Perchance to Dream

by cryptwarmer

After Martha brings home an herbal tea, the family find themselves deep in dream land. Through a blend of fantasy and memories the Muir gang (and Martha) explore their pasts, fears, hopes and wishes. Warning: This story addresses the deaths of people related to our main characters. There is mention of a miscarriage. There is a carnival target game with BB gun in a scene.

Perchance to Dream

"What is this?" Carolyn pulled a small yellow box from one of the grocery bags.

"It's tea," Martha explained. "The choir director swears by it. It's supposed to soothe the throat and help you sleep."

"I hope it tastes good. Candy has been having bad dreams about that raccoon, even after we put up the screen. She wants me to close the shutters, but I hate to. It will make the room so stuffy," Carolyn went on. "Maybe this will help her fall asleep."

"The choir director says everyone in her family loves it. It's locally made with Maine blueberries, herbs and some kind of moss that grows in the woods." Martha pointed to the ingredient list.

"Organic, safe for the entire family and pets. Taste's great warm or iced," Carolyn read. "Well, except forCetraria islandicaI'm familiar with all the ingredients. I'm looking forward to trying it!"

"The kids will be starting school in just a few weeks. I figured we'd better start acclimating to a school bedtime schedule now," Martha reasoned.

Carolyn put the tea on the counter and returned to unloading the bag. She wasn't looking forward to the children going back to school. The summer hadn't exactly been peaceful, but she had enjoyed not having to stick to a schedule. She enjoyed the long lazy mornings, when they ate brunch instead of breakfast, and the evenings at the beach when they didn't have to worry about crowds or sunburn.

"You really are planning back to school!" Carolyn remarked upon seeing a 12 pack of pudding cups and two fresh boxes of crayons.

"The sales started weeks ago. I figured I'd better take advantage. Even if they buy lunch at school, they will make good after school snacks." Martha put her hand out for the pudding cups so she could place them in the pantry.

Carolyn smiled. Martha was a treasure. Yes, she was the housekeeper and cook, but she was so much more. She was a companion, friend, master of child care, budgeteer, chauffeur. An entire hat shop wouldn't have enough chapeaus for all the roles Martha held in the Muir family.

Carolyn paid Martha a fair, but modest housekeeper's wage. She'd have to have several best selling novels under her belt to be able to pay Martha what she was worth. But Martha maintained that she was happy living with the family and caring for the home.

She was needed. The children loved her, Scruffy respected her. She didn't have to pay rent, or keep a car, or live alone in a city with no family to come home to. "When it's time for our situation to change or for me to move on, I'll let you know," Martha had promised Carolyn.

Candy's friend Barnaby had built cubbies in the foyer for the children to keep their backpacks and school supplies. Hopefully that would make it quick and easy for the children to grab their things and run outside to catch the bus.

Both Candy and Jonathan were excited to ride the school bus. Candy thought it would be very grown up to sit on the seat and look down over the traffic as they drove by. Jonathan looked forward to learning his way around town, and getting to know where his friends lived.

Carolyn thought it would be lovely to not have to be dressed and ready to dash out the door to drive the kids to school early in the morning. She could stay in her robe and enjoy coffee. The extra time she'd spend writing instead of driving meant she'd have time to spend with the kids when they got home.

"I'm glad we kept Barnaby around long enough to get to know him," Martha declared. "He's done all the things that Claymore never would. Those steps he built in the pantry make it so much easier for me. And safer."

"I agree, he's been a huge help, but his job at the school is coming to an end. I expect he'll be leaving to visit family," Carolyn predicted.

"I'm glad we were his family away from family. I think we were good for him too," Martha said, reaching into the last grocery bag.

"Speaking of Claymore…" Martha began.

"Do we have to?" Carolyn rolled her eyes.

"He hasn't shown his face around here lately," Martha noted.

"I think he's laying low after "The Big Boo" turned out to be a big blah."

"I worry when he's quiet for too long," Martha admitted.

Carolyn was carrying a huge package of toilet paper to the downstairs bathroom when her phone rang. She nearly cursed Martha for mentioning Claymore, thinking it must be him, but when she checked her phone she saw it was her mother.

She set the toilet paper in the dumb waiter and stepped outside the backdoor to take the call.

"Hello, Mom. How are you?" she answered with forced brightness.

"Darling! I'm fine, your father is fine too. Of course you'd know that if you'd call once in a while. Oh, don't bother saying it. I know, I know. You're so busy with your writing," the woman said.

Carolyn bit back a sharp reply. "We've been figuring out how to set up a guest space," she said instead. "I've been looking at dining tables and a sleeping arrangement better than our fold-a-way cot." This was true.

"Darling, you know we wouldn't mind staying in a hotel until you get your house, I mean the house, arranged. Have you thought about buying a house of your own? It's so much smarter than renting."

Carolyn knew this, but she was still taking Schooner Bay for a test drive so to speak. Besides, she liked living up the hill and near to the beach. For now, she was right where she wanted to be.

"I want to see how the children like the school and living in Schooner Bay before I think about buying," Carolyn explained. That was sound thinking and it should quiet her mother for a while.

"Well, since it's unclear when we can visit there, your father and I have made a plan."

Carolyn went pale. She never knew what her mother might come up with next. "Oh, really?" she managed to squeak out.

"Yes, it's wonderful. You're going to love it. We've bought tickets for everyone to go on a cruise!"

Carolyn's brain hurried to catch up. Cruise?As in a dinner cruise, a three hour excursion around the bay, or cruise as in big ships and tropical islands?

"A cruise?Where? When?"

"It's marvelous. We're going to Puerto Rico and Mexico. The tickets are for October. Just for a week, but that will give us time to catch up."

"But the children are in school then."

"Oh, a week won't matter. Not at their age. And after all they've been through, the darlings. It's important to stay close to family. It will be fun. Fun for all of us."

Minding two small children on a cruise ship didn't sound like fun.

"And if you really want, we'll get a ticket for Margo too. She can watch the children." Her mother made the offer but her tone made it clear she wasn't happy about it.

"Her name is Martha, mother. And she's definitely earned a vacation from us. I wouldn't dream of asking her to spend her vacation watching the kids."

"You know best. There's a kid's club on the ship. We can drop them off there and they have all kinds of activities. Even if we never leave the ship we couldn't do half of all there is to enjoy!"

Some part of Carolyn's brain was computing that when someone told you they were bringing you and your children on a week-long cruise, the proper response was to thank them. Another part of her brain was coming up with one argument after another about why this wasn't a good idea and would never work.

But she hadn't seen her parents in months. The kids missed their grandparents, and after all, how bad could a cruise be? The kids would have memories to last a lifetime, and it was not something she was likely to be able to afford to give them.

"I'll email you all the information, and you can look at the brochures and the layout of the ship," her mother went on.

"That will be wonderful. Thank you." Carolyn finally managed to get the words out. "The children will be so excited. Living here and seeing boats all the time. They've become very interested," Carolyn told her.

"Oh they'll have fun! We have friends that cruise all the time and have been encouraging us to go. We started looking at the brochures and saw all there is for families and the idea came together in a minute."

"Yes, send me all the information as soon as you can. That way I can make sure we have everything we need," Carolyn tried to keep her tone bright.

It would also give her more time to find a way to get out of it…though she wasn't sure why she wanted to get out of it. Who didn't want to go on a cruise?

She conversed with her mother for a few more minutes. It wasn't easy to catch her up on what had been going on without mentioning the ghost hunting incident. There was no way to explain Claymore and why he believed his house–the house they lived in–was haunted.

Instead she told her mother about the raccoon, and Scruffy riding the dumb waiter and the kids getting their water safety certification.

When she got off the phone, and put the toilet paper away she returned to Martha in the kitchen. "Why is it so difficult to talk to my mother? It's like I can't think of anything safe to say to her! I mean, I couldn't tell her about 'The Big Boo'".

"Maybe you can have Candy make a list of everything that happens that is safe to tell her grandmother," Martha suggested, only half joking.

"Oh, and we're going on a cruise. I mean…my parents and the children and I. I mean…she said you can come if you want, but she'd expect you to babysit and…"

Martha held up her hand. "When is all this happening?"

"October."

"It might be very nice to be alone here, with Scruffy, in October. Or I could go visit my family," Martha considered.

"I hate to pull the kids out of school, so soon after they start," Carolyn worried.

"What's a week at their age?" Martha said with a shrug.

"That's just what my mother said," Carolyn told her.

"When you get older, your perspective changes. What is it they say? Don't sweat the small stuff," Martha offered. "It's not everyone who gets offered an all expenses paid vacation. Go on and have fun."

Carolyn knew that made sense. She just needed some time to get over the issue of her mother not asking her if or when she could take time off, or if she wanted to go on a cruise at all.

It dawned on her that "it's harder to get permission than forgiveness" went both ways. She had often made decisions and done things without telling her parents because she didn't want to deal with their reactions. Now they were turning the tables on her!

XXX

"Come on, we gotta go NOW!" Jonathan tugged on his mother's arm. "It's important." He pleaded with his eyes.

"We were just at the beach a few hours ago," Carolyn countered. "Did you forget a toy there?"

His face contorted and his brows drew together as if he was struggling with the truth or a lie. "No…but-"

Carolyn could tell that whatever it was, was extremely important to him. Jonathan didn't often demand that he get his way. He wasn't as quick tempered as his sister.

"OK, I'm ready!" Candy appeared, dressed for the beach with her favorite denim bucket hat on her head.

"Well, I guess I'm the one holding up production!" Carolyn shut her laptop and stood up. She grabbed her own sun hat and followed the children downstairs.

"Bye,Martha, we're going to the beach!" Candy called.

"Going? I thought you just got back." Martha appeared drying her hands on a towel.

"That was this morning's trip. This is our afternoon visit," Carolyn explained.

"Of course, how silly of me." Martha smiled. "Have fun, be back in time for dinner!"

Jonathan practically jogged them down the street, Carolyn was puffing to keep up.

When they got to the edge of the cliff, they looked down and saw the usual sprawl of people, as well as a group gathered near the rocks.

"Look!" Jonathan pointed.

"Maybe it's a seal!" Candy squealed and took off down the path.

Jonathan smiled and beckoned for his mother to follow.

"Jonathan, how did you know?" Carolyn asked.

"Captain Gregg told me." He reached into the bucket he was carrying and pulled out his pair of binoculars. They were only a cheap pair, but they would help Candy get a better look without getting near to the seal.

It wasn't safe to get close to such large carnivorous animals. But if she climbed the rocks nearby and looked down on the seal with the binoculars she could get a good look.

Carolyn thought it was very sweet of both Captain Gregg and Jonathan to make sure Candy got to see a seal. She'd been talking about it ever since they moved there.

"The Captain said there will be a lot more seals in winter, but I didn't think Candy wanted to wait that long," Jonathan said as he and his mother finally reached the beach.

"It was very thoughtful of you." She smiled at the boy. "Now, go on, but don't get too close!"

He gave her the thumbs up and ran off after his sister. She was as curious as the children, but having hurried all the way down to the beach, she needed a minute to catch her breath before running across the sand.

"Ahem!" A familiar throat clearing sounded from behind her.

She spun around, but didn't see anyone. "Captain?" she checked.

"Yes, it's me. How are you today, Madam?"

"I'm fine. People are going to think I'm crazy, talking to myself," she warned.

"Everyone is too busy looking at the seal or romping in the waves. I'm sure they are paying no mind to whether or not your lips are moving," he dismissed her concerns.

"Is it safe for the children to go near the seal?" she checked. Assuming that he had a lot of experience with the animals.

"I wouldn't suggest they pat one on the head, but unless they are breeding or have their cubs with them seals are rather docile," he explained.

"Pups," Carolyn corrected.

"Madam?"

"Their babies are pups," she explained.

"Not where I come from, or rather whence I come from," he said a bit sadly.

Carolyn wished she hadn't challenged him, after all, what did it matter?

"Thank you for telling Jonathan. This is going to make Candy's week. Maybe her entire summer," Carolyn hurried on.

"In the winter, she'll be sick of the sight of them," The Captain predicted. "But one's first time doing anything pleasant is significant, for the novelty."

"As a matter of fact, it's been a very long time since I've seen a seal on a beach. So I think I'll go and join them!" Carolyn decided.

She was a bit concerned when she noticed that Jonathan and Candy, along with a few other children, were in front of the group and closest to the animal.

The seal rolled its head back and sized up the crowd. It took a few awkward wriggles closer to the rocks. People had their phones out taking photos, but none of them were approaching the animal to get a selfie with it.

"Do you mind?" A woman asked Carolyn, holding out her phone. "Could you take a picture of me and my husband with the seal behind us?"

The woman motioned towards the water. She and her husband stood up to their knees in the surf and Carolyn snapped their photo. The seal was small, but it was in the background of the photo.

"Yuck!"

"Gross!"

"Ewww, what a stink!" The crowd was reacting to something.

Jonathan came wriggling his way through the crowd and back to his mother.

"It pooped!" he explained. "Or maybe it peed. It was disgusting." He made a face.

Candy came walking over. She was tugging her hat further down onto her head with both hands. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was in a grimace. "I think it did that on purpose to make the people go away."

Indeed, the crowd was backing off. A young teen boy was staggering making a face. "Sick. That was totally sick!"

"Well, now you've seen a seal," Carolyn squeezed Candy's shoulder.

"And smelled one!" Jonathan added.

"Remember that movie we watched where the kids kept a seal in the bathtub?" Candy asked. "It never did THAT in the house!"

"Does that mean you don't want me to take your picture?" Carolyn held up her phone.

Candy looked back over her shoulder. The seal had rolled onto its back. "It's still pretty cute."

Carolyn instructed the children to stand on a large rock, where she could get a photo with the seal behind them, without them being near it. Even 20 feet away, she could smell the rotten fishy odor of the poop.

"I'll send this to grandma and grandpa!" she decided. She wondered if it was too soon to tell the children about the cruise. The tickets had already been bought, but some small stubborn part of Carolyn still wanted to weasel out of it.

Martha was right. Who turned down an all expense paid vacation?

Scruffy barked a welcome as they entered the yard.

"Good thing Scruffy wasn't at the beach. He might have rolled in it," Candy said with a look of horror in her eyes.

"We'd have to give him about a hundred baths to get the smell out. It's worse than a skunk!" Jonathan added.

"What's worse than a skunk?" Martha asked as they trooped through the front door.

"What the seal did on the beach." Jonathan made a face and held his nose.

"It was like poo paint," Candy added.

"Oh. Well, can we not talk about that anymore, since it's nearly time for dinner?" Martha requested.

"We're not having fish or gravy are we?" Jonathan checked.

"No, we're having chicken strips and potato salad. Now go wash your hands."

"We didn't touch it!" Jonathan assured her.

"Thank God for small favors," Martha said, shaking her head.

Carolyn had to giggle as the children went to wash their hands. "I'm afraid seeing a seal wasn't quite the thrill Candy thought it would be."

"A child her age can get a lot of mileage out of a story about seeing a seal…well, you know," Martha predicted.

"I think it's fair to say she's had the summer of her young life," Carolyn agreed.

"A wedding, a stranger in the woods, almost being on 'The Big Boo', and a seal with diarrhea." Carolyn checked off the events of the Summer.

"Don't forget the photographers and bulldogs!" Martha said with a shake of her head.

"At least we have our couch back," Carolyn had wisely chosen a medium blue color for the second reupholstering. It was more dog friendly than cream and gold.

"We've made a lot of progress since we got here," Martha acknowledged.

Carolyn smiled at her friend. "In more ways than one."

She happened to look up towards the top of the stairs. There stood The Captain, wearing a gentle approving attitude toward the family had undergone a change. She had always heard that ghosts were stuck in time, repeating the same pattern over and over. But she was prepared to challenge that assumption.

The Captain was both learning and growing, she wondered if Robert, wherever he was, was doing the same.

XXX

"This is yummy!" Candy declared as she sipped her tepid tea while they watched a nature program on the television.

Jonathan and Carolyn were taking their tea in a regal manner, in tall flutes over ice and mixed with ginger ale for a sparkling treat.

Martha had made iced tea with hers.

Carolyn had been surprised when Candy turned down the sparkling version, but the girl had declared that the bubbles made her sneeze.

Jonathan agreed. He was drinking his through a straw so the bubbles would be a respectable distance away from his delicate nose.

