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“I’m glad that is behind us,” Marion said tiredly as she came home to a welcome meal of baked chicken and fresh vegetables. She relished the peace and quiet of their island. The chicken and vegetables they had raised and grown themselves, and she was proud of that. Barbara had had to set traps to keep weasels or mink or other predators out of their chicken coop. She had both a weasel and a mink, but she kept the dead animals well away from the children and Marion, who got squeamish. Barbara didn’t let on that she vomited while trying to skin the mink because their pelts could be valuable. Marion knew though, and it was something she was grateful that her girlfriend had taken care of for her...for them all. She had also wrung this chicken’s neck, plucked it, and cooked it for dinner, all without the children realizing it was one of theirs.
“Are you sure?” Barbara worriedly asked, keeping her voice low, so the children wouldn’t hear them above the noise of the radio program they were listening to. She hoped the show was over soon. She didn’t like the quiet of their island invaded by that static noise.
“I think so. It was impressive hearing the children tell of us building this place. I hadn’t realized how much they knew or observed.”
“We still have to be careful,” Barbara agreed. She’d been surprised how much the children knew too as she listened to their recitations. She wondered what they had told the judge.
They shrugged off the hearing-turned-courtroom-case by getting their island ready for winter. They turned off the plumbing in the cabins, draining the pipes, so they wouldn’t freeze and burst as had happened last year. After cleaning each of the cabins thoroughly, they covered the furniture with blankets and sheets and locked up the places, one by one. They had finished more work on cabin five and were hoping to have it done in time to rent it out in the spring. They banked the main cabin with leaves and pine needles against the coming winter despite Brian’s assertion that they would use hay, leaving the windows in the basement exposed to provide light in the dark area where they stored so many of their extra supplies. They’d been stocking up as sales became available but wished they could find wholesalers for some of the items.
“This buying a flat here and there is for the birds,” Marion complained to Barbara as they trudged up the steps with their supplies.
“Yes, we need to find somewhere we can buy things in bulk,” she agreed.
Grady had come out to the island the day after the hearing, and they had thanked her for testifying on their behalf. She told them about living in Florida.
“I ain’t done with Maine. I love it here, but that winter without no snow was somethin’,” she admitted. She also admitted she had met someone but wouldn’t tell them much. She was shy about revealing the details. “It’s a differen’ life down there,” was all she would tell them as she admired the cabins they had finished without her before she left the island that day.
They had one last clam bake on the beach with the O’Flaherty clan, enjoying the renewal of their friendship with the brothers and their wives and new girlfriends. This time, the clam bake was held on the mainland in the tradition of a Squantum. A Squantum or clam bake was a traditional method of cooking seafood, steaming the ingredients in a pit of coals dug in the sand on the beach and covered over with layers of seaweed.
Thomas had given up hope on Marion, realizing that she had been sincere when she said friendship was all she would ever offer him. He still hadn’t looked at the many hopeful women in town he could date, but he now knew there was nothing for him with the widow. He watched as she and Barbara socialized with people from their small town and hoped the best for her. He was disappointed, but she had been firm that she was a widow and happy to remain unmarried.
Winter came early that year. They had snow and inclement weather by Halloween. Their plans to go across and let the children trick or treat in the suddenly popular holiday had to be put on hold. The children were very disappointed too. They had already made their cowboy, hobo, and clown costumes themselves. Instead, Barbara taught them to make popcorn balls and their own homemade candy, using up a lot of the sugar and corn syrup they had on hand in order to distract them from their disappointment. She was uneasy with the dogs acting up and barking at the winds that were howling through their trees. She wasn’t certain it was the wind causing their upset, and she was relieved when Marion came back inside from checking on the chickens, guinea fowl, and sheep. They had expanded the sheep pen this year and had even put in a second floor to hold some of the hay they bought on the mainland. Their island didn’t have enough hay to last them through the winter. The bales were now stacked up there in the loft against the cold and wintery weather they had expected, just not this early.
“They’re all snug as bugs in a rug,” Marion said as she unwound her scarf, looking at it briefly and hoping all the yarn they had against their winter projects, some of it from their very own sheep’s wool, could be used to make additional scarves, mittens, and maybe even sweaters. She had several books on the subject, and while Barbara could sew a fine seam, she hoped to master the techniques necessary to knit those things. Brian had said he was interested in learning how to knit too.
“I’m glad their coats grow back so quickly,” Barbara admitted from where she was putting the final touches on the hot candy she had poured with the children. “We’ll have to try that recipe that makes maple sugar candy on the snow in the spring,” she said to keep the excitement in the process. “Did you find a book on tapping the trees?” she asked the blonde as she came up after hanging up her winter outerwear.
