Thank you to everyone who has been so kind about this new endeavour.
I can assure you my other endeavour is not forgotten!
Chapter Two
'Time's wheel runs back'
When the azure sea met the undaunted blue of the sky and the earth looked as a mirror of itself, he finally took a deep breath and realised, at last, he was heading home.
He stood on the very top deck of the car ferry, where the gusts blasted his dark curls and he needed both strong hands to grip the railing, lest he be pitched forward into the foaming water. No matter what his method of arrival, there was something about traversing sea to reach an island that seemed to call to him; of a passageway between two worlds; of the moments suspended as one entity is left behind for the other. He could feel the yoke of study and expectation – of the heavy weight of the past year, and the anticipation of new burdens to come – fall from his broad shoulders as their craft churned through the water and its cargo of holidaymakers would soon enough be deposited on the other side, swept into the eager embrace of shopkeepers, restauranteurs and the staff managing assorted seasonal attractions.
Few ventured outside to enjoy the crossing as he did, but a deck below two women made the brave attempt, hauling themselves along the railing as they swayed drunkenly, their giggles and shouts caught on the air currents and whisked upwards and away, as if balloons accidentally relinquished by a surprised child. The tall brunette - old enough to be the mother of her companion but young enough to still enjoy the foolhardiness of their ill advised escapade – pointed out something in the distance, smile widely delighting in everything around her. The younger woman turned too quickly in her eagerness, and that was her fatal error – the sunhat she clutched with one hand clamped upon her head caught a whiff of the wind and sailed off and up, an unlikely hovercraft, dipping against the horizon before plummeting with some verve towards the waiting depths.
The loss of the hat had released a remarkable flame of red hair, which whipped around in all directions, blinding its owner and rendering her slight form immobile as she clutched at it helplessly, and then the two women were clawing their way back to the security, comfort – and windless protection – of the indoor seats.
He turned back with a smile to the other view, of the approaching landform, his pulse quickening at the thought of the coastal road leading to the jewelled harbour; of climbing up and away from the water to the town he loved and didn't realise how much he had missed. Last year they had both been in a fog of grief and denial, a mist swirling around them like those that crept stealthily to shroud the boats bobbing in the harbour in the early mornings. He had worked and his father had worked and they tried not to contemplate their sorrow, side by side and yet unable to breach the distance between them; the yawning gulf of unspoken anguish. But another year had passed. It was two years now. Perhaps, instead of burying themselves to ward off the pain they had to embrace it and try to move on; they had to open the wound and examine it, let the air get to it, lest it fester and rot.
He would try everything to haul his father back into life. He would try to resuscitate them both. Perhaps even fishing, perish the thought.
The ferry cosied up to the wharf, and docked, and he watched the passengers, so lethargically rested on the way over, now caught in their impatient frenzy to disembark. His sunglasses shaded his hazel eyes but the glare was still bright enough for him to put his arm up to block it as he watched them with bemusement. It was the same every single time. Tourists. He gave an exasperated eyeroll.
He took the stairs quickly now, knowing he had better get down to his waiting car.
As the steady stream of vehicles rolled their way off the ferry and stalled in the traffic snarl he noted the assorted foot passengers and the odd cyclist as they made their laborious trek up towards the Visitor Information Centre and the conveniently located gift shop. He was almost parallel with a particular brunette and titian pair as they strode purposefully, their overstuffed suitcases (and the brunette's heels) making their progress comically torturous. The brunette was brandishing a map which she unfolded with one hand as she walked, and of course it was not to be their day; the greedy breeze caught it to add to the hat as its additional prize. The redhead lunged, laughing, and his own chuckle escaped him without hardly knowing. She snaffled it nimbly, but the action had caused her to leap close to the curb, and she turned a half circle in triumph, taking in his lingering grin as he briefly met her eyes through the window.
A flash of grey-green lit by the sun; and then the break in the traffic, and he was driving away.
They had meandered along the beautiful coastal road from the ferry terminus at Wood Island and then to Summerside, a journey of two hours that took closer to three, accounting for photo stops and the occasional slow moving tractor. That evening found them in the surreal splendour of a well appointed harbourside motel, surveying the magical sweep of the harbour thrumming with people, music, life. They sat reclined on generous cushioned chairs on the balcony, looking out to the ocean, the breeze still at a resolute strength but their pinned hair was a match for any further attempts to dishevel them.
"I could get used to this," Anne remarked with a grin, contemplating her third fruity mocktail. "Excellent idea, Mom. Who needs Waikiki?"
"Who indeed?" her mother grinned in return, noting how the rosy blush of contentment made those grey eyes sparkle in a way she had not observed in quite a while. "I do believe you look as rested as I have ever seen you, Miss Ford."
