Chapter 6 :Taking Steps
It had been a very long time since The Captain had been to church. During his years at sea, he hadn't exactly made a beeline for the nearest house of worship while in port. He hadn't received a Christian burial because people had mistakenly believed he committed suicide.
As a captain, he led a brief worship service on Sunday mornings and evenings. He read from the Bible and the men took turns leading the singing of hymns, which usually led to the singing of other songs. He attempted to steer the men clear of bawdy songs on Sundays.
He occasionally visited houses of worship during his travels to far-off lands. Some were magnificent works of art, others humble, yet moving. Most had a form of sacred fire; a candle or lamp burning. In the East, they burned incense. At some temples in India, rather than the expected devout visitors, the places were overrun with monkeys who demanded food and coin as persistently and successfully as any roadside beggars.
He'd even seen a monkey bite a coin as if to make sure it wasn't a bit of wood or a smooth stone, but made of precious metal instead.
Captain Gregg didn't know what to expect from the local church. It was doubtful that it was the one he had known as a boy. Perhaps it wasn't in the best form that his first time back to church in so many decades was as a stowaway.
He'd considered simply asking Carolyn if he might attend the last night of Bible school with the family. But she wasn't aware that he could travel in modern-day electronic devices, and he wasn't ready for her to know.
It was a silly idea. He was unlikely to see much from her phone stashed away in her purse. Then he recognized a better opportunity. Lately, she had been wearing a watch that told her how many steps she took and how many hours she slept, as well as the time. From her wrist, he could see everything she could see. He could watch her interactions with Barnaby.
The Captain was pleased when he recognized the church building from his youth. There were changes and additions, but the old stone church was so like it was in his memories that he got a lump in his throat. Beside it was the graveyard where members of his family and some of his friends were buried. That was where the similarities ended.
To the right of the old building was a complex of extremely unattractive buildings surrounded by a large paved area filled with rows of cars.
When he was young, it had been a grassy field. There had been a wooden shelter with open sides they'd used for dinners, afternoon sermons, weddings and funerals or any event that was considered too secular to hold in the Church itself. He supposed the large ugly building served the same purpose, and that's why the cars were parked here, the way horses and wagons had been long ago.
The Captain was too busy looking, remembering and comparing to pay attention to the conversation taking place in the car. He registered voices and the children's laughter, but his eyes were taking in everything that his ears were not.
Once out of the car, the children shot across the parking lot with an eagerness usually reserved for the ice cream peddler. Martha was gathering an armful of music, and Carolyn waited pensively to exit the car. He wondered why she hesitated. Didn't she want to keep an eye on the children?
Instead, she grasped the top of the steering wheel with both hands and rested her forehead for a minute, taking deep breaths. Suddenly her watch made a bell like trill. She looked at it and the Captain drew back, fearful that she might see him.
"Motion challenge!" she read. "Take 200 steps in the next 3 minutes!"
"Well, I guess that's my sign to go take a walk around the lot and see what's going on."
This pleased The Captain. He hadn't wanted to spend the evening in the car waiting for the children. Carolyn stood up, smoothed down her shirt and shorts, and began walking at a brisk pace past lines of cars and around the corner of the building.
There were small groups of people and what appeared to be games set up around the perimeter. All around were brightly painted signs decorated with fish and seashells that didn't look like any he'd ever seen.
Just ahead was Claymore Gregg, wearing the sort of robe that The Captain had seen people wear in the warmer climates, and carrying a flute in his hand. Claymore's spindly, white legs protruded from the robe and made the gangly man appear even more ridiculous.
The Captain was shocked at the alarming lack of clothing on people attending church! He supposed it was alright if they remained outside, but it would never do inside the sanctuary itself!
Carolyn walked around another corner and there was a huge something that resembled a giant fish with its mouth open. That must be the whale she'd spoken of. Considering the likelihood that none of these people had seen a whale up close, if at all. It wasn't a bad representation save for the huge eyes. Whales had quite small eyes for their size and the eyes on this creature were exceedingly large and prominent.
"Tonight's the big night!" a male voice called out.
The Captain had been so taken with the whale he hadn't been paying attention to much else.
"Last night was pretty special," Carolyn said as she approached Barnaby. "The kids had so much fun playing in the water."