“Yes, and another one that told how to gather and render the bayberries. I didn’t notice those bushes before, but if we can save on oil this winter with the wax from those berries, I’m game to try.”
“Well, as soon as the berries are ready to be gathered, I’m sure we’ll have some volunteers,” Barbara hinted broadly only to hear the enthusiastic children clamor at the word.
“Can we eat the berries?” Richard asked as he poked surreptitiously at the hardening candy they had made.
“Keep your finger out of our candy, or you can’t have any later,” his observant mother warned. “No, you can’t eat these berries. Even the birds don’t eat them since they have a waxy covering. We’ll put the gray berries in a large kettle and heat it over the fire,” she indicated the fireplace with a nod of her head. “We’ll take the wax and make our own candles, and it can also be used to cover burns and scrapes.” She was quoting one of the books almost verbatim.
“That looks pretty,” Brenda put in, resisting the sheet of red-colored candy they had poured as it cooled.
“Okay, if you can carry these out to the porch, we’re ready,” Barbara told them. Each child took a pan and carefully carried them to the door where Marion opened it wide to let them out on the screened porch. She glanced at the windows she had wanted to install, so they could use this space this winter and sighed. There was always something. At least they wouldn’t be building partial walls this winter. They had lots of projects to keep them all busy, and she looked at the piles of books set conveniently near the couch and neatly by the bookshelves waiting for them to read. One of the projects was more bookshelves, higher ones, maybe to the ceiling. The ones they were using now could go in one of the cabins.
The children placed the sheets of boiled candy on tables and took in the already cooled ones, so Barbara and Marion could place towels on them before using a small mallet to break up the candy. They allowed each child one piece of each color and flavor before putting the rest in tins. They could give those away as presents and keep some for their own consumption in the coming months.
“I found a wholesaler willing to sell lots of damaged canned goods to people,” Marion told Barbara, determined to save them money. They had some of their rental deposits for next summer, but they had to save money over the winter months when they had no income. “Maybe we should go into town tomorrow and see what he has to offer?”
“I was going to collect berries with the children,” she answered, wondering if she had left it too late. It was already November, but the books said that was the best time to collect the berries. She hoped the few snowfalls they had already experienced hadn’t damaged the berries. She was quite surprised how many of those low bushes there were on the island now that she recognized them for what they were. She hoped to collect a lot of berries. Maybe they could go hiking on one of the other islands and gather more. She hoped no one would mind their trespassing.
“Why don’t we hook up the truck and take the trailer? Let’s see how much we can save on these canned goods. I promise a full couple days of gathering later,” Marion teased. “We can even go see a movie while we’re in town?” she further offered tauntingly. They’d talked about it repeatedly as both had wanted to take the children to the theater in town. The movies the children wanted to see, like Cinderella and Treasure Island, were a far cry from All about Eve and other adult movies. They would have to time it right, and maybe the adults could see a matinee while the children were in school. They didn’t like driving the boat across the channel in the dark. They felt it was too dangerous and unsafe with things that might be floating in the water when they couldn’t see clearly. They much preferred to have broad daylight, and that was becoming limited as it got darker earlier every day.
They compromised and went to the wholesaler the next day. They got a terrific deal on the damaged cans, some without labels and in huge lots. They filled the back of the truck and even managed to get a pallet load in the trailer. It took many trips with the Runabout as they had already put the Woody up for winter using block and tackle to haul it far up on the beach and under the overhang they had built. They covered it well after they drained the fuel lines and cleaned its hull. Still, they piled the many flats under the overhang, not wanting to haul it all the way up to the meadow as they hoped to make a second or even a third trip into town to get all their goods. It took a great deal of time and a lot of gas, but by the time they were finished, the shelves in the basement were filled with canned goods. They started on the ones that had no labels, which surprised all of them with the vegetables they contained.
“Yuck, I don’t like lima beans,” Barbara confessed, but not loud enough for the children to hear. She didn’t want to set a bad example.
“We’ll just have to hope the many unlabeled cans aren’t all lima beans then,” Marion responded with a laugh. She didn’t care for the vegetable either as they surreptitiously put it in a pot and took it out to the chickens. The birds didn’t seem to mind the nasty vegetable and pecked at the contents poured in their food dish until they were all gone.
As they stocked up and prepared for winter, their biggest surprise came while they were gathering the gray bayberries into their sacks, buckets, and pails. They were alerted to the presence of someone when the dogs got up with a lunge and a growl. They found a man watching the family gathering of two adults, three children, two dogs, and their assorted paraphernalia in astonishment.
