Miss Dreamsville and the Lost Heiress of Collier County (6 page)

“Oh, for Pete's sake!” Jackie said. “So Darryl may have Northern investors. That doesn't make them evil.”

“The problem is that when money comes from somewhere else, there seems to be a lack of concern about the, uh, repercussions locally,” Plain Jane said. “And there is a history of that in the South.”

“
Ugh
, and what a bad combination!” I cried out. “A heartless local boy—
Darryl
—and Yankee investors! They'll probably pave over the whole Everglades.”

“Is it really going to be all that bad?” Jackie asked. “It's just one project and I, for one, wouldn't mind if this town got a little larger. We sure could use some new people around here, maybe some new restaurants! And shopping . . .”

“What?!”
I almost yelled. Dream, still cuddled in Mrs. Bailey White's lap, jerked her head around and studied my face. She looked like she was trying to decide if she should cry, or not. I surely was getting off on the wrong foot with Dream.

We all hushed, realizing we were disturbing the baby. Finally, Jackie spoke. “I'm sorry, Dora,” she said softly. “I didn't realize how much you cared about Robbie-Lee's mother and the thought of her losing her house.”

“It's not just about her and her house!” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “It's about the river, and all that precious land around it. Those swamps are not just empty space, you know.”

Plain Jane interrupted. “Dora, you need to prepare yourself,” she said in a tone that was both firm and kind. “A lot of folks around here see this as a good thing. It means lots of new jobs. The Chamber of Commerce is behind it, and they keep talking about construction jobs which will pay better than working in the fields or fishing. Plus, once the development is built, there will be jobs in retail, at restaurants, all kinds of new opportunities.”

“Well, I'm all for new jobs but at what price?” I said, my tone bitter. “You want opportunity, go to a city! You need a job, then go to where the jobs are. Why ruin what we have here? What about nature? And what about the people who live back there and would have to leave?”

Back at my cottage later, I thought about all those who would lose their way of life, and have nowhere to go. All of them were already dirt poor. To my knowledge they weren't bothering anybody. It was almost as though the folks who ran Naples were upset that those poor folk
existed
. I'd heard it over and over again while I was coming up: Why don't
they
go somewhere
else
?

“They” were hardscrabble white folks like Dolores Simpson, a few Indians, and a small village of colored people who had been there since slavery days ended. The Negro settlement included Priscilla's grandmother. If poor, backwoods white folks and Indians were seen as a nuisance, Negroes were considered a threat, and there had been a not-so-subtle effort to relocate them where they could be watched and contained, notably, the construction of a complex of nine buildings called McDonald's Quarters in downtown Naples near the train depot. Every progressive Southern town had its Negro quarters, and in this regard,
Naples refused to be left behind. The new complex was presented to the Negroes as a step up—a safe, modern environment with indoor plumbing and running water. Truth be told, it operated more like a prison, especially at night, since a curfew kept Negroes off the streets of Naples after sundown.

Some of the Negroes had refused to go to McDonald's Quarters, however. It wasn't lost on them that the place was called the Quarters, which was reminiscent of the slave quarters of yesteryear. Their rejection was denounced by the rich folks as sheer folly and a lack of gratitude. Occasionally there was some fussing about the “renegade” Negroes who had insulted the good people of Naples by refusing the town's hospitality and generosity.

And then it would die down again. I confess I didn't pay much attention unless Mama brought it up, which she did often. Mama always took the side of poor folks, regardless of color.

I wondered what Mama would have said about Darryl's project, and the words came through strong and straight from heaven.
Darryl's a shortsighted and greedy jerk
, I heard her say inside my head, and just thinking those words made me almost laugh out loud.

Was I imagining Mama's words or did I have a direct line to her, reposing as she was, beyond the pearly gates? It didn't matter. Her words rang true either way. The fact is I'd been assuming that moving poor folks away from the river would be a
consequence
of Darryl's project. Knowing my hometown, I now realized it was possible that getting rid of them was an underlying reason for the groundswell of support for Darryl in the first place.

