Barnaby
Chapter 1: Where the Road Ends
"Darling, I know I promised to take you skating, but I just have to finish these edits on my article," Carolyn tried to explain to her daughter.
"That's all you do anymore! Write and edit, write and edit. You used to be fun, but now you're always busy or crabby!" Candy spat out the words, then ran down the steps and out the screen door which closed with a bang behind her.
Carolyn didn't blame her. For most of her children's lives, she'd been a full-time mom. The past several weeks she'd been stretched thin, in both time and temperament. She wished she could promise it would be over soon, but the current edits were on article number two of three, meaning she'd be slammed with the last article right after this one.
Meanwhile, she was beating the bushes for future articles or stories she could write to create a steady stream of income for the family.
Carolyn wasn't sure what she had thought free-lance writing would be like, but it hadn't been this. She'd imagined sitting on her porch, tapping away on her laptop, occasionally looking up to find inspiration from the whispering waves. She thought she'd still have time to do things with the children, that she could close her laptop at any time and spend the day playing with them with money deposited regularly into her bank account.
She was making money—not tons of money—but enough money that there was a buffer between her family and homelessness. She had an emergency fund from the sale of her and her late husband's house, and her parents would never allow her and the children to go without should it ever come to that. But she needed to know she could take care of them on her own.
All the children knew was that they used to have a mother who had time and energy to play with them, and now they did not. Thank goodness for Martha, the housekeeper, who managed to work fun time into her other duties these days.
"What was that all about?" Martha asked Carolyn when she came downstairs to get a glass of iced tea. "I asked Candy and she said something about promises shmomishes."
Carolyn sighed, "I'm afraid I've disappointed her–again. I want to spend time with her, but I have to finish polishing this article before I'll have time to breathe.'
"You said that after the last article," Martha reminded her.
Carolyn's lips drew into a thin line. She hated being in the wrong, and not being the parent she wanted to be. And she hated it ten times worse because she felt she didn't have other options.
"As much as that wedding made Candy happy, now that it's over, it seems like nothing can please her," Carolyn said sharply. It wasn't Candy's or the wedding's fault, but she wanted there to be a scapegoat.
"Wait until school starts. She'll make new friends, and get involved, and be back to being her old happy self…at least for a few years," Martha consoled. "I don't even want to contemplate the teen years."
Carolyn smiled at that, but it was a terse, cursory smile. She was concerned about Candy, but half her mind was still tied up with the article.
"I wish I could say I'd be done in a day, or a week even, but I just don't know. I add what the editors say they want, and then they send it right back to me asking me to go at it from a different angle." Her frustration was evident in her tone.
"Mrs Muir, if I may," Martha began. She waited for Carolyn's nod to continue. "All children go through phases and moods. This week Candy is feeling sorry for herself because you're not around. Next week she might be telling you to scram because she has Maree over. She's not going to hold it against you for the rest of her life that you were busy finishing an article. She probably won't be holding it against you come dinner time," Martha advised.
Carolyn knew that was true, but the problem was that she held it against herself.
"Jonathan always seems to amuse himself, with BunBun or The…or one of his imaginary friends," Carolyn said gratefully.
"He and Scruffy have been playing pirate ship all morning with that old barrel out back," Martha told her.
"The one Scruffy was using for a dog house?"
Yes, Jonathan is using an old mop for a flag, and that dish towel Scruffy chewed for a sail."
"I wonder why Candy doesn't join them. She used to love those kinds of games." Carolyn frowned. "Maybe she feels they're too babyish now."
Martha refilled Carolyn's tea glass. "Why don't you work on the article till dinner, and maybe you all can play a game this evening."
"Good idea. Martha, I don't know what I'd do without you," Caroly admitted. "And I hope I never have to find out!"
XXX
Candy Muir sat on the front porch and kicked her heels hard onto the wooden step several times over. "Article, article, article. There's always another article," she grumped.
"She never has any time for me. I'll bet if I disappeared she wouldn't even notice," she growled.
