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Barbara couldn’t make her report the next day. In fact, she couldn’t leave the island for a week due to the intense fog that had come down and shuttered the island. Every bark of a dog and every strange noise had the adults on edge. The children knew something was up with the women but couldn’t quite put their fingers on it. They saw both women go out with their guns to target shoot, and they begged to be allowed to touch the guns. Both women refused, telling them they were not to touch the firearms until they were teenagers.
By the time Barbara was able to get across to Franklin, the weather had begun to turn. Marion had insisted she write everything down that first day while it was fresh in her mind, and it was a good thing. Re-reading it, she realized she had forgotten details and added them. Her final report for the local police was very complete and contained all the details she had written down and copied to their report to make it official. She also turned in the fishing knife the man had left behind.
“Well, that sounds like that old hermit we have seen around from time to time,” the policeman told her, reading the report. “You definitely hit him with the pitchfork?”
She confirmed that she had, not proud of it but glad she hadn’t had to shoot the old geezer. The many cans of vegetables he had attempted to steal were back in their basement, so he knew the layout of their cabin quite well. It was obvious he wouldn’t have been detected had she not seen him go inside. They may not have realized how much he had taken and or noticed the gun missing for a while.
“Do you and Mrs. Whiting know how to use and fire your guns?” she was asked.
“Yes, my husband taught me, and we’ve both practiced.”
“How about the children?”
“We don’t allow them to touch the guns. They are far too young,” she said, sounding like a concerned mother. One thing she hadn’t anticipated was the news of the attack getting around town. Of course, it was exaggerated with every telling until it was well-known that the two crazy women who owned Whimsical Island were gun-toting women, who would shoot trespassers on sight.
He promised to let her know if they learned anything. They sent the report to the state police, but they weren’t hopeful of catching the man.
* * * * *
Barbara tried to put the incident behind her when the police promised to investigate but trying to find the old codger would prove difficult. No one knew where he lived or what he did. Sightings of him were rare, and it was assumed he lived off the land. She knew he stole to keep alive and had probably been stocking up for winter when she caught him red-handed. He had probably seen their basement stores as a bonanza. She now wondered if she should have just let him take the stuff, but when she looked at her own son and her partner’s children, she knew how close they themselves had come to starving the previous winter and decided confronting him was the only option.
They decided to pull the Runabout from the water in order to clean the bottom of the boat and then leave it out for a few weeks as winter had begun to shut down all travel. Using the block and tackle, they pulled the Runabout up on the wood ramp they had built for it, lifting it high enough that they could clean off anything that had stuck to the bottom. It was backbreaking work, requiring the block and tackle they had used on the trees, and they couldn’t go into town while the boat was out of the water. That was okay because some very bad storms came in, hindering work on the boat and keeping them indoors except to check on and feed the poultry and sheep.
“Here is some more wood,” Marion said as she brought in another pile. Even if the wood box was full, they brought wood in each trip, not knowing if or when they would be outside again. She smiled at Barbara, who looked up from the table. The children were listening to a radio broadcast. Brenda was coloring as she hummed along to the catchy songs, and the boys were debating who was more powerful, Superman or the Lone Ranger, while they waited for another serial story to come through on the shaky reception of the radio. With the antennae they had installed in one of the trees, the reception had improved but could still be static filled somedays, especially with the ongoing storms. “What are you working on?” she asked, seeing Barbara writing slowly and surely, in her neatest penmanship. A typewriter was on the list of things they wanted, and Barbara didn’t know it yet, but Marion had picked one up at a used furniture store for Christmas.
“I’m writing the Brownies and the Girl Scouts here in Maine,” she answered.
“Whatever for?” She glanced at Brenda, but she was absorbed in her coloring and humming.
“They have a bunch of groups in Southern Maine but very few up north here, and I’m inviting them to come and use our island as a camp destination for the girls. I was thinking about the school outing and overnighters. It might be fun, and we can give them a good rate. The idea of being on an island might just appeal to them.”
“What about the Boy Scouts?”
“I already wrote them, and I sent letters to the Cub Scouts too,” she said with a smile, tapping the small and growing pile of envelopes she was accumulating for the next time they went to town. It included advertisements they were sending out along with payment for the various magazines and newspapers they had used in the past. They were sending ads to some new ones they had found and were willing to give a try. Some even had photographs they had taken showing off the island.
Marion loved that Barbara handled that side of things for them. She would rather work with her hands than think up the ads. She knew she couldn’t always do the heavy lifting with her petite stature and relied on the block and tackle as well as her sturdy girlfriend for that. Still, she loved working with wood she had found and was looking forward to finding out if she could knit or crochet this winter.
They didn’t get out until well after the new year. The weather was horrible. Each time they thought perhaps they could get the boat in the water, the weather came down and socked them in with more snow, sleet, or rain that froze and caused a dangerous situation. It was a good thing they had plenty of food for themselves, the children, and their animals. They couldn’t go very far. Even hiking in the woods was dangerous. They couldn’t afford broken arms or legs, and the children were restless to go sledding or at least explore their wintery wonderland.