The light giggle in reply darkened to indulgence. "Isn't that what I'm meant to say to you, Mom? That you've looked stressed out and are finally beginning to chill?"
"Perhaps…"
"Only you never look stressed out… why is that?"
"Only one stress magnet per household. That mantle is yours, my lovely."
"You mean… the mantle handed down from Dad?" Anne ventured.
Her mother took a steadying sip of wine, closing down the enquiry with an arch of her brow. "Drink your mocktail, Miss Ford."
Anne surveyed the disconcertingly beautiful woman who happened to be her mother over the rim of her glass. A waiter came to assure them that their light meal would be ready shortly and to thank them for their patience in this first busy week of summer, and could he offer another additional drink each with the compliments of the Management? That sort of thing happened to her mother all the time. Men who hadn't opened a door in their lives rushed to oblige; strangers offered their immediate assistance when their car wouldn't start; grocers and butchers were always including a little something extra. Luckily it bemused Anne more than it chagrined her, mostly due to the fact that she was held in the same thrall of slavish adoration herself; a feeling that she most certainly had not had anyone experience with regard to her own person.
"Did Dad bring you here?" Anne asked after a moment.
Her mother's smile was wistful. "Not to Summerside. We flew into Charlottetown a couple of times, and had a long weekend there, as I recall, before you were born. Any occasion that did bring us to the Island meant going to Glen St Mary, which is a lovely place, quieter and quainter than here, with a frightening array of aunts and uncles and second cousins once removed… so much so that you practically fall over them. I think he found that all a little daunting as he got older. And he loved Toronto; that was the true home for him. That's where all the Fords were born… where he was born and you were born and where we met… the Glen and PEI were only places he visited in summer." Her smile grew knowing. "And then he discovered the Seychelles instead, and so from then on he much preferred his islands to be a little more exotic."
Anne's smile was warm. "I can't blame him for that." She grew contemplative, and fiddled with the straw of her mocktail, certain that she wouldn't be able to manage their meal when it did come.
"Would you have stayed in Toronto, Mom? If not for Dad? You weren't from there, yourself. You gave up so much… your career and fame and fortune…. Well, I guess Dad brought the fortune…"
"Cheeky."
"Do you think you were meant to meet him? To be with him?" She paused, balanced on the precipice. "Despite everything?"
Perhaps the liquid sugar she had consumed had unduly loosened her tongue, which she wondered now if she should swallow so as to not wholeheartedly blunder about and ruin this perfect day. Her mother sat down her glass with a slow, elegant hand. Her movements still betrayed the rhythm of her dance and drama training; a kinesthetic knowledge she carried with her.
"Are you going to quote your Shakespeare at me, love?" those blue-grey eyes regarded her carefully. "What is the line? Of stars and destiny…?"
"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves." Anne murmured, cheeks warming. "But that's wrong – the real Julius Caesar quote is not quite as pretty. I sort of… I've sort of been thinking more about The Tempest, which we did in Literature… um… "what's past is prologue." **
"What's past is prologue…" her mother echoed. "That's rather a heavy thought, there."
"I guess so."
"Darling… the past doesn't always have to dictate your future, you know."
Anne blinked back sudden tears. "I know…"
"Your Dad…" she paused to contemplate the words, "your Dad was… well… I knew what your Dad was... It didn't change things for me. Maybe it should have… But I made a conscious choice, darling. To be with him… to stay. To say yes. I don't know if it was destiny that I meet him – though he was the writer of the play I was in, as you well know, so the odds were certainly in our favour…"
Anne sparked a little at this. "The Life Book he adapted? I always thought that maybe he considered you were his Margaret, and not just that you played her."
"He had an awful lot of Lost Margarets, sweetheart," her mother's wry tone masked the pain held within it. She frowned and looked back out to the ocean. "It was still my free will that wanted him… even knowing the tortured genius he was… and before you ask… I would do it all again, despite everything. Because we had you. If I had a destiny at all it was to be your mother."
She had claimed such things before, but the sentiment still made her want to cry. Anne unfurled herself and crossed over to lay her lithe limbs alongside her mother's, half in her lap, as of old, her head on her shoulder. She felt the kiss in her hair, and swallowed away the ache inside her, as she turned herself to view the harbour, with its beauty and its promise.
Anne wished that she and her mother could have come to this Island with her father as tour guide, and not as a ghost. Her head was already crowded enough with them already.
He sat companionably with his father on the wide, generous veranda, as the day faded before them, and the shadows stretched themselves out towards the twinkling lights of Four Winds harbour below.
"So good to have you here, son," his father nodded.