"Ah ha, but tonight everyone has the opportunity to enter the belly of the beast!" Barnaby made a flourish with his hands. "Unfortunately, I won't be here to see it."
"Not here? Where are you going? After all the work you did!" Carolyn protested.
"I'm not cleared to work with the kids. I can build up and tear down, but that's it. So while people are here having their whale of a time, I'll be taking down decorations inside." He jerked his thumb towards the building.
"Has the principal spoken with you about a job?" Carolyn asked.
Barnaby nodded. "I'm not sure how long I'm going to hang around. I need to visit my family and prepare for my next trip. You and I need to finish the article. But we can do that by phone and email," he said with a shrug.
"I thought the money might help fund your next hike," Carolyn said quietly, as if someone might be paying attention and money was an unsavory topic.
"Oh, it would. And I'd probably enjoy it more than working at the mall." He seemed distracted. "Um, what time do you have?"
Carolyn checked her watch and again The Captain drew back. "5 til 5. I guess I should get to my class."
"Yeah, I've got something….I better…" Barnaby backed away. "We'll talk later."
Carolyn waved.
The Captain felt trapped, and not only in Carolyn's Fitbit. He could tell that Barnaby liked her, the way a man likes a woman. The way a man feels when he meets a woman who makes him feel like a man.
Carolyn deserved to have the attention of a nice man her own age. Barnaby was a bit rough around the edges, but he seemed like a good man, honest, willing to work, nice to women and children. But he was also a wanderer with no income. Carolyn needed someone who would be there to help with the children, and with the bills.
"Someone like myself!" The Captain thought. Even as he thought it, he knew he was deficient in many important areas.
He sighed as they entered the building, which was disturbingly full of half dressed people. Carolyn went down a hallway, entered a room full of adults, and took a chair.
She murmured hello to a few people and found a seat in the back. Someone lit a candle, and the lights were turned off.
This brought back memories. People looked better, and far more interesting by candlelight–all curves and shadows–as if you were looking at their character instead of just their physical features. Harsh reality melted away. He gazed up at Carolyn, but could only see her from below, her chin, one cheek, the occasional glimpse of her temple.
He only paid half attention to the lesson, which spoke of the importance of making time for God. People run from God–by staying too busy, having too many things, making too many plans, and setting too many goals–instead of trusting God to provide all those things. People didn't want to slow down and listen, because they feared they might hear something they didn't care to.
The Captain grew uncomfortable because he knew they were speaking of him. He'd led the worship service on his ships, but he hadn't participated with his soul. It had been a duty he fulfilled, but he hadn't let it touch him or change him.
As a child, church had been a duty, made worse by having to wear uncomfortable clothes, and sit still far too long. Afterwards, he'd been drilled to see if he'd recalled the reading and sermon. It had done nothing to engender an interest in, or a love of God.
In his recollection, the only way to get children to go to church was to force them. No child would sit through that voluntarily. So where did this excitement and love for God stem from? Did it have something to do with that goggle eyed whale? Or with Claymore's silly white legs?
Coming back to the present, he noticed some people were weeping, sniffling, and saying, "Amen!"
He'd attended several revivals when he was young, which had been loud and energetic. People had cried, jumped about and shouted, "Amen!" They had failed to move him, but they were more fun to sit through than Sunday service. It had been fun to watch usually staid adults throw their hands in the air, shriek, and openly show emotion.
This was a gentler form of that. The leader was inviting people to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, to make space and time to hear God.
Captain Gregg had known other captains who were pious men. They ran their ships sternly, with no foul language or drinking allowed. He used to wonder if they believed all that, or if they used it as a means to keep the men in order, ruling by guilt and shame rather than the whip. He'd never understood how one could use religious faith as a means of navigation through the seas of life.
But these people appeared genuinely moved and the people in the lot outside had been having fun.
The lights came on, and they filed out of the now over-warm room and into a large hall where people were gathering. Martha and Claymore were there, along with other people carrying a drum, a ram's horn, and a lute.
The children arrived by age group and sang songs. The adults joined in. The songs were simple, but there was something about hearing the voices of the adults and children singing together that made The Captain want to weep. Memories of his childhood washed over him like the tide coming in.
Even that dang blasted Claymore was singing! The Captain suddenly wished he had stayed home. This was not what he'd expected.