Candy covered her eyes with her hands. "I know they have to eat, but I can't watch when hyenas kill some poor animal," she said. "I don't mind so much when it's fish eating other fish, but I can't stand it when it's something cute and furry."

"I don't like it when they put their heads in the animal's body and their faces come out all bloody," Jonathan offered. "Yuck!"

"Maybe this isn't the best program to watch just before bedtime," Martha said, reaching for the remote.

Carolyn nodded and found herself yawning so hard she couldn't answer. Finally she said, "Find something that will put us in a happy mood."

Martha selected a silly kid's game show but soon the children were yawning and showing no interest in the screen.

"Why don't we head to bed?" Carolyn suggested, and surprisingly, there was no argument from the kids.

Candy glanced at the window that the raccoon had entered through. Barnaby had put a real metal screen in the window and a solid wood frame that was held snug with screws. But she didn't like the idea of the raccoon looking at her while she slept, even if it couldn't get in.

Jonathan rolled the prayer die and handed it to his mother.

She read, "Now the busy day is done, Lord please bless us everyone, Keep us safely through the night, Until we see the morning light. Help me to be kind and share, and know that you are always there."

The children chimed in, "Amen." Carolyn tucked them in and kissed them on the forehead.

Jonathan managed to say, "Goodnight," but Candy was in the land of nod the minute her mother turned out the light.

Downstairs, Scruffy was helping clean up by lapping the remaining tea from Candy's cup. When Carolyn came down to straighten up and turn off the lights, Scruffy was stretched out on the couch snoring. He looked so cute and exhausted that she didn't have the heart to send him to his bed.

XXX

The Captain had been looking forward to his nightly chat with Carolyn, but when she entered the room after doing her toilette, she was yawning and her lids were heavy.

"I'm sorry Captain. It's not that late, but I feel so tired. If there aren't any emergencies, do you mind if we postpone our chat until morning?"

There were no emergencies, real or imagined. He was tempted to make one up just to get her talking, but as she had with Scruffy, he took mercy on her.

"No Madam, two bells and all's well. Sleep soundly, knowing Scruffy and I will be on guard," he said graciously.

"I'm afraid you're on your own. Scruffy is sound asleep too," Carolyn explained.

"That's unfortunate, but I've watched over Gull Cottage alone for well over a century, and I can do so tonight!"

"Thank you, Captain." Carolyn pulled her light blanket over her and rolled onto her side.

He could tell there was no point in saying any more, she was out. He strolled to the bedside and peered down on her. He had learned something in his years at sea, you could tell whether a man was good or evil by watching him sleep. Good men (and women he supposed) took on the innocence of children when they slept. Their brow smoothed and their mouth loosened. A bad man (and he had known many) scowled in their sleep. Their foreheads were banded with fret lines and their mouths were as crooked as their thoughts.

Carolyn sometimes appeared sad when she slept, but it was the sorrow life had pressed upon her, not the guilt over deeds she'd committed. He almost wished, in that moment, that her brow was furrowed, because he wanted to run his hand over it to smooth it. He wanted to be the one who brushed away her sorrows.

She made a small sound, almost like a chuckle, and repositioned her legs. The Captain knew no good could come of watching her this closely, so he glided to the bay and opened the window on the right.

XXX

Jonathan Muir made his way through the crowd of people gathered at the dock. He was pretty sure his mission was hopeless. His father had been gone so long that Jonathan couldn't remember what he looked or sounded like. People in town said Robert Muir was gone forever, but Jonathan was young enough to not understand the true meaning of forever.

Jonathan's size made it easy to slip past men pulling carts and barrows and push between the long skirts of the women. The vessel Archimedes had come into port, and he had to meet the ship in case his father was on it.

He'd been told his father had been killed by pirates…or lost in a storm…or ran off to start a new family on the other side of the wide, green, turbulent ocean. His mother had told him the story about the storm, but other adults had their own ideas about things.

Jonathan knew he should believe his mother. She never lied but she could be mistaken. She could have received false information. After all, Mr Jack Margulis had been declared lost at sea and he returned hale and hearty six years later.

Jonathan needed his father. They all needed his father. Nothing had been right since he sailed away. Mother had done what all women do when times get tight. She took in washing, and his sister Candace helped. Jonathan was too short to hang laundry, and not strong enough to wring laundry, but he could stand on a crate and stir the cauldron of clothes and soapy water.

The Muirs had taken in a boarder–as families do when times get tight– a Mr Claymore Gregg, esquire. Jonathan didn't know what esquire meant but if he failed to say it Mr Gregg corrected him.

Jonathan's mother had considered taking a job as a teacher, but it didn't pay as well as doing laundry. She'd spoken of starting her own school and setting her own fees, but the house was too small.

Jonathan feared it would be like this forever–there was that word again. If his father could be gone forever, he guessed other things could forever too.

The family was holding on for now. They still had clothes, but he was growing quickly and soon his clothes wouldn't fit. His mother had already sold some of father's clothes for money, and she made over some of his things for Jonathan, but now what?

Jonathan heard whispers around town that his mother would marry again. She was young, and still had her looks and figure. Even his grandmother had said as much when she came to visit after the news about father. She'd put her hand over mother's and said "Darling, I know how much you loved Robert, but you have yourself and the children to think of now. Nothing you do can hurt Robert, but not acting quickly might hurt all of you very much."

Jonathan had wanted to kick her right in the shin! He didn't want a new father.

Schooner Bay's harbor wasn't grand enough for tall ships to dock. The bay was too shallow and rocky. It was just deep enough for the fishing dories. They didn't smell very good, nor were they sleek and graceful.

Large ships, like the Archimedes, anchored a short way out to sea and long boats carried crew and cargo to and from port. At a small port, the longboats only carried necessary things like kegs of nails, barrels packed with everyday china, and rough cloth made with fiber from the Indies.

Jonathan wished he could visit a real harbor, like Boston, where grand ships sailed right into port carrying a bounty of fine cargo from all over the world. He would see men who looked very different from what he was used to, speaking languages that were as odd as the calls of birds and the grunts and growls of animals.

He imagined the magnificent cargo stacked taller than the tallest building in town–beautiful cloth, sweet smelling spices, and barrels and barrels of tea.

But maybe, just maybe, this time the longboat would bring the best cargo of all–his father.

XXX

Candace Muir climbed the steps up to the porch of Gull Cottage. Her legs felt tired even though the steps were few. She looked back to see where her dog Scruffy was, only to find him far away at the foot of a very long and high set of steps, like the ones at the museums back in Pittsburgh.

Scruffy barked. She slapped her thigh and whistled to him encouragingly. The dog began to climb the steps, but they moved like an escalator, carrying him down and away from her no matter how energetically he ran.

Behind her the huge metal door swung open. "There you are!" Martha scolded. "Your mother has been waiting for you!"

Candy tried to remember why her mother was waiting, but she couldn't.

Martha looked at Scruffy and made a disapproving "tsk" sound. She reached behind her and retrieved the grabber she used to put cans on the top shelf of the pantry. She swung it forward, the way a fisherman casts a line and it shot out and grabbed Scruffy from where he was struggling against the moving steps.

"That's better!" Martha said, putting the dog down and hurrying both him and Candy into the front hall.

Candy heard her mother's voice coming from the sitting room. When she entered, Mr Wilke rose from where he was sitting and bowed in Candy's direction.

"Candy! You remember Mr Wilke," her mother said, wearing a bland smile.

On the coffee table was a three tiered plate filled with cookies and cakes. Beside it stood a footed silver teapot and an assortment of tea cups.

Sitting with a very straight back, her mother poured tea into two cups. She set one down on the ground for Scruffy, and motioned for Candy to take the other.

Candy was puzzled as to why the disgraced Mr Wilke was here, and why the fancy dishes had been brought out for him, Candy wasn't sure how to act. She managed a clumsy curtsey, and then added two cubes of sugar to her tea.

"Mr Wilke was just saying that if he ever was to have a little girl, he'd want one just like you!" Carolyn Muir smiled at her daughter.

Candy sipped her tea, and felt her face grow red and hot. Little girl? She hated being called that. She knew that to grown ups she WAS little, and yes, of course she was a girl, but still!

"In fact, I'd like a whole army of them!" Mr Wilke declared. "Well, perhaps army isn't the best term. A troop. I'd like a whole troop of little girls just like you." He smiled his million dollar smile.

Under the table, Scruffy, slurped the last of his tea.

"Is that the term?" Carolyn asked, tilting her head to the side. "A troop of girls? They certainly are a force to be reckoned with!"

Candy smiled. She loved her mother. She loved being part of a force.

"Why, yes. A force. A power of nature!" Mr Wilke went on in his silky smooth voice. He spoke the words, not like he believed them, but like he wanted HER to think he believed them.

Mr Wilke blathered on, not realizing that Scruffy had lifted his leg and was peeing on his shoe.

Candy grabbed a tea cake and took a bite, to keep from laughing.

Her mother noticed Scruffy, caught Candy's eye and winked. Paul Wilke talked on and on.

Carolyn Muir sipped her tea, smiled and occasionally responded with, "oh how interesting!", "Isn't that fascinating?" and "I never would have guessed!"

Candy tried to be polite, but she was so bored of Mr Wilke's talk that she couldn't suppress a yawn.

Mr Wilke smiled at her, as if she'd just done the cutest thing ever and said to her mother "Looks like it's time to put baby to bed." Then he turned to her mother and winked!

"I am not a baby!" Candy stood up. Her tea cup dropped to the floor and shattered. But that just made her seem more like a baby.

"Candy," her mother said gently. "Please go to the kitchen and get a towel to clean that up."

Candy bit her lip so it wouldn't wobble and nodded her head in response.

"Poor girl, she meant well. You know, maybe it wasn't her fault. That could be the work of a poltergeist!" Mr Wilke was saying as Candy left the room.

She walked across the hall and pushed open the kitchen door. She could hardly believe her eyes. There stood her mother at the kitchen stove with an apron on. Claymore Gregg was seated at the table eating burnt pancakes that her mother had stacked onto his plate.

"But, I thought…" Candy knew there was something strange going on, but she couldn't recall what it was.

"Oh good! You brought your tea cup!" Her mother smiled at her and motioned for her to come closer. "Mr Gregg was just telling me about all the wonderful plans he has for the cottage!"

XXX

Martha "Marty" Secondhand leaned closer to the mirror. She checked her complexion, frowned at a pink spot that could be a pimple, then smoothed her hair back behind her ear. She guessed she still looked alright…for a married woman, and a pregnant one at that!

"You look beautiful. You always do Marty, now let's get going," her husband called from the other side of the door.

Marty checked her hair one more time. Her ashe blonde waves sat just so with the help of setting gel. It was an old fashioned hairstyle, but in a classic way. A regular bob looked silly on her, and a ponytail felt way too Barbie for Marty Secondhand.

Cal was leaning against the hall wall as she stepped out of the bathroom. "You look wonderful sweetheart! Always the best one in the room." He pulled her close and kissed her. "Even in that getup, you look prettier than those women in dresses and lipstick."

That "get up" was a pair of tailored pants with a striped men's dress shirt tucked in, and well worn boat shoes. She accepted her husband's compliment as he intended and didn't bother getting her back up about being compared to more feminine gals. Calvin Secondhand only ever had eyes for Marty since the moment he first laid eyes on her.

It wasn't that Marty wasn't feminine. She loved keeping house and cooking, and she was excited about the baby that was on its way. But women's clothes were so impractical. Her mother had often told her, "Mart, you have that kind of classic beauty that will let you call your own shots. Don't fumble that ball. Nature doesn't pass it to everyone."

She put her arm through Cal's and they walked out to the truck together.

XXX

Scruffy woke up to the smell of bacon. He leapt to his feet in one move and pushed through the flap door that separated the laundry room, aka his bedroom, with the kitchen. He made a lap around the table to take stock of things.

"Hey, Scruff my lad, what have you got to say for yourself this morning?" Robert Muir smiled at the dog and ruffled his ears.

"Oh, Robert, could you let him out back?" Carolyn asked.

Robert sighed, set down the magazine he was reading and got to his feet. "I thought this was why we got a dog door installed."

"Well, how could we have known there was that much wildlife in our yard?" Carolyn said with a smile and a shrug.

Raccoons, squirrels, the neighbor's cat and a skunk had all found their way into the house within a week of installing the door.

Carolyn told Robert they could get a special collar for Scruffy that would only let him operate the door, but Robert had refused. They'd put too much money into the darn thing already. How much technology does a dog need anyway?

Scruffy had gotten used to the dog door quickly, and missed the thrill of being able to go in or out at leisure. He tried to be patient as Robert unlocked the door. Then Scruffy shot as fast as he could to the back of the yard, behind the shed where an area had been set aside for him to do his business.

Scruffy preferred to rush as quickly as possible through his morning routine, then bolt back to the house to get a slice of bacon. But today, he got past the shed, slowed, then stopped. He smelled something!

The scent was unusual enough that it pushed the notion of bacon from his mind. It wasn't entirely foreign, but he couldn't place it either.

"Hurry it up Scruff!" Robert was calling. Scruffy knew he must obey Robert, but…

Scruffy gave two yaps, as if to say "hold on, important business here!"

Scruffy turned in the direction of the scent and put his nose to the ground to track it.

"Scruffy, breakfast is getting cold!"

He had no idea what Robert was saying, but he could tell from his tone that he was displeased.

Robert was often impatient. He always seemed to be pushing forward just a little harder than was comfortable. He rushed himself, he rushed his wife, he rushed his children, and he rushed the dog.

"I paid a thousand dollars for that dog. He should be able to do long division and recite Shakespeare but he barely understands his name," Robert complained to Carolyn, grabbing a piece of toast to eat while he waited for the dog.

"Scruffy is very smart, and you know it!" she chastened. "No one likes to be watched while they…attend to business," she explained.

"Fine, I'll leave the door open and we'll just deal with whatever wanders in," Robert said, going back to his place at the table.

Scruffy came bounding in, tail wagging, and hurried over to his dish to see if he'd been given his share of bacon and eggs. He had. One egg scrambled and a bite of bacon on a small serving of kibble.

"The dog version of eggs benedict." Carolyn smiled at the happy dog and poured more coffee for herself and Robert.

Scruffy, eager to show his appreciation, got onto his hind feet and turned a pretty circle.

"See, I told you he's smart!" Carolyn leant in and gave Robert a side hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"He is smart," Robert allowed with a smile. "He knows how to butter up the real boss in the family. The most important family member…the cook."

Robert and Carolyn shared a laugh, they both knew that cooking was not her forte. She could manage a decent breakfast, but it was Martha who worked magic in the kitchen. She was paid to cook and clean three days a week, but she usually made a few extra meals they could heat up and eat on the days she wasn't there.

Scruffy was smart enough to know that every family member had something important to offer that enhanced his doggy life. He made friends with everyone and was rewarded by everyone in return.

XXX

Carolyn's eyes snapped open at the unexpected clang of an alarm clock. Usually she was woken by the sound of gulls or Scruffy whining at the bedroom door. Occasionally, she set her phone alarm and awoke to a gentle blend of tones and bird song.

She hadn't used an actual alarm clock since…The clock clanged louder and faster making her feel anxious and rushed.

"Stop!" she said, as she did to her phone; the clock didn't stop. It clanged on. Carolyn sat up, reached towards the bed side table and hit the silence button with the flat of her hand.

Her eyes moved to the other side of the bed. There he slept as if the clock hadn't gone off at all. His form rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. Carolyn knew that even though he could sleep through the alarm clock, the smell of fresh coffee would wake him. She sat up, slid her feet into her slippers and stood.

She noticed that all the windows were closed. Something felt vaguely wrong about that. But of course the windows were shut against the sounds and the odors of the city. Their house was within a mile of a hospital, fire station and police station. Sirens blared all night long.

Carolyn smarted when she stubbed her toe on the leg of the dresser. What on earth was it doing there? She bit her lip to keep from crying out, then noticed that the room looked…wrong.

Two dressers, two closets, and a door that shouldn't be there. Then in a moment she remembered it was the door to the master bathroom and her heart leapt a little at the convenience of having a bathroom right off the bedroom. That was definitely proof of the advancement of civilization.

So as not to make noise, she didn't use the oh so convenient bathroom, she went down the hall and used the family bathroom. The square powder blue tiles were out of style, but she liked them. She liked the huge expanse of mirror that covered all the wall space above the vanity. She liked the old style shower stall built into the wall between the tub and commode.

