After running away from the orphanage she's been living in for the majority of her life, Penelope hops on a barge heading to... where? Initially excited about the prospect of a remote island to live, the island's bizarre inhabitants make her question her decision to come at all. However, while she battles demons from her past, the island is working it's magic on her in more ways than she knows...
Salty sea spray misted everything. The air tasted of salt and fish and the clothes of everyone on board the large barge were soaked through, salt crusting their cheeks and any other pieces of exposed flesh. Men scurried about the wooden deck, pulling on the ropes leading to the sails and running messages. They were like an ant colony, each person playing their part in a sort of organized chaos that somehow kept the barge running smoothly.
Everyone, that is, but one: the barge's sole passenger- Penelope Birch.
Really, she was part of the cargo, but no one ever said it. She was given the closest thing to five-star treatment the barge could offer, which included a small, cramped room for her to sleep and a lone cot. A small window let light in when it was day, but it was too hot to stay down there when she didn't have to be, so Penelope often found herself wandering the barge's deck aimlessly, hoping someone had a spare moment to talk.
Hardly anyone ever did. And, as a passenger, the captain refused to let her help in any way at all. While it was meant to be a reward, Penelope found it to be cumbersome. All she had to do was stand around all day and watch everyone else work and laugh together.
The only good times were mealtimes, even though the food wasn't the least bit satisfying. Everything was served slightly soggy and tasting strongly of fish and salt. No, mealtimes were wonderful because it gave her a chance to talk to another human being for longer than thirty seconds. The barge's captain, a stern-faced woman with crinkly blue eyes, ate her meals with Penelope. Although the barge's rightful captain, she insisted the crew call her "Mother". And that included Penelope.
Mother was perhaps the busiest person of all aboard the barge. She never ran, only walked quickly and definitely with an air of grace and power about her. Her salt-and-pepper hair was loose down her back, not restrained by anything. It blew about in the salty sea-breeze, and anyone who happened to be in her way quickly scurried away.
Penelope hardly ever saw Mother, except, of course, for meals.
And so it came to be that she took to writing her diary, logging the events of the long and boring trip. She didn't know where the barge was going, and she didn't have a compass or map to track the barge's progress. Mother wouldn't say, either. For that reason, she simply labeled the top of the pages, "At Sea".
Unfortunately, the bumping and rocking of the barge made it hard to write, and that was assuming the sea spray was calm. Her little cabin was far too stuffy to stand, and so Penelope wrote before she fell asleep at night.
This meant that she was forced to find other things to do during the day, and that wasn't always easy. Mostly, she just wandered about the barge, exploring the many storage rooms and reading the labels on the boxes. When it stormed, she went below deck and threw chunks of wood at a crudely drawn target on the far wall of one of the large storage rooms. Wind and fresh air could still reach the stuffy, overheated room, and it allowed Penelope to stay slightly damp instead of soaking wet.
Her favorite thing to do was watch the ocean. Every now and then, a colorful school of fish could be seen swimming by, or a pod of dolphins would be leaping in the waves. She made pictures and stories from the clouds in the sky, distracting herself from her slight seasickness.
Penelope's port had been the last on the barge's supply run. From what she'd gathered from Mother, the barge was making a routine gathering of supplies for a remote island. Penelope fantasized over what she imagined to be a beautiful, wonderful, tropical island with white sand and shady palm trees. A shallow pool for relaxing, deeper waters for swimming, and more tropical fruits than you could find words to describe them. By Penelope's reckoning, it was paradise. Her own cabin, maybe, with a hammock strung between trees, the cool sea-breeze blowing her blonde hair gently while she snoozed.
It was more than she had dared to hope for. Penelope hadn't had a plan when she'd used what little money she had to buy her passage on the barge, only escape. Escape from her past, escape from her present. She'd run away from the orphanage she lived in, frustrated and at her breaking point. Rumors about a foreign ship coming to the harbor dared her to see for herself. A week of planning had lead to this: a one-way trip with the promise of safety and a new life.
Penelope's entire life was stung up on her back in knapsack she carried with her. She couldn't bear to leave any of it behind, not even in her private "broom closet". Inside was a huge notebook with faded, yellowing pages, three pens, dried meat, fruit, and crackers, her stuffed dog, blanket, and a photo album with only seven pictures in it. The remains of the fire that had destroyed more than just her home.
