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As the ferry finally docked, Marion breathed a deep sigh of relief. The trip had been long, too long, and she worried that it would be impossible to make money with the idea they were pursuing. Maybe this had been a wasted trip? It was a wild idea, and she worried that she and Barbara were crazy to even entertain these thoughts. But it felt right, and they had to try. It felt like if they didn’t get out of their boring life, they would smother from the sameness of it all. If their lives alone didn’t kill them, someone else would. You see, they were a lesbian couple. They’d managed to fool some of the townspeople in the small village outside of Boston where they were escaping from, but some people were suspicious that two young widows living together and not searching for husbands were perhaps more than they appeared. Marion didn’t really care, but she worried that Barbara might accidentally be hurt if anyone realized what they were to each other.
As the ferry hit another wave and caused her to sway on her feet, she wondered if she was going to be sick once more. She hoped not. Already, people were staying well away from the seasick woman but thankfully, not Barbara. Barbara held a basin for her time and again, mopped her brow, and even fetched water from the drinking fountain in the corner to soothe her acid-filled stomach. The hours on this ferry had been hell. They hadn’t realized how long it would take to get to this corner of Maine. She was also craving a cigarette, having smelled the smoke from the one that was inevitably planted in the corner of Barbara’s lips. She knew if she had one puff though, the motion sickness she was suffering would only get worse.
“We’re almost there,” Barbara said soothingly, her cold hand lovingly caressing the forehead of her sweaty and sick girlfriend. She removed her cigarette with her other hand and flicked the ashes onto the deck of the ship without a thought. Looking at its length, she took one more drag, before flicking it over the rail.
“Sadly, we have to make the return trip,” Marion mumbled as she took deep, cleansing breaths—in through her nose and out through her mouth—and hoped she could keep down the water in her stomach. There was nothing else. The last food she had eaten was dinner last night, at least thirteen hours ago. She could only hope that when she touched land again, she would be able to eat. The cool, crisp, and clean air of this part of the world felt good on her face and in her lungs...she could taste the air.
“That’s days from now,” Barbara reminded her, wondering how someone so steady could succumb to seasickness. The trip hadn’t been that bad, and she’d ridden it out with no problem at all, but her petite, effeminate, and fastidious girlfriend had started puking within hours of boarding the ferry. Still, this was the easiest way to get to where they were going.
The rockiness of the ferry began to smooth out as they came into the bay and headed for Franklin. The town was spread out along the mountainside, and for a moment, the dreary fog that had accompanied them all morning lifted, giving them a brief glimpse. Hearing Barbara’s intake of breath and feeling the difference in the motion of the ferry, Marion began to get up for a look. The fog closed in again almost instantly, and the rain continued, but she had gotten a glimpse, and that sight had given her hope. For a moment she forgot about her rolling stomach and the long, gruesome trip they had taken. This was for their future, their dream, and she wanted desperately to make it work.
They had taken a few days off from the mill where they worked. This was unprecedented. They’d worked hard during the war and even afterwards when their husbands hadn’t come home. Finding each other and feeling an attraction had been a surprise. Acting on that attraction had been something neither had anticipated. Discovering that they could love another human being, another woman, had been a wonderful experience for both.
Pooling their resources and their families, they had come together under one roof. Their sons shared a bedroom, Marion’s daughter had her own room, and for anyone who wondered, the two adults shared a bedroom with two double beds for propriety’s sake. The fact that only one bed was frequently used was known only by the women since they rose before their sons and daughter and went to bed after them. Their bedroom door was locked when they were inside and only a loud banging on it would have them get up to see which child needed their mother. Many was the time that Marion or Barbara had rolled on the unused bed to make it look like they didn’t share the same bed. So far, their children hadn’t caught on, but people in their small town had started whispering. They wondered why two women in the prime of their lives hadn’t begun looking for new husbands to replace the ones they had lost in the war. There was an abundance of men, who had come home to take over the jobs the women had been doing in the factories during the war. The independence displayed by these two women was the antithesis of how women in post-war America were expected to behave, so their very lives were being questioned.
As the ferry bumped into the dock of Franklin, Maine, they both breathed a sigh of relief. Gathering their single suitcases and purses, they got in the queue to leave the ferry and get on the dock. Entering the station, both were pleased to be back on solid land. Barbara led the way as Marion was still fighting her nausea, but surely, being on land would help to ease that.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for a Henry Wheeler?” Barbara asked at the ticket office. Her accent had the man looking up at her, immediately identifying her as someone from out of state and not a local.