She washed her face with cold water, and as she patted it, she thought she'd go across the hall and wake Martha. Then she stopped. Martha didn't live here. What in the world was she thinking? Martha wouldn't be here until Tuesday. What day was it? Carolyn couldn't get her mind to wrap around the date. Even when she looked at the calendar in the hall, she couldn't bring it into focus. The squares seemed to dance and shift. The numbers were blurry. Even the year was impossible to make out.

"Maybe after coffee," she said hopefully.

"Mom" a small voice called.

"Just a minute honey," she answered, but when she opened the door, it wasn't her daughter standing there. It was a squirrel.

"Where did you come from?" she asked aloud.

She looked down again, and there were two!

"I'd better not look again." She decided.

"Scruffy!" Carolyn called. Scruffy wouldn't put up with a squirrel!

Usually before the second syllable of his name was spoken, Scruffy was running to her, but today there was no sign of him.

"Oh dear, what if my Scruffy life is over, and the squirrel phase of my life has begun?" Her stomach sank at the thought.

As she made her way to the kitchen the pair of squirrels turned into a sea of them, chittering and scampering and making it nearly impossible to walk.

"There must be something I can say or do to make them go away," she thought as she pushed open the kitchen door.

To her surprise, breakfast was already on the table. Two steaming cups of coffee sat side by side. Hers with cream and his black. A plate with the remains of scrambled eggs and one piece of bacon sat at the place where the chair was pushed back.

She bent to peer out the window. Scruffy was sniffing his way around the yard and the familiar blonde head and sturdy build of her husband was motioning with one arm as he talked on the phone.

"Oh no, the squirrels!" Carolyn turned back, certain they'd be all over the table, but instead of squirrels there sat Candy and Jonathan. Candy was crunching on bacon with her back teeth, because her front teeth were missing, and Jonathan was spreading far too much jam onto an English muffin.

"Mom, how come it's grape jam, but orange marmalade? Why not grape marmalade and orange jam?" he asked.

"Marmalade is made from citrus fruits and includes the peel. Jams are purees of soft fruits," said a voice in an almost English accent.

She wondered if she was the only one who'd heard it, but Candy responded, "That's funny that marmalade uses the peel. We don't eat orange peels, but we do eat the peel of grapes."

"Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?" Jonathan asked, setting the perfectly dressed muffin on a saucer and beginning on the other half.

"He's just outside with Scruffy," she said, turning to see if they were coming in, but he wasn't there and Scruffy was beside Candy sitting up very prettily and begging for some bacon.

Three beeps came from outside and the children got up and ran out of the kitchen. Carolyn tried to follow them, but by the time she got through the door the school bus was already pulling away.

"Hon? Have you seen my green paisley tie? You took it to the cleaners last week," he called from the bedroom.

Carolyn frowned. She'd taken the tie, but she hadn't picked it up. It hadn't seemed important at the time to pick up the damned tie, or any of his clothes. Whatever could he want it for?

She went to the bedroom, considering whether she would tell him the truth–that she hadn't picked up his cleaning, or if she would concoct a story–that the cleaners had forgotten to put it in with the rest of the cleaning, and she'd get it this week. She didn't think she had the slips anymore. She recalled seeing them in her purse, feeling uncharacteristically angry and throwing the slips away. She recalled how they'd looked in the bathroom trash can, purple with black letters and numbers against the tissues and paper towels, one with a dot of blood on it from where he'd nicked himself shaving.

"I could use some new razors." The voice came from the bathroom now, she could smell shaving cream. Her stomach turned, the scent had made her vomit during both of her pregnancies. He'd had to make a lather from shampoo and use it to shave with. He hadn't liked to, but she didn't see what difference it made. He said it had something to do with menthol, but why put menthol in shaving cream to begin with?

She stepped into the bathroom–he wasn't there.

"I should have polished these shoes, I'll stop somewhere downtown. We really should teach Jonathan how to do it. How to give them a good shine. Teach him how a job well done feels."

Carolyn guessed that made sense. It would save them money. And Jonathan could earn some money, he could put it into his Godzilla bank, along with the five dollars Grandma and Grandpa had given him in his Easter basket.

"Do you want help with your cufflinks?" she offered. But the room was dark. The bathroom was empty. The closet lights were off, and she didn't see a single pair of men's shoes.

XXX

"Sonny!" A man called out to Jonathan. "Do you know Master Coolidge?" The man was holding up a half penny and Jonathan sensed an opportunity at hand.

"Norrie Coolidge?" Jonathan named the owner of the town pub, 'The Lobster Pot'.

"Aye! Tell Master Coolidge the Archimedes needs two kegs of small beer and a bottle of his finest for the Captain. We've got two barrels of goods for him in return!"

Jonathan's lips drew into a tight line and his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on the half penny.

"Oh, m'lad. Did you be wanting this?" The man grinned a near toothless smile. "Smart lad, wanting payment for your troubles. It's yours when you get back!"

Jonathan shook his head and bit his bottom lip. He knew that a good boy would do as he was asked and seek no payment in return, but Jonathan had his family to think of. This sailor man might be gone back to his ship by the time a cart from Norrie's showed up.

"You drive a hard bargain. And me not knowing if I can trust you," the man feigned disappointment.

"I'm the son of Robert Muir, and there never lived a more trustworthy man,"Jonathan said firmly, even though a tear stung his eye.

"Muir…Muir…I don't believe I'm familiar with a Muir." The man scratched at his chin. "But on your father's good name!" he declared and tossed the half penny high into the air.

Jonathan watched it rise, then fall. He snatched it from the air before it hit the ground, and took off running.

When he entered 'The Lobster Pot' it was hard not to put his half penny down and get a plate of bread and gravy. The air was thick with the smell of men, ale and food. Glorious food.

Jonathan swallowed down the saliva that had risen in his mouth and spoke to the serving man. "The Archimedes is in the harbor. They want two kegs of beer, and a bottle of your finest for the Captain. And they've goods for Master Coolidge as well," he relayed his message.

The serving man nodded his understanding with a jerk of his chin. Jonathan turned to go, but the man took hold of his shoulder.

"For your trouble." He handed the boy a meat pie.

Jonathan's eyes grew huge and his mouth fell open. A half penny AND a meat pie? Perhaps he should make a habit of carrying messages from the big boats. He backed his way out of the pub and went round the corner where he put his back against the wall and sank down on his heels to enjoy his feast. He broke the pie in two and held a piece in each hand, hoping that might make it last longer.

He bent his head so no one would recognize him. He knew he should take the pie home to share with his mother and sister, but his tummy rumbled in a thunderous way, and he'd earned the pie fair and square.

By the time he was done, the cart was loaded with the kegs and was ready to head to port. Jonathan licked his palms to get every last crumb, then wiped his hands on his pants and jumped onto the cart as it began to rumble off. The old donkey still had enough pep in its step to pull the load over the cobbles.

Jonathan guessed it wasn't fair to the donkey to add to its load, but it wasn't struggling. The driver that walked alongside the beast didn't mind and Jonathan liked riding high up, his eyes level with the top of most folks heads.

The harbor was but five minutes away, even pushing through the crowd attracted by the excitement of a grand boat at anchor. Some town's people were riding the long boats out to the Archimedes to see the ship for themselves. Others were taking turns looking through a telescope at the grand ship's rigging, gunwales, and beautifully carved figurehead.

This was turning out to be a fortuitous day. If his father wasn't on this ship, perhaps the truth of what had become of his father was. Maybe he could ride in a long boat and see it for himself. Maybe today was the day for all good things!

XXX

Candy wasn't sure what was more surprising, her mother making pancakes, or her mother acting pleased with Mr Claymore.

Candy sat in the chair Mr Gregg pulled out for her and waited while her mother set a plate of pancakes in front of her. Unlike the burned ones that Mr Gregg was devouring with gusto, hers were a perfect golden brown, and they had strawberries and whipped cream on top!

"Thanks, Mom!" Candy grabbed a fork and dug in. In a moment her mother returned with sausage links. Candy's looked perfect, but Mr Claymore's were gray and unappetizing.

"Now, Claymore–" her mother said as she slid into her seat behind her own stack of blueberry pancakes. "I want to hear all about the garage."

"I'm glad you asked. I was envisioning two stories. Room downstairs for your vehicle and plenty of room for the children's bikes, sleds, sports equipment, that sort of thing." He stopped speaking to gulp some coffee.

His eyes lolled about in his head, his face turned red and he banged his fist on his chest as he attempted to speak. "Strong…just the way I like it!" He managed to force the words out.

"Candy, can you get Mr Claymore a glass of water?" her mother asked.

Candy jumped to her feet and filled a glass, but when she turned back, her mother and Mr Gregg were staring into each other's eyes and wearing soupy smiles.

"You're so good to us," her mother said, batting her lashes.

"Only the best for my favorite tenets," Claymore swooned right back.

Candy's brow furrowed. It was nice to see them getting along, she guessed.

She was walking towards the table, holding the glass of water in front of her when she heard someone call her name. Candy looked towards the door that opened onto the foyer.

"Candy, can you come here?" It was her mother's voice.

She looked back towards the table, but it was empty.

"Coming, Mom!" She put the water on the table and ran out of the room.

XXX

"Come on now, where are you taking me?" Marty asked Cal as they drove towards the two lane highway that led to the coast in one direction or to town in the other.

"Out for a good time!" Cal put his hand over hers where it rested on her thigh and gave it a shake. "All work and no play makes Marty a sad gal."

Work, work, and work. He wasn't wrong. Her hands were rough, red and scarred from the endless shifts at the cannery. Workers loved canning season for the money, but hated it for the smell, and the aching feet, sore backs and stinging cuts on their hands.

During the busiest season the cannery operated seven days a week, two twelve hour shifts.

"Where are we going, Cal?" she asked again. The windows were open and the wind was threatening to wreck her hairstyle. She wanted to look nice when they arrived.

"You look beautiful Marty, just beautiful!" Cal smiled even wider.

Martha was growing frustrated. He wasn't answering her question. What was wrong with him?

"With the money we set aside, we can go anywhere we want," Cal said, nodding his head up and down.

Martha frowned. Cal didn't know about the baby. She could tell him now, but she didn't want to ruin his plans for their night. She wanted this one last night where it was just the two of them and the world was their oyster.

In a moment, they were parking in an open field. The sounds of carnival rides and smell of funnel cake filled the air. Colored lights blinked and flashed.

"Come on Mart! Anything goes!" Cal was tugging her arm, drawing her closer to the action.

The smell of fried dough made her tummy flip. Cal thrust a paper box of caramel corn towards her, then cotton candy, and a soda in a tall paper cup. He was holding two candy apples.

"I don't have enough hands," she told him.

His face fell, as if she'd broken his heart.

"I just want you to have a good time Marty. You work so hard."

Was that a tear leaking from his eye?

She'd forgotten what a cryer Cal had been. How soft he was inside, and how hard he tried to hide it.

"Let's play some games!" he called. His eyes were shiny bright and he had a grin on his face as if he'd never had a bad day in his life.

She heard two familiar yaps.

"Look Marty! It's a trained dog act!" Cal pulled her towards it.

They stood and watched the pooches jump through hoops, walk on two legs and do other assorted tricks. There were brown dogs, red dogs, spotted dogs, curly haired dogs and one dog with no hair at all. But none of them matched the bark she kept hearing.

She searched for that one certain dog, while around her the crowd clapped and oohed and ahhed at the tricks. A dog carrying a basket of change and small bills stopped in front of her. The show was over and he was collecting tips.

Cal had his wallet out and was counting out hundred dollar bills. Martha's eyes grew wide. They couldn't afford that! No matter how good the canning season had been.

"Cal!" she scolded.

But he dropped the money in the basket and the dog ran off into the crowd.

"I need to tell him," she thought. "We need that money for the baby."

"Come on Marty, let's see if you still got it." Cal poked her with his elbow. He jerked his chin towards a target shooting booth. Martha had always been a good shot, and she enjoyed showing off.

"Loser does dishes for a week!" Cal goaded her.

It was a sweet wager he made; he always lost.

XXX

Scruffy was sleeping in his very comfortable red plaid bed when he heard the unmistakable sound of the school bus's brakes, screeching to a stop.

This was his cue to run to the door and greet the children. He got to his feet, yawned, stretched and trotted towards the front door. He looked around expectantly for either Carolyn or Martha to unlock the door. But they were nowhere to be found.

He listened for the children's footsteps hurrying up the front walk. The school bus pulled away, and all was silent.

Scruffy whined. He turned in a circle, sat down, then barked twice at the front door. Nothing. He went to the door, got onto his back legs and scratched at the door knob, barking, hoping it would open.

Nothing. The house was dark and quiet. Late afternoon shadows told him it was time for someone to be making dinner, his dinner. But there was neither the sound or scent of anyone at all.

Maybe he'd slept through the children arriving home. He ran down the hall to their bedroom, which was even darker than the rest of the house. No children. He checked Carolyn and Robert's room, just in case, but it was empty too.

He felt a familiar tingle near his backside, signaling that it was time for his walk, or at the very least, a quick trip out back, but there was no one to let him out.

He walked to the kitchen, the sound of his nails on the hard floor and the jingling of his tags seemed almost threatening in the empty room.

Scruffy was relieved to find that his dog door had been reinstated, and he could let himself out. He pushed through the flap and ran into the yard, barking to let the world know that even if the people weren't there, he was on guard.

He did his business and made two laps of the yard, before heading back towards the house. He pushed through the door expecting to see and smell the empty laundry room, but this wasn't his laundry room. It was an enclosed porch and the voice he heard wasn't Carolyn's, but it was like Carolyn's.

"Oh, Brad, grab him will you? We need to wipe his paws before he makes a mess of the rug."

Scruffy stopped in his tracks. He backed up, but the dog door was gone, and a large man, muttering under his breath, had him by the collar.

Scruffy whined and growled, but he couldn't get free.

XXX

The phone rang–not the cell phone–the landline phone. Robert swore up and down for the past three years that he was going to get rid of it. They didn't need it; everything was cellular. But he worried that work might need to get in touch with him and his cell might be lost or broken.

Predictably, the only calls they got on the land line were from political campaigns or sales calls. Carolyn hated that phone. She hated answering it knowing that it would be a nuisance call.

When Robert wasn't home, Carolyn ignored the landline. It was a trade off between having to listen to the rings until the caller gave up, or having to listen to whatever annoying sales pitch someone was pushing. Sometimes she'd lift the receiver for a second or two without bringing it to her ear, then drop it right back into its cradle.

She didn't know why she answered it THAT day of all days. Something made her pick up the phone and say "hello". The voice on the other end informed her that there had been an accident.

When she had finally returned home that awful, awful night, she walked into the house and threw the phone across the room, pulling the line out of the wall.

Why was it ringing now? What could it possibly have left to say to her?

She lifted the receiver to her ear. Scruffy was barking. But not his usual bark. This bark was almost conversational, as if the barks were words strung together into sentences.

She wasn't sure how to respond. She didn't speak dog. Sure she and Scruffy managed to understand one another in their own way. He could tell her he wanted to go out, or eat, or that he didn't like someone. But they didn't converse.

"Scruffy, slow down. I can't understand you," she implored.

He didn't slow down, but the barks sounded further away, as if they were coming through a long hollow pipe.

Carolyn hung up the phone and sat down on the floor. She felt dizzy and confused. There was a knock on the door. She didn't get up. She knew who it was. It was the men Robert worked with, coming to take her to the hospital. They wouldn't admit he was dead. No one would tell her that until right before they brought her into the hospital room, where there was a body on a gurney with a sheet pulled over it.

She remembered the murmur of voices. "You don't have to look, we already have positive identification. We can call family to be with you. It's not pretty…"

Robert had always been so organized and prepared. These kinds of accidents didn't happen to people like Robert. He couldn't be dead. What about the children?

A hand shook her shoulder where she was sitting on the floor. "Mrs Muir? Are you ok? Would you like to lay down?" It was Martha, her housekeeper.

Carolyn began to rise, putting her hand on the sideboard to assist her. "There's someone at the door.."

"That was me. I thought I'd lost my key, but I found it at the bottom of my bag. That's the problem with these big bags, it's easy for things to get lost."

"Robert is–"

"Don't worry. I picked up his cleaning," Martha assured her.