"Good to be here, Dad," he smiled gently, and took a sip of his beer.
"Can't believe those results of yours. First in your year in three subjects. Science faculty honours program. She… I … we're all very proud of you. You certainly don't get any of it from me."
He gave a grin at that. "Thanks, Dad… and yeah, I think the Blythe family ambition completely bypassed you," he joked. "You're wasting your time with this local law practice of yours that only won that huge compensation claim for the Reeces back a month ago."
His father chuckled ruefully. "All right. I'll take that. But really, son. Are you sure? Med School and then specialisations after that? You'll work yourself into the ground."
"Well, I need to get in to Med School first. Redmond might be select and a bit exclusive but it's still a small pond compared to a lot of the others. And I won't know anything till after the entrance exam. If I get in anywhere I'll take it, of course; if not I'll do an honours year and then… well, we'll see." His brow darkened.
In truth he didn't want to see. Thinking of a Plan B seemed an inherent betrayal of his own hopes. But he knew he had to be practical about it.
"When's the exam?"
"The MCAT's ** in August. Five weeks." He sighed at the thought.
"Have a holiday too, son. You deserve it. We didn't… we didn't exactly have a holiday last year…"
His father's voice wavered dangerously. He waited for it to slide off over the edge, but it teetered and held. He swallowed in relief as his father took a restorative gulp of his own beer.
"Well, a holiday would be fine with me," he offered. "Sun… surf… fishing."
A throaty laugh burst out. "You don't go dangling that fishing idea at me. I know I'll never lure you!"
"Seriously, Dad, the terrible metaphors! You need a holiday more than I do."
"Maybe." Their laughter quietly ebbed away. "So… all work and no play, son… What happened to that pretty companion of yours back at Easter?"
"Dad…" he groaned in protest.
"You've got to give me something to go on. The family will be at me to know the latest. And I myself am living vicariously through you at any rate."
"Dad, there's about three divorcees, one widow and a dozen ladies of indeterminate age just down the road who can't wait for you to wink encouragingly at them."
"That's called misdirection, son."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, Gillian and me… maybe Destiny wasn't on our side."
"You don't believe in Destiny."
"No…" another sigh, and then a thoughtful pause. "Was it Destiny for you and Ma?"
There was a quiet snort. "If by Destiny you mean Michael Meredith paying me to take his sister to the school dance so that he could concentrate his efforts on one of the Crawford girls then yes, by all means, it was practically fated."
The answering smile was smug. "Your Taming of the Shrew story hasn't held water for years, Dad. Everyone knows you threw the money back in Uncle Mike's face."
"I actually pocketed the money proudly, I'll have you know."
"Or maybe…. you bought Ma a corsage with it instead." His darting hazel eyed look was sly.
His father viewed him with sharp surprise. "He told you that?"
"Ma did."
"Wishful thinking…" the reply was waved off with a soft, pleased smile.
"Face it, Dad. You were in love with her even when you were both fifteen."
There was a pause, trembling on the air, and he thought he'd gone too far, before the reply.
"Just you wait, Mr Smart Alec pre med supremo. Just you wait till the thunderbolt hits you, and see how you fare."
"Not me," he stretched languorously, and that famous family grin flashed. "I'm a man on a mission."
The answering guffaw was long and loud.
"Exactly what I said, son."
"What you said when?"
A sheepish, winning smile met his. "Before I bought your mother that corsage."
That evening the harbour lights swirled and dimmed before her closed eyes, and she felt the breeze through her open window stir her hair and drift across her face. She had worried that the conversation about her father might have precipitated dark thoughts within a dark dream, but the images were bathed in warmth and tenderness …
... of a fair hand, writing with the considered script of an older, thoughtful mind, musing on loving, longing words written with the perfect pen …
... of lamplight now; a muted glow, and the view to the harbour out the window of a tower room…
... "Thick stars are low over it all. It is 'a dreaming town'. Isn't that a lovely phrase….?" *** The question -and the letter- is directed to him. Why would that be, when she doesn't even like him?
His name almost glides towards her. But then it's snatched by a zephyr; floating away on a flurry of air.
Chapter Notes
My chapter title is from Robert Browning's Rabbi ben Ezra;
"Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure" although the poem is probably known best for its opening lines – "Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be…"
*Medical College Admission Test. According to my information all US medical schools and many Canadian ones require an MCAT score.
I appreciate your indulgence in having the fictional and beloved Redmond (University) – and by extension Kingsport - sit alongside otherwise real modern references. I just couldn't bring myself to have a Blythe study anywhere else.
**William Shakespeare The Tempest (Act 2 Sc 1)
***Anne of Windy Poplars (Willows) 'The First Year' (Ch. 8)