On a rare day when the barometer reading was favorable, they packed up their many letters in a waterproof sack, put the boat back in the water, and fired it up to let it warm up as they readied it for sea travel. They headed across the channel, avoiding their neighboring islands as they counted them, the children shouting out the names in a game they had invented.
Their post was horrendous, the amount they were sending out not nearly as deep as the mail coming in. In fact, it overflowed their box with all the letters, mailers, magazines, and newspapers they had accumulated. They dropped the children off for a rare day at school in order that they could attend to their many delayed errands. There were inquiries for several reservations next summer, and Barbara had thought ahead, bringing stationary, envelopes, and stamps to reply right away as they sat in the town diner and caught up.
“Mrs. Jenkins?” a voice asked as Barbara finished up on their return letters. She looked up to see a state police officer standing there, his hands on his belt and looking all official in his mountie hat.
“Yes, officer. What can I do for you?” she asked, her heart suddenly beating a mile a minute.
“May I join you two ladies?” he asked, gesturing to a chair they weren’t using.
“Certainly,” she said, pushing the chair across from her out with her booted foot. She finished signing the letter, folded it in three, and put it in the envelope printed with their tree and return address. She had already addressed the envelope and glued it shut on her letter, placing it on the small pile of letters they had written.
Marion looked up curiously. She had been reading a few letters from her in-laws, who had been amazingly cordial since the court case last fall. She wondered why the man had sought Barbara out, correctly suspecting it was about the report she had filed.
“This is my partner, Marion Whiting,” Barbara said, introducing Marion politely. “And your name is...?”
“I’m Officer Blakemore, ma’am,” he said, saluting her with a finger to his hat as he removed it and sat down.
“Officer Blakemore,” they both said respectfully, showing their manners.
“I’m sure you are aware that your report was passed on to the state police?”
“They mentioned they would be doing that. Have you heard anything?” she asked, obviously concerned.
“I’ve been wanting to clarify a few things with you. You haven’t been to Franklin in weeks,” he sounded aggrieved.
“Yes, it wasn’t safe for us to leave the island,” she responded, and then, at his look, she explained, “The weather wasn’t conducive to us being off island.”
He looked relieved. For a moment, he had thought she meant the man had come back. He explained the finer points he wanted her to clarify, like how close she had been when she ordered the man to get off the island, when he pulled the gun, when she threw the pitchfork, and things like that.
“No offence, officer, but why are these things important?”
“It helps us determine the veracity of your report and makes sure it was self-defense.”
“You are doubting my word?” she asked, offended.
“Ma’am, this is far-fetched, and while I don’t personally doubt your story, there are some real odd characters living in the woods, so we have to have these reports in case anything else happens. Hopefully not,” he added when he saw her expression. “But by having a second report and hearing you give the finer details; it shows consistency and lends credence to the report.”
She nodded, surprised at how articulate the man was. He asked a few more questions, writing quickly, then told her they would be in touch if they heard anything. In the meantime, she was to report the man again if anything else happened. She promised she would.
“I don’t think they are going to find him. Do you?” she asked Marion as they cleaned up their table. They had ordered a large lunch and took their time eating as they went through their paperwork. They also left a good tip for the waitress, who had kept their coffee cups filled as they worked.
“I doubt it. I only hope you scared him off, and we don’t see him ever again.”
They gathered the children and headed home in the darkening skies. It got dark very early this time of year, so they hurried to get home. Both women were thinking about the possibility of someone being on the island in their absence. Each knew that Barbara now carried a gun in her pocket, and they were thinking they should get another smaller gun for Marion. They just didn’t want to spend money needlessly. The dogs didn’t act out of the ordinary and seemed happy to greet their family back to island. They gathered the sheep in. They had left them to graze and dig beneath the snows for food where they could find it. Marion fed the chickens and the guineas, gathering any eggs they had missed that morning or that had been laid during their time away that day. Barbara went inside to start their dinner.
The rest of their winter was spent pretty much in the cabin as winter continued to worsen. Going off island was not an option as the barometer read ‘stormy’ most of the time. They didn’t even chance the occasional off-island day until March when cabin fever set in and they needed to get away from each other. Marion walked into town, and Barbara took the children by truck to school and then went on to the library to return long overdue books, pay the fines, and check out some more books. They spent the day away from each other but managed to meet up in time to pick up the children from school early. They headed out on the boat, barely speaking to each other but better for having spent the day doing things without each other, which gave each a chance to miss the other.
“Do you think the island is coming between us?” Marion worried as winter lingered on, far into the spring.
“I think we need to do more things separately, so we aren’t always underfoot of the other. It isn’t safe to hike around the island, but I’m going to try and stomp out a trail to each of the cabins and inspect them,” she told her.
