Portion of the Sea (9 page)

“Location is everything,” added the boy’s father. “If I were here for that purpose, I’d probably claim a nice 160 acres extending along the Bay. I’ve met several who are taking up homesteads along the Gulf beach. I do think you have to prove you’re head of the family before you claim.”

“I’m temporarily the head,” I said.

“You don’t look twenty-one.”

“I’m almost fifteen.”

“Same age as my son, Jaden,” he said, looking toward the kind boy. “If you were my daughter, I’d want you to hold off and give me a day or two to show up. I’m sure that’s what your father would want.”

I beamed a smile. “Then that is what we shall do,” I said. “Thank you, sir.”

VII

LYDIA

I CLOSED THE JOURNAL
and returned it to my school bag. I wondered whether Lloyd might buy me a parcel of land on Sanibel. That way I could have a place to go to whenever I felt like getting away from the city. I’d have to ask him about it—if I ever saw him, that is.

I stood up and stretched my legs. I had been sitting there for some time, listening to some man preach the word of God, never noticing when the old lady and man on each side of me got up to leave. I felt small standing there with the towering buildings surrounding me, but when I glanced up, and saw that I had been sitting this entire time on a bench in front of the
Windy City Press
Tower, my spirits soared higher than the Sears Tower itself. For there are no coincidences, I told myself. One day I’ll be sitting on this same bench, but it will be my lunch break, and I will be a journalist!

I felt so fine that I wanted to stay there in that exact spot and relish the coincidence of my getting off that bus and choosing a bench outside the tower of my dreams, but then, my eyes did what they wanted to do. They peeked at my watch and made me wish I believed in a God and in the message that one of our city’s beloved homeless persons was preaching, for
if I believed, then maybe God could make it so I wouldn’t be late for school. Then again, if that handsome boy could pray for Ava’s daddy to secure a tarpon, then I could at least try to pray for my own selfish needs. And whether I believed or not, maybe God, whether He existed or not, might hear me. And so I gave it a try, rattling off my first prayer, quick and simple as I took off sprinting through the city.

And when I saw that the crowds of people on Michigan Avenue spread apart creating a perfect pathway for me to run down, I nearly became a believer right then and there, but I didn’t. Maybe it was because believing didn’t run in my family.

When I arrived at school, panting like a panther, I told the principal, Mr. Smith, a big white lie about our flight getting in this morning and our limo breaking down and me running nearly a mile to get here. And when I noticed the secretary’s questioning eyes, I pulled out from my pocket the single blue iris I had saved and handed it to her.

“The bell will be ringing shortly,” she said. “Why don’t you have a seat over there and you can make it to your next class. Actually, lunch is next.”

“Fine,” I said, my face blossoming into a smile. “I’ll sit here and read until lunch.”

I flipped open the journal to where I left off and began to read:

Ava

We left the periwinkles behind and treaded toward the east, asking directions as we went until we arrived at the house Stewart had arranged for us to stay at. Someone told him the woman of the house took in boarders, and after correspondence she and my father worked it out that we would stay there until we built a home of our own.

“I’ve been expecting you for over two months now,” she said as she opened the door. “C’mon in. My name is Tootie. I’m glad you made it safely, but where’s Stewart?”

“Sidetracked,” I said quickly. “He’ll be here any day, I’m sure.”

“Fine.” There was a no-nonsense air about her as she led us to the
small, square room we were to share. “Your boxes arrived this morning. Make yourselves at home. I told Stewart in a letter it would be fifteen dollars a month per person,” she continued, sizing each of us with her eyes, before they stopped suspiciously at Dahlia’s big tummy. “That fifteen dollars was after he wrote and claimed that you ladies don’t eat much.”

“We do eat a lot,” I said, annoyed. I didn’t want to be made to feel awkward about all the food that was on my mind. “We eat like men. And we’re famished right now from our arduous journey and exploration of the island.”

“Of course you are,” Tootie said with a smile. “Down this hall and in that room over there is where we eat. Looks like the other boarders are just now sitting down for supper. Why don’t you go in and introduce yourselves, get acquainted. Several are just like you, new to the island and staying with me until they claim their land or build their homes.”

I turned my nose toward the smell of food. “Let’s go,” I said. “I’m so hungry I could eat a raccoon about now.”

My mother took hold of my arm. “Wait, young lady,” she said. “I can’t go in there looking like this.”

“Like what?”

“A mess, all dirty, like I was playing in …”

“Dirt?” interrupted Dahlia. “You were, Abby.”

“But we’re meeting new people, and this is going to be a new start for us. It’s important to make a good first impression. That’s why we spent a fortune to have these new dresses made, so we might arrive on the island looking like classy Southern ladies for the first time in our lives. I just need to go wash parts of this dress before we go in there.”

“Mama,” I said, pulling her down the hall toward the room. “It’s not important what we look like on the outside. It’s all about our intellect and views on the inside. Besides, I don’t care if there’s dirt on my dress. It shows that I’ve got better things on my mind than striving to look like a prim and proper girl.”

“I’m trying to raise a young lady,” Abigail said to her mother. “Why is it so hard?”

Dahlia chuckled, then lowered her voice and didn’t think I could hear
as she said, “She reminds me of you, Abby, when you were her age. I prayed back then that one day you’d have one of your own to deal with. The good Lord does answer our prayers, doesn’t He?”