"It's all ok. Everything is alright," Carolyn thought to herself. "I'm not alone and Robert isn't–"

It was dinnertime and one of Robert's jazz records was playing. There were candles on the table and glasses for wine.

"Daddy!" Candy called happily from someplace behind her. "I missed you!"

"Well I'm here now!" Robert said, swinging the girl up into his arms.

"Daddy!" Jonathan came running in. "Did you remember? Did you?"

"Oh no, sorry sport. I got caught in traffic, then an important call came in. By the time I passed the magic shop, it was closed. But I'll get them just as soon as I can."

Carolyn smiled. She knew 'them' referred to a pack of magic cards. Jonathan had seen a magician at a birthday party and now he wanted cards of his own.

She turned toward the front door, ready to approach for her own hello, and a kiss. She frowned. Jonathan was playing with a building set on the floor and Candy was watching TV. She looked to the coat tree, beside the door. Robert's coat wasn't there.

She turned back to the table, it was set for three with their everyday crockery and no candles. Two glasses of milk and a glass of water for her.

A blaze of anger and frustration rose in her. She wanted to throw the dishes. She wanted to break the window glass. If she had only turned around a moment sooner.

She almost longed for the chance to be at the hospital and pull down that sheet, just so she could see him again.

XXX

At the harbor, there was a small crowd watching a man juggling balls made of rags. As he juggled he cracked jokes and danced to keep the crowd's attention and get a laugh.

Jonathan's mother had told him to be wary whenever a crowd gathered. She said that men like the juggler were there to draw attention to themselves, while their friends went through the crowd and picked people's purses and pockets.

Jonathan had nothing to fear. He only had the half penny, and he'd put it in a pocket on the inside of his britches. The thieves would have to strip his pants off of him to get it. Besides, the way he was dressed, no one would expect him of having so much as a farthing.

Still, he watched the crowd as much as he did the juggler, hoping to catch the thieves in action. He wasn't sure if he'd say anything if he did see them picking pockets. He might just watch. Or he might shout, "Pickpocket!" and point. He didn't want his neighbors to be robbed, but he wasn't a constable. It wasn't his job, as a young boy, to haul the bad men to jail.

He certainly didn't want to cause any trouble for his mother and sister. If he angered thieves, there was no telling what they might do to get back at him.

Tired of watching the crowd and juggler, Jonathan pushed his way through to the dock. Some ladies and gentlemen dressed in finery were exiting a long boat. They spoke of how fine the ship was, how clean the decks, and what a dashing figure the Captain made.

Some rough looking men already had a load of goods to take back to the ship, including the kegs from 'The Lobster Pot'. Jonathan put his hand over his eyes and peered out at the ship. He wanted to see it. He wondered if the half penny would earn him passage.

"Have you ever seen such a ship?" one of the rough men asked him.

"No sir. Only the small ships that can sail our bay."

"Would you like to?" the other man asked.

"Yes, very much!" Jonathan swallowed down a bit of saliva that had filled his mouth at the idea of seeing the fine ship.

"I'm looking for my father. Maybe the Captain knows of him," Jonathan thought aloud.

"Aye. The Captain's a smart man. He knows many things." Together the men heaved a keg into the long boat.

Jonathan noticed the men were talking with their eyes, the way grown ups often did. He hoped that they were thinking of something that would add to his lucky day.

"You don't take up much room. Come on with us. See the Archimedes." The man's smile was friendly in spite of his missing teeth.

Jonathan's answer was a wide grin.

XXX

Candy followed the sound of voices and laughter out to the back porch.

"There you are!" Her mother smiled. "Barnaby was just telling me how you helped him organize his pack."

"You rolled my air mattress tighter than I ever could!" Barnaby marveled.

Candy frowned. She didn't recall rolling anything. And why was Barnaby packing up? Was he leaving?

"Martha says she does the same with cinnamon rolls!" Carolyn went on. "And she could teach them a thing or two at the fruit roll up factory!"

Barnaby laughed way harder than he should have, and smiled all the way to his hairline at her mother.

"He's my friend!" Candy spat the words out, and immediately felt ashamed. What was wrong with her? Was she jealous of her own mother?

"Of course he is darling!" Carolyn stooped to give Candy a hug, but Candy didn't go into her mother's arms. She wasn't a baby, and she didn't want Barnaby to see her as one.

Barnaby's eyes shifted away from Candy, as if to give her time to pull herself together.

"Merrily we roll along…" Barnaby sang as he stuffed items into his pack.

Candy wanted to protest, because he was putting the wrong things into it. He had added a well chewed toy of Scruffy's, the coil of garden hose, still attached to the spigot, one of Candy's bathing suits off the line, a rock, a handful of sand, and an ice cream bar.

"I think you should make a list!" Candy said suddenly. She was good at making lists, and lists helped get things done properly. She probably couldn't spell everything that Barnaby needed, but she could come close enough.

"Why that's a wonderful idea!" Her mother clapped her hands.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Barnaby grinned and turned his pack upside down and shook it so the items would fall out.

The first thing that came out was a Barbie doll. Candy frowned. She didn't play with them a lot. But she had played with them more since she moved here because Maree liked to. Candy wasn't crazy about Barnaby thinking she liked to play with dress up dolls.

The second thing to fall out was the big lace bow from the wedding. She blushed harder. Barnaby always saw her in shorts or a swimsuit. Ready for action, not dressed up prissy and pretty.

The third thing that fell out was the raccoon!

"What's he doing in there?" she and Barnaby said at exactly the same time. Then their eyes met and they laughed and all her embarrassment drained away. She didn't have to pretend with Barnaby. Because you don't have to pretend with real friends. It was ok for her to be a little girl sometimes, and for her to be a backpacking friend at other times.

"You don't have to pick a side!" Martha's voice was suddenly there. That was what Martha often told her when she got twisted in knots about things like clothes, or toys or what she wanted to be when she grew up. "It's not a contest and you don't have to pick a side." Meaning that Candy could be who she was and do what she wanted and she didn't have to change to make some other person happy.

Except that Candy knew that sometimes she did.

Barnaby was shaking his pack again. He stood up and shook and shook. Sand and dirty balled up socks came out and kept coming out, making a pile that grew until it was nearly up to his waist.

"There! I think it's empty now!" he announced.

And just like that the pile disappeared. Beside Candy was a pad of paper and a pencil.

Her mother reappeared with glasses of lemonade.

"Mom, do you want to help us make a list?" Candy asked.

"Oh no. I'm terrible with lists. If it's a list you want, Candy is the one for you. No one makes a better list than Candy." She smiled lovingly at her daughter.

Candy grinned gratefully. It wasn't easy to be recognized for something when you were so young.

"Ok!" Candy said with authority. She wrote, 'paking list'. "Number one!"

XXX

Marty pushed her hair back behind her ears. She didn't want anything in the way when she began shooting at the targets.

Cal made much of acting as if he was trying to break her concentration. First through flattery, which he knew she didn't care for. "How can such a pretty girl have such a lethal eye?"

Then through commonplace distraction methods. "Hey, shooter, shooter, shooter. Come on, don't choke now!"

Martha smiled at his attempts, but it didn't throw her off. She had 20 shots to use as she liked. Still targets were worth fewer points. The bear that rose and fell was worth 400 if she hit him, but she knew he was worth 800 if she shot him in the head and knocked him over.

The pecking chickens moved slowly by on their belt, the spinning clowns went in circles, and the squirrels danced all over the oak tree.

Marty's preferred method was to study the set up, come up with a plan, and start shooting without stopping or losing her rhythm. Her rhythm was determined by how fast the targets moved. This was a slow one as far as carnival games went. Or so she thought.

The minute she started shooting, the game sped up. Suddenly the bear was going up and down faster than she could get her bearings. The squirrels, which had been dented tin targets a moment ago, were real squirrels climbing on a real tree.

The chickens were flying off the conveyor in the awkward way chickens do. They came out of the booth squawking and flapping into the crowd of people. Women screamed, kids ran.

The only part of the game that didn't change were the painted tin clown heads that went round and round on their wheel, and they posed so little a challenge that Marty was ashamed to shoot at them.

Then, where the chickens had been, tin cans arose. They sailed down the line and then dipped back under. They moved slowly, but in order to knock them flat, you had to hit them just so.

Marty got her pellet gun lined up and narrowed her eye on a can.

Just as she was about to squeeze the trigger…"Well, that's a fine kettle of fish!" the unmistakable voice of Claymore Gregg said. The can was wearing his face!

"I think you're taking this entirely too far!" he scolded.

"Come on Marty! Aren't you going to shoot?" Cal asked. "Don't be a chicken now. Bok, bok bok, bok!"

She blinked away the image and let that can go down the line. She waited for the next one, poised and ready. "I knew you never liked me!" This time it was Robert Muir. "Do you think I died on purpose? Do you think I wanted to leave them all alone?"

She was so startled, that Martha made a wild shot, not aimed at anything. She hadn't especially cared for Robert. He had been a good man in many ways, but he was full of self importance. She guessed that she did sort of hold it against him for dying and leaving Carolyn and the kids alone and unprovided for. There had been something of an insurance policy, but nothing what you'd expect from a professional man like himself.

As she watched he disappeared from sight.

"What's wrong Marty? You call that a shot?" Cal whooped.

She glared at him then turned back to the game in frustration.

Now the cans were moving faster, and each can wore the head of a different person from her life. There was John, her would be prom date who went out drinking with friends, got sick and stood her up. Then came her fourth grade teacher who used to belittle Martha and the other girls in her class. Next was a man who used to work at the cannery and make her feel uncomfortable with looks and comments. There was her brother who drank and beat his wife. In quick succession, a neighbor's dog who had bitten a child in her care, a father who'd gotten too fresh with her. Before she realized it she was shooting them down. Bam, Bam, each one knocked flat before they could protest or plead their case.

Marty loved life, but why, oh why, was it so hard? So trying?

She was sweating and shaking, but her aim was true. As fast as they came, she knocked them down.

XXX

Scruffy knew he mustn't bite. He could bite to protect the family, but he could never bite a member of the family. The man who had a hold on him was 'of the family' though Scruffy didn't understand how.

The woman was coming, with the towel that Scruffy recognized well. It was the one she cleaned his feet with. He didn't like it, but the less he fought, the sooner it was over with.

Martha had a rag for his feet, for wet days when the yard was muddy. But she allowed Scruffy to wipe his own feet. She'd taught him, and then let him get to it. Sometimes she made him repeat the process, but he had autonomy, and that made it ok.

Here he was manhandled, and the woman was always nervous. Nervous about her floor, nervous that the children would spill something. All that nervousness left Scruffy feeling anxious as well.

He didn't like the way she said his name, with a wavering uncertain trill at the end. Like a question she didn't really want to know the answer to.

The man had his own names for the dog, Hairball, Ruffmat, Fido. Scruffy knew when he was being spoken to by the tone of the man's voice, no matter what he chose to call him.

"He's a smart one alright!" The man had praised him to Carolyn.

"Too smart if you ask me!" The woman stole the compliment away.

Scruffy stood while they went through the ritual of wiping his feet. He wondered why he was here again, with them. What had happened this time? How long would it last?

Scruffy's life was a procession of light and dark. Happy times and tense times. Sometimes it moved so fast that it strobed, other times the dark days were many in succession. So many that he nearly forgot the light days, and then, there they were again.

Times here had been the darkest days. When Carolyn and the children were both gone. The blonde man had stopped coming home and Carolyn was always sad, and then she was gone. Scruffy didn't like not belonging to someone, with someone.

He didn't like being a polite guest in the house with the nervous lady. The man meant well. He was nice in a sort of oafish, half-interested way. Sometimes he played with Scruffy. It wasn't the natural play of the children, but it was diverting.

Scruffy knew he needed to win the man over because he was certain he would never make friends with the woman. He had tried to charm her. He had followed her around wagging his tail. He had curled up near her feet when she read. He had sat politely and wagged his tail when she cooked. But nothing made a difference.

Well, if he was stuck here, at least he could find out if the children or Carolyn were here. He waited until his feet had been tended to, he even stopped and wagged his tail to show his appreciation. Then he took off.

He made a circuit of the perimeter of the downstairs. He didn't find his bed, which used to be in the living room, nor any of his toys. Nor the children's toys. He began to grow nervous. He went by the front door to sniff around for the familiar scent of the family's shoes. Nothing.

The woman saw him there and she warned, "Oh no you don't! You're not going outside. We just got you cleaned up!"

He gave her three short tail wags to let her know that he was just doing his dog duty, and continued on his way.

He was especially concerned about the lack of shoes. That was a very, very bad sign. The woman didn't allow shoes in the house. The door area was where the family deposited them.

"What in the world?" The woman's voice was raised. Scruffy lifted his head to see what was wrong.

"Is that what I think it is?" she went on.

He didn't know the meaning of her words but he could tell by the rising tone that she was growing agitated.

"Did that dog make a pile?"

He knew the words dog and pile, and that when humans used them close together it spelled trouble for him.

Scruffy shot up the steps towards the upper level of the house.

He'd never left a pile in their house. He didn't know what she saw, but he felt certain he was about to be blamed for it.

XXX

"What makes you happiest in life?" Pastor Ruth asked Carolyn, helping her into one of the chairs in the minister's office.

Carolyn's brow knit, that seemed like a stupid question to ask someone recently widowed.

"I guess the children…and my writing."

Immediately she felt silly. What writing? She hadn't started writing until…

"Just answer the question," the minister said. "It can be anything, no right or wrong answers here."

"Cold days. Really cold days. You know when you take a deep breath in and your lungs are like…wow!"

The pastor smiled and nodded.

"And watching Scruffy and the children. I love that dog. You know Robert didn't want–well, that's not entirely true. Candy fell in love with a puppy. Just a mutt, an adorable little thing. But Robert said his kid deserved a better dog than that."

The memory made her temples ache. "He knew someone that bred Fox Terriers, and they had two puppies left, so we went over there. I told him that she had already fallen in love with the other puppy, but he said that a kid will fall for any puppy. Of course he was right."

She sighed, "And if you want the truth, Scruffy chose us. The other puppy couldn't care less when we were there to meet them, but Scruffy took to Candy like they were made for each other. He crawled in her lap and licked her."

"The funny thing was that there was something wrong with him. I mean, not really, but for a show dog. He has some kind of fault. He still cost an arm and a leg, but he's not top notch like Robert wanted. But he could see that they belonged together. He didn't try to convince her to take the other one. Which is just as well because it would have cost at least $1000 more."

Pastor Ruth had her fingers tented as she listened.

"He's so smart. Sometimes I think he's the smartest one in the whole family," Carolyn admitted.

She closed her eyes and chuckled. She heard barking in the distance, and the sound of waves. She opened her eyes. She was on the beach.

XXX

Jonathan had been on fishing boats a time or two. He thought he knew what to expect when he got into the long boat. He wasn't prepared for how unsteady and unreliable the boat and water felt beneath him. The kegs made the boat even more unsteady, as did the wide flat bottom which lurched with every wave of the sea and pull of the oars.

They were about thirty feet from the dock when panic hit. There was land, and he was quickly moving away from not only it, but from all the people he had ever known. He was pulling further out to sea, and no one knew where he was. He hadn't told his mother. He hadn't told anyone.

"You don't know how big the sea is, until you're on it," he'd heard a fisherman say. Now he understood. He was afraid he'd understand even better in a very short time.

The sailors began to sing as they rowed. The tune was familiar but the words were different. He tried to whistle but it came out thin and was lost in the wind.

"Can you row?" one of the men asked.

He shook his head. He knew how, sort of. He'd rowed a very small boat in the calm of the bay, but the long boat was large and the oars were long and he was a very, very small boy on a big, big sea.

"What are you good for then?" the man asked, not in an angry tone, but as if he was asking Jonathan what skills he'd learned in his short life.

Jonathan was suddenly embarrassed that he didn't really have a skill. He felt that stirring the laundry pot wasn't worth mentioning.

"I clean. I'm fast," Jonathan said. "I notice things."

"Aye, that's a good start!" the other man bent his head to the boy.

Jonathan smiled, glad he hadn't been found wanting.

"Do you know letters or ciphering?"

Jonathan frowned. "My mother taught me to write my name, but I can't read."

"I once could. But I forgot how. Not much use for it on a sailing ship," the man said with a sigh.