She could hear Scruffy yip from the backyard. He was busy playing make-believe with Jonathan. Everyone had something to do except her. It was so unfair that her mother wouldn't take her skating. Candy needed the practice. Maree had told her that birthday parties at the skating rink were the big thing with the kids at school so Candy needed to be able to skate well by the time school started.
If she got good enough, soon enough, she could even have her birthday party at the rink. She couldn't stand it if Jonathan was able to skate better than her at her own party. The skating rink was all the way in TopSide, and they only had afternoon sessions on Tuesdays. By the time her mother finished her article–if she ever finished it at all–it would be too late.
Candy grabbed her denim bucket hat off of the stone lion beside the steps. She removed her star-shaped sunglasses with the dark green shades from the lion's face and she put them on her own face. She stared out over the ocean, then to the beach below her. She wasn't supposed to go down to the beach without a grown-up. She was tempted to go anyway, but she was a little scared. There were a lot of strangers down there, and she knew she'd be in deep trouble if her mother found out, as if her mother would even notice.
No one had said anything about going up the road, up the hill, past the old boarded-up cottages. She'd walked that way once with her mom, and Scruffy.
She let herself out of the wooden gate, tugged her hat down firmly on her head so the wind wouldn't blow it off, and started up the road. First, she passed the parked cars of the people who were at the beach. Candy had been so excited when they moved here, thinking she would be able to go to the beach every day, but that was back when her mother still cared.
Candy trudged on, ignoring the shouts, laughter, and music coming from the beach-goers below.
There were no sidewalks. The newly paved road was satin-smooth, but the roadsides were sandy, weedy, and littered with chunks of broken asphalt. With the Sun beating down, the black pavement put off a lot of heat. Between that and the uphill climb, Candy was sweating and panting.
Maybe she'd keep walking, till she got so hot, she'd pass out and no one would know where she was. No one would drive up this way for weeks maybe, she thought as she mopped her face with the bottom of her T-shirt.
When she reached the crest of the hill, she looked back. She could see the roof of Gull Cottage; it seemed very far away. She looked in the other direction. If she kept walking she'd be going downhill again. She wouldn't be able to see home, or the beach or any place familiar. Just ahead the new blacktop ended and the old road was rutted gravel with weeds growing in it. Beyond that the road twisted to the left and out of sight. Candy had never been this far before.
"Are you a chump…or a champion?" she repeated a line from a movie they'd watched the other night. "I'm a champ!" She raised her fist in the air and marched on. Gull Cottage and it's near neighbors were nice looking houses. They were painted in pretty pastel colors, even if the paint was faded and peeling. There were fewer houses here. In fact she wasn't sure if the buildings behind the tall grass were actually houses.
They were made of wood, but they weren't painted. They looked sad with their sagging roofs and lopsided windows. Around one of the buildings was a dune fence made of wire and wooden slats. It was twisted and broken in some places, and laying flat in others.
She stood staring at the last building. All the windows were missing glass. Some of the holes had been covered with wood, but others were empty. Instead of the reflection of the sky, all she saw was dark, with no hint of what was inside.
Candy stared, unsure what to do. If she still lived with her grandparents she could have walked around the block, ending up back at home. That would give her the chance to decide if she was ready to go back or not. But she didn't have that choice here. There was no block. She could either head back over the hill, or push her way forward through the weeds.
Maybe she should go back to live with Grandma and Grandpa Williams. Maybe it would be better to go to school there, where she knew the kids and some of the teachers. Her grandparents didn't work. They would have time for her, especially if Jonathan wasn't there to mop up all the attention.
The last building, the saddest of them all, had a mix of weeds and bushes around it. Ever since they'd decided to move to Maine, they'd been reading a book about the little girl who goes blueberry picking with her mother. Candy was getting hungry; maybe those were blueberry bushes!
She imagined strolling into the house at lunchtime and saying, "No thank you, I'm not hungry. I had some fresh blueberries for lunch." She liked that idea very much.
