Sea Glass

  I entered the Lorian Hemingway Short Story Competition in April, 2008. The winners were just announced in Key West , FLA. I placed with Honorable Mention with my short story, Sea Glass. For those of you who may have read this previously, I have revised it quite a bit. Hope you enjoy! See the posting at:

http://www.shortstorycompetition.com/cutenews/show_news.php?subaction=showfull&id=1216487965&archive=&template=Headlines

 Emma Brown's tiny cottage was perched on a take-your-breath-away cliff. A faded wooden sign spoke its name: "Halfway to Heaven." On Nantucket, every cherished cottage bears a name; each name conjured as a little love song. Halfway to Heaven was a simple sort. The cottage faced east, and her shingled face smiled all the way to Spain. Its latticed roof was heavily pitched, to sustain the rigors of cold Nantucket winters. Every summer, wild roses tumbled from it, like pink curls. The cottage's rock foundation sat in a nest of sea grass, beach plum, and scrub oak. Four walls hugged a small keeping room, where a fire popped and crackled in the fireplace from late fall to spring. There was a tidy kitchen, with windows opening wide-eyed to the sea. And a small bath, with a deep claw foot tub, perfect for long hot soaks on winter nights.

Inside, the wide pine floorboards creaked, in time, to Emma Brown's footsteps as she shuffled across the kitchen floor. Emma was an old bird, a Nantucket native.  She rinsed her teacup in the deep sink, and gazed out at the ocean through the bubbled glass. 

"Maybe today, the cobalt piece will find me." Her eyes danced across a narrow windowsill filled with jars holding years of beachcombing bounty. The rainbow hued sea glass glowed like bottled fireflies.

"Oh, the tumbled tales you could tell!" Emma sighed, as she gently shook one of the jars. "What an old fool I am, with nothing more to do than collect bits of colored glass."

A sudden gust lifted the curtains, as she looked out toward the waves. Emma smiled, remembering the way Edward would chase her home, after long days out on the beach. "We were so happy. Weren't we Edward?" she whispered to the windowpanes.

She could almost see him outside the window. He'd have a glass of wine, with his egg salad sandwich, or whatever picnic lunch Emma had scrambled up for the day. And he'd get all silly, chase her and paw at her skirts, as she giggled and ran from him toward the cottage. Sometimes, they'd fall into bed, even though it was broad daylight. Emma's cheeks pinked, even now, as she thought back on those days with her Edward.  

But Edward was gone. Nine long years, now. Part of every day and night, she wished she could see him, smell him again. On the tails, of those thoughts, she'd always wonder. What will become of our little cottage, when I die?

Emma never had a child. She had only been pregnant, that once. And then, she had suffered a miscarriage. After all these years, it still ached. How could it not? Emma missed that someone she never had. Some days she felt it more than others. Those alone days, when the clock ticked too loudly. She missed the daughter or son who might call her every Tuesday, and come every summer, to stay. She'd often sit in her chair at night, half snoozing, and wonder what that child of hers would have looked like. Would he have Edward's widow's peak and fine black hair? Would she have my blue eyes?

Just then, a beam of sunlight shot through the sea glass on the windowsill, and sent shards of fractured light flying across the walls. Emma tottered over to the wall, and patted at the dancing lights.

"There's my baby!" Emma said, chasing the lights. She giggled, as she touched each one. Then an odd sense of shame washed over her. She slowly lowered her arm, and sighed. "My, oh my...what a doddering fool I've become."

Emma wandered back to the window and straightened some things, on the counter, that didn't need straightening. The worries over the fate of her cottage came back to niggle at her. There was Henry. He was Emma's grand nephew. He wanted the place. He came snooping around, once or twice a year, just so she'd remember him. Waiting on her to kick the bucket, more than likely.

Emma tisked, "Oh, no ya don't, Henry. I won't have you selling my home, just so you can buy yourself a bigger house, in California!"

She busied herself again, at the sink, dabbing the sponge at the drain.