He stowed away so he could spy on Barnaby. So he could pick fun at the goings on, so he could see how much things had changed. He hadn't come along to feel this level of emotion—to feel challenged, uninformed, and somehow lacking. This was unexpected and tremendously uncomfortable.
Suddenly people were clapping, hugging, then hurrying outside where the games and the whale were. Barnaby, who had been standing in the back, was already busy folding chairs.
The merriment in the parking lot reminded The Captain of fairs he'd attended. Some of the games were the same–throw a hoop over a stick, or a bean bag in a hole (in this case a painted whale's mouth) There was an outdoor photography studio, where people could have their photo taken either using paper mache props, or against a simple background of a beach.
That, too, brought back memories. In the photography studios of his time, you chose your background from several painted ones. Then you decided whether to stand or sit. Props were available to add interest to the shot.
It amazed him how technology changed, but humanity was very much the same.
Carolyn walked past the food and games and came to a stop in front of the giant whale with its mouth agape. The minister of the church was there, welcoming people. He held out a glass bowl, and Carolyn picked a folded bit of paper, then she entered the whale's mouth. The inside was decorated with strings of lights. A breeze blew through. There was no stink of fish in this beast!
Shockingly, Carolyn got on her hands and knees and crawled into the cloth tunnel that was the beast's gullet. It was dark, but there was light ahead. They emerged in the beast's belly lit with pink lights.
Carolyn sat on an upholstered chair, opened up the folded piece of paper, and read aloud quietly, "The belly of the fish is not a happy place to live, but it is a good place to learn. Focusing on the surroundings rather than God will leave us fearful, empty, and without hope."
"Well…" Carolyn looked around her. She was seated in a comfortable chair, with a nice breeze blowing on her. It was quite a beautiful place, considering. "Jonah didn't have it this good!" she said to no one in particular.
"When he was in the belly of the whale, it was dark, and stinky, and probably hot and full of water, but he waited it out and trusted in God."
The Captain harrumphed from his place in the watch. He'd read the Bible. Jonah was swallowed by a fish! So it was cold, and fishy, and likely very snug, because even very large fish were only so large. Then he realized that he was missing the point. It didn't matter if it had been a fish or a whale. The point was that Jonah had called out for help in the stormy sea, and God sent it. The fish was not a comfortable means of transport, but it was effective. All Jonah could do was accept and wait. He couldn't steer the fish, he couldn't hurry the fish.
Melancholy swept over him again. He recalled hearing the story of Jonah preached. It was a rather engaging story for a child. Jonah was a colorful character who had the hubris to argue with God himself! But The Captain had never related to the story. It was just a fairy tale, as far as he was concerned. Until now.
He'd been alone in his cottage for a very long time, trapped with no hope of a way out, until this woman, Carolyn, had come along and set him free of his small-minded, tight hearted, mean excuse for an existence.
He could have run her off the way he'd run off so many before her, but for some reason, he hadn't and now his life was full, interesting and exciting again. His years of isolation and anger hadn't been comfortable, but they had provided an opportunity to learn. What he learned was that he didn't care for solitude and isolation, and that anger left a bitter taste.
"Well, God," Carolyn said with a sigh. "I know I can't sit here for three days, but I am grateful for how you've carried me through since Robert's death. Whatever I needed has arrived right on time."
The Captain found himself nodding along, except in place of "Robert's death" he put "my death".
"Sometime's, I worry that the kids won't get what they need, but they have. I'm afraid my fear has gotten in the way of some help that I think you may have been sending to them. I don't want to do that. I want Candy and Jonathan to know that they can trust you, too."
The Captain frowned. He knew how prone he was to resisting people and things, even when they might be just what he needed. It took a big man to admit that he couldn't provide everything, but if Carolyn could do it…
She let herself sink back. "I really need to get one of these chairs!" she said with a sigh, as the chair back tilted back and her legs came up. "Just one more minute," she promised.
Suddenly, she sat straight up. "Oh no! Am I going to have to get pooped out?"
The Captain had to stifle his laugh.
Then Carolyn noticed a sign that said "exit this way". She pushed aside the flap in the tarp and exited onto the parking lot.