“Ayuh, that’s ‘im over there,” he said, thumb pointing to the corner where an older man stood, hands in the pockets of his overalls, viewing the crowd. He looked comfortable, rocking back and forth to a tune in his head as he looked about at the throng of passengers getting off the ferry. Some were being greeted by family, and others were making their way through the crush.
“Thank you,” she answered politely and led the deep-breathing Marion towards the man.
“Mr. Wheeler?” Barbara asked brightly as they approached.
“Yup, that’s me,” he answered, looking her over and then glancing at the petite blonde.
Marion knew what he saw. She’d known that her looks were the ticket to her future. They had landed her a good and handsome husband, a fine home, and a future that was assured. Then, World War II had hit and ruined it all for them. Her son and daughter were left without a father, and the small amount of money the government had given her hadn’t been enough to survive on. Fortunately, Brian had taken out life insurance. They’d lived on that until she found a job and eventually sold their house. His family hadn’t been happy about that, but she felt she didn’t need such a big house when the larger family they anticipated would never be born. Today, that face had gone through hell on the trip here and looked pasty. She was not looking her best.
Eventually, after meeting Barbara, they had moved into an apartment together. In theory, they were pooling their funds and saving towards their future...also together. A short, blonde woman, her hair cut short in the current post-war style, Marion had been cute as a button when Brian met her. Worry and having borne children had caused her to put on a few pounds, and now, she was curvy, almost voluptuous...some might, if they were nasty, call her dumpy. She looked tired, worn, and overworked. Mr. Wheeler took that all in as he looked at her before flicking his eyes to the woman next to her.
Barbara was tall, stocky, and could have passed for a man if not for her carefully made-up face.
“Are you Marion Whiting?” he asked, glancing at the blonde to be sure.
“Yes, and this is Barbara Jenkins,” she answered, introducing her companion.
He glanced outside at the weather and then looked back at the two women, unsure. “Did you want to go see the land today?”
“It rains a lot here, doesn’t it?” Marion smiled as she asked, glancing outside as though to confirm her statement.
He nodded and waited for her to answer his question.
“Do you think it will clear up a little later?”
He looked out again, considering, rubbing his chin. “Ayuh, it could clear up, but then again, it might not.”
Marion looked puzzled at this answer. Trying not to lose her cheerful attitude she glanced at Barbara and gave her a grin. “Well, we’ve been traveling far too many hours without a meal. We’ll check into our hotel. Would you like to join us for lunch, Mr. Wheeler?”
He looked surprised that she would make the offer. “No, no, my Martha will have dinner on the table,” he told her. “It’s a good, long way out there. Maybe we should go tomorrow?”
Considering they only had a couple of days, this limited window of opportunity seemed to be slipping through their fingers. Marion glanced back at Barbara again and saw her chin make a gesture, telling her to go ahead with whatever she meant to say. “I was hoping to see it today,” she said firmly. She knew it would be cold, wet, and not an ideal situation, but they couldn’t afford not to see it as soon as possible and make up their minds.
Stroking his chin, he considered. “I guess we could go later,” he said slowly, thoughtfully.
“That would be wonderful. Could you point us to our hotel? Maybe a diner?”
In his slow, methodical way Mr. Wheeler began to point out the layout of the town. The mist was too thick to see everything he was pointing out, but as he spoke it lifted enough to make out where they needed to go. They watched as he made his way out wearing his rubber Wellingtons, the wetness soon drifting off the point of his hat that matched not only his boots but his knee-length coat, which was open to reveal the overalls. By then, Marion was able to breathe easier. The cool air and solid ground were helping, and they set out for their hotel. Barbara carried their bags while Marion held a large umbrella over them.
“I don’t think that was an auspicious beginning,” Barbara murmured as they trudged along, not nearly like the long-legged stride their guide had taken. She was pleased to see the color coming back to her girlfriend’s pale face, and her chipper attitude hid the nausea she had felt all night long.
“Well, if you wait for spring sunshine in Maine, you might have to wait a while,” she quipped with a smile. She too was worried that this dream of theirs was merely an impulse, and she already knew their families would balk at their idea once they heard.