Jonathan was always talking about the dumb games he made up and played with his imaginary friends. She wanted to have something to tell the family that wasn't make-believe and would make them all say wow!
And just like that she was walking towards the collapsing house, pushing past weeds to get to the bushes. She wasn't sure what blueberry bushes looked like other than the fact that they would have berries that were blue. The bushes here had no berries. One had something that must have been a flower, but it wasn't any kind of flower Candy had ever seen. The bees however, seemed to think it was terrific.
Candy sighed heavily. Maine was such a disappointment. She had imagined there would be blueberry bushes everywhere, but she hadn't seen a single one yet.
She pushed on and saw another bush that looked like it had ferns for leaves. It was pretty, but it didn't have blueberries. "Dumb old bush!" Candy said, giving it a kick. She knew the kick wouldn't hurt the bush, but it felt good to do anyway, so she did it again then once more for good measure.
She stopped. It looked like she would have no choice but to go home for lunch after all. Then she heard rustling. It couldn't be the bushes; she had stopped kicking them. But there was definitely rustling, and it sounded like it was getting nearer.
Candy gulped as she remembered what else happened in that story about the little girl and the blueberries–something came around the other side of the bushes and that something was a bear!
Candy's eyes grew huge. Did bears live at the beach? She didn't know, but she knew they lived in Maine and that was way too close for her. She turned around and ran.
She ran past the unpainted houses and up the hill to where the blacktop began.
"Wait! Slow down. I need some help!" a man's voice called out. He sounded very tired and nothing at all like a bear. Candy was out of breath too, so she stopped and turned towards him. He looked like she could outrun him if she had to.
"Oh, thank goodness." He was mopping his forehead with the sleeve of a filthy jacket. It was so dirty that the sleeve looked shiny. There were dark wet rounds of sweat at the armpits and around the neck of his dirty t-shirt.
"What kind of help?" Candy demanded, without bothering to introduce herself or ask the man his name.
The man looked her up and down. He took the battered, brimmed hat from his head, bowed, and made a sweeping motion with his arm. "My name is Barnaby, and you are Miss?" He raised one eyebrow at her in question.
"Miss Muir," Candy said, and shook his outstretched hand.
"Muir? Did you say Muir? As in John Muir?" The man held his hat over his heart.
"Candy Muir," she corrected.
He waved her correction away. "But are you related to John Muir?" Barnaby said, putting his hat back on his head.
Candy screwed her face up in thought. "I don't think so."
"Well, my dear, I suggest you find out. John Muir was a great, great man."
"Is he famous?" she asked hopefully.
"Famous? Why there's a mountain named after him!"
"Neato!"
"And Emily Muir was a famous artist and architect right here in Maine," he went on.
"My daddy was an architect!" Candy's eyes grew wide again. "And my mommy writes magazine articles, so maybe she's a little famous," Candy allowed, still feeling resentful.
"Well, if you are indeed a Muir, then I believe that means you are full of vision and determination. Which gives us something in common. I'm something of a visionary myself." He stood a little straighter, then winced, put a hand to his back, and resumed his semi-stooped posture.
"Are you ok Mr Barnaby?" Candy asked.
He waved away her concern. "I'm fine. I'm just wore out. I've had an adventure."
"I'm kind of having my own adventure," she said.
"Mine, was a walking adventure." He pointed to his feet which were clad in dirty and worn hiking boots.
"So is mine!" Candy said with a gasp.
"And what inspired you to begin your trek?" Barnaby asked.
"I got mad at my mom. She promised to take me roller skating, and then she ended up working on her stupid article again,"
Candy's cross face returned as she shared her story.
Barnaby was nodding gravely. "Once upon a time I began an adventure for a very similar reason, except the woman was a fiance, not a mother."
"I know what a fiance is, we just helped someone have a wedding at our house. They weren't supposed to but then my mom said they could and they needed me to be the flower girl."
"You said you needed help," Candy remembered.