J
udd Hart showed up at my cottage the next morning with a small snapper whose shell had been damaged, probably by a lawn mower.

“Look, I fixed him up,” Judd said, beaming but a little hesitant. He had used gauze and first-aid tape, and I wondered aloud if it would do the job. “Oh, I've been studying,” Judd said. “Not that you were doing anything wrong,” he added quickly, “but I read a copy of
National Geographic
magazine, and it said the shell has to breathe. We should never use any kind of epoxy, or heavy tape.”

I had used anything I could think of over the years, even duct tape in emergencies, to hold an injured turtle's shell together. And here was Judd, at thirteen years old, showing me something new. I was humbled. He bit his bottom lip, and I realized he was afraid he might have offended me. Truth be told, I was a little embarrassed, but my instincts told me that Judd's need for praise was greater than my need to protect my pride. It couldn't be easy having Jackie for a mother, plus a dad who traveled a lot
as the business manager for Mr. Toomb. This was a boy who might have benefited from having a brother, but instead he had two older sisters—identical twins—who were in their own little world. I'd never actually had a conversation with either of them.

“Judd,” I said, “you're very wise and I'm sure you will go places in life. I am very impressed, and, on behalf of turtles everywhere, thank you.”

He blushed a shade of red that nearly matched his hair. I realized if this conversation went on any longer it would be excruciating for him, so I changed the subject. “So, when does school start?” I asked.

His face fell. “Two weeks,” he said sadly.

“Um, well, what grade will you be in?”

“Eight,” he said, not sounding any happier.

I racked my brain for a better topic. I was not used to conversing with teenagers. “Oh,” I said, “your mother mentioned that you joined the Civil Air Patrol.”

“Yes!” he said, almost bowling me over with his enthusiasm. “I'm too young to fly but I can go along as a spotter. I'm going to keep doing it during the school year, though I'll have to cut back my hours. I had to persuade Mom that it would be okay, and convince my dad that it was something important I should do.”

He was right: It was important. The Florida coastline was so vast that even the Coast Guard couldn't patrol every inch. The Civil Air Patrol filled the gap, with volunteers flying their own small planes to check for boaters in trouble. But the Naples Civil Air Patrol didn't just fly over the Gulf. They followed the rivers and streams into the Everglades. In recent years, the volunteer group had taken on an additional role that seemed straight out of a James Bond movie except it was real—to keep an eye out for suspicious activity since Collier County was so close to Cuba.

Judd told me about the things he had seen. There was a fishing boat that ran out of fuel and was in danger of sinking because of a problem with its bilge. And a tourist who fell asleep on a float and drifted too far from shore to swim back. “I saw something really strange last week,” he said. “A lot of trees being cut down by the river a ways behind Mrs. Bailey White's house but further down.”

If I'd had anything in my hands, I'd have dropped it. “
What?!
Wait, are you talking about where Darryl is planning his project? Are you saying he's already
started
?”

Judd looked panicky. “Well, I don't know . . . I mean, I don't know if it's his, or if something else is going on. But every day it seems like there's more trees cut down.”

He was sorry he had brought it up. I could see it in his eyes. “Judd,” I said, trying to be calm, “have you ever seen a map of the plans? I mean, Darryl's development plans?”

“No, ma'am,” he said. “There ain't any map as far as I know. Oh, don't tell Mom I said ‘ain't,' okay? She'd ground me for a week.”

“There must be a map,” I said, thinking aloud. “Judd, I'm going to leave you with the turtles and go see if I can find someone who will know what's up.”

Judd nodded. As I turned to leave he added, “There's a trailer. I saw it from the air. It's in a clearing about a mile from the Trail. Maybe that's where you'll find your, uh, former husband.”

•  •  •

I COULDN'T FIND ANYONE DOWNTOWN
who would talk to me. I went to the mayor's office; I went to the hardware store and the Book Nook. My little town was usually a gossip mill but not when it came to this subject.