They checked into the town’s only hotel and were surprised yet pleased when they were informed there was only one queen-sized bed and they would have to share. They pretended not to mind.
They freshened up and Marion changed her clothes where some of the sick had splashed. She was finally feeling dry and comfortable in her clothes. She washed out her dress to lay it out and let it dry. They went back out into the weather, barely needing their umbrella any longer as the sun had burned off the mist and the rain had gone out to sea. The diner was full of locals who stared at the two women as they ordered. Marion was able to eat, which further calmed her nervous stomach. She was feeling fine as they made their way back to the hotel in time to catch Mr. Wheeler, who was just leaving the lobby.
“Mr. Wheeler?” Marion called as he turned away from them.
He stopped, surprised to be addressed and then smiled slightly upon seeing the two women. “I was just leavin’,” he told them in his slow way. He looked at them and their outfits, looking them up and down. Women wearing pants was still a new thing to a lot of people.
“We just finished our lunch and were hoping to find you,” she answered sweetly, glancing at Barbara and exchanging a look.
“Ya still want to go out and take a look?” he asked, staring at their outfits.
“We’d love to,” she answered, trying to smile but unsure if he was happy with the idea or not.
“Me boat’s this way,” he pointed down towards the docks, away from the ferry. He clearly didn’t approve of women wearing dungarees but turned away quickly.
They followed him and were surprised at the small boat but got in gingerly where he indicated. He started the small motor and headed out of the harbor into the open sea before heading northeast with confidence. Both women held on tightly to the small boat, balancing against the oncoming waves, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.
Barbara worried that Marion would get seasick again and glanced at her repeatedly, but she seemed to be holding her own.
Marion wondered if her full stomach was a mistake, but this smaller boat seemed to ride the waves differently. The water was closer to them, and while they couldn’t see as much, it felt better. She looked out as far as she could see from her seat and was pleased to see a patch of sunshine trying to eke out a spot in the overcast above them. The fresh breeze seemed to help her overcome any lingering nausea that might have reared its ugly head.
They saw several islands as Mr. Wheeler motored along, seemingly unaware of anything but his intended destination. The islands looked quiet and unassuming. They were full of lush foliage and tall trees, and the rocks surrounding them made some of them appear menacing. There was no sign of life. Marion pointed out different trees, but Barbara looked out at the water, wondering how far out they were going. Finally, Mr. Wheeler turned towards almost open sea, and they spotted an island. It didn’t look like much as he followed along its rocky coastline. The kelp along the stony shore wasn’t promising. In fact, it looked downright foreboding. A narrow opening turned into a cove, which widened out into about a half-mile-long lagoon and looked promising. He drove the smaller boat right up onto the “sand,” which was more rock than sand. Fortunately, this island’s shores didn’t have the large boulders of the other islands or those shores that the ocean constantly pounded on.
“This is ‘er,” he spoke for the first time since they had left Franklin and pointed with his thumb behind him from where he was tying off the small craft.
Both women carefully got out of the boat and looked about. The small cove would be perfect for landing a craft such as the one Mr. Wheeler owned but they knew they would need a bigger one if they were to make this project work. Barbara looked at Marion, wondering at her thoughts. Marion was looking avidly about, expanding and making plans from her vague ideas now that she was seeing the island.
“Well, let’s look around, shall we?” Barbara asked, trying to sound enthusiastic. Marion smiled as she eagerly began the walk up from the small beach despite there being no path.
“Someone once had a shack up dere on the bluff,” Mr. Wheeler offered, not too enthusiastic about traipsing off into the woods where the women had headed. Still, he had been surprised to get their letter inquiring about his ad, which had read:
‘Small island on the Canada/United States border. Excellent timber. Whimsical Island. Serious inquiries via P.O. Box 102, Franklin, Maine.’
He was certain he was wasting his time with these two women. Still, they had traveled all the way from Massachusetts.
Barbara had been the one to find the ad in the newspaper and show it to Marion. Marion hadn’t even thought about it more than an hour before she wrote the serious inquiry letter to Mr. Wheeler. “Remember how camp seemed to be the best place there was when you were a child?” she enthused as she made plans for an island she had never even seen.
“Marion, I didn’t go to the same camps you did,” Barbara pointed out. They hadn’t been in the same social classes and camp was not an option for her. The one year Barbara had been able to go to camp hadn’t endeared her to the idea in the same way it obviously was taking hold of Marion.