“Whatever are you doing here?” he asked almost belligerently. He had a hunting gun under his arm.
“We live here,” Barbara answered cautiously, eyeing the gun in alarm. Neither of them had hauled out the guns they had hidden in their bedroom closet away from the curious eyes of the children. There had only been one other time they even considered bringing the guns out.
“What do you mean you live here?”
“What are you doing here?” Marion asked at the same time, her children edging behind her as they looked at the intruder.
“We are the owners of Whimsical Island, and you, sir, are trespassing,” Barbara bravely put forth.
“I’ve hunted here for years,” he protested, confused at the information.
“Not last year you didn’t.”
“No, I broke my leg and couldn’t come, but I’ve hunted on this island and gotten a buck and a doe each year for–”
“Not anymore,” Marion finished for him, not liking the idea of him hunting with three children and various animals running about their island. They could accidentally become the targets of a careless hunter. “Didn’t you hear the island had been sold?”
He stared at them, looked at the berries they had been gathering, saw the fear on the children’s faces, and the words started to penetrate. He flushed in embarrassment at being caught out and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“We’d appreciate if you spread the word. We don’t allow hunting on our island. Not anymore.” She stood there, willing to face up to the man but angry that he had invaded the sanctity of their island.
“Didn’t you see the cabins we built or the paths we’ve made?” Barbara was willing to back Marion up, even if they weren’t armed. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest.
“I came from the Canadian side and landed on the beach.”
“Are you Canadian then?”
He shook his head, still looking at them in surprise, shocked to find them here on an island he had hunted for a decade. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
“Yes, you should,” Marion put in, watching as he slung the hunting rifle to his shoulder and began to back away.
“Sorry for the intrusion. It won’t happen again,” he promised.
That unanticipated visit shook them all. Marion and Barbara discussed their safety many times after that and cleaned the guns they had brought, just in case. They remained in their closet, hidden, but they made them more accessible, just in case.
It was one day in late November when another intruder shook the very foundation of their perceived safety on their private paradise. Marion was off island on one of the last trips they anticipated making for a while. She was picking up Christmas presents and other things they had ordered, and the children had gone in early with her for a day in school. Barbara had stayed on the island to render the last of the bayberries they had collected and finish some other necessary chores. She was stuffing the last of the bales of hales they had purchased into the loft of the shed when she heard the dogs growling viciously. She had tied them near the shed since she had left the sheep to wander to the far side of the meadow, browsing so they wouldn’t eat the valuable hay and she could clean out their shed in preparation for winter. The dogs kept faithfully herding them back, and she had finally tied them up to prevent that. They had both looked reproachfully at her for preventing them from doing their jobs. She looked down from her perch on the ladder at their growls and saw they were staring intently off towards the cabin. With one final shove, the bale was up on top of the last one she had hauled up to the loft. She carefully made her way back down the ladder and to the door in time to see someone slip into their cabin. Thinking it was far too early for Marion to be back and knowing she would have said something, or she would have heard the children, her heart began to beat painfully in her chest. She knew she hadn’t heard the boat motor echoing up from the cove. She realized they had an intruder.
That first summer they had thought someone had been on the island and taken some of their supplies. Now, she wondered if the same person were back and what their intentions were. She looked around, saw the pitchfork they used to clean out the pen, and armed herself with it. She waited, peering through the crack of the door for the person to return. She waited a long time, glancing at the dogs periodically. She wondered what the dogs would have done if she had left them off lead as they usually were. Still, she waited impatiently and wondered if she should slip out and look for the boat the person had to have used to get on the island. She wondered what they were doing in the cabin, which smelled strongly of the bayberries she had left simmering on the stove while she did her chores out here. Did they think no one was on the island? Is that why they felt able to enter the cabin and do whatever they were doing? Surely, the simmering pot on the stove would tip them off? Was the island being watched? Were their comings and goings being observed? She shuddered as she thought about how many times they had been all over the island with not a care in the world about their safety at the hands of other human beings. Having the hunter invade their sanctum had been bad enough, but this intruder was scaring her.
Eventually, the door slowly opened, and both dogs lunged at the ends of their ropes, charging towards the cabin, growling and barking. Barbara peered through the crack and squeezed the handle of the pitchfork reflexively, wondering if she could really use it if she had to. She saw the man had two sacks; ones they had kept from the potatoes hauled out to the island. The woven sacks were excellent for a variety of uses about the place: from hauling their vegetables, to gathering the bayberries. Both sacks were bulging, and she could make out the outlines of canned goods. By the way he was lifting the bags down the steps, they were heavy. He was stealing their supplies! He glanced at the tied dogs, dismissing them as a threat and never seeing the eye watching through the crack of the shed door.