An attendant rang a bell, so the Pastor could send the next person in, and Carolyn went to find the children amid the games and splash pools. The Captain felt a shiver of fear. He hoped she wouldn't forget she was wearing the watch and get it wet. He wasn't sure what would happen to him if the damn thing shorted out. He didn't want to lose himself and his family, just when he was starting to appreciate them.
Luckily the Fitbit was waterproof, and everyone arrived home safe that evening.
XXX
"Things are going to seem awfully quiet around here now that Bible School is over," Martha said, spreading jam on her toast the next morning.
"It sure was fun!" Candy said.
"I enjoyed it more than I expected to," Carolyn admitted.
Jonathan shoved another forkful of grits into his mouth.
"Jonathan, didn't you enjoy Bible School?" Carolyn checked.
He chewed and swallowed before speaking. "Sure, but it lasted just long enough. I don't think they could have thought of any more fun things to do with footprints," he reasoned.
Martha and Carolyn exchanged a glance.
"It was so scary crawling into the whale's tummy," Candy said, shivering at the memory. "The tunnel was dark. I would have been too scared to do it if Maree hadn't gone with me."
"It was just one of those play tunnels like the one they had at day camp," Jonathan pointed out.
Candy rolled her eyes. Sometimes her brother was too literal. He took the fun out of things.
"I'm glad you have a good friend to do scary things with." Carolyn smoothed things over.
"I'll tell you what I have decided. I'm going to get myself an easy chair, one that goes all the way back!"
"I wonder if that's what Jonah thought after he got spat out on shore," Martha mused. "I think I'll find myself a couch that reminds me of the inside of a whale's stomach."
"As soon as I sell my next article," Carolyn added, smiling at Martha's jibe.
"The one with Barnaby?" Candy checked.
"It looks more like I'm going to be helping him write an article than the other way round," Carolyn explained. "There's an online site that wants an article written by a hiker, but we haven't found a magazine to sell it to."
"So, what's going to be the next article?" Jonathan asked. "You could write about the boats we made."
Carolyn guessed there were probably children's craft magazines and sites that would publish it, but it wouldn't pay much, if anything. She needed to keep her momentum going.
"I'm not sure yet, but I'm sure something will come to me," Carolyn was thinking of her message the night before, and recalling how so far they'd always been provided for.
"Well, I'm just glad I signed up to help with music, and not clean up!" Martha remarked. "They said they expect to have everything back to normal by the time service starts tomorrow morning."
"Aw, even Wally? I wish we could keep him forever," Candy bemoaned the loss of the friendly whale.
"Hey, our teacher said her name was Winnie!" Jonathan said.
"We were calling her Windy, because of the fans inside," Carolyn explained.
"What about you Martha? What name did you have for the whale?" Candy asked.
"Westbound, of course. Didn't you notice the direction it was facing?" Martha said with a smile.
Later, Carolyn recognized a song Candy was singing in her room, as the one her age group had sung at Bible School. Carolyn stood outside the girl's door and listened as Candy played VBS with her dolls and plush toys. Candy was doing a fine job as a teacher, explaining different ways that beaches are used in the Bible to teach important lessons.
In the backyard, Jonathan, BunBun, and Scruffy were back playing pirates, but this time they were being chased by a whale.
All the work that went into VBS had been worthwhile. It clearly made an impact.
Back in her room, Carolyn opened her laptop and the article she'd begun penning for Barnaby. She looked over the last three weeks in her life and how they'd gone from chaos to clarity. Maybe that had been her time in the belly of the whale, and now she was being burped out onto the beach.
"Memories by the Mile: The Crests to Coast Trail Opens the gate to adventure right here in the State of Maine.
Time to move over Appalachian Trail. There's a new dirt road that has lots to offer…"
"You seem chipper today!" The Captain's voice sounded from behind her.
"Thank you, I am feeling good!"
"Might I ask what brought forth this pleasant mirth?" he moved up beside her desk and slowly materialized.
Carolyn thought for a moment. She wasn't sure she should throw her pearls before swine, so to speak. She didn't want to hear anything that might spoil her mood.
"Why the hesitation?"
"Well, I think this is one of those things you wouldn't understand," she said breezily, hoping he'd give it up.