"Yes, I do. I find myself out of fresh water. I thought there might be a tap at one of these houses, or at the beach, but they're all dry."
"We have water at our house," Candy said automatically.
"I'm sure that you do, but I don't want to bother your mother while she's working on an article. If you could just fill this bottle for me." He pulled a large water bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket. "That should be enough to quench my thirst and allow me to make dinner."
Candy put her hand out for the bottle.
"Only if you're ready to return home," he allowed.
"Yeah, I'm ready. I want to help you and I forgot to bring my own dinner and water," Candy explained.
"You are most kind, Miss Muir." He bowed again. "I'll wait in the shade." He pointed to the porch of one of the pastel houses, with the boarded up windows.
"Sure, I'll be right back. My house is down the hill." She pointed, Gull Cottage was easy to see from where they stood.
Candy walked back home, swinging the water bottle. She went straight to the hose and let the water run until it turned cold. She wet her bucket hat, washed off her face, and filled Barnaby's bottle. She held it up, and it didn't look like enough water to get through on a hot day and make dinner. She grabbed a plastic sand pail and filled it up as well. Maybe he could wash the sweat and grime off his face and hands.
As soon as he saw her struggling up the hill he went to greet her. She held out the bucket.
"I thought you might want to wash your face. It's such a hot day."
He studied her face for a minute and smiled. "Why thank you. How very kind of you. I would like that very much."
"I can come back for the bucket tomorrow," she told him, or if you're still trekking, you can leave it by my gate." She pointed.
"Thank you, but I think I'll be staying here a few days at least. I've been walking for weeks and my feet are sore. Tonight I'll go and soak them in the ocean."
"Well, I guess I'd better get back. I'll ask my mother about those famous Muirs."
He nodded distractedly. He couldn't take his eyes from the bucket of cool water.
Candy turned to walk home. She could hear him hoot with delight as he splashed water on his face.
XXX
Candy hummed happily as she helped set the table for dinner. Martha eyed her curiously; her mood had done a complete 180 since her meltdown earlier that afternoon. People were subject to mood swings, children even more so, but Candy had always had a stubborn streak. When she got hold of an idea or emotion, she tended to hang onto it more than a few hours.
Martha decided not to question the girl, she was happy that Candy was feeling better and thought it best not to tempt fate.
"Take out four of the small bowls and leave them on the counter, I've made pudding for dessert," Martha instructed.
"Pudding, yum! Thank you, Martha." Candy wrapped her arms around the housekeeper's waist and hugged hard.
"You're welcome, you deserve a treat. I know you were disappointed this afternoon." Martha hugged back as best she could carrying a pitcher of tea in one hand and a plate of rolls in the other.
Scruffy rushed over, stood on his hind legs, and barked.
"See, he's saying thank you too!" Candy said.
"I think he's hoping to get me to drop one of these rolls!" Martha corrected.
Candy got down on her knees and gave Scruffy a good scratch behind both his ears. "Oh, Scruffy, you wouldn't do that, would you? Try to trick Martha so you can steal a roll."
"He would and he nearly succeeded," Martha declared, setting the rolls on the table and filling two glasses with tea.
"I'll get the milk!" Candy offered.
Martha was slightly concerned. Candy had been in a general funk since the wedding. Normal life was something of a let-down after all the excitement and her role as the flower girl. This overflow of agreeability was disconcerting.
Jonathan arrived from the bathroom with freshly washed hands. He automatically went to Martha and held them out for inspection, first the backs, then the palms. She gave a nod of approval.
"You did a good job. I need you to set out the silverware, then put butter and salad dressing on the table."
"Aye, aye!" Jonathan said while executing a stiff salute.
Scruffy sat down and gave two barks in quick succession, his version of a pirate salute.
"And then get Scruffy his dinner," Martha added.
Scruffy recognized his name and 'dinner' and did an excited circuit around the table as if to urge Jonathan to move faster.
"Were you playing pirates all day?" Martha asked.
"No, we took a break after lunch and were playing that we were kids again," Jonathan told her.