“Can I come?” three voices asked as they all eagerly anticipated the outing. Marion admitted she wanted to go too, and although the idea was to get away from each other, she ended up following and helping to stomp out the trails as they checked on the cabins.
The second cabin showed signs of damage where the winds had torn off several shingles and allowed rain and snow to drip into the cabin. They fixed what they could, but they would have to wait until the snow melted in order to affect more repairs.
It was so laborious stomping down the trails to the cabins that they only got to the third one before they headed wearily back to the cabin. When they arrived, they found a state policeman sitting on their porch shivering in the cold. Officer Blakemore did not look pleased to have been kept waiting all this time.
“We’ll have you warm in a jiffy,” Barbara promised him as they all stomped across the porch, removed their boots in the screened porch, and went inside the warm cabin. “You should have gone in,” she reproached the officer, wondering that he hadn’t shouted out, or maybe he had, and they hadn’t heard him. The dogs had followed along, having fun galloping in the woods where snow wasn’t as deep, then jumping in the deeper areas.
Marion went to get the policeman a blanket to wrap around himself despite the warmth of the cabin, and Barbara pushed the coffee pot onto the stove burner, stoking the fire to get it hot. She then put a second pot on with water to make hot cocoa for anyone who wanted it. She knew the children would jump at the sugary concoction, and perhaps the officer could use something sweet.
As they were sitting there with their warm mixtures, the officer caught the eye of the two women and glanced at the children several times, using his chin to indicate he wanted them out of the room. The small cabin wasn’t known for its privacy, but after the children had downed their hot chocolate, Marion spoke to them. “Would you children please go to your rooms for a while. We have to talk business with Officer Blakemore.” She saw them hesitate for a moment; visitors were so rare this time of year but a stern look from both mothers finally had them leaving. Once the bedroom doors closed, the officer began to speak.
“I’m sorry. There was no way to send word that I wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t know when you would be back in town. Do you know a Dennis Hauserman?”
They both exchanged a look and shrugged, shaking their heads as they returned their looks to the officer inquiringly.
“We believe he was the old codger you stuck with the pitchfork. He was found in an old hunting cabin in the woods up north, and he was dead.”
Barbara sat there, stunned. She had caused the death of a man. Was she about to be arrested? She waited to hear what he had to say. It was hard to hear; her heart was beating so loud that her ears felt like it was pounding right behind them.
“Two hunters on skis found the cabin with the man inside. He’d been dead a while, but we think he made his way there from here. We aren’t sure where his rowboat is, but there was one reported missing north of Franklin by a fisherman.”
“What happens now?” Marion inquired.
“We aren’t going to charge you with anything,” he addressed Barbara, watching her closely. “We believe you acted in self-defense when you used the pitchfork. I would like to come back in the spring when the snow has melted, so you can run through the scene for me, and I can finish my report.”
“Of course,” she said shakily. She had killed a man! At the very least, she had contributed to his premature death.
“Were they able to determine if he died from his injuries or old age or something else?” Marion asked, clearly recovering from the shock of this news more quickly than Barbara.
“We don’t know yet, but he did have puncture marks in his legs, which are consistent with the pitchfork prongs you mentioned. They were healed.” He was still directing his remarks to Barbara, watching to see if she reacted. He could see she was clearly in shock, which was natural. He asked a few more questions, finished a second cup of hot chocolate, and got up to go. He was clearly anxious to get back to Franklin before it got too dark. He hadn’t liked waiting for hours, but after Marion explained they had hiked to the various cabins on their properties, he understood. There were spots where the snow was quite deep. In fact, it looked like it was going to snow again, and he was concerned about getting back across the channel.
“How are you feeling?” Marion asked Barbara as they prepared for bed that night. The children had barraged them with questions, but the adults told them nothing. They didn’t want them frightened about someone being on the island, and they certainly didn’t want them to know that Barbara had struck the man with a pitchfork.
“Very uneasy. I didn’t think when I threw that pitchfork. I just knew he was going to hurt Feathers and who knows what he would have done to me. I’ve thought of what you and the children would have come back to if he had succeeded, and it upsets me,” Barbara told her, her eyes looking at her girlfriend beseechingly as she explained.
Marion took her girlfriend in her arms, comforting the other woman. For all her bravado, size, and intimidating appearance, sometimes, she was just a big softie. Marion loved her unconditionally. She was her partner in every sense of the word. If making love to her would have comforted her, she would have used her body shamelessly, but she sensed Barbara needed to be held, not made love to, and she crooned softly to her as she relaxed and went to sleep. Marion wasn’t so quick to fall asleep. Rumors and speculation could really ruin their reputations, and they were still trying to get this business off the ground. Last year had been good, but they were counting on the reservations from this year to really get them on their feet. They didn’t need a scandal to destroy what they had built.