“Do you not want me to send the letter?” Marion had asked, slightly hurt and yet willing to do whatever Barbara wanted.
“No, inquire away,” she encouraged her, wondering if they could get out of the mill jobs where they weren’t wanted now that the boys were back from the war. They had been just two of the very few women who clung tenaciously to the few jobs left available once the men returned. They were resented because they were female. Even more so because they were widows and survivor’s guilt riddled some of the men, knowing they had survived and not these women’s husbands. They were constant reminders that men had died, their friends had died, and they had not. These women had given their all...and then some.
They both discussed the possibility that they could move out of the village and far away from Boston, their families, their husband’s families, and the disapproving friends, acquaintances, and even strangers, who suspected the true nature of their relationship. It was time to start over, and this ad seemed like a godsend.
Mr. Wheeler’s letter hadn’t been welcoming, but it hadn’t been discouraging either. He had invited them up to Franklin to view the island and consider its purchase. Both women wondered if anyone in post-war America had the money to buy an island, much less visit one, and they knew it might be the most foolish venture either could consider. Once they were able to arrange the time off from work, they had penned another letter, accepting his invitation and letting him know the date of their arrival.
Mr. Wheeler watched as the women made their way away from the boat and up into the trees. They couldn’t get lost. The island was only half a mile or so across and four miles long from tip to tip. He sat back down and pulled out a pipe.
Marion was pointing out the beauties they were seeing, almost as though Barbara couldn’t see them for herself. There were great stone cliffs along one edge of the non-existent trail they were making. Great maple trees—hundreds of years old, thick and luxurious, and about to leaf-out in the early spring growth—were mixed with tall pines and other trees. They found other smaller beaches, one with odd shells that were crushed along the rocky shore. They heard the gulls, and other strange birds made their presence known. A majestic Great Blue Heron took wing from a meadow as they explored. The sun came out and dried up their path, making it a hike and a hot walk, which they both welcomed. They loosened their button-up jackets as they trekked along.
“What’s that?” Barbara pointed, startled as a brown-furred animal slithered away through last year’s growth.
“I think that was a mink,” Marion answered, amused at her usually brave girlfriend’s fright.
It was a good thing they were here so early in the spring after the winter snows had melted; the undergrowth would have been impossible to walk through otherwise. They found a game trail that had obviously been made by deer and followed it as it made the going easier.
“Gosh, Barbara,” Marion’s voice trembled with emotion, “how could anything be so beautiful and uninhabited?” Used to the noise of the big city, even in their small village, they both marveled at the quiet and the fact that no one was about.
They spent quite a bit of time roaming the island. Then realizing that Mr. Wheeler might be alarmed that they had become lost, they began to make their way back, hoping to find the large cove without too much trouble. They slid down a few steep slopes in their attempt to make a trail, abandoning the animal trail in order to find a straighter route to the cove. There was lots of moss on the trees, and Marion warned Barbara never to believe that adage that moss only grew on one side of the trees. “It’ll grow wherever it can,” she informed the city girl.
“To think these views are going to waste and we’re stuck looking into the apartments across the way from ours,” Barbara said as she took in the deep woods and ocean surrounding them as they made their way back to the boat.
They were both relieved to see Mr. Wheeler patiently waiting for them, smoking a pipe as he sat in the bow of his boat.
“Ya seen ‘nough?” he asked, cordially. He didn’t seem perturbed that they had kept him waiting for hours as they explored the island.
Both women nodded enthusiastically. They helped to push the boat off the small pebble spit, less sand than they had originally thought. They both watched as the old man expertly started his motor and they puttered out of the protective cove. The feel of the open water was almost immediate beyond the trees that marked the entrance, the deeper water a little rougher but nothing like the ferry, which had a deeper draft and bucked the waves differently. They both stared at the receding island thoughtfully. Each of them looked forward to discussing it later when they were alone. They didn’t want to talk in front of the old man, and the ever-present winds blowing their hair into their faces made it difficult to be heard.
“Thank you so much for the ride, Mr. Wheeler,” Barbara said politely as he pulled his boat onto the shore in Franklin.
“Yes, thank you. We will let you know what we decide,” Marion told him as they both got out of the boat.
