sea oats, Kristen, are an endangered species of island vegetation, protected by the laws of our land. Very steep fines and penalties are imposed on those who irresponsibly disobey them. You see, the sea oats act as a natural barrier against normal beach erosion. The winds and the tides wear away at our beaches all the time, and we lose a little each year. Sea oats help prevent that loss.”
“Thank you, Professor Bradley.” Jeff hoped that his attempt at humor would lighten the mood.
Kristen looked crestfallen. She fought back the tears that were stinging her eyes.
Mrs. Baxter spoke up. “We should have warned her. She had no way of knowing.”
“I know that, and I’m sorry I reacted so strongly.” Wes’s tone was apologetic now, as he realized the rudeness of his initial reaction. “Don’t worry, Kristen. You’ve learned a valuable lesson, and no real harm was done. The flowers are a lovely addition to the table, and this will just serve to remind all of us to be careful to protect our beaches, and not take our natural resources for granted.”
Placing his napkin in his lap, he smiled broadly. “Now, let’s pause for our blessing!”
Marla raised her eyes in surprise, and then lowered them as she saw everyone else with bowed head. Knowing Wes Bradley, she decided, was a surprise a minute.
Mr. Baxter echoed the final “Amen,” and Wes raised his head and declared, “Now it’s time to pass that platter of beef!” Everyone began to breathe easier as bowls and platters of food circled the table, and laughter and cheerful chatter filled the room.
Janelle was ecstatic to have her father beside her. “Will you be here again next weekend, Daddy?”
Wes raised his eyebrows and gave Marla a questioning look before answering.
“Don’t forget, darling.” Marla addressed all her conversation directly to Wes. “Vivian and Ted are having a party on Friday, and there’s the Belleview Ball on Saturday night.”
“Tell you what, Janelle. We’ll be back for the Fourth of July. That’s only two weeks away. We’ll take the boat over to Buena Vista for the big parade and barbecue, but we’ll come back here in time to watch the fireworks from the beach.”
The child’s momentary disappointment was partially dispelled by the excitement of the annual holiday celebration. As they all joined in the planning, earlier dissensions seemed to be forgotten, and an air of merriment prevailed.
“Uncle Jeff, will you go to the parade with us on the Fourth of July, like you usually do?” Janelle obviously adored her adopted uncle.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Punkin, unless I have to work that day. But I’ll see what I can arrange.”
Mrs. Baxter was just bringing out her apple pie when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” Kristen’s chair was closest to the front door, and she was eager to be helpful after her earlier mistake. She was soon to regret her decision, however, because as soon as she opened the door, she sensed trouble brewing. There stood Mr. Beardsley, wearing the same angry look she remembered so well from their earlier encounter in his yard.
“Who is it, Kristen?” Wes called from the dining room.
“Oh, it’s Mr. Rumpel—uh—Mr. Beardsley,” stumbled Kristen. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Beardsley?” She stepped back to let him enter.
“Look here, girl. I saw you out trampling in the sea oats today. Now, don’t deny it.”
Kristen caught her breath. Before she had time to answer, his bony little finger pointed right in her face, as he warned, “And I’d best not see you cutting any of it!”
Hearing the angry voice, Wes came to the door. “Why, Mr. Beardsley, what a surprise.”
The little tyrant ranted on as though he were completely unaware of Wes’s presence. “You city people think you can come over here and destroy our little island. Well, I’m warning you. I’ll report any unlawful activities I see!”
Wes moved to Kristen’s side and put a protective arm around her shoulders.
“Calm down, Mr. Beardsley. I can assure you that I and all of my guests are as anxious as you are to abide by the laws, and to protect our beaches. You won’t see any of us doing anything to damage our priceless good nature.” His accent of those last two words left little doubt that they carried a double meaning.
“Now, come in and join us in the dining room,” he continued. “We were just getting ready to have some fresh apple pie and hot coffee.”
The old man, wanting to remain angry, began to decline, but the tantalizing aroma drifting from the dining room weakened his resistance. Living alone, his meals usually came from tin cans, and everyone on the island knew the reputation of Mrs. Baxter’s pies!
“Well, just to show I’m neighborly,” he relented.
Kristen’s heart sank! What was Wes thinking? How could he have forgotten the centerpiece? Now, she was doomed for certain. Her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer as she turned back to the dining room.
Guiltily, her eyes riveted to the center of the table. There sat the lovely Spode bowl, but it was empty! Had a miracle occurred?
“Pull up a chair for your friend here, Bax. He’s going to join us for dessert.”
“Come in, come in,” Mr. Baxter invited jovially, as he reached for another chair. Beside him, Mrs. Baxter’s chair was empty.
His voice was drowned out by the sudden noise from the kitchen—a big, gushing swoosh of water, accompanied by the loud churning and grinding of the garbage disposal.
Amused glances were exchanged around the table, as Mrs. Baxter entered from the kitchen, all smiles, carrying a still- warm, deep-dish apple pie.
“How many for coffee?” she asked sweetly.
Kristen breathed a deep sigh of relief, and rolled her eyes heavenward in a silent prayer of thanksgiving.