Judd had drawn a rough map showing the way to get to the trailer. It was much too far to walk, and, anyway, I needed reinforcements. I hated to do it but I called Jackie from the pay telephone inside the Rexall. Would she take me over there? Would she keep me company, in case we found Darryl and he got ugly? If there was one thing Jackie loved, it was intrigue. That, and the possibility of some surefire excitement.

“Of course, Dora dear,” she said, “I believe I owe you an apology. I was thoughtless and selfish about the construction in the, um, swamps. I was thinking about it and I believe you are right that the creatures, uh,
critters
, as you say, have a right to be here, too. Mankind is nothing if not arrogant. And, anyway, if I can help you, I would like to.”

I couldn't resist. “Even if it means you won't get new restaurants and stores?” I asked, needling her.

She sighed. “Yes, if it's the right thing to do. Besides, I'm mad at your former husband. I don't like the way he's handling this.”

“That makes two of us,” I said. No disagreement there.

“I can't go over there right now, though,” Jackie said. “Can you wait an hour?”

“Surely can,” I said. “I'll be at the post office.”

I was reluctant to see my former colleagues because I wasn't ready to answer questions about my year away, and they had a way of flustering me. Working there wasn't so bad, but as the only woman I'd always felt I was a bit of an intruder. Too bad Marty, my second cousin on Daddy's side, had been relocated to the post office in Plant City.

I found three of my former colleagues having a smoke break in back. They had been looking at a girlie magazine and when they saw me, they quickly put it away. Of course, this made it even more awkward to speak to them.

Maybe because I'd caught them doing something they shouldn't—and feared I would tell their supervisor—they were friendlier than I expected. I learned there was a lot of support in town for Darryl's project, and, just as Plain Jane had said, it was all about jobs. One of my former colleagues put it this way: “My son has no future here. The only hope I have of him coming back to Collier County after he graduates from Gainesville is that there will be new opportunity here. Otherwise, he'll move away.”

Great,
I thought. What I didn't say was,
Why don't you move with him, to some place that's already paved over?
But since I was trying to get information from these fellas, I couldn't afford to alienate them. They were trying to be honest with me. The smartest thing I could do was listen. So far they'd been pretty forthcoming. But when I asked if Darryl had permission from the mayor and the council, they either didn't know or didn't want to give me a straight answer.

“There have been some legal formalities,” one of them said, choosing his words carefully. “I'm pretty sure, from what I hear, that he's already started work.”

A car horn blasted out front. “That's my ride,” I said. “Thank you, but I've got to run.” I wanted to hurry so that Jackie wouldn't honk the horn again.

The youngest of the three men followed me. He'd been in the Navy, and I always thought he might be sweet on me. “Dora?” he called out.

“What?”

“I don't think things have been done properly,” he said. “By Darryl, I mean. I went to one of the town meetings and it seemed like it was a done deal. Important enough to be rushed through. Please be careful, Dora.”

His comment almost took the wind out of my sails. I climbed
into the passenger seat, grateful that the convertible top was up, on account of it looking like rain. I didn't feel like seeing anyone—or being seen—at the moment.

But Jackie was on a tear. “I just learned the most amazing thing,” she said breathlessly. “Ted is on the road—up in the Panhandle or whatever it's called—and he phoned me because he won't be home tomorrow, even though he said he would. Anyway, it seemed like it just kind of slipped out—like he wasn't going to tell me—but when he's on the road he gets tired and I think he let his guard down—”

“What?” I said.

“He said that Mr. Toomb is going to . . . well, I don't know how to say this, it sounds so ridiculous.”

“Jackie! You're killing me!”

“Mr. Toomb is starting an airline.” She hit the accelerator.

I thought I must have misheard. “An
airline
?”

“A regional airline. You know, Naples to Miami. Naples to Tampa. Jacksonville to Tampa. But the major ones in place by the end of this year.”