He nodded cordially but was thinking to himself that he had wasted his entire afternoon on two women. What in the world could they have been thinking? He tied off his boat and made his way into the small town, moving away from them and not saying a word.
“Well, are you hungry again, or should we return to the hotel and discuss what we saw?” Marion asked, wondering how Barbara’s stomach was feeling. She knew her own had recovered sufficiently that she was starving.
“I could eat,” she began slowly, already lost in thought over the island. She was burgeoning with ideas and wondered if they could afford to act on them all.
They didn’t talk about the island as they ate at the diner again. The locals were listening in avidly. It was so obvious it was almost amusing. They understood and smiled in a friendly manner at the eavesdroppers as they ate their meals.
“What do you think?” Marion asked as soon as they were in the safety of their hotel room.
“I liked it,” Barbara began cautiously, her eyes sparkling with the excitement she was feeling. She had felt so alive on that island, and she hadn’t felt like that in what seemed like forever. Then she rethought that. She felt alive in Marion’s arms, but it was so different from what this idea and concept felt like.
“We could build a cabin...or ten and rent them out,” Marion put in, her own enthusiasm trickling out. She wasn’t fooled by Barbara’s quiet demeanor. She saw the sparkle in her eyes, and it was exciting.
“Do you think we should?” she asked, again sounding cautious.
“I think God puts things in your path for a reason. We both hate our lives in the mill and are slowly dying inside. I felt as though my soul got aired out on that island today. I’d like to go back and poke around. Do you think Mr. Wheeler would lend us his boat?”
Barbara immediately shook her head. “I bet we can rent one somewhere.”
“You think they would rent to two women?” Merion mused.
She had to admit the blonde had a point. It was frustrating that two competent women were not allowed to do things simply because of their sex. Things had changed since before the war. Still, they had to conform a bit for society. “I want to go back,” Barbara admitted.
“You think two people could make a living on an island like that?”
“I wondered that too. There’s that one meadow, and we could plant an orchard and a garden, but that wouldn’t really bring in that much money,” she mused, thinking practically. “What about the initial price of the island?”
“No bank is going to lend a woman money without a man to co-sign,” Marion pointed out, reminding her what had happened before and paraphrasing what they had been told.
Barbara nodded. They’d already known that. Even when Marion was selling her house, they had come up against the condescension that a woman alone couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies involved in such a complicated financial transaction. “There’s the money from the sale of my house,” she mentioned, as though they both hadn’t already thought of that.
“And my house as well as the life insurance policies.”
“Shouldn’t we save something in case something goes wrong?”
“We could always go back and work at the mill,” Marion pointed out, although the thought of failure depressed them both, much less the thought of working at the mill for the rest of their lives. “Brian always said, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’”
Barbara nodded, a little jealous of the man in her girlfriend’s past life. Still, he was gone, killed in the war like her own husband, and nothing was going to bring them back. “Bob had the same kind of saying, but it was me that managed to get us that house,” she said nostalgically, missing the house that had been their home but not the man. She didn’t regret getting rid of the house to take up housekeeping with this woman she had come to love so much. Their love had surprised both women with its intensity and even the fact that two women could be in love with each other. After selling their homes, they ended up living in an apartment. They hadn’t realized they couldn’t get another mortgage without a man signing the financial paperwork with them. Neither one would think of bothering their male relatives with such a matter. Most of their extended family felt they were a little too independent raising their three children together. What they should have done was sold one of the houses and moved in together, but they had thought they could buy another house together...until the banks had told them no.
“So, we buy the island outright and build from the ground up?”
Barbara nodded slowly, worrying about the money and their finances. They had enough between them to buy the island and build a small house on it, but the thought of what else they would need scared her. It meant giving up a safety net that they just might need later.
“We’ll need a boat, some sort of dock, as well as a million other things we haven’t even thought of.” Marion started ticking off things on her fingers.
“The children will have to start correspondence school.”
“The children are going to love this adventure,” the petite blonde pointed out, knowing their children hadn’t been happy to give up their homes and their yards to live in a much smaller apartment.
They discussed a lot of things, agreeing on almost everything before they headed to bed. They were tired from the trip on the ferry, exploring the island, and the fresh air. Their initial attempts to make love proved that the bed had squeaky springs, and not wishing to be discovered, they decided to hold off until they had more privacy.