"Don't say 'we'," Candy's tone was aggressive. "I wasn't playing any silly pirate game with you!"
"I was talking about me and Scruffy," he defended himself.
"You said kids and Scruffy isn't a kid," Candy sassed back.
"We'll never get dinner on the table if I have to send you two to separate corners," Martha stepped in. "Would you rather argue or eat?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Jonathan said automatically.
"I just want him to tell the truth," Candy said. Her tone was still angry, but she was speaking quietly now.
"He already told you he was referring to him and Scruffy, so he was telling the truth. Besides, you used to love playing pirates at your grandparent's house," Martha reminded her.
"That was different. We had that nice pirate ship playset, all he's got now is a nasty old barrel," Candy said with a sniff.
"It seems that he has more fun with that old barrel than you do with a room full of toys. I don't know what's gotten into you lately Candy. You were always such a happy girl, and now everything upsets you." Martha said with a sigh as she checked the pots that were cooking on the stove.
"Not everything," Candy said with a sniff. "Did you know there are famous Muirs?"
Martha handed Jonathan a salad bowl to put on the table. "Hmm, I think I've heard of an artist named Muir. Well, I guess if you look hard enough there are probably famous people with most last names."
"You're probably thinking of Emily Muir. She was a painter who lived right here in Maine," Candy informed her with a smug smile.
"I did not know that," Martha said. "I wonder if you're any relation."
Candy placed napkins on the table. "She was an architect too, so probably. Things like that run in families."
"I've texted your mother twice that dinner is ready, but I still haven't heard a thing from her. This article will be the death of her the way they keep asking for changes," Martha grumbled.
"Maybe we can send her dinner up on Mr Belvedere!" Jonathan said happily. He was always looking for reasons to use the dumb waiter. Two days earlier he'd sent each of the upstairs waste paper baskets downstairs to be emptied one at a time and sent them back up one at a time as well.
"She needs a break from writing," Martha declared. "But I'm not sure we can pry her hands away from her laptop."
Scruffy was still sitting expectantly, waiting to be fed. "I know," Candy said, her smile returning. "We can send a note up with Scruffy!"
Candy took a paper napkin and wrote "SOS dinner is ready. Come now, or else." on it. She tucked it into the dog's collar and told him to "go find mommy!"
Scruffy dashed off and they could hear his nails on the stairs as he climbed them one by one.
"Coming!" they heard Carolyn call a minute later.
Candy and Jonathan burst into giggles.
"I guess there is more than one way to skin a cat. I've heard of snail mail, but Scruffy mail is a new one on me," said Martha.
"Scruffy mail!" Candy repeated, and she and Jonathan broke into giggles all over again.
They may have gotten Carolyn to the dinner table, but her mind was still upstairs working on her project.
"They originally said they wanted an article about what it's like to live here with a young family, but they've entirely changed their tune. They say so few people with young kids have the money to live in let alone renovate a house like this, that now they want the kids taken out. They don't even like Scruffy because he's not a "today" dog. They want to take photos with French bulldogs and an Irish setter. I don't even know when I last saw an Irish setter, but they say it's the next big thing."
Carolyn spoke seemingly without taking a breath.
She stopped to put a bite of food into her mouth and realized there was silence. She put her fork back down. "What?" she asked, looking from face to face.
"Sounds like you could use a break. Why don't you take the evening off and in the morning you'll have some fresh ideas," Martha wisely advised.
"I can't afford to take the evening off. With the new angle, they'll need additional photos, and then there's copy editing and blocking-" Carolyn went on.
"Scuffy and I sailed all the way to Barbados today!" Jonathan took advantage of her needing to take a breath. We ran into pirates and BunBun nearly had to walk the plank."
"Poor BunBun!" Carolyn still had enough presence of mind to understand that BunBun's ordeal was a matter of great importance to her son.
"I went on an adventure looking for Maine bluberries and I made a new friend," Candy said in a casual tone. She looked around the table to see what kind of reactions she was getting.
