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Neither of the women had planned for an extra day’s travel, but they realized if something happened to one or the other, they wouldn’t know until they didn’t show up in Franklin where they planned to meet.
They didn’t know it at the time, but they both stopped that third night mere miles apart, a small finger of land separating the tiny, anonymous villages they chose. Both worried about the other, but there was no way to send word and alleviate their worry. They could only hope when they got to Franklin the other would be waiting for them.
Marion arrived first, pulling up to the dock they had purchased. It looked even more rickety than she remembered, but maybe that was because of the weather, which was cold and choppy. She turned the truck around and backed up to the dock, not trusting the weight of the trailer on the wood and stopping just short of the dock.
“Is this it, Mommy?” Brenda asked, sounding very young and a little scared. She had become very quiet on the long trip north.
“This is the dock where we are meeting Barbara,” she told her daughter as the boys piled out of the truck. “Stay close,” she warned them, “and don’t go near the water!” That was just what she didn’t need—the kids getting a dunking on a cold day. The boys promptly ignored her warning and headed out on the dock, intrigued by the screaming gulls, the water slapping against the wood, and the various boats out in the bay.
“Where is Barbara, Mommy?” Brenda asked plaintively, her seven-year-old voice grating on Marion’s nerves. Where was Barbara, indeed?
She smiled warmly at the child, not wishing to worry her as she contemplated what she would do. It was already late on the fourth day, and she had expected to find Barbara here waiting for her. “Oh, she’s on her way. She’ll be here in her own time.” She hoped she sounded convincing; she tried to be even for her own sake. She looked at Richard, Barbara’s son, who towered over her own eight-year-old. It was hard to imagine that they were the same age. She had seen pictures of Barbara’s husband, and he had been a big, burly man. It was no wonder he and Barbara had produced a large child. Still, the boy showed no signs of fat; he was just tall and solid. He was also probably one of the kindest children she had ever met.
“Hey, can I help you, ma’am?” someone knocked on her window as she sat there watching the boys out the side-view mirror on the passenger side of the car. She jumped a foot before rolling down the window. “Sorry, you must have been lost in thought.” The man grinned.
She laughed, nodding. “I was. I’m waiting for a friend to arrive with her boat,” she confessed as Brenda leaned forward, looking at the strange man curiously. “Have you seen a boat parked along here?” she pointed back to the dock.
“Ah, no one has used that dock in years. I think the city condemned it,” he said musingly.
“I certainly hope not since we purchased it a few weeks ago. They gave us a bill of sale for it and the three parking spots along here,” she indicated where her truck was parked and the ones on either side of her. They weren’t readily visible, but the paving was better here than in other spaces, which were mostly dirt.
“Oh, you must be those city gals that bought Whimsical Island,” he answered knowingly.
Marion could imagine that they were the talk of the town. She nodded as she answered, “Yes, that is us,” she said, wondering if she should be angry at the gossip.
He smiled, showing even, white teeth. His face was weatherworn and tanned, despite the early spring weather. “Well, if you need anything, I’m Thomas O’Flaherty, and that’s me ship o’er thar,” he said, pointing at a fishing vessel that was moored at a bigger dock about one hundred feet away.
“Well, Thomas O’Flaherty,” she said, giving it a slight Irish brogue, which was common down in Boston and smiling in return to show she was teasing, “we appreciate your offer and may take you up on it at some point. I’m Marion Whiting, and this is my daughter Brenda.”
“How do you do?” he said politely, pulling at his forelock that was blowing in the breeze as though he were tugging at a non-existent cap. “Me and my brothers fish off these waters. It’s nice to make your acquaintance. Your husband coming out?”
Marion nearly laughed. She had been asked out many times since Brian’s death, always with discreet inquiries as to where her husband was, and this one was no different. “Nope, he gave his all in the war. My partner, Barbara is bringing our boat up, and we’re going to set up housekeeping out on Whimsical Island.”
“Housekeeping?” he asked, aghast. “You know there’s no house out there?”
“Ayuh,” she answered, using the Mainer phrase and relishing it. “We’re going to build ourselves a cabin.”
“Two women? Alone?”
“My mother can build anything she sets her mind to,” Brian Junior said suddenly from where he had come up on the two conversing adults. Seeing a man, any man, talking to his mother always brought out his protective instincts. He didn’t like the idea of someone taking his father’s place. So far, his mother hadn’t indicated she was interested in anyone, but still, he worried.
“Oh, she can, can she?” Thomas answered with a smile. He put out his hand, “I’m Thomas O’Flaherty, and you are?”
“Brian Whiting Junior,” he said proudly, grasping the man’s hand. Then, remembering his manners, he introduced Richard. “This is Richard Jenkins.”
“How do you do?” Thomas replied, shaking the other boy’s hand, trying to hide his amusement at the young boy’s imitation of adult manners. Still, they had to learn sometime. “I was just telling your mother here that if she needs help, my brothers and I have a boat over there,” he indicated the fishing vessel, “and would be willing to help.”
“We thank you, sir,” began Brian, but Marion interrupted.
“Mr. O’Flaherty, I’m sure we’ll be taking you up on such a kind offer at some point. When we are all set up, you and your brothers and your wives will be welcome to come out to Whimsical Island for dinner. It will be nice to make friends here in Franklin.”
“We will,” he said agreeably as he took the hint and bid them farewell. He looked back twice as he walked towards his boat and disappeared onto it. It was a large vessel, and they could see men working on it.
“Where do you think my mother is?” Richard asked Marion. She could hear the slight worry in the boy’s voice.
“Probably coming in anytime. Let’s go get something to eat and a room for the night, okay?” she asked to get their minds off Richard’s mother. She was worried. If Barbara wasn’t already here, where was she? Had she somehow left word for them? Maybe she had gone out to the island?
She had each of the children carry their own satchel of nightclothes, and after locking up the truck, they headed towards the hotel where Marion and Barbara had stayed so many weeks ago. Before they washed up in the shared facilities and then headed to the diner for food, Marion arranged with the staff that they would show Barbara to their room if she arrived during the night. During their meal, she tried to steer the children away from any mention of Barbara, getting them to talk about what they might want in a house instead. Their ideas were quite inventive as they had seen movies of mansions and many other homes in their young lives. The thought of having a dumbwaiter or an elevator in a house intrigued the boys, but Brenda made her laugh when she talked about hidden passages behind bookshelves. Their imaginations were a delight. They really enjoyed themselves and finally returned to the hotel and went up to bed and slept soundly. They woke to find Barbara passed out across the bottom of the boys’ bed. They hadn’t heard her enter their room in the night.