She couldn't remember most of what had happened, just the sheer terror of the whole situation. Flames. Black, choking smoke everywhere. Her mother and father yelling at her to jump from the window, she would be okay. Screams of neighbors as they called nine-one-one. The crushing reality of loneliness, her parents both killed. She only had a few pictures of them in the old, cruddy album. On their wedding day, the day she was born, various places they'd gone together that she couldn't even remember. Stuff like that. They were smiling in every single one.
After the fire, none of her relatives who were still alive could, or would, adopt her. Put in foster care, she only remembered the painful shuffling around before she was finally dumped at the orphanage. It was a miracle she hadn't lost her bag with her few keepsakes.
Touching her necklace, Penelope watched the setting sun over the water, the waves splashed with oranges, purples, reds, and yellows of every kind. The first star twinkled high overhead, winking at Penelope down below. Shivering, she hugged her warm jacket closer, although it was already soaked and useless against the bitter cold of the night air.
Turning around, Penelope wandered into Mother's quarters. The small, wooden table was already set up. Pulling up a rickety chair, Penelope sat down, knapsack clutched tightly on her lap. Her tangled blonde hair dripped salty water onto the wooden floor below. Just when she was beginning to wonder if she ought to run back to her own cabin and try to freshen up a bit, Mother strode in.
Powerful and graceful all at once, Mother was a force to be reckoned with. Long salt-and-pepper hair that must have once been a rich brown cascaded down her back. Stormy gray eyes were poised to laugh at anything, her face crinkling up pleasantly when she did so. Her face darkened by the sun, Mother gave Penelope a wide grin.
"Good evening, dear!" she called, striding over to the table.
"Good evening, Mother," Penelope responded quickly, giving Mother a smile.
"Why, did you see the sky today? Simply gorgeous! A wonderful way to end a wonderful voyage!" She laughed heartily, turning her gaze to Cook as he pushed the door open and walked in quickly, arms laden with food.
"Aye, Mother, a wonderful day it was!" Cook said, a rare smile lifting his face. "I am glad this journey is at its. I can hardly wait to get my feet back on land!" He plopped steaming plates in front of Penelope and Mother, blue eyes narrowed. "I'm tired of the sea."
Mother laughed. "Cook, you always know just how to brighten my day! Tired of the sea, what a laugh!"
It was a well known fact that Cook, whose real name was Harrison, suffered terribly from seasickness. Although gruff, he was kind to Penelope and the hungry crew that he fed, but his real passion lied with opening a restaurant on land somewhere.
"Hmph," Cook said, walking briskly from the room. The door shut loudly behind him.
"Mother," Penelope began, brow furrowed in worry, "what did you and Cook mean when you said that the voyage was ending?"
"Hmm?" Mother glanced up from her dinner, stuffed crab and hot soup, turning the full force of her gray eyes on Penelope. "Why, didn't you know, Penelope, dear, that tomorrow we land at our final destination? It's where we're dropping off our supplies and you're staying."
Penelope's stomach dropped. No longer hungry, she pushed her plate away. "W-what?"
"Tomorrow we reach the secret island!"
The island? Already? Although Penelope had dreamed about getting off at the beautiful, remote island, she wasn't ready to leave Mother and her hearty crew aboard the barge. "Can't we just stay out here?"
Mother laughed. "As much as I love the sea, and believe me, I do, no; we simply must get these supplies to the island." Putting a forkful of crab in her mouth, she chewed rapidly before swallowing. "Besides, aren't you excited?"
Penelope played with her own crab, not hungry in the slightest. After a few minutes, she sighed heavily. "May I be excused?" she asked. "I'm not feeling so good."
Mother gave her a look that said she already knew exactly what was wrong, but nodded her head once to show her agreement. Penelope stood, walking quickly towards the door.
"Penelope," Mother began, stopping Penelope in her tracks. "It'll be alright, dear. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Penelope left the room, running across the slippery deck to her own stuffy cabin. Tears flowed from her face, and she wiped them away impatiently. It just wasn't fair! Anywhere she was happy, she was sent away from. Why doesn't she like me anymore? she screamed in her mind, curling up on her cot, knapsack clutched to her heart.
"I want to stay," she whispered out loud, sniffing. "Please, let me stay."