"Tell us about your friend," Carolyn urged, only half paying attention, but wanting to be fair to both kids.
"His name is Barnaby and he's walked thousands and thousands of miles." She sorted through the few things she actually knew about Barnaby and decided which to share.
"We sailed thousands of miles!" Jonathan interjected.
"I guess that's all right, but walking thousands of miles is a lot harder," Candy pointed out.
"Did you know that if you walk long enough the road ends? And where the road ends there's kind of a place where things are mixed up," Candy went on.
Carolyn and Martha shared a look. The kids had a book about a place called "Where the Road Ends", which was something like a modern 'Alice in Wonderland'.
"What kind of mixed up?" Jonathan asked.
"Well, like there are buildings, but you can't tell if they are houses or not. And there are bushes, but when you get up close, they aren't really bushes, they're ferns. And it's right close to water, but when you turn the tap on, no water comes out," she explained, happy to have everyone's attention.
"Does your friend Barnaby live where the road ends?" Carolyn asked.
"For now, because his feet are really sore and his boots are worn out," Candy explained.
"Do you hear that?" Martha aimed her comment at Carolyn. "Even Barnaby knows that sometimes you have to stop and rest."
"Mom, if you do stop and rest, can I use your laptop? I want to read about John Muir," Candy said.
"That name sounds familiar," Carolyn's brow furrowed as she tried to place it.
"Do you think that maybe we're related to him? Or Emily?" Candy asked excitedly.
"I don't think so, but then I only knew this current generation of your father's family. How did you hear about them?" Carolyn wondered.
"Barnaby said–" Candy started.
She was interrupted by the familiar marimba tune that was her mother's ring-tone. Carolyn didn't usually bring her phone to the table, but lately, she couldn't be away from it.
"Yes? Why I don't think– Tomorrow? That doesn't give us time to–" Carolyn rose and walked out of the room with the phone to her ear.
"I wish mommy was a school teacher," Jonathan said. "That way she'd only work while we were in school, and she wouldn't work the rest of the time."
Martha looked at the children's disappointed faces.
"You can use your tablet to learn more about the famous Muirs," Martha told Candy. "I can help you once the kitchen is cleaned up."
Candy nodded, but she was looking down at her plate. She didn't feel like eating more, but she knew she had to or she wouldn't get pudding.
"Unbelievable, simply unbelievable!" They heard a disgusted Carolyn fume from the sitting room.
"I suppose she'd put too much work in to pull out now," Martha muttered. "I've never seen your mother like this before."
"Yeah, me neither," echoed Jonathan.
"It's because she's a perfectionist," Candy said sagely.
"Do you even know what that means?" Martha asked.
Candy kept pushing her food around. "Not exactly, but Mommy used to say that her mommy was a perfectionist, and Mommy is sounding a lot like grandma does."
"Well, all I know is someone isn't getting what they want and they're not taking no for an answer," Martha said as she stood up and began to scrape the plates.
Candy hoped Martha was too distracted to notice how much food was left on hers.
Candy popped out of her chair to help. "Should I leave Mommy's plate?"
"Yes, at least for a little while longer, though she doesn't usually have much of an appetite after one of those phone calls."
Jonathan carried the silverware to the sink, leaving the spoons behind for pudding.
"I'm not their problem. I'm not, they have a new editor and I don't think she knows what she wants!" Carolyn was clearly exasperated as she entered the kitchen. "I left my phone in the foyer. I'm not taking any more calls tonight. It's just a waste of my time." She sat back down at her place and then noticed the table was nearly empty.
"Would you like me to warm your plate in the microwave?" Martha offered. Carolyn handed her plate over without a word. Candy and Jonathan sat back down and looked at their mother, then at one another. They didn't know what to say.
"Sounds like the editor is a perfectionist," Candy made a shot at empathy.
Carolyn looked slightly confused but smiled at her daughter, recognizing that she was trying to help. "When I made the agreement to write the article, there was a different person in charge. But the new editor wants to change the direction halfway through. This is not the article I made a contract for."
