Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [98]
“I’m going outside again,” she said, her excitement mounting.
The houses drifted by, one by one. Some, looking gloomy and dilapidated, leaned heavily to one side, while others stood erect, refusing to succumb to wind and weather, steadfastly retaining a quiet dignity. She was thinking about him, fifty years ago coming through the same way. He probably stood aboard a ferry boat scanning the shoreline as she did now, a small package tucked away carefully in his jacket pocket, a gift to deliver from a soldier husband. Now, that was something she could admire, she admitted with a certain degree of pleasure: to come such a long way in order to follow through on a promise. That was admirable.
A tap at the window made her turn. Pat was pointing to the left. He poked his head around the door. “There she is.”
She could barely hear him above the noise of the engine. She followed his pointing finger to a simple square two-story house with peeling white clapboard. “The white one?” she mouthed, pointing, looking to Pat for confirmation.
He nodded.
She stared at the house passing in front of her eyes. The green trim on the windows and about the door was still visible. It looked solid and neat. Emotion welled up inside of her. She shut her eyes, momentarily unsure what she was feeling. This was it, the home where Peg and her grandfather had lived, the place Peg had finally abandoned out of sheer necessity. She turned eagerly to Pat in the wheel-house. He winked, jerking his head slightly. When she looked again the house had slipped past.
The throttle on the engine shifted and the boat slowed down. They were coming alongside of what was left of a wharf.
Nora watched him leap ashore and tie up.
“Mind your step.” He grabbed her hand as she stepped off the boat. “You’ll be okay while I’m gone?” He searched her face. “I’ll be by again in a couple of hours.” Without waiting for an answer he continued, “You can walk all the way round either way, to the point or up and over the top.” His arm swept about the cove.
“Where’s the gulch?”
An inquiring look crossed his eyes and he hesitated just a moment before answering. “Just keep on goin’ away from the cemetery across the cliff. You can’t miss it. Be careful. It’s a rough spot.”
“Great.”
“Here’s a lunch Bride made for you, case you gets hungry. The restaurant here’s closed down!” He grinned and passed her a paper bag.
“Thanks, Pat.” She reached over and took the bag. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She checked her watch. “I’ll be watching for you.”
He stepped back on board, surefooted and confident, gave her a wave and was off, swinging out in a wide arc and heading for the open sea. The steady throb of the engine carried across the water. She followed the boat’s progress until it was no more than a speck and was gone. She was alone. In the sudden quiet she could hear the water lapping on the pylons below her feet. She looked down and with a start she realized that she was standing on a rotting platform of broken boards and gaping holes. She jumped down onto the stony beach and picked her way carefully up a grassy slope where she decided to sit for a while, maybe get a feel for the place before taking the path out along the arm.
She spread Pat’s jacket on the grass and unpacked the lunch he had given her. The sight of food made her realize that she was starving and she tucked into the meat sandwich with gusto. She drew her knees