This surprised Jonathan. He couldn't imagine learning something as magical as reading and then forgetting! That would be like working and working for a gold coin only to have it slip away between the boards of a shop floor.

Jonathan looked up now; the dock was very far away. He could see people, and a boat and the buildings of town, but couldn't make out what any of them were.

"Jonathan?" a voice called from far away. It barely carried on the wind.

"Papa?" He stood up, then sat back down hard as the boat lurched with the next pull of the oars.

"Is your father waiting for you lad?" One of the men asked, a look of panic passing over his face.

"No," Jonathan said sadly. "My father is lost at sea."

The men did that speaking with their eyes thing. But he didn't pay attention.

He sat, dejected for a few minutes until he heard a voice from above and beyond. "Have ye got what the Captain ordered?"

He turned to look. The Archimedes loomed right behind him.

"Aye, and more!" One of the oarsmen called.

Jonathan looked all around at the wide open sea, at the craggy shore, at the huge wooden ship and the waves that lapped at her sides, and at the beautiful carved wooden figurehead.

Instead of making him climb the rope and board ladder, the men passed him up. He closed his eyes, afraid he'd fall into the hungry sea. He kept them closed until he felt the solid deck beneath him. Then he opened one cautious eye.

XXX

Candy liked Barnaby very much. He was one of her most favorite people, but when he started talking about something he was excited about, he could be hard to take.

Apparently he liked packing. Their list had about 400 things on it already and he was showing no signs of letting up.

Candy yawned. She looked at the list and her eyes crossed. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate, she couldn't hear what he was saying while she was trying to write down the last several things he'd said. And she was beginning to suspect that he'd said some of the things several times and that they were repeating themselves, but the list was too long for her to be sure.

Candy wondered if one day she would find something she liked so much that she would talk about it for hours and hours. It was a big world, so you never knew.

"Barnaby!" she said finally. "I don't think you have room in your pack for all this stuff."

He looked up. "Oh? Well, maybe you should read it back to me and I'll tell you what you can cross off."

This time she did scream. She couldn't help it. She had what grown ups called a melt down. Something she hadn't done for a while. She wasn't even sure she'd done it when her father had died.

Barnaby looked absolutely terrified. The raccoon, who'd been playing with the discarded contents of Barnaby's pack, stood up, then ran off. Well, now she knew how to get rid of him.

A shadow stepped out of the house. "Hey, what are you doing to that little girl?" The voice was familiar.

Candy stopped screaming and looked at Harvey Dilman. He loomed over Barnaby who sat on the edge of the porch.

Barnaby stood up and looked down on Harvey.

Harvey gulped and offered a frightened smile. "But seriously…" he added.

"He wasn't doing anything Mr. Dilman. I just got tired of listing," she explained.

Her mother stepped out of the house and assessed the situation. She then handed each one of them an ice cream bar.

"Gosh, I haven't had one of these since I was a kid," Harvey looked at the ice cream bar the way he had looked at Gladys when they were about to get married.

Behind her mother, two people stepped out of the house, they already had ice cream bars. Candy made a face when she saw they were the fake grandparents. She still hated the way the man looked at her, it was halfway creepy like he wanted to take her home, and half like he thought she was something disgusting and stupid. Either way, it wasn't very nice.

The woman looked as vacant headed as ever. She sidled over to Harvey and began looking at him and talking to him in a way that made Candy feel sick to her stomach. She hoped her real grandmother never looked at men that way.

"Hey, watch what you're doing!" the fake grandfather said to Barnaby, "And you stay away from my wife!" he grumped at Harvey.

Harvey looked confused and uncomfortable.

"Don't be silly, I'm not your wife!"

The adult voices grew more and more heated. Candy took the opportunity to run into the house. It was cool and dim, and she ran down the hallway towards the front door. She ran, and ran, and ran, but the door never grew nearer. It was as if the hall rug were a conveyor belt carrying her backwards, back to the chaos, back to the anger and confusion.

Candy began to cry. She wanted to be away from them. She wanted to be safe and settled. She wanted to be taken care of instead of having to take care of someone else.

She heard the maniacal laugh of a witch. Thunder and lightning boomed and flashed around her.

"I'm sure that's the work of a ghost!" came Mr Wilke's voice.

"Any damage to the house is going to cost you. It's going to cost a lot!" said Mr Claymore, though she couldn't see him.

"Candy?" came a voice she didn't recognize. "Here."

Strong arms picked her up and set her down on the couch. The double doors to the sitting room closed and the thunder, lightning and voices were silenced.

Candy looked around. She didn't see anyone. Her heart was still racing.

"Here," the voice repeated.

Candy noticed movement and she looked up at the portrait hanging above the mantle. The man in the portrait was smiling, a nice change from his usual stern expression.

"You're The Captain, right?" she asked.

"Yes. I built this house." The portrait replied.

"Are you angry that we're here?" she had heard Mr Claymore say something like that, and then Paul Wilke had driven home the idea.

"No, not at all. At first I was displeased that my peace was disturbed. I had gotten used to living by myself, but now…I find I rather like having a family around."

He stopped and frowned as if he'd said more than he'd meant to.

"Perhaps it's like sharing a bedroom with your brother. Sometimes you enjoy it and other times you'd rather have the room to yourself," he made the comparison.

Candy nodded. He was right. At night, when it was dark and she got to thinking about that raccoon, she was glad Jonathan was there, even if he was just another kid. He wasn't afraid. In fact, she was pretty sure he'd smack the raccoon with his play sword if he had to.

"I like living at Gull Cottage a lot," Candy told him. She really didn't want to move. She liked this house better than any that she could remember, and she liked how her mother was here. And she liked that Martha lived here with them, just like family.

"I can understand that. I like living here too," The Captain said with a little smile.

"Even though you're stuck in that picture?" Candy didn't think she'd like living anywhere if she was stuck in a picture frame.

The Captain tapped his fingers on the ship's wheel in front of him as he thought. "It's better than being stuck in a picture frame in a museum, where people wear dress up clothes and whisper all day long, and at night there's no one around at all," he countered.

Candy had seen a movie about what happened in a museum at night, and it was very exciting. But that wasn't an art museum. She liked to think that at night everyone was able to step out of their paintings and walk around and get to know each other. Sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference between real and pretend.

"Candy girl!" a booming voice called from the hallway.

"Grandpa?" Candy turned to look, then rushed into his arms. "I didn't know you were coming!"

He picked her up and swung her in a circle as he lifted her into his arms.

She felt big and awkward there. She wasn't a very little girl anymore. But it also felt so good to be in his arms and hear his happy voice.

"It's only been a few months, but I can tell a lot of things have changed." His voice sounded a bit breathless.

"Put me down and I can show you all around!" she offered. There was so much to tell him and show him, she hardly knew where to start.

"Grandpa, this is Captain Gregg, he built this house." Candy pointed to the portrait, but it was just a painting again. The blue eyes appeared to be looking out over a stormy sea.

"A gruff old fellow if I ever saw one!" Mr Williams commented, but he said it in such a way that it sounded like a compliment.

"And these are the decorations I helped make for the wedding," Candy pointed to the garland on the mantel.

"And there's Hershel, our moose!" she pointed to another wall and projected against it was the moose. She clapped her hand and the image changed to the whale from Vacation Bible school. She clapped again and there was the seal on the beach, then Mr Wilke covered in flour.

Her Grandfather roared with laughter and appreciation and Candy's heart felt a little pang. She missed her Grandpa, but she didn't want to leave Gull Cottage to live with him again.

Her eyes went to the portrait above the fireplace. The Captain was watching the slide show too.

"You're so much better than my pretend grandparents," she said, shuddering at icky Maurice, and his jokes that weren't jokes at all.

From the kitchen Candy could hear raised voices. One was her mother, and the other one sounded…like her father! She didn't want to leave The Captain and her grandfather, but if it was her father, she didn't want to miss him.

"Daddy?" Candy ran from the room. She was standing on the hall rug, and looked at the gap between the rug and the kitchen door. The floor looked like lava. She looked back, and to both sides, all around her was a sea of lava dotted with woven rugs, furry rugs, welcome mats, braided rugs and the rubber mats they had in front of the doors at school.

She could still see the kitchen door, but it was farther away. She could still hear the voices and the anger. She decided to go back to the sitting room, where things were happy and The Captain and her grandfather were happy with her, but there was a sea of lava between her and the sitting room doors too.

"Oh, Robert!" her mother's voice scolded playfully from the kitchen.

"You'll always be my gal, Carrie," said her father's voice.

Then there was the sound of things falling and her mother calling out.

Candy needed to get to the kitchen before it was too late.

XXX

Martha focused on the ping of the metal balls hitting the tin targets. It allowed her to keep her concentration in spite of the music, lights and voices all around her.

Surely she was out of bb's by now! Surely she'd knocked down every target and then some. She'd set those clowns spinning so hard they must be begging for mercy.

The pellet gun grew heavy in Martha's hands. So, so heavy. Life was more than this. It was more than shooting down challenges one at a time, in endless procession. It was much more…wasn't it?

She tried to put the gun down, but it seemed stuck to her hands.

"I don't want to play, I'm done. My quarter must have run out by now," she protested.

A crowd had gathered and they were chanting, "Marty! Marty! Marty!"

Martha had never played to the crowd. Even when she played piano in the bar. She took requests, but she put her own spin on them. She was always true to herself.

A siren sounded in the distance.

"Marty! Marty!"

The siren grew louder.

"Marty!"

Louder still.

Martha turned to see where the siren was coming from.

An ambulance had arrived.

Two workers got out. They were about to remove the stretcher. But Martha walked toward them. One offered her a hand and she took it and made the big step up into the back of the ambulance.

Cal was already inside. "I'm so sorry Marty,"

Martha laid on the stretcher and let Cal take her hand.

He kissed the back of her hand then pressed it to his cheek.

"It's going to be ok, it has to," Cal told her, nodding emphatically, as if that would make it so.

"I'm ok," she told him. Not knowing if that was true, but feeling that somehow it must be.

"I never saw so much blood," Cal's face was white as a ghost when he said it.

Martha went cold. This memory had been asleep for a very long time.

From the front of the ambulance she could hear a radio playing. The song made its way from the tinny speakers into the back where she and Cal were. "You're the best break this old heart ever had…"

She had never loved anyone like she'd loved Cal. Yes, his softness had sometimes embarrassed her. And yes, sometimes she'd felt like she'd had to wear the pants in the family. But she'd never had a more sincere cheerleader. He'd been her number one fan, even though he knew her faults better than anyone ever would.

Martha let her eyes drift shut. There was nothing to do but wait. She listened to the music and felt Cal's warmth. She was so glad she no longer held that BB gun. She was tired of fighting.

When she could no longer hear the song over the sound of beeps and whooshes,she opened her eyes.

She was in the hospital bed. There was an IV in her arm and a frowning nurse was adding medication to it.

"Excuse me," Martha said.

The nurse ignored her. Martha looked the other way, but Cal wasn't there. He must have gone to get something to eat. He'd be back.

"Excuse me," Martha said again.

The nurse went to the foot of the bed and wrote something in her chart, then left the room.

People used to say that Martha would make a great nurse, but she'd never understood why. Martha didn't mind taking care of people, but she would struggle taking orders from a doctor.

"Well now, Mrs Secondhand," a booming voice made her turn in the opposite direction. "I've got some good news and some bad news!" He flashed a lot of white teeth. Under different circumstances she would have thought him handsome. She might even have flirted with him.

She wouldn't date a doctor either, because she was pretty sure that even at home they preferred to give the orders.

She didn't say anything, knowing that he would go on anyway.

"The good news is, you're fine! A few day's rest and you'll be good as new! I'm afraid your pregnancy self-terminated." Now he thrust out his bottom lip in an exaggerated show of remorse.

Martha's heart sank. She hadn't even told Cal yet. Any time she told him, he would have been thrilled to hear she was pregnant, but having to tell him she had been and now wasn't, felt cruel in the extreme.

She felt like her heart had stopped. Tears stung her eyes. "Pull yourself together!" she scolded herself silently. She was only a few weeks along…it wasn't like she'd felt the baby move or anything.

She realized that Cal must know. The Doctor or nurse had surely told him. That would be even worse than hearing it from her.

"My husband?" she asked, struggling to sit up in spite of the IV and monitor they had attached to her.

"I'm sorry Mrs Secondhand, he didn't survive the accident."

XXX

Scruffy realized his mistake once he got to the end of the upstair's hall. Downstairs, he could make a loop through the kitchen to the spacious dining and living room. The way the furniture was laid out he could always dash this way or that.

But upstairs, with the bedroom doors closed, once he reached the end of the hall, he'd reached the end.

He could hear the woman coming behind him. He whimpered. Then he barked. Surely there must be someone behind one of these doors who would take pity on him! He barked again and again and again. Furiously, desperately.

And just like that that wall in front of him opened up and there was Mr Belvedere, Gull Cottage's handy dumb waiter! Scruffy hopped in and the elevator moved down, down, down.

It was a longer ride than he was used to, but at least he couldn't hear the angry woman anymore.

Scruffy yapped, and scratched at the floor of the dumb waiter. He might have made a mistake. He might have taken a wrong turn.

Then, in an instant, there was an opening in the wall, and familiar scents and best of all, a familiar voice.

"Well, now, Scruffy? Where have you been?" The Captain asked. "I've gotten used to having a partner when I'm on patrol.

Scruffy barked. It wasn't as if he could explain himself. But he could let The Captain know that he was ready to assist!

"Care for a snack?" The Captain asked.

Scruffy wagged his tail in assent. Usually it was Martha or one of the children who fed him, but he was hungry and wasn't particular about who filled his bowl.

They walked together to the kitchen, where the good smells were even stronger. The table was set with heaped serving platters. Scruffy whined and drooled, but he knew he must never steal food from the table.

"Let's see…" The Captain, holding a large bowl, was walking around the selecting items to fill it with. "Oh, this looks yummy!"

Scruffy sat back and tried hard not to misbehave, but the more things he saw piled into the bowl, the harder it was to sit and wait.

"And a few of these…" The Captain went on. "You know, Scruffy. I myself don't eat human food, but I must admit that sometimes I miss it. Especially when your Martha cooks something delectably mouth watering. I can smell food, you know."

Scruffy could no longer sit still.. He leapt to his feet and circled the table a few times before sitting down again and wagging his tail.

"This should do for a start!" The Captain placed the bowl in front of him and then stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking very pleased with himself.

Scruffy could hardly believe his eyes and nose! The bowl was piled high with all kinds of delicious and rare treats. There were blueberry pancakes, bacon, sausages, bologna, a buttered biscuit, sweet corn, meatballs, birthday cake, and ice cream.

He hardly knew where to begin. On the other hand, he couldn't go wrong! His tail wagged furiously as he worked his way through the feast.

"I never thought I'd like a dog. As a pet, I mean. Dogs can have their place on board a ship or a farm. Particularly dogs like you who make short work of rats. But it seemed pointless to have a dog in the home. Always having to let them in and out…"

Scruffy had no idea what The Captain was saying, but he enjoyed the sound of his voice. The Captain spoke to him the way his family did, with respect and inclusion.

Scruffy ate and ate his magical meal, and somehow he didn't grow full, and someone the bowl didn't empty.

The Captain was whistling now as he carried dishes from the table to the sink.

Scruffy recalled another man who whistled, and helped with the dishes sometimes, but this was a different tune, and a different house. The next time Scruffy looked up the house was dark. The kitchen was empty, and faintly, from upstairs he could hear voices.

He yawned and sighed. His tummy was full now. He didn't feel the urge to run, or hide, or to try to stay out of sight. It felt like all those things were far behind him.

The sound of voices was interrupted by beautiful laughter, and a male chuckle. The house felt safe with sounds like that. The house felt right.

XXX

Carolyn had never been a beach lover. Growing up, the few trips her family took to the nearby beaches hadn't been much fun. The beaches were crowded and Carolyn hated forcing her way through the throng of bodies to get to the water, which was nearly as full of people as the sand had been.

Her brother Castle enjoyed the waves, the boardwalks, and souvenir shops-until he hit his teen years, when those things weren't cool anymore.

By the time Carolyn and Castle were in high school, their family had enough money to purchase passes to the town pool, and a membership to the country club, which was less crowded.

The Country club was a fairly short bus ride or fairly long bicycle ride away. Carolyn enjoyed swimming. She liked the clean cool water of the pool, and the comfortable deck chairs and chaise lounges. They were so much better than a sandy beach towel.