Martha set the plate down and then handed the children their pudding so they would have something to do besides stare at their mother eating.
"Since you left the phone in the foyer, how about we try to leave the entire situation there, at least until dinner is over," Martha tried to steer things in a fresh direction.
"I'm sorry, you're right. If I don't stop talking about it, what's the difference?"
Carolyn focused on her food. "Martha, this is simply delicious!" She offered the compliment, but Martha had a hard time believing that Carolyn was able to taste her food the way she was shoveling it in.
"I wonder if Barnaby likes pudding, I'll bet he could carry those pudding cups that we take to school, in his pack," Candy mused.
"Who's Barnaby?" Carolyn asked, the gave a nod. "Oh, yes, you're new little friend," she recalled.
"Oh, Barnaby isn't little, he's big, a little bigger than Daddy, but not as tall as Mr Claymore," Candy explained.
Martha and Carolyn exchanged a look. They'd been noticing that she'd been seeking a father figure lately, and here she was, doing it again in the form of an imaginary friend.
"Can I let Scruffy lick my bowl?" Jonathan asked.
"Not this time, chocolate is bad for dogs, but you can give him one of those puppy pops we made for him," Martha said.
"He likes the peanut butter ones, but aren't there any other flavors we could do, so he doesn't have to have the same thing over and over?" Candy asked.
"We have a recipe for banana and one for watermelon," Martha told her.
"I'll put it on the to-do list for tomorrow!" Candy had become enamored with list making since they'd moved to Gull Cottage. She took her responsibility very seriously, but if she kept it up, they might soon need a list to keep track of their lists.
Jonathan wasn't interested in the lists, but sometimes he stood in front of the whiteboard and tried to sound out words. He wanted to make sure he wasn't behind when he started at his new school.
Another one of Jonathan's pet projects, which Candy had joined him in, was trying to teach Scruffy to read. First they tried teaching him to recognize letters, but that didn't work. They tried to teach him to recognize 'Scruffy' written out, but he didn't take to that. Finally they tried to teach him heiroglyphics that they created, like a drawing of a bone shape, or a simplified chair to represent 'sit'. He had learned three pictures, the bone for a treat, the chair for sit and the door for outside. If the kids pointed to the door, Scruffy went and sat by the door, but only after hearing them say 'door' and pointing to the picture many times over.
They had discussed making one to represent the puppy pops but they kept arguing over what kind of picture to use and the project had stalled there.
Candy went to the whiteboard and printed Puppy Pops in the column marked Wednesday. It was neat to write what they were going to do in the next day or week, but it would be good to write about what happened today, so they could remember it later.
She had seen people on TV shows write down their days in something called a diary. At the time it had seemed boring, "Dear Diary, I ate toast at breakfast, I helped clean up, blah, blah, blah." But Candy had a more interesting life than that. Take today for instance; it had been a day with so many different feelings and things happening. She'd halfway run away from home, and then she met Barnaby and found out she might be related to someone famous!
She could probably ask for a diary for her birthday, but then everyone would know she had it, and they might try to read it. She'd seen that on TV too and it hadn't ended well. She'd have to keep one in a ratty old notebook that no one would look in. She'd start as soon as she found one and she'd write in it every day. That way she'd try extra hard to make every day worthy of being written about. It practically guaranteed an exciting life.
XXX
Carolyn kept her vow of not answering the phone but she couldn't help but check her emails after the children went to bed. There were three more from the magazine. One was sent directly to her, and the other two she was blind copied on. A junior editor felt she should see them, since they were discussing her article.
"I'm beginning to wish I'd never come to Gull Cottage," she said, resting her forehead in her hands.
"Surely you don't mean that," came a familiar voice from the area of the binnacle.
"Right now I do," she admitted. I love it here, and the children love it here, but every day it's some new problem someone wants me to solve. And it always comes back to me. I wrote a perfectly good article but no, that's not good enough. It started as an article about a family and now it's aimed towards senior citizens."