"Madam." He stepped until he was right beside her and in full view. "I admit that I've often inserted my opinions where they were not welcome and that some of my ideas may fall short of modern-day expectations. But how am I to better myself if you don't show me the way? In whose footsteps can I follow?"
She looked him in the eye. "Footsteps?"
"They've been the subject of many a conversation here this week. I'm afraid when I was a boy there was no such thing as Vacation Bible School, and that even the revivals weren't of much interest to a youth."
"Well, you know I haven't gone to church since we moved here. Most of my life I've been a churchgoer. But…" She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. She knew Captain Gregg was anything but religious. "I guess I just had so many new things in my life. Meeting all those people felt overwhelming. I only went this week for the kids, but I ended up getting a lot out of it!"
"You met good people?"
Carolyn nodded, then frowned. "You'll probably think this is silly–"
"No, please, continue," he urged.
"I feel like, well, I feel like I met myself for the first time in a while. And I feel like–like I can open my heart. Oh, I don't know…" she trailed off.
"I expect you've noticed I'm a man of strong feelings myself. I do understand,my dear," he assured her.
Carolyn went on hopefully. "Everything has felt like such a struggle. I believed I had to be strong, and focused, and not make any mistakes as a parent. But that's impossible. I think part of the reason I've stayed holed up here on the cliff writing my articles is so I didn't have to be down there with all the people, where someone might find fault with me. And where I'd have to tell my story over again and again."
The Captain was nodding. "I believe that was why I chose my life at sea. As Captain, I was in command of the world that was my ship! It was a respectable living. I made money and avoided attachment. When the wind was good and the currents were with us, I felt like the god of my little world. When the weather changed and we faced storms or pirates, I fancied myself a warrior."
"My life at sea, many would call brave and bold, but Madam, I will share with you what I never told anyone." He leaned closer.
Carolyn looked slightly worried, as if she feared he might be setting her up for a joke.
"I was petrified of the life of a landed man, with a wife and children. With a house and land to care take and worry over. Or the trials of a fisherman with a leaky trawler and nets to mend. That was no life for me! I wasn't made for it.
"At sea, life was simpler. When I began as a cabin boy, I did as I was told. I was the butt of jokes and trickery, but I kept my eyes open. I moved through the ranks quickly, because I was a fast learner, not only of my trade, but of people. I grasped whom to watch out for and whom to befriend. The company you keep can lift you up or be the ruin of you."
"You went to sea because you were afraid of—" Carolyn wanted to be sure she understood.
"Of being tied down and at the mercy of fate. One bad storm turns a fishing boat into splinters. One summer with no rain and a farmer is ruined." The Captain paced and gesticulated as he spoke.
"At sea, I primarily carried other people's cargo and steered other people's ships. There was very little risk for me."
"Your ship or not, sailing the seas sounds extremely risky," she pointed out.
"Yes, I suppose all walks of life have their risks. Lucky are we who can choose our battles."
Carolyn gave a derisive snort. "Choose? Architecture seems like such a safe career. I couldn't have foreseen what happened to Robert. And writing seemed like it would be peaceful and quiet."
They shared a look and a chuckle.
"I can't tell you all the plans that Robert and I had. We even talked about what we would do after we retired. We planned like we had seven lifetimes ahead of us." She made a strangled sound.
The Captain nodded. "We've been given a second chance, you and I," he said gently. "To be brave. To face life, understanding that we're not in command."
"We thought we were. Robert and I were young, educated, upper middle class, two brilliant children…what could possibly upset our wonderful life?" She shook her head.
"Look at me, madam! I commanded ships. Sailed all around the globe, made a tidy fortune, and what? I kick a gas valve and it ends in a hiss!" He shrugged and threw his hands out.
They both had a laugh at themselves.
"I used to wonder sometimes. When I would read the story of Jonah to my crew. How would it be if a great fish swallowed me up and spit me onto some island far away?" The Captain motioned into the distance.
"And?"
"All my adult life I believed I was happier alone, with no family to hold me down—but I was wrong," he admitted. "You have taught me otherwise. Being an old salt isn't as much fun as I pretended it was. I have few regrets, but perhaps that's only because I have been presented with a second chance."
Their eyes met for a few seconds before they both looked away. Habits held for the span of several lifetimes, like the Captain's, aren't done away with in a day, or a week, or a year. But perhaps he'd learned not to guard them so well as he once did.