As he turned to close the cabin door and lifted the bags off the porch, she walked rapidly around the door and called across the space separating them. Her hand was on Feathers’ collar, and she was ready to release the older dog. “Put down those sacks!”
He jumped a foot as he turned, dropping the sacks, which rattled as they hit the ground and canned goods rolled out of them. He pulled out a boning knife, which looked sharp. He eyed the large woman across the yard from him and then eyed the growling and barking dogs.
“Shush,” Barbara ordered. Feathers obeyed instantly, but Barkley got in a few more yaps before stopping. The two humans stared at each other across the expanse. “That stuff isn’t yours, and you are going to leave it and remove yourself from our island,” Barbara told him, making no gesture that could be misconstrued. She stood there, watching him.
He studied the woman, the dog, and the pitchfork in her hand. He was scruffy, unkempt, his beard full and unwashed. His clothing was out of date, dirty, and ripped in several places.
Barbara was feeling uneasy. She wasn’t sure the man understood her, or if he did, he maybe hadn’t heard someone talk to him in a very long time. He looked puzzled, but as she watched him, she also thought he looked mad. She saw him raise his arm and wipe at his face. It was then she saw the fresh scratches across his face. She knew scratches like that from having played boisterously with the cats from time to time. She wondered what had happened inside the cabin. One or possibly both cats had been inside today, enjoying the heat as she boiled the last of the bayberries. Had they attempted to defend their territory? she wondered. The waiting was becoming unbearable as they studied each other. Neither made a move, and finally, Barbara said, “Leave the bags and get off our island.” She said it slowly and enunciated the words, suspecting he was some sort of hermit living on one of the other islands and taking things they might not have noticed was missing. That was going to end now. They had worked too hard for too long to let someone take the things they had purchased. They had children to provide for. If he had come to them and asked, they would have given him some supplies but certainly not the amount he was now blatantly stealing. There was no way they wouldn’t have noticed that amount of food missing.
With those words he sliced the fillet knife through the air at her in a threatening manner.
“Look, mister, you leave the island, or I’m going to release the dog.”
He glanced at Feathers, who was growling and showing her teeth. She looked eager to go after him, sensing that he didn’t belong. He gestured with the knife again and Barbara, fed up at the stand-off, backed up slightly in order to release Feathers but still on lead. She could drop the rope at any time without hindering the dog or her protection of her home. The man’s eyes widened for a moment, and then, he went to pick up one of the sacks. Reaching into it unbalanced him for a moment, and Barbara took a couple paces forward, the pitchfork in one hand and the tense, eager dog on the end of the rope in the other.
“I said to put that down,” she repeated.
He was surprised she was closer and whipped around, the knife ready in his hand, but she also saw he had one of the guns from their closet in his other hand. Barbara didn’t hesitate. She let the dog go as she picked up the pitchfork and threw it like a javelin, landing in the man’s thigh a moment before Feathers got there. The man never saw the pitchfork coming as he concentrated on the attacking dog, bracing to use either the gun or the knife on her. The intense pain suddenly spreading in his thigh unbalanced and unnerved him for a moment. Barbara followed her throw and reached him in several long strides, knocking the gun hand aside as the man tried to bring it up and shoot the dog that had grabbed at his other pants’ leg. Barbara pulled on the pitchfork handle and yanked it out of his leg. He went down, cowering against the dog and pitchfork attack. Barkley was going crazy tied up at the sheep’s pen.
“I told you to get off our island,” Barbara repeated, knocking the knife out of his other hand as he cowered protectively against the ravaging teeth of the dog. His already dilapidated clothing was taking a savage beating from her. Barbara pulled back, holding the pitchfork protectively and pulling on Feather’s rope as she waited for the man to uncurl and get up. He slowly rose, looking at her wildly through his overly long and greasy hair. As he got up, she gestured. He looked at his knife, the gun, and the still growling and snarling dog for only a moment before he started moving. He began to limp from the clearing, making his way across to the far side and giving the pen and Barkley a wide berth. He was following one of the game trails. Barbara followed behind him, close enough to keep Feathers just one leap behind him but far enough away that he couldn’t turn and grab her pitchfork. Feathers had stopped growling and showing her teeth, watching the odd man intently as they followed. He slowly made his way down the steep slope, using trees to keep himself upright. She could see his pants becoming wet with the stain of the blood from the puncture wounds, some of them from the pitchfork and some, she was certain, from Feathers. They finally came down to one of the steepest climbs to the rocky beach. She remained at the top of the faint trail and watched as he painfully and slowly made his way down. She saw a rowboat, not unlike the ones they owned, and for a moment, she wondered if one of theirs had gone missing and they hadn’t noticed. He got in, pushing against the oncoming tide to start rowing. He stared back at her on top of the hill, her pitchfork in one hand and a practically slavering dog on a rope in the other hand. He made a gesture as he pulled on the oars, heading slowly away from the island and narrowly missing the huge rocks on this side as he went. She watched him long after he was lost beyond the rocks before she headed shakily back to the meadow, letting Feathers off the rope. The dog wanted to return to the deserted beach, but Barbara continued calling her back until she willingly came.
