"Good night Captain," Carolyn smiled as he stood, and with a courtly bow faded from her sight. As usual, the two of them had spent an amiable evening together in the parlor after the others had turned in for the night. Tracing the image of the sailing ship on the piece of scrimshaw in her hand, she recalled with pleasure the long, engaging story about how the young seaman bartered for nearly two hours to settle on the one-dollar purchase price. 'No wonder inflation is so elusive for him,' she grinned to herself, 'it seems there isn't anything he ever purchased that was at the listed price in his whole lifetime.'
Gently placing the carving on its stand, Carolyn slowly circled the room, turning off lights and making sure the windows were tightly closed for the night. Looking up at the portrait, she allowed herself a regretful sigh. "If he were alive, we'd be doing this together, closing up our house for the night, walking upstairs together, going to bed toget. . ." she paused and rolled her eyes in frustration. "Wishing for it doesn't make it real, and it's harder each day to tell what truly is real. If alive isn't the boundary of real, what is?"
After checking the kitchen, she turned off the lights and made her way upstairs. Perhaps these never-ending questions in her mind were why she still had not mentioned her recent conversation with Ollie Wilkins, and her plans for tomorrow to the Captain.
After they had resolved the parasol/scrimshaw issue, she had finally gone into town to run her errands. Ollie was better than the party line operator if you wanted to know what was really happening in Schooner Bay, and she was intrigued to hear that afternoon how the eldest Findlay son, just graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism, had returned home to take over the Beacon from his father. It was clear, if Ollie's facts were right, that Mark didn't have any paid professional experience and was taking over the reins at the local paper more as a birthright rather than due to any real world qualifications.
"Seems you might be of some help there, Mrs. Muir, if you were of a mind to be," Ollie murmured as he boxed up her order. "For certain, you'll be knowing more about the going on's here in Schooner Bay than that young whelp, given how long he's been gone from home." Loading her box of groceries in the new car, she closed the door, and headed down to the wharf area, toward the Beacon's office. One of her earliest jobs had been in a society newspaper, and she had to admit she had enjoyed both the never-ending bustle and being in the midst of all the activity. Smiling to herself, she also recalled the fun of the attention she received from the largely male staff. 'I'd be good for me, my bank balance and even my emotional piece of mind,' she thought. 'If he were alive it would be an entirely different world, especially after that declaration,' she paused recalling his words to her when he presented his gift to her that afternoon. Shaking her head, she gave her foot a determined stamp. "Enough!" she said aloud.
She reached out and grabbing the handle firmly, the Beacon office flew open. Based on Ollie's description, she'd bet that dark haired young man had to be the new 'publisher'. Putting on her most winning smile, she stepped up to the desk. "Are you Mark Finley? I'm Carolyn Muir, and I think we might be able to help one another, do you have a moment?"
Ten minutes later, with a more confident step, and a clearly satisfied smile she opened the office door. Turning back toward the interior she waved goodbye, and called out, "Thanks so much. I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow. 9am!" Her pace slowed as she reached the car, 'It feels good to do something just for myself, to be part of the outside world, and yet . . .' Settling behind the wheel and turning the key, she laughed a bit at herself, "There's no guarantee he'll even offer me a job. So no use guessing what the Captain would say IF it happens, much less wondering how that might change things between the two of us. Plenty of time to figure it out later."
By the next morning, Carolyn had still not mentioned her plans to anyone. She knew arriving at the breakfast table in her best suit was going to raise questions. Pausing in the entryway, she heard Martha grumbling, "Now showing off won't get you your breakfast any sooner." 'Hope she's talking to Scruffy, and not the kids," Carolyn thought, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the kitchen.