"I'll leave you to your work," The Captain bowed and disappeared.
Carolyn smiled, not at her article, but at "her work". She wasn't sure where it was taking her, but she was willing to trust that footprints would show her the way.
XXX
Candy filled her canteen with lemonade and put a package of cheese crackers into the pocket of her shorts. Scruffy was playing with Jonathan, so she had to make her trek on her own. She decided to bring her plastic pail, just in case blueberries had ripened.
She hadn't thought much about footprints before. She remembered one time when it had snowed and her father had made footprints going to the garden shed to get the snow shovel. She had tried to follow him by putting her feet into the hollows he had made in the snow.
But her legs were too short. She had her boots on, so she had still gone after him, but it had taken two of her biggest steps to equal one of his. The snow was deep enough that some of it had gone down into her boot when she stomped in it. She remembered how cold it had felt. When she stepped on his prints, no snow went into her boot. If she could find a way to follow her daddy exactly, she would be protected.
Now she knew that wasn't true; he couldn't even protect himself. There were lots of footprints on the beach. There were the indistinct ones in the dry sand, and the very distinct ones in the damp sand, and the ones that only lasted until the next wave swept in and erased them.
Along the side of the road, near where the cars were parked, there were all kinds of prints because people wore all different kinds of shoes. There were so many prints that it was hard to pick out just one from the jumble of shapes and patterns. Even the cars left prints from their tires.
When she and Jonathan washed their legs in the hose and then ran to go inside, they left wet footprints on the steps and porch. Those prints lasted mere seconds. As they evaporated, they went from a perfect footprint with five toes, to a funny bean shape, to an oval, and then poof! They were gone. Jonathan called them ghost prints. Jonathan was crazy about ghosts.
As Candy crested the hill and saw the woods, she thought of the millions of footprints Barnaby had left behind. She wondered how long they lasted. Was it just until some other person or animal came and walked over them? Did they get washed away by rain? Maybe one of them would get trapped in time, like some dinosaur prints did, and millions of years from today, someone would find a line of Barnaby's prints and try to tell a story from them.
Maybe the article he was writing with her mother would be a way for his prints to be saved forever. Not his actual prints, but the stories and adventures they represented.
Candy jogged towards the woods. She wanted to see if Herschel was still there. It would be exciting if their moose picture got turned into a fossil, but that probably wouldn't happen. It took a lot of unlikely coincidences for something to become fossilized.
She stopped. Herschel was still there, sort of. It was clear that something had been going on in that space other than regular forest floor stuff, but the outline was smeared and trampled. The pine cone scales had been blown from where they had so carefully placed them.
The driftwood antlers were in place, and the stones that made the hooves, but Herschel's legs were barely discernible.
Candy frowned. She knew the moose wouldn't last forever, but she'd hoped it would have lasted longer. That she would be able to come and visit it often, even though she couldn't visit Barnaby like she used to.
One evening, her mother had taken her and Jonathan for an overnight stay at the campground where Barnaby lived. They had a campfire and told stories, then slept in sleeping bags in a tent they borrowed from Maree's family. That had been fun. Barnaby had a beard again, but it wasn't nearly as long as when Candy had first found him.
Candy looked up from the messy remains of their moose. She spotted a tree with smooth bark and thought that she and Barnaby should have carved their names there. She knew it wasn't nice to the tree to carve on it, but she'd seen it in so many movies and tv shows and liked the idea of it lasting forever, or however long a tree lived.
It seemed like there should be someway for people who had hiked that whole long way from the mountains to here to leave their mark—a way that didn't hurt any trees. If the article that her mother and Barnaby were writing made the trail popular, there might be lots of people showing up here next summer. She and Jonathan could have a stand selling Martha's lemonade. Mr Claymore could have a cab come by once a day to drive the hikers into town.
She walked a little farther into the woods than she had ever been before. It was past the moose and past the trail sign. She could see that there was a clearing where the gravel road began, but she couldn't actually see the road itself.
She found a rock to sit on, and sat with her back to the road and stared into the woods. Woods ahead of her, and on all sides of her. A shiver went through her. This was as alone as she had ever been. This is how it was for Barnaby for days or weeks at a time!