There were no glass, rocks, gum, sharks, or jellyfish at the pool. She could focus on having fun. There wasn't a sea of strangers whose bodies created a confusing maze between the ocean and her parents.

Once her family had taken a trip to a far away beach, with turquoise water, pretty shells and brightly colored fish. Carolyn had tried hard to enjoy herself, but her mother's nerves and a simmering disagreement between her parents had ruined the vacation. She ended up leaving her seashells behind, because of the bad memories attached to them.

Carolyn hated that her parents were–not exactly fighting–but certainly not cooperating with each other. She was on her best behavior. She ordered moderately priced meals in the restaurant. She followed all her mother's instructions concerning sunscreen and bathing suits, and how much time to spend in the water and how far NOT to walk down the beach. She didn't even buy a souvenir at the shops, in an effort to impress her mother with how sensible she could be.

Uncharacteristically, Castle had done the same. They were both used to their mother's nerves and how she got when they were away from home, but the disquiet between their parents unnerved them.

Carolyn never found out what was going on that week. She guessed it was about her father surprising them all with the trip. Her mother didn't care for surprises, especially ones that cost money.

Carolyn married a man who shared that trait. There were areas where he was all about equality, and other areas where he always had to be right.

Carolyn didn't really love beaches.

Now, here she was, on this one. This beach was nearly empty of people. The sand was gray and cool. There were large rocks on either side of the beach, but the beach itself wasn't stoney.

Her parents weren't here. Carolyn didn't have anything to prove to anyone. Robert wasn't here, goading her, teasing her for not wanting to come out into deeper water.

Why did it matter? Why did people care if you went in deep water, or wore a one piece or a two piece or any silly things she'd been teased about?

Why had she let his taunting bother her? She should have told him to shut up, to back off, to leave her alone to do what she wanted to do.

"I might have liked to go to the beach, if it was like this one," she said to the wind and waves.

"I rather like it!" said a male voice.

Carolyn turned, startled. How had he gotten so close, so quickly, without her noticing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." He took two steps back and put his hands up to show me meant no harm.

He was wearing white duck trousers, rolled at the bottom, and a faded gray pull over shirt. His feet were bare. He was tall, and slim with a week's worth of beard. He wore his hair a bit longer than was the style.

He noticed her giving him the once over, and stood a bit straighter, as if for inspection. He fingered the hair at the back of his neck, and gave an apologetic shrug.

"On holiday," he offered an explanation.

Holiday, not vacation. He had some sort of accent, but it was not quite British.

They stood looking at one another, until Carolyn grew uncomfortable. She thrust her hand out. "Carolyn," she said.

He took her hand and shook it. "Daniel," he bobbed his head.

"You're on vacation?" She tried to push the conversation forward.

He screwed up his eyes and mouth. "Not exactly…Maybe more of a homecoming. Visiting a place I've left behind."

She nodded vigorously, unsure why. She wasn't on vacation nor was she strolling down memory lane. She didn't know why she was here.

"I don't like to swim in the sea," she said, for no particular reason other than wanting to keep him engaged.

He looked out toward the waves. "Nor do I." Then he looked back at her. "But I like to walk the surf."

That she did enjoy. And she liked how he put it…walking the surf.

She gave him a tight smile.

He offered a hand. "Shall we?"

She took his hand. The fingers were long and slim, different than what she was used to. Robert's fingers were 'd never been able to hold his hands for long because it made her fingers hurt to be trapped in his.

Daniel's hand felt comfortable, strong, but not domineering.

"Your dungarees?" He pointed with his free hand.

"Oh, of course." Carolyn stooped to roll the legs up. She hurried, but she also wanted to get them even. And then, when they were done, what should she do with her hand? She couldn't just grab his again, as if she had the right.

Daniel had a hand to his forehead shielding his eyes. He was peering into the distance. A frown played at the corner of his mouth.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, brushing her palm on her thighs, then feeling foolish for trying to call attention to her hands again.

"The Archimedes is in," he spoke as if she should understand what that meant.

"Is that a ship?"

"The last of her kind, I'd venture. Built by the most skilled shipwrights, using the best materials, just before the changes took over."

His lips drew into a thin frown, but only for a moment.

Carolyn didn't understand which changes he was speaking of.

"I hear they're making electric ships now. Even the big ones!" She hated the eager to please tone in her voice.

"Here." He motioned her closer and offered her a pair of binoculars she hadn't realized he had.

She lifted them to her eyes and followed his pointing hand. Suddenly the horizon was gone and there was a blur of color in front of her. She turned the focus knob. There before her was a beautiful old sailing ship. The deck was wide and the rigging was taut. The figurehead was a woman with a water jar on her shoulder. She was pouring the contents into the sea.

"She is beautiful!" Carolyn marveled. "I'm all for technology; I just wish they didn't sacrifice art and style because of it."

She thought she heard him hmmm in agreement as she passed the binoculars over the ship. She inspected the wheel. She noted the wooden boat tied to the ship and the thick chain that held the anchor, disappearing into the sea.

"There are no sailors!" she noticed. Then corrected herself, "seamen". But the moment she said it she began to see men on board–moving about, dumping a bucket of refuse over the edge, sitting and whittling.

They didn't seem to match the ship or each other. Some were dressed in military garb while others were dressed in rags. They seemed to be from all times and all types of ships. One of the men was dressed in a white short coat and black pants of a cruise boat captain.

Carolyn laughed with delight, letting the binoculars rove over the ship. She saw a life boat now, and life preservers strung on the rail that had suddenly turned to brass. The ship's hull turned from planks of wood to steel, and the masts evolved into funnels and she could swear she saw someone playing shuffleboard!

"It's marvelous!" she laughed with delight, turning to Daniel so he could read the joy on her face. But he wasn't there!

Her face reddened with embarrassment. She'd gotten so involved looking at the ship that she'd ignored her new friend. She dropped the binoculars to her side and turned to look for him.

"Now, now, let's not get over excited!" A little way down the beach a tall man wearing big glasses was speaking with Daniel.

"All I ask for is peace and quiet, and all I get is your endless nattering and blathering!" Daniel raised his arm and Carolyn realized he was holding a sword…or maybe it was a cutlass.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the wind stole the exclamation she'd been hoping to make, leaving her merely open mouthed. This wasn't 1800. People didn't solve their disputes with dangerous weapons.

"Daniel!" she called, hoping to distract him long enough to let him cool down.

"Well, Tally ho!" The tall man began to move towards her very quickly on his long legs. "Do you expect me to put up with this barbarism?"

Carolyn felt like she should know who he was. He certainly acted like he knew her!

"You leave her alone! You, blaggard!" Daniel swung the sword again in a menacing way, but not as if he meant to hit the man.

Another reason not to go to the beach, she thought with a sigh.

"This will only take a minute if you'll stop swinging that, that, that, thing!" The tall man jabbed his finger at the weapon.

Carolyn hated to agree with him, but the sword made her uncomfortable as well.

"Now, I just have a few papers for you to sign." He went digging into a briefcase she hadn't noticed until just now.

He handed her an old fashioned ostrich feather pen, then began to pull an accordion folded document out of the briefcase.

"If you'll just sign here, and here, and initial there and there, and there, and there…"

The wind caught the folded paper and swept it into the air like a kite pulling great lengths of paper behind it. The tall man began to leap and call out trying to grab the paper back. Carolyn giggled in delight.

Daniel swung his sword, freeing the paper from the briefcase. It went whirling up into the sky with no hope of retrieving it.

"Thank you!" She smiled at Daniel.

With a twinkle in his blue eyes, he made a little bow towards her.

"Madam."

Her breath caught in her chest when he spoke. His words felt familiar yet somehow wrong all at the same time. Technically, she was a madam, but she liked to think of herself as too young to be called such.

She and Daniel watched as the tall man went running down the beach, leaping and grabbing, trying to catch the flying paper.

"I'm afraid I can't save you from everything as easily as that," he spoke with genuine sorrow in his tone.

She was about to protest. After all, who was this man? And why in the world did he think she wanted, expected or NEEDED him to save her from anything?

"I'd tasted sorrow too, by the time I was your age," he assured her.

Again her dander rose. He had no idea how old she was, nor what sorrow she had experienced. She was about to give it to him when instead she began to sob.

He wrapped his arms around her, one of his hands cradling the back of her head.

He didn't try to soothe her with platitudes or tell her that everything would be alright. He just held her, comfortable enough with her feelings that he made no attempt to alter them.

She sniffed and sniveled and wished she had either long sleeves or a handkerchief to wipe the snot from her nose.

Daniel handed her a bandana he'd pulled from his pocket. It was faded red, soft and worn and she didn't feel bad blowing her nose into it. She hoped the sound of the wind blocked some of the honking of her nose blowing.

She knew not to offer him the bandana back. Instead she nodded a thanks and pushed it into her pocket.

"Our walk?" he offered her his hand again.

Suddenly she remembered. "Your binoculars!" she put a hand to her chest, feeling for the straps. "I'm sorry, I must have dropped them." She felt so foolish, first crying, now this.

He was smiling and waving his hand as if to wave away her concern. "It's of no importance."

Carolyn didn't know how much binoculars cost, but she was in the habit of pinching pennies, and losing them like that was irresponsible and wasteful.

"But–"

"Carolyn," he called her to look at him. "It's of no importance." He motioned to the sand around them. There were piles of binoculars of every size, shape and color. Opera glasses, military goggles, safari binocs, and brightly colored kid's plastic toy ones.

Her brain hurt. She knew there was a lesson here. There was always a lesson…but what was it? That binoculars were cheap and easily replaceable? That the universe had an overabundance of anything she might need, and all she needed to do was reach out? That this was a game or a dream where such things didn't matter?

She took his hand, the binoculars disappeared and they set off walking, kicking at the waves, letting the foam of the surf wrap around their ankles. This felt right. It felt good. It was such a simple human experience in a world that tried to complicate things.

In the distance she heard a very familiar bark. She turned to see Scruffy running towards them.

"That's my…" she trailed off as Daniel squatted down and clapped his hands, calling the dog to him.

Scruffy ran right to Daniel barking happily. Around his neck was a faded red bandana.

Daniel ruffled the dog's ears, patted his back and gently removed the bandana. "Clean and dry!" He held it up to show her.

Scruffy ran to Carolyn and ran a circle around her before standing on his back legs and dancing.

"Good boy, Scruffy! Such a good boy!" She patted his head, then looked to Daniel, but he was gone.

"Madam," the voice was somehow a hollow boom and a whisper all at once. It came from nowhere and everywhere.

From down the beach the figure of the man with the briefcase,neared. He was shouting. "This isn't the last you'll hear of me. This isn't over! Not by any means!"

Scruffy barked. He ran at the man and began to nip at his ankles. The man leaped into the air, trying to escape while trying to keep his glasses on. "Call off the dog. Call off your vicious dog!"

Carolyn tried not to laugh, but it was so comical. Scruffy wasn't biting him, he was just having fun keeping him on the run.

Carolyn began to giggle. She knew she shouldn't but she couldn't help it, the giggle grew into a chuckle and then a full on belly laugh. Automatically she reached into her pocket and pulled out the bandana, to laugh behind.

It was clean and dry, and there was a knot tied in it. She knelt down and untied the knot. There was a small sand dollar in it. "Oh, too bad, it's cracked."

She lifted it and it fell into two pieces, and five little doves fell out onto the fabric.

Carolyn smiled. She knew about sand dollars and the doves that symbolized peace, something she was in need of these days.

She noticed a slip of paper with writing on it. "A peace offering. Use them wisely." She smiled. It must be from Daniel, after all, it was his bandana.

She gathered the doves and tied them and the note back into the bandana. It was nearly nightfall. Scruffy was sleeping in a heap on a nearby beach towel. Carolyn lay beside him and drifted off to sleep.

XXX

Jonathan opened his eyes. He was looking down at the wide wooden boards that comprised the deck of the ship. In front of him were two worn but shiny boots. He followed up the legs clad in faded black breeches, to a kid skin vest pulled tight over a slim chest.

There was a neckerchief around the sun darkened neck. Then Jonathan met eyes with someone who must be the captain.

"So, what have we here?" the man asked, scrutinizing the young boy.

"I'm Jonathan Muir," the boy explained.

"Well, Jonathan Muir. I'm the captain of this ship and when you speak to me you will address me as Captain, and sir!"

Jonathan swallowed down a lump of fear and nodded his head. One of the men behind him jabbed him with a finger.

"Unless you have rocks in your skull, how do you expect me to hear what's going on when you shake it?" The Captain's tone was sharp now.

"I'm Jonathan Muir, Captain. Sir!" the boy tried again.

"We'll continue to work on that," The Captain said. He turned to the shipmen that had brought Jonathan onboard. "What do you know of him?"

"Well Sir, we know he don't have no father. And he's right quick and can be depended on to do a task," one of the men vouched for him.

"He's in need of coin and clothing Captain, and you're in need of a cabin boy. So we thought he might fill the bill," the other man said.

"No father?" The Captain examined young Jonathan more closely. He motioned with his finger for the boy to turn a circle. Jonathan did so. He felt squirmy inside. He didn't like being sized up like a fish at the market. He didn't like the way the men talked about him not having a father. Not with pity like the women at church did, but as if it was an opportunity of some kind.

"Poor tike is all alone in the world Captain, Sir," the first man spoke.

The Captain was shaking his head, as he fingered what was left of the collar of Jonathan's shirt.

"I'm not alone! I have a sister and a mother!" Jonathan wriggled away from the Captain's fingers and fixed his collar as best he could. "My mother takes in washing and she has a boarder," Jonathan spat the words out.

The Captain looked over the head of the boy and to the ships men that had brought the boy on board.

"Dismissed!" The Captain said to the men. He inspected Jonathan.

"Your clothing is filthy and in poor repair. Your mother can't be much of a laundress." The Captain clucked his tongue.

"My mother is the best washerwoman in Schooner Bay. My father is lost at sea, and she works all day every day to make ends meet. I save my good suit for Sunday and wear these old things the rest of the time," Jonathan said angrily, feeling insulted all the way down to the worn soles of his shoes.

"You'll address me as Captain, Sir!" The Captain reminded him, though it was clear he was running out of patience.

The Captain took Jonathan's chin in his hand. He turned the boy's head from side to side, inspecting his jawline, his ears and neck.

"How old are you son?"

"I'm six…Captain…Sir." Jonathan met the man's eye.

"Have you ever been on a ship? Do you have the stomach for it? Can you tie knots? Serve at table?" The Captain peppered him with questions.

"I haven't been on a ship, but I'm a fast learner! Captain sir!" Jonathan proved how fast he could learn by speaking respectfully and standing straighter and taller.

"Would you like to be a cabin boy?"

Jonathan didn't know. He didn't know what a cabin boy was.

"Would I earn money for my mother?" he checked.

The Captain stroked his beard. "Perhaps something could be arranged…"

"Captain Sir, did you know, or do you know of my father, Robert Muir?"

Jonathan asked in a broken hopeful voice.

"I've known many Roberts, and a handful of Muirs, but I don't believe I've known a man who held both names at the same time," the man explained.

Jonathan's face fell. He'd felt so certain that the Archimedes would hold the answer.

"Cabin boy? Why he couldn't even carry a tankard of ale!" A man in uniform came strolling across the deck. "Everything is undersized here. Can't pull a ship to harbor, and the men and boys are so small." The man stooped and held out his hand to indicate that Schooner Bay people didn't cut the muster.

"Third mate Dillman, meet Jonathan Muir." The Captain held his hand out towards the boy, but not in an insulting way.

"I'm a mate, you're a mite!" Third mate Dillman chuckled. "Our last cabin boy got washed overboard in a storm, but this one would blow away in a breeze!"

Jonathan didn't like being made fun of, but he liked the sound of getting washed overboard even less.

It would be hard for him to look for his father from the bottom of the ocean.

"Officer Dillman, Would you be so kind as to bring me Boy William's kit." He posed it as a question, but all three of them knew it was a command.

"But.."

"That will be all, thank you," The Captain gave a look that received immediate compliance.

"Since you are here, I shall show you my ship!" The Captain began to walk, the boards creaking beneath him.

Jonathan jogged to keep up. He would have liked to take the man's hand, to slow his pace, to keep them beside one another.