"Do you mean people of rank?" The Captain was unfamiliar with the term.
"No, elderly people. Whose kids are all grown and have kids of their own."
"It is a fine thing to pay tribute to your elders," The Captain pointed out.
"You too? Seems I can't make anyone happy these days. I guess it was silly of me to think that writing commercial magazine articles was going to be like writing articles for our college publications.
"The problem with this article is that they've been working to get more advertisers who target retirees, and it seems it's more important to make the advertisers happy than the readers," she said in a defeated tone.
"My dear, I do wish you would speak proper English. What are retirees, and who are advertisers?" The Captain took form as he approached her. He felt badly for upsetting her, but he had very little experience with publishing.
Carolyn looked up and drew in a sudden breath. She was still not used to seeing him like this. He didn't look like a ghost, or at least he didn't look like what she thought a ghost would look like. He wasn't transparent or blurry. When he stood close to her, she could see individual threads holding the buttons on his coat!
"A retiree is someone who's finished their career and doesn't work any more."
"You are referring to an invalid?"
"No, just someone who's earned a rest." Carolyn was beginning to see how odd that must seem to him. She wasn't sure people had retired in his time. They probably kept doing some kind of work until they were literally unable to continue.
"Earned a rest…"
From the way he said it she could tell he was trying to make sense of that in his mind.
"And an advertiser is a person or company that pays the magazine to print their ad. That's how the magazine makes its money, from the advertisers," she went on.
"What is the point of printing advertisements for people who are no longer able to work? They don't have any money. I can understand your frustration. The magazine should be selling things to strong young people," The Captain made his proclamation.
She wasn't certain he grasped what was going on, but in the end he was outraged on her behalf.
Carolyn didn't tell The Captain that the magazine wanted her to include information on how one could use a historic home to create 'passive' income by renting it out as a venue, or renting some rooms as an air bnb.
Carolyn's only experience with that was the wedding they'd recently hosted. And though she was happy they'd helped Gladys and Harvey, that was not the sort of future she saw for Gull Cottage. She would hate it, and the Captain would never allow it.
She knew that making a living as a writer meant that she would have to take assignments she didn't love and write about subjects that didn't interest her. But this was her home, whether her name was on the deed or not.
"The good news is that they have to have clean copy in 4 days…or the article won't make it in next issue. And then the photos will be out of season, so the article would have to wait till next year and who knows what the advertisers will want by then." Carolyn slipped off her shoes and rubbed the soles of her feet against the carpet.
"I don't understand how sitting at this desk all day can make my feet so sore," she said.
"The body is meant to be in motion. If it's made to stay still it protests by sprouting all manner of aches and ailments," The Captain explained. "I always made my crew keep busy with work and movement. It was as good for the mind as the body.
"Four more days, I only have to get through four more days," Carolyn stretched.
The Captain wanted to tell her to walk away from it. If it was bringing her this much grief it wasn't worth it. But he aslo knew she was a woman of integrity and it was important to fufill her obligation. And she needed money to purchase food and clothing, and to keep her engine powered wagon operating.
All manner of work had some less than ideal requirements that went along with it, that wasn't the problem. It was just that he would like to shield her from mental strife if he could. But apparently he could not.
"Four more days. I've never known a woman as capable of persisting as you!" was his offer of support.
It made her sound stubborn, even pig headed, but she could tell from his tone that he meant well, and so she accepted the compliment. She made a motion to open her laptop, but found it wouldn't budge.
"Captain?" her tone had a threatening edge to it.
"My dear, it's time to let it be until the morrow."
She had to smile. "When I was growing up my mother used to say that nothing good ever happened after midnight."
"Except perhaps…." The Captain softly sighed.
"Captain!" she scolded, but more out of principle than prudishness.
"You see, your mother was right. It's even making us terse with one another. Anon! I am off to do my nightly rounds!" And he disappeared in an instant.
Carolyn tried to open her laptop, but it was shut tight. So she gave up and went to bed.
XXX