Candy wasn't sure if she was adjusting to the woods, or the woods were adjusting to her, but after sitting for a while, she noticed sights and sounds that she hadn't noticed before.
She was used to the pelicans and gulls on the beach, but here there were little birds that hopped in the branches of the tall trees. They made little squeaky noises. Some of them sounded more like wind-up toys than living things.
She noticed bees landing on a tree and wandering up and down the grooves in the bark. There were ants wandering around in the pine needles at her feet. Neither the birds nor insects paid attention to her. They went about their business as if she were nothing but a log laying on the ground.
Candy pulled out her pack of crackers and opened it. She unscrewed the top of her canteen and stood the canteen between her feet so it would stay upright. She wondered how Barnaby could have a fire in the woods without burning everything down. Everything around her looked like it could burn.
As she munched on her crackers, she noticed a movement in the tree top that seemed larger than the birds she saw earlier. But when she tried to find the source of the movement, she didn't see anything.
Crackers and lemonade were a strange combination. Milk might have been a better choice, but milk didn't travel well in a canteen. She'd made that mistake once before. She forgot to clean the canteen when she arrived home and the next time she went to use it, it had been horribly stinky. It was so bad, they had to throw it out.
But when you were a hiker, way out in the woods, you ate what you had, and you liked it! Again she saw movement in the tree top, this time closer, but when she tried to find it, nothing. She wasn't afraid, exactly, but it was disconcerting that something was heavy enough to move tree branches, but still able to disappear.
Candy took a long drink of lemonade. She sat up very straight when she heard scratching nearby. She stood up, and the remaining crackers fell to the ground.
Oh dear, what if the thing said "hellloooo" like the parrot the scared Barnaby in the woods?
She heard more scratching, but this time the sound was moving away from her. Then came an outburst of chatter.
She looked up. "You're just a squirrel!" She put her hands on her hips. "You're not scary!"
The squirrel thrashed its tail again and again, chittering and scolding.
This was a little red squirrel, not like the grey squirrels that were common in her grandparent's yard, or the big fat fox squirrels that lived in the park near where her daddy worked. Candy smiled. She liked the idea that she had her own kind of squirrel now.
She continued to stand watching the squirrel quietly. After a minute or two, the squirrel stopped scolding. It turned towards the trunk of the tree, and took a few cautious steps before stopping and flipping its tail furiously several times. When Candy didn't react, the squirrel moved to the trunk of the tree and went round the other side. She could hear its nail scratching against the bark.
In a moment, the squirrel's head came around the tree and it made a few angry barks at her. It descended the tree a few feet further, stopped and did some more tail flipping before easing all the way to the ground.
Candy stood very still, not wanting to scare the little creature, but it was now moving out of sight. Even with her head turned, she couldn't see where it went. She turned slowly, hoping the squirrel wouldn't run away.
It immediately bounded off behind a different tree.
Candy guessed that there was no way the squirrel was going to stick around unless she was so still she didn't even breathe, so she decided to finish her snack. She went to get the crackers from where they'd fallen on the pine needles.
One had already been found by the ants. She picked up the second one and inspected it. No dirt or bugs. She was about to take a bite when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. The squirrel was clinging to the trunk of a tree quite near and he was watching her intently.
She looked at the remaining cracker in her hand and tossed it towards the squirrel.
Its tail flipped and flapped and flopped, but the squirrel didn't run away. Candy knew that squirrels liked peanut butter, and the crackers had peanut butter sandwiched between. The squirrel reached way out from the tree trunk, its nose wiggled like mad.
"You can smell it, can't you?" she asked. He didn't run off at the sound of her voice, he just leaned farther from the trunk, and then made a jump, landing quite close to the cracker. Again he leaned way out, his tail flipping like mad.
Then, he walked right to the cracker, grabbed it, and rushed up the tree. He got to the first branch, tail fluttering. He held the cracker in his little paws and scolded Candy, feeling brave now that he had his prize.
"That's not a nice way to say thank you!" Candy scolded right back. Then she fluttered her hand at him, imitating the way he moved his tail.
The squirrel blinked at her, then forgot about scolding and fluttering and got down to the important business of eating the cracker sandwich. Little crumbs rained down. Candy guessed the ants would have a better time collecting those than the whole cracker sandwich they'd been trying to tackle.