The Captain used many words that Jonathan had heard, but never known the meaning of. Jonathan had always marveled that everything had a name, unique to itself. That there could be so many names and labels, and how impossible it would be to remember them all. But here it seemed even more astounding and confusing. So many names, different names for things that seemed very much like each other.

Jonathan supposed a cabin boy would have to know all those names, and what to do with them and which ones went together and which must be kept apart.

"Captain, Sir," Jonathan said, "Have you been at sea long? You have all your arms and legs."

The Captain stopped and glowered at the boy for a moment, and then he began to laugh. It started so suddenly it was almost a bark, and it frightened the boy. But as it grew and rolled and deepened, it was a beautiful sound, like the sound of the leather belt at the mill when it was going full tilt.

Jonathan didn't know why what he'd said was funny, but he was glad the Captain wasn't angry with him.

"My boy! Well, I suppose that's what you learn in a fishing village. Fishing, be it for whales or whiting, is a dangerous job indeed. All those winches and ropes, nets and sharp implements."

Jonathan nodded. He recalled the fight between his mother and his granny about his father going to sea. Mother said Robert was a man with a family and could make up his own mind. Granny cried and said it was too dangerous, no matter if it was the tryworks or harpooner. Jonathan didn't know what try works were, but he recalled his father practicing harpooning a hay bale.

The men had contests every year, with the harpoons. There was a cash prize as well as free drinks at the bar for the day. But mostly there were bragging rights. Granny had cried and cried that Robert would be carried to the bottom of the ocean by one of those black beasts.

"Looks like a lot of ropes and sharp things here too, Captain…Sir."

"Yes, dear boy, but that is no longer my job. I was lucky enough to make it up the ranks with only minor injuries. And now, I have a crew to do my dirty work."

Jonathan looked closely at The Captain's hands, he had all his fingers save half of the left one next to the little finger. It was short and gnarled.

"How did that happen?" Jonathan pointed.

The Captain looked at his hand and sighed. "The result of a spinning accident when I was a boy just about your age."

Jonathan smiled, not because he was glad The Captain had lost part of his finger, but because he had once been a boy Jonathan's age.

XXX

Candy and Jonathan had often played that the floor was lava, but it had never actually turned to lava before. Candy stood on her rug wondering what happened if you tried to walk on lava anyway. She guessed you burned up, but wasn't lava thick? If it held up the rug, wouldn't it hold up her?

She needed something to test it with.

"Here!" called a familiar voice. It was Mr Peevie who helped Mr Gregg sometimes. He was on the stairs holding an oar, he motioned like he was going to throw it to her.

Candy put her arms out and caught it. She took the oar and leaned over her rug, which was now a boat, and banged on the lava. It had a crust, but where she banged it broke through, like the top of a chicken pot pie.

It was too thick to row through.

The kitchen door was open, and she could see shadows moving in it. She cupped her hands around her ears trying to hear if the voices were still there.

What was it her parents used to talk about? What did they used to play fight about? Her mother had often told her, when they were using raised voices, that they were play fighting. Candy guessed she believed her. Her parents stayed married, and her father never slept on the couch like on TV shows.

Candy watched the shadows and she began to scream. "Mommy! Mommy!"

She began to jump up and down yelling for her mother.

"My goodness Candy! What's wrong?" Carolyn appeared at the kitchen door. She walked right over to Candy, the floor wasn't lava to her.

"I want to see Daddy!" Candy immediately felt guilty for how angry and accusatory her voice was.

"Ok, but stop yelling!"

"Is he in there? Is he?" Candy pointed.

"Yes, come on." Carolyn took her daughter's hand and they walked the few feet to the kitchen.

Candy looked all around, but she didn't see him. "Daddy!" she called.

"He's right there." Her mother pointed. She looked and sounded very tired.

Candy was confused, there was a box on the table. The kind of box Barbie dolls came in. Candy leaned over the table and looked through the plastic front of the box. Her father was there, looking very stiff and waxy, like a Ken doll.

"It's not fair, it's not fair! It's not him!" Candy shouted, swiping her arm and knocking the box from the table.

She remembered now, seeing her father in the box at the funeral home. The grownups had argued and disagreed about whether she and Jonathan should see their father.

In the end it was decided that they should see him, and Candy had been spoken to by at least three grown up women, explaining their version of what she was going to see.

She knew it had been contentious, and she decided to be grown up about it. She went with her mother and Jonathan and her grandparents, to look into the casket. She looked, and everything was wrong.

First of all, her father had been squashed by bricks and things that fell on him, but the man in the casket wasn't squashed, broken or bruised. Second, it wasn't her father. He was about the right size and he was wearing her father's suit and tie, but nothing else about him was right.

He looked fake, like a doll, and not even like a good doll.

"No," Candy had said. "No, that's' not him. It's not him! It's not right!" Her grandfather picked her up and she put her face into his neck. His neck smelled like shave cream and sweat and starch from his collar. The skin was warm and pliable. The way her Daddy had once been.

She buried her face in her grandfather's neck and cried, not from sorrow, but from fear. She didn't like this world where her father was gone, and her mother was sad and her grandmother clucked and corrected. "I told you Carolyn, they're too young!"

But Jonathan was alright. He looked confused and sad, but he wasn't crying or screaming. Candy didn't scream, she just cried into her grandfather's neck. "That's not him."

Then the scent of her grandfather's neck changed. It smelled of wood smoke, and it had curly whiskers that tickled her nose. The sweaty man smell was still there, and the smell of wet wool, but where her grandfather's wool sweaters and coats smelled of moth balls, this wool coat smelled of cedar, like the chest at grandmother Muir's.

"It's not him…" she said again.

"Yes and no," the man said. "It's what's left of him. There's no way to explain that you know. You have to see it for yourself."

Candy pulled back and sat up in the man's arms.

"It's you again!" She recognized The Captain. She pointed to his portrait, even as she was studying his face.

"Yes, it is!"

Candy looked back and forth between the painting and the man who held her in strong arms. "Like the picture is you, but not really. The man in the box was my father–"

"But not really," he finished for her.

She looked around to see if anyone was near, if anyone could hear. Then she leaned in and whispered into The Captain's ear, "I'm tired of being sad about my father. I don't want to be the weird girl at school who's father died."

"Why, a smart, vivacious girl like you will be known for any number of things. No one here ever knew your father. You'll start out with a clean slate!"

Candy smiled, she knew what a slate was because her mother had read a book to her about a pioneer girl, and they wrote on a slate in school instead of a whiteboard.

"And, it's ok to feel sad sometimes, and not other times. You don't have to decide to never feel sad again," he went on.

"Are you sad that you're dead?" Candy checked. It only made sense to ask him.

The Captain seemed not to know what to say. "I wasn't for a very long time, but now that you and your family are here…I do wish that I could run and play and live again."

Candy patted his cheek. "You can come and play with me in my dreams," she offered. "It's not the same as being alive but it's better than nothing."

He smiled, "You are a very wise and generous girl,"

She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, it felt good to be held.

XXX

When you had the BB gun in your hands and were knocking down targets, it felt like a game, but on the other side of the game someone was losing.

So much of life felt like target shooting. Wake up, make a list, bang, bang, bang, shoot down as many items as you can. Fall into bed exhausted, repeat.

Marty didn't want to leave her and Cal's little cottage in the woods. But she couldn't live so far out of town without the truck, and the truck had been wrecked in the crash.

She moved back to town. Got a different job. Bang, bang, bang. Worked all week, got the paycheck, bought groceries, paid as many bills as she could.

Marty looked fetching in her waitress outfit. She had it tailored to fit so it didn't pull or gap across the chest the way most dresses did on her. She liked that, but hated the white nylon stockings she had to wear.

The other waitresses smiled and batted their lashes for tips. When the patrons were men, they leaned way over to sponge an already clean table . Marty didn't. She had the gift of gab in a no nonsense kind of way. Customers liked that Marty laughed and joked. They appreciated that she always repeated their orders back to them when she took them, and when she delivered them. She kept mints in her apron pocket and left them on the table with the bill.

She could have gone back to the cannery. The money was good, but Cal had complained how her work there had been rough on her hands. He always told her that she had beautiful hands. Cal was gone, so it shouldn't matter, but she stayed away from the cannery just the same.

Her mother approved. "Marty, all you'll get there is a back ache and another husband. Give life a chance to catch up to you."

Martha took the skills she learned at the diner to the 'Swanky Swell', a bar and steakhouse. She waitressed during the busy dinner hours then sat at the piano for the after dinner crowd who put her tips into a giant brandy snifter.

She earned enough to rent a flat with a fellow waitress. Marty went to work early to practice new songs she lifted from the Billboard music charts and from popular movies.

Not all movie themes had words. Sometimes, just for fun, Marty would make up lyrics that would have her audience in stitches. She was a hit, but there was something in her that resented working for tips.

She stood behind the restaurant smoking a cigarette, listening to the sounds of the kitchen. She was waiting for a ride. She could usually find a ride with someone from the restaurant. She could always find a ride with one of the customers, but she flatly refused. No good could come of that. They always had expectations that she had no interest in filling.

Martha knew it was time to move on again. But moving on meant leaving memories of Cal behind. They'd had dreams of going someplace where the weather was different, and accents were different, where the horizon was something other than the sea.

Marty blew out smoke and watched it dissipate. She was too young to stay in one place. Too young to settle into one career.

"Too young to be a widow with a dead baby," she said aloud, sucking in deep the last drag on her cigarette.

She threw the butt on the asphalt and ground it out with her pump. When she looked up she saw rain dripping down the windows that covered the top half of the front wall of the day care.

Most of the kids had been picked up, but there were a few stragglers whose parents were late. Some had jobs far down the highway where weather and wrecks slowed them down. Some were rushing to pick up older kids from after school activities, and some were a hot mess.

"Marty?" A little girl whined, holding her legs together.

"Are we too late?" Martha asked.

The girl shook her head. Martha took her hand and hurried her to the bathroom.

30 minutes later it was just the two of them, still waiting. Martha had called the mother and gotten no answer. They read another book, then another. Martha didn't want to take out any messy games or toys at the end of the day.

40 minutes…50 minutes…If the parents were more than an hour late, without a phone call, the daycare workers were supposed to call the authorities. Martha always tried to give them the benefit of the doubt.

The little girl was kicking her legs hard. She kept squirming to look out the window. She was bored, hungry and wanted to go home.

Martha picked up her juice box and sipped on it. The rain was still falling. The door to the outside opened and the mother rushed in, soaking wet, and distraught.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she kept saying.

The little girl ran to her mother and threw her arms around the woman's wet denim clad legs.

"My husband…" the woman said between breaths.

Martha froze, she didn't want to hear the next words.

"I came home from work and he–"

"Mommy, can we go home?"

"He…said he wants a divorce."

Marty let out her breath. She got up and went to the woman.

"It's going to be alright," she offered.

The woman gave a weak smile. "He threw my phone against the wall, I couldn't call."

Martha noticed a raised red spot on her cheek.

"I'll pay for the extra time…I just…I have no place else for her to go."

Martha gave a nod of understanding. "Life is hard enough. I'm not going to kick you when you're down."

"Oh, thank God. Thank you. You don't know–" The woman hugged Martha and broke into hysterical tears. The little girl stood between them confused and frightened.

Martha stepped out of the hug and squinted against the spotlight. She had crushed the bouquet of roses when her co-star hugged her, but she didn't were a nice touch, but what really mattered was when the audience was clapping and whooping with delight.

It was only the Church musical, but the enjoyment of the crowd, and the players was real.

It was real when she played a mature matron (though she was barely 40) in the local college play.

It was real when she played the piano for the local little theater's production of 'Fame'.

So many spotlights, so many bouquets, curtain calls, bows, and encores.

She squeezed her co-star's hand, and they made one more group bow. Martha stood up. The audience was gone. In their place was a television showing a program where a young couple wearing striped leotards demonstrated bends.

"You want your feet shoulder width apart, and we don't want to bounce, that's not good for our backs. We want to bend, and up! Bend and up!" The woman explained.

Martha frowned and turned the channel. It was one of those sitcoms where the housekeeper becomes everyone's surrogate mother and wife. She's smarter than everyone else, and has the wisecracks to prove it.

"I could do that." Martha pointed at the screen. "I can clean a house and I'm good with kids. I could do without having to feed the fathers' egos though."

Martha turned the channel again. There she was with her first family. No kids, four bathrooms, not a lick of sense between the couple, was how she remembered them.

She switched the channel again. "Oh boy," she said with a laugh and a nod.

The Barkers. Traditional American family. Dad goes to work. Mom homeschools the five kids. Mom gets overwhelmed and they hire Martha to help out. She was supposed to do laundry, bathrooms and cook three days a week. She ended up chauffeuring the kids to activities and teaching them math and science. Her duties got bigger, but her checks never did.

"Next!" She changed the channel again.

The Bo Stevens had more money than sense. They wanted her to wear a uniform and they played tricks as if she was a Dicken's era housemaid. They hid things under rugs and behind items on shelves to make sure she was dusting, vacuuming daily. She left her "I quit" letter under one of their welcome mats after they chided her for not ironing the sheets after putting them on the bed.

She turned the channel. Sigh, she had liked working for Mr Rotham at first, until he started treating her as his therapist instead of his housekeeper. She didn't have the time or patience for that.

She clicked the remote again. She smiled. She liked this family. Carolyn, the mother, needed a little push to get her going. Life had provided that in an especially cruel form, but Carolyn had risen to the challenge. The kids were fun. Martha hated deceitful children and the Muir children could be naughty at times, but they weren't liars.

Scruffy was a bright personality. Martha had dealt with some dogs over the years, but none as smart as him.

The thing about the Muirs was…

Martha leaned toward the screen to better see what was happening. Oh dear, there was the house when they first moved in. Martha had been sure she'd made a huge mistake. They needed a team of maids and several repair men to deal with this dusty place.

Gull Cottage was quite homey now. Martha had her own room, and it was very comfortable.

On the screen Carolyn was speaking with someone, a man. Martha was sure it wasn't Claymore, their sad excuse for a landlord. It didn't look like Mr Peevie.

He turned and pointed to Martha!

"Me?"

He beckoned her over with his hand. "Martha, I'm sure that you'll agree. I was just telling Mrs Muir–"

"Wait. You're him! You're The Captain from the painting!" Martha realized.

"Yes!"

He had a very nice smile.

"Don't you think we'd make a smashing television show?"

"I moved her because I need my privacy," Carolyn retorted. "The last thing I need are cameras and makeup crews stomping in and out."

Martha smiled, because they'd had exactly that since they moved in.

"But everyone loves a program with a ghost!" The Captain insisted. "Vampires are overdone. Werewolves were so 1990's, and witches have been all over the airwaves. I think the time is right for a ghost story!"

"Martha, what do you think?" Carolyn looked at her from the television screen.

"I've dealt with kids, dogs, husbands, in-laws and even with Claymore Gregg. I guess I can handle a ghost," she said with a shrug.

Scruffy came running through the room, saw Carolyn and The Captain and jumped right into the tv screen. She heard canned laughter, then a jaunty sailor's jig began to play.

"Looks like a winner to me!" Martha said, and she shut the TV off.

XXX

Carolyn sat up. The binoculars were on the blanket beside her. She picked them up and looked out to sea. In the distance, the Archimedes was still at anchor. She studied the deck, with an anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Scruffy?" she called. There was no response.

"I wonder where that dog–"

"Mommy!" Candy was waving from the top of the cliff. "Mommy, hurry. Jonathan is gone."

Carolyn felt the blood drain from her face. She began running, but her legs were tangled in something. She looked down and realized she was wearing long skirts and an apron. Candy, who had started down the trail to greet her, was likewise dressed.

"What do you mean he's gone?" she asked her daughter. That was more important than what they were wearing.

"He went to the harbor to see about father. And they say he's been taken to the ship!"

"The ship? But why?"

"Have you ever heard of kidnapped?" asked their border, Claymore Gregg, who was waiting at the top of the hill. "They probably needed a cabin boy."

"That's ridiculous. Jonathan is too small!" Carolyn argued, but even as she spoke the words, the fear grew inside of her.

"Well, if they think I'm going to stand by while they sail away with my son!" She glared out at the ship, which looked small on the sea.

The next thing she knew, Carolyn was hurrying through town, pushing past people as she made her way to the pier.