Barbara put the pitchfork back in the shed, untied a nearly apoplectic grown pup, and stood there shaking at what had just transpired. She made her way over to pick up the knife and gun, cocking it and checking the load. It had been fully loaded. She swallowed, wondering if the man really would have shot her or the dog. The thought of the children or Marion finding them like that nearly had her in tears as she lifted the bags back onto the porch. Her legs were still shaking and weak. She put the gun’s safety on before she put it in the waistband of her dungarees. Thinking about the time, she wondered when Marion would return. She checked the bayberries and determined they were more than ready to have the wax skimmed off. She turned off the burner and put the pot back on a cold burner. She noted the wonderful smell of the berries once more and then looked around the cabin for a moment. It was impossible to tell that the man had been there, but somehow, she felt violated. She saw one of the cats, Gray, sitting on the windowsill cleaning his paws and wondered if he had attacked the man.
Thinking about the rowboat, she had to know, so she made her way down from the meadow and checked the rowboats, the canoe, and the Woody. All were in their proper places. She had never thought to chain them up or lock them. She glanced to the west beyond their cove and saw the fog coming in. There were thick fogs in Maine in November and April, and she hoped Marion was ahead of this one. Hopefully, she had seen it rolling in and picked up the children, heading for home before it came in. It was eerie out on the water in a fog, which deadened sounds and made it impossible to see. Driving blind was dangerous, and they’d been very careful to avoid weather like that. She spent a worrisome afternoon waiting for Marion and the children to return, hoping the crazy man wouldn’t reappear, and watching the dogs constantly as she tried to settle down. She returned the bags of cans to their proper shelves, losing a couple of labels in the process. Her shakiness didn’t pass, and she ended up sitting on the porch, watching the sheep, the chickens, the guinea fowl, and the dogs. Only when the dogs settled down, one of them chasing its tail, did she begin to relax.
The trip back was a nightmare for Marion. She’d seen the fog begin to come down the mountain, picked the children up early from school, and headed for the boat. They were out beyond Tourmaline Island when the fog enshrouded them in its misty fingers, slowing their pace to a crawl. She worried that she would miss Whimsical Island completely as not only the fog impinged her ability to see but also the encroaching darkness. Even the familiarity of the trip was no help with the wide-open sea before her. She was sweating in her winter clothing, the children unnaturally quiet as she chugged along. Faintly over the noise of her motor she heard what she thought was another boat, some mumbling, and the telltale sound of oars. It was odd coming out of the mist, but they never saw the boat. She tried peering into the fog, looking for that creak of the oars she was certain she had heard, hoping to stop her boat if she could before she hit them. She slowed to a crawl as she heard waves on the rocks and began looking for the opening to their cove. She missed it twice, turning around as she recognized a rock that meant she had gone too far. Only the fates and a setting sun allowed her to see the opening for a moment, and she gunned her way inside. She was relieved to tie off the boat and hand groceries to the children to take up to the cabin.
“Are you okay?” Barbara asked as she ran down, smiling at the children as the dogs greeted them enthusiastically and heading to help her partner cover the boat.
“That fog was something,” was all Marion said as she put a couple more boxes on the pier and began to spread out the cover. Barbara reached for it, and between them they stretched it across the top of the boat to keep out water and possible snow.
“We had a visitor,” Barbara confessed, picking up one of the boxes after they had covered the boat.
“Oh?” she asked, never imagining what Barbara was about to tell her. The tale filled her with horror, and she hurried ahead. The children were alone up at the cabin, even if they were with the dogs. “What are we going to do?” she whispered in relief as she saw the children had put the supplies on the porch and were taking advantage of the fading light to play with the dogs before going in for the night.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to go across and make a report. If that man reports me for attacking him with the pitchfork or ends up in the hospital later, I want my version of events on paper.”
Marion agreed, and she too was uneasy that their sanctuary, the island, had been violated.