She picked up the other cracker, brushed the ants off and left the cracker on the rock she'd been sitting on. The squirrel was watching, so he'd know it was there. She brushed crumbs from her hands and shorts and finished her lemonade. She hadn't had to walk very far into the woods to have her own adventure. Imagine how many she might have if she walked into the woods for days and days!
She made a slow circle in place, looking all around, including up and down, and letting it settle into her mind. This was her place, and in turn, she belonged to this place. She had heard the grown-ups talking their grown up talk about leases, and moving again, and problems with Mr Claymore, but Candy somehow felt in her bones that they were going to be here awhile.
She liked to watch a program on TV called Ms Muffet Meets. On every episode Ms Muffet would meet someone different and learn about what they did and how they lived. She had interviewed an artist at her studio. Ms Muffet asked the artist how she knew when a painting was finished.
Candy had been eager to hear the answer, because sometimes she'd wondered the same thing. She expected to hear one of those smart sounding grown up answers. The kind that you think you'd better pay attention to because it might be important later. But the artist looked surprised and confused. Then she said "I just know."
Candy liked that, because sometimes she just knew, without knowing exactly how. It had been that way with Barnaby. She just knew he was a friend. And she just knew they were going to live here at Gull Cottage for a very long time.
The squirrel had finished his peanut butter cracker and was licking his hands, watching Candy and considering whether to come down for the other one.
"Bye, Mr Squirrel." She waved. She didn't want to put him through all that work and worry to get the other cracker, and she guessed she had enough of the woods for one day. Maybe when she got home, she'd draw a picture of what she saw.
She walked back to Herschel and studied him. She didn't like to leave him here, looking ratty. She began to walk his outline, wiping it out with her sneaker, then she ran over the entire space several times until it was nothing but trampled ground. "Bye, Herschel," she said.
"Maybe you'll be like Frosty the snowman and come back every year."
She liked knowing she had the power to bring Herschel back. Anytime she wanted, she redraw the moose, and place the driftwood and stones back into place. Meanwhile she had the pictures. Maybe if she asked, Mommy would get one printed so she could put it on her wall.
XXX
In the Starboard Garden campground, Barnaby Donwell sat on an overturned bucket and adjusted the laces of his new hiking boots. He'd been able to catch a ride to Topside to go shopping with a man he'd met at Bible School.
He felt ridiculously excited about the boots, the way some people felt when they bought a new car. To him, the freedom that came with the boots was the same. He was ready to take on any trail now. He could choose to go or stay.
They weren't cheap. He never bought cheap equipment. He only bought what he knew would last. It might seem as if a new pair of boots would make him anxious to be on his way, but instead, knowing he could go when he wanted to, made it easier to stay.
Besides the shoes, he needed other equipment, and that took money. He would rather not dip into his savings any more than was absolutely necessary. The job with the school would only last a few weeks, but he'd make enough to kit himself out. He liked Schooner Bay. It had welcomed him. The people accepted anyone willing to put a hand to, as they said.
The campground wasn't as comfortable as the Muir's home, and his simple meals cooked over the fire or on his little stove couldn't hold a candle to Martha's scrumptious creations, but his years hiking had taught him that nothing lasts. Everything changes and there's always something new to experience just around the bend or over the next hill.
The Muirs were part of his story. Their home was a wonderful place that he had passed through. The campground was the next chapter of his story.
No one place was home, but somehow everywhere was home for now. Meals were as much about who you shared them with as what you ate. When he'd first begun hiking, it had been with the idea of getting to a certain place, to see a certain site. Then it was about covering a certain distance in a certain amount of time. Then it was to see how many cool places from the hiker's Hot 100 list he could get to.
But somewhere along the way, it had morphed into a way of being. He experienced an awakening, and realized that he could be ok with wherever he was, however long it took, and whatever he saw or experienced. He had started paying attention, not to where, how long, or when, and had simply started paying attention.
He was grateful for meeting the Muirs, and for Candy's friendship and generosity, but he wasn't sorry that he was at the campground now. And he wasn't sorry he was working at the school instead of walking on the trail. He needed to fatten up before he began another long hike, anyway.
He believed his footprints leading to Schooner Bay were worth following. He knew the Muirs had left their prints on his heart.
XXX