"I need to get to the Archimedes!" she said to no one in particular.

"The long boats have already come and gone," A man tying a load to a cart informed her.

"Who here has a boat? I need to go now, they have my son!"

A tall man with scraggly yellow hair looked her up and down. "I have a boat, but you don't look like you can afford the fee."

Carolyn wanted to punch him in the face. She wanted to push him hard in the chest and watch him fall into the stinking dirty water–but she expected he was right.

Why hadn't she thought of that when she came down here? She might have been able to get some money from Mr Gregg. She could have dug out the few coins she'd buried beneath the hearthstone.

She could have grabbed the jar of ice cream money!

She felt a sob threaten to escape and put her hand over her mouth to stop it. She had no time for that. The tide would turn and the ship would leave.

"Who here has a boat?" she asked again, ignoring the man with yellow hair.

"You're beautiful!" a husky voice spoke to her from behind. "Simply amazing."

She turned and looked into the big brown puppy dog eyes of Mr Wilke. "I have many resources at my disposal," he told her with a meaningful look in his eye.

She stomped to the edge of the dock and looked down. A well used dinghy was tied there.

"Whose boat is this?" she demanded.

The people gathered there looked at each other and shrugged.

Carolyn began down the ladder to the boat, trying not to let the skirts tangle around her legs. She made the short leap to the boat and stood holding her breath while it steadied itself. She'd never rowed before, but how difficult could it be?

She untied the rope, set her sights on the Archimedes and hauled off. She was only a few yards from the dock when a tall man came to the edge of the pier and waved his arms.

She couldn't stop. She couldn't wait. If he reported her to the constable for theft, well, she could only hope they would be kind and understand a mother's love for her child.

"I'm sorry!" she called out, though he probably didn't hear it.

"Catch!" The man called with his hands around his mouth so his voice would carry. He then motioned with his arm, like he was going to throw something.

What if he was going to throw something to make her sink? She couldn't swim in these skirts! She made one more pull with the oars. The man shook his head and waved his arms in front of him as if to say no.

He motioned again like he was going to throw something and she guessed she'd just have to see what it was. She stood up. He smiled. She held her skirt out to catch whatever it was that was sailing through the air.

It was a key. Shiny and new. She grabbed it, put it into the lock on the big red outboard motor and turned. The engine roared to life.

Carolyn grabbed the tiller and went zooming towards the ship.

XXX

Jonathan had gotten very excited when The Captain asked if he was hungry, but he was less excited now that the so-called food had arrived. Jonathan had tasted hard tack before. But that had been freshly baked, and this was wormy and stale.

The coffee didn't have the nice smell that the coffee in town had. It had little smell at all, and tasted bland and bitter. The salt 'fish' was salt seal and the fat had long ago gone rancid.

"If you're ain't going to eat it, I will!" declared a sailor sitting on a roll of rope nearby. Jonathan gave it to him willingly, and thought about the meat pie he'd had earlier that day. How succulent it had been! He wished now that he'd saved one half. He might even have shared it with the sailor beside him.

The Captain had been watching him. "So, what do you think lad? Do you care for our sailor's fare?"

Jonathan made a face. He wondered if he was supposed to follow that up with 'sir' as well.

"It makes the fruit of the land taste that much sweeter!" The Captain assured him.

"Yes, Sir," Jonathan said.

"You're a wee lad, but a few years of eating hearty fare, and working the rigging, and you'll be a fine strong man!" The Captain clapped him on the shoulder.

"As a matter of fact. You see that rigging there? Let us see you climb it, lad. See how fast you can go!" The Captain pushed him forward.

Some of the men laughed in a not very nice way.

Jonathan went to the base of the rigging and looked back over his shoulder at The Captain. "Here?"

The Captain nodded.

Jonathan put his foot into a space between the ropes and reached as high as he could to pull himself up. He was used to climbing trees and ladders. He was strong. He hoisted himself more easily than expected and let out a sigh.

"Fine start, keep going!" The Captain urged.

Jonathan pulled a foot free and sought another hold. His shoe buckle caught in the rope and his shoe was pulled off.

He frowned and tried to work his foot back in. It wasn't easy, swinging on a tilting boat. He got his foot in, but couldn't work the shoe free. It was stuck fast.

"You'll have to do better than that!" The Captain strode over. "Do it without your shoes!"

Jonathan frowned. The ropes were stiff and rough. Jonathan's hose weren't much protection, they were worn to netting themselves.

He did as he was told, essentially barefoot. The ropes were farther apart now, and it was difficult to find footing and still be able to reach the next hand up.

He made the mistake of looking not up, not at the ropes, and not at the deck, but at the sea. He froze. The sea beckoned, waving and unstable. Jonathan swallowed down a lump of fear. He'd never felt this trapped and hopeless.

His head swiveled at a foreign sound. Something was rushing towards them.

"Momma!" Jonathan called.

"What in the devil?" The Captain strode to the side of the boat and looked down.

The sailors joined him at the rail.

"It's a woman!" One of them marveled.

"Stand off! I won't have a woman on my ship!" The Captain pulled a sword from the scabbard at his waist.

"No, no!" Jonathan scrambled down the rigging, leaving his shoes where they were.

"Who are you and why do you approach my ship with that infernal…whatever that is!"

Jonathan watched his mother climbing hand over hand up the rope ladder on the side of the boat. He was ashamed of his own poor showing. After all, she was doing it in a skirt!

"I will not have a woman on my ship!" The Captain said again and made as if to slash the rope ladder.

"No! That's my mother!" Jonathan ran and gave the man a shove.

The Captain tumbled sideways and hit the deck. Jonathan stood over him glaring. The sailors' eyes grew wide and they backed away, fearing what retribution their Captain would make against the woman and the little boy.

Carolyn hoisted her skirts and swung her leg over the rail. The sailors were agog at the sight of so much female flesh.

"Jonathan!" She reached for her son the moment her feet were on board. He ran and hid his face in her skirts, knowing he should be embarrassed, but not caring. She was here now, whatever happened, it would be ok.

The Captain got to his feet, his face stormy. He came over and demanded, "What's the meaning of this?"

Carolyn jutted her chin out. "I'm here to retrieve my son." Her tone was steely, and her eyes didn't budge from those of The Captain.

"Is that right? And why do you think you are fit to give commands on my ship?"

"I wasn't giving a command. I was simply informing you of my intention. Now, if you don't mind, we'll be on our way."

"I most certainly do mind." The Captain tapped the end of his sword on the deck. He dropped the sword, as if to make his intention NOT to hurt the woman clear.

He walked around her in a slow circle, inspecting her.

"So, you're the laundress?" he said, poking at her cap.

When he was once again in front of her he took her chin in his hand, the way he had done earlier to her son.

Truth be told, he wished he could run his thumb along the line of her jaw, and feel the lobe of her ear between his finger and thumb.

Carolyn stood her ground, but she didn't pull away from his grasp. She understood that he needed to maintain the image of control in front of his crew. She didn't want to antagonize him.

"The tide will turn soon. We must get back," she explained.

The Captain frowned. He could see where the boy got his looks and his ginger. He released her chin and was happy to see she didn't turn away from him. Her eyes met his and they shared-something. Not quite an understanding, but something.

"Pretty little thing, ain't she though?" one of the sailors said.

Carolyn's heart raced. She didn't think this man would let his sailors abuse her, but she didn't know for sure.

"Hold your tongues!" The Captain ordered.

"My son is far too small to serve on your ship," Carolyn said, studying the man's face, and hoping he wasn't noticing how much.

"Alas, and with no little amount of disappointment, I must agree. Even climbing the rigging is too great a task for the lad. But I expect, if he has half his mother's meddle, he'd make me a good strong sailor in the future." The Captain looked down at Jonathan fondly.

Jonathan had removed his face from his mother's skirts and knew that The Captain had given him and his mother a compliment.

"Perhaps. That will be his choice to make one day. Given what happened with his father, I wouldn't be surprised if he chose not to go to sea." Her chin was up and stiff.

The Captain cleared his throat, "Still, I would like to know how he's coming along."

Carolyn's eyes narrowed. What could a man like this want or care about a boy like Jonathan?

"It's a shame that we're hauling off so soon. I haven't the chance to see his home and your establishment. The boy tells me you let rooms."

Carolyn frowned. She let one room, as that was the only room she had to let. The way The Captain spoke, made it sound as if she ran a bawdy house rather than that she had a cauldron of lye water behind her house.

"I'm sure you have lots of…Captain's things to do, so we'll be out of your way," Carolyn bobbed her head, and immediately felt foolish for doing so.

This man was not her better! He had no rank above her! He was likely the son of a poor man and had worked his way up.

She sighed–she was unlikely to work her way up.

Jonathan ran and pulled his shoes free from the rigging. Carolyn had to smile at the sight of him. She was proud of her son. He tried hard to be the man of the house, but he hadn't had his father long enough to learn what that meant.

"Madam, I must beg for your forgiveness. I should have introduced myself. I am Captain Daniel Gregg, and you, I believe, are Mistress Muir." He kissed the back of her hand and gave a gallant bow.

"A pleasure to meet you, Sir." She offered a little smile. "Did you say your name was Daniel?"

He nodded.

Carolyn reached into the pocket of her skirts and pulled out a red bandana, with a knot in it.

"Is this yours?" she asked hesitantly.

He took it, untied the knot and shook out the broken sand dollar and doves.

"A peace offering." He offered her a smile.

She nodded.

He wiped his face with the cloth, then reached into a purse at his waist and pulled a gold coin from it. He tied it into the bandana and gave it back to her.

"If you would launder this, I'd be much obliged. The fee is inside. I will call for it when I am back in port."

'That could be years', she thought. It could be forever.

"I'm sorry for any anxiety that was caused, Mistress Muir."

She allowed him to hold her hand as he walked her to the rope ladder, and took his assistance handing her, then Jonathan over the rail.

"Godspeed!" Captain Gregg called.

"Bye, Captain….Sir!" Jonathan waved from the boat. He turned and ran his hand over the top of the outboard motor. "Wow, this is neat!"

Carolyn wasn't sure whether she should wave, or what she should say, so she returned the man's wishes. "Godspeed!"

She turned the key in the ignition and the boat lurched forward, leaving a foaming v of a wake.

"I'm sure glad you showed up!" Jonathan said.

"Jonathan Muir, how did you end up on that ship?" she demanded.

"I was looking for Daddy," he mumbled, looking down.

She ran her free hand over his hair. "Aren't we all?"

She looked back and noticed The Captain was watching them with a scope.

She thought of the gold coin in her pocket. It was Jonathan's really, and she'd use it to buy him what he needed. She could have washed The Captain's clothes for six months for what that coin was worth.

"Whoo hoo!" Jonathan called as they skipped over the water.

Carolyn didn't head back to the pier. She aimed for the bay, and their beach. She grounded the boat and climbed out. There were no skirts this time. Jonathan was clad in shorts and sneakers and there was no ship floating in the distance.

As they climbed the path up the cliffside they could smell good food and laundry soap, but not the lye kind. Scruffy ran to greet them.

Then walked into the house together and Jonathan ran into the sitting room to study the portrait. The beard was shorter, but the eyes were the same. The ship's wheel was the same. His mouth fell open when he saw in the pocket of the man in the portrait, a red bandana.

XXX

Everyone was quiet around the breakfast table the next morning. Candy yawned so wide, it looked like she might get stuck that way.

"More sausage Jonathan?" Martha offered.

"No thank you,Martha. You're a really good cook. I'm glad you don't make us eat things like hard tack and seal sticks."

"I'm glad you don't want me to! I don't think it would be any more pleasant to cook than it would be to eat them," the housekeeper mused.

"Mommy, do you have any pictures of Daddy in the casket?" Candy checked.

Carolyn and Martha exchanged a shocked look.

"I know I didn't take any darling, but maybe another relative did. Sometimes people do. Why do you ask?"

Candy stirred what was left of breakfast around on her plate. She shrugged. "I kind of remember that he looked strange. But he didn't look broken."

"They put a lot of makeup on him, to make him look like he did in real life." Carolyn explained.

"But that doesn't make sense. Daddy never wore makeup. He would look more real without it."

"I guess they wanted to cover up the marks left by his accident," Carolyn felt the same way as Candy. It would have been better if they had just left him as he was.

"My husband died in an accident as well. They didn't try to cover it up, but we didn't have a service with an open casket. That wasn't our way. The family saw him after the accident, but no one else did."

"You never talk about your husbands," Candy noted.

"Well, they were a long time ago. But I've been thinking about them," Martha admitted. "Have I ever told you that when I was younger, my friends and family called me Marty?" A sly smile played around her mouth.

"Really! That's perfect. It fits you!" Carolyn remarked.

"I didn't use it much after Cal died, except in a professional sense. I played piano in a club. My act was 'Marty's Mirth and Mayhem'!" Martha chuckled at the memory. "I enjoyed that job, but it wasn't a career for a lady, as they say."

Carolyn understood. It wasn't that Martha wanted or needed to be prim and proper or dressed to the nines, but a woman on her own had a better time of things if she was respectable and above censure.

"We don't live just one life," Martha said, standing to clear the table. "We have to transform over and over again to deal with what life sends us."

Even though they were talking adult-speak, Candy was paying attention. She thought she understood what they were talking about. She'd had a life in Pittsburg with her mom, dad and Jonathan in the house with the wide black driveway. Then she had another life staying with relatives. It had been short, but eventful. Her third life was living in Philadelphia with her grandparents, and now she had a fourth life here.

She didn't understand what a career for a lady was, but she was happy that Martha had stopped being Marty and that she lived with them now.

Jonathan had been listening too, but the idea of Martha being someone else, and having a job other than housekeeper didn't make sense. He didn't like thinking about it. If she'd changed so much in the past, she might decide to change again, and then what?

"Is something wrong Jonathan?" his mother asked. He looked sullen, and nearly as if he was about to cry.

"I'm still tired," Jonathan complained. "I had too many dreams!"

"Me too," Candy stuck out her tongue and made a goofy exhausted face pulling her bottom eyelids down to show how tired she was.

"That's funny, I had very vivid dreams about places I used to live, and even things from back before I was born," Carolyn told them.

"I had dreams about a carnival and jobs I used to have. Then I had a dream that we were a television show!" Martha recalled.

From under the table, Scruffy snored.

"Martha, it tasted good, but I don't want to drink any more of that tea!" Candy groaned.

XXX

Captain Daniel Gregg considered himself something of a connoisseur of tea. After all, he had the privilege of sailing around the world and enjoying teas from different continents.

The finest tea came from Asia, where tea plants grew in abundance and the people had thousands of years of experience in handling tea leaves to coax forth the best flavor.

Still, every continent and country had its own drinks made from brewing plant material in hot water. He'd tried all manner of tinctures and infusions, some quite tasty, and others foul, but with peculiar effects on the mind.

While he enjoyed many varieties, his preference was a nice English tea– delightful on the palate, with a beautiful aroma and pleasing color. It was the perfect accompaniment to a quiet moment.

His officers knew his penchant for trying teas. They presented him with tea they found in markets and trading rooms when they were in port. They had brought him some from the little port of Schooner Bay.

It smelled sweet, and appeared to be a concoction of twigs, berries and other things one might find on the forest floor. He knew these forest floors well. He'd spent many happy times in Maine as a boy.

Daniel didn't disembark in Schooner Bay because there was nothing there for him now. His mother had passed, and he'd quarreled with the sister who still lived here. There were other Greggs littering the town. Surely they were kin, though no one could trace the connection.

Schooner Bay, too rocky to farm, instead it sent its menfolk to die at sea pulling fish from the deep, or chasing whales around the globe. Daniel had cheated destiny (and stole years from his mother's life) when he'd taken the position of cabin boy, so many years ago.

He'd made good and reached his goal of Captain. He'd sent money and goods home for his mother and sisters to have finery, and to keep his father in tobacco. His family had been grudgingly proud of him. He'd done well for himself, but he'd gone above his station by joining the merchant class. If he'd captained a whaling ship he'd be a hero in their eyes.

Much of what he'd sent home for them they never used. When he returned to see to the house after his mother's death, there were barrels of goods, opened, but otherwise untouched. They hadn't wanted to appear uppity to their neighbors, parading around in Asian silk and cooking with foreign spices.

He'd only wanted to share the world with them.

He wiped a tear from his eye with his red kerchief and called for hot water to brew the tea.

XXX