When we entered the room, I noticed families eating at large wooden tables set up throughout and no one was wearing elaborate dresses like ours. They wore the kind of clothes that people wear when working the land and building homes.

Boys were looking my way. It was always they who watched me as if I were a rare and beautiful bird. I tiptoed to a table across the room, one without any boys my age. I didn’t want them observing my every move, especially the way in which I was about to devour my food. I was ravenous and not about to pick away like a proper, dainty bird.

I chose a seat the farthest away from any boys, but still, they stared my way as if holding binoculars. I learned a lot from the way boys watched me. I learned I must be beautiful. Maybe it was my long, thick hair, with colors of auburn and chestnut, and streaks of black throughout. I got my hair from Grandmalia, although hers turned gray in her forties, I was told. I knew I should take advantage of my looks before they left, and I know most girls would find outer beauty a commodity, but I didn’t want to be admired for my feathers or hunted down like those poor old Roseate Spoonbills. I wanted people to hear my whistle, to listen to what I had to say. I had a bold but honest whistle, the kind that hurts the ears of some and scares off others and only attracts a certain kind.

Dinner was good—grits and fried fish. I could tell Dahlia was tired by the way her head kept dropping to the table and Abigail looked calm and content after picking away at her food. All she ate were crumbs, but they settled her mind, and I was glad.

It was good talking to the other settlers. We learned of some who had been living on Sanibel under the pre-emption and homestead laws at least as early as 1884.

“I want to understand this,” I said to a man sitting next to me. “We can acquire as much as one-hundred-and-sixty acres of free Sanibel land?”

“Providing,” he said, “you are head of a family or over twenty-one, reside on the property or cultivate it for five years and pay proving up fees.”

“And the Pre-emption Act of 1841?”

“It permits you to locate a claim of one-hundred-and-sixty acres and after six months of residency purchase it for as little as $1.25 an acre.”

We talked with others, who, like us, had come for Sanibel’s healthful climate. We were told there was a pastor on the island who, together with his family, moved here from Maine after he contracted tuberculosis. There was a childless widow, we were told, who saw life on an island as both an adventure and opportunity so she left her home in Cincinnati, Ohio, and came to Sanibel. Families had been arriving from Virginia, Kentucky, Maryland, and all over the country. Some members of their families, we were told, lived but a short time after coming to the island and were then buried on their land.

And we learned that Stewart wasn’t the only man to become interested in tarpon. Tarpon stories from this area had been spreading worldwide, and wealthy sport fishermen, captains of industry, renowned politicians, and playboys were all arriving in Fort Myers for tarpon fishing and then falling in love with the area and staying.

I still couldn’t imagine an obsession so strong that men were relocating their families across the country in pursuit of a silver fish. Maybe the fish, like the flowers, had a way of casting a mysterious spell on people because none of it sounded logical to me.

Lydia

When I heard footsteps crossing the room in my direction, I slid the journal under a textbook, looking up and returning myself to the administrative office at school, where I was still waiting for the bell to ring.

“Tell me, Lydia,” Mr. Smith said. “Did your father do any fishing while in Florida? I’ve got a brother-in-law who went there back in the forties and came home talking of nothing but tarpon. The following year, he quit his job and moved his family there.”

I laughed. “I wished that would happen to my father, but you could cast the strongest spell on him to quit his job and fish instead, and he’d
still show up to work every day, maybe with a fishing pole, but he’d still work.”

Just then, the bell rang, and I was off. “Mr. Smith,” I called back. “What’s for hot lunch today?”

“Turkey.”

“Free-roaming?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking, Lydia.”

“Never mind. I’m so hungry I could eat a raccoon about now.”

I could hear him laugh as I hurried out the door and down the hall.

But as I approached the lunchroom, there was nothing I desired more than knowing whether Ava’s daddy returned to the family. There were times when I wondered whether my own father would ever return. He was always at that bank trying to secure, not a tarpon, but something just as silvery called money.

My friends screamed when they saw me, and we chatted over lunch, but then I excused myself and went alone to the bathroom. It was unusual, I know, for we usually flock together to powder our noses, but I wasn’t in the mood for gossip or small talk or to hear about their latest purchases and adventures to the department stores. I found Ava’s journey to the island so much more interesting, and as I walked into a private stall and locked the door behind me, I could hardly wait to read more. In my eyes, she was becoming the bold and courageous leader she had envisioned for herself. She was doing an excellent job taking charge in the absence of her father, and I wanted to study her words and learn her ways.

I took a seat on the throne and continued to read.

Ava

“Where’s your husband?” I asked Tootie once she started stacking our dinner plates. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“Ava,” exclaimed my mother. “A lady doesn’t blurt out such questions.”

“It’s all right,” Tootie assured my mother nonchalantly. “I was her age
once. I may have four wrinkles and eight gray hairs, but I remember being her age like it was yesterday.” She carried the dishes over to a bench and returned. “It’s good for a woman to remember the young girl she once was.” She walked back to the bench with more plates and started scraping our scraps into the garbage. “I’ve got a husband. He’s in Fort Myers, lingering around the saloons while I’m here doing all the work.”