"Edward?" she said suddenly, looking up at the ceiling. "I have a crazy idea. The first person, who brings me a cobalt nugget, with its smooth edges aching to be rubbed, will inherit our cottage." She straightened and squared her shoulders, to let Edward know she meant business. "I've never found one of those beauties."

When she heard it out loud, Emma was sure she was crazy. And she knew, full well, that her crackpot scheme would make Henry steam like a teapot. Which suited her just fine. Better than fine.

 "I know, it's crazy, Edward. But an old lady can do what she will! I'll have Harvey Coolidge put it in my will in the morning. And if it doesn't happen," Emma paused, pursed her lips, "...well then, I suppose Henry will get the better of me."

Emma sighed so deeply that her apron strings pulled at her middle.

"Well, enough of this foolishness. I best be getting on with my day." Emma peered at the clock. "Looks like it's nearly ten, already." The doors on the clock flapped open, and the ancient little bird popped out.

"Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" Ten times strong.

"Yes, I'm afraid I am a bit cuckoo, little bird. But that's who I am." Emma laughed, and nodded her head sharply. "That's who I am," she repeated, in case the bird hadn't heard. Emma's sad mood had passed like a summer rain. "My sea glass isn't going to just come and find me. I'd better get out there and see what last night's storm tossed up. Now, where's my flashlight?"

Emma rummaged in a small wooden tray that held her necessities: the house key, a scratched up pair of old reading glasses, and a silver penlight. "There you are," she said, snagging the penlight. "They'll be out there by the shoreline, with their fool heads down, wagging side to side, in search of my glass." Emma squeezed the little light hard, waved it like a wand. "But they don't know where to look, now do they? Off we go. Today might be the day." 

Emma put her straw hat atop her snowy cap of hair. Grasping the door's iron latch, she tensed her frail shoulders, tucked her elbows in, and pulled mightily. The heat and the ocean air had swollen the door in its jamb. "I guess age and swollen joints go together," she sighed. Another mighty tug, and the door exploded open. A gorgeous waft of clean ocean air sailed in, and ruffled the ends of Emma's soft white hair. The wide brim of her hat fluttered.

"Good morning," she sang, as she drank in the wide open view. As she stepped off the warm granite, Emma scooped up the long handled basket, hung it on her elbow, and clumped toward the beach. As she crested the dune, she looked out over the water.

"Oh you!" she scolded. "You whooped up a doozie of a storm last night." Emma smiled to see that all was calm and clear, now. Pink and white shells were scattered all around, tiny peace offerings from the once raging waters. Emma looked down the beach and snickered. The sunburned shell seekers were out, with their noses down, scouting the hard packed shoreline. She toddled away from the shore, to the softer sand, by the high tide mark. The waves had left a pale ribbon of foam, to show where they'd been. Emma clicked her flashlight on, and shined its beam over a swath of gooey seaweed, hoping to find treasures, tangled within. Hours passed, as she poked under the soggy seaweed and rocks. She had looted three bits of aqua green glass, a finger of driftwood and a lovely white sand dollar, when her shoulders started to sting. 

"Okay, Okay," she muttered. "I'd better get home before I burn to a crisp."

            Emma plopped one more shell in her basket. It had a speckled brown pattern across its curved back. Its spiral chamber was pearly and pink.

"Hmmmm. You'll do nicely on my bedside table," she assured the rescued shell. 

As she headed toward the cottage, Emma saw something in the dunes. Moving closer, she spied an old Volkswagen bus, with rust freckles all across its face. It was hunkered down in the dunes, just off the private way.

"Probably another pair of lovers. Won't they be surprised to see this old coot coming?" Emma's canvas shoes filled with sand, as she trudged up the dune and down the other side, into the hollow.  No one was about. 

"Hey! Come on outta' there. This is private land, you know." Emma tried to sound stern. "I don't want to have to call the island police," Emma continued, and nearly giggled. She knew how long it would take that chubby officer, Alby Stoddard, to get off his big behind and come make an arrest. "Come on out!"  No one stirred, inside. 

As Emma got closer, she heard a sound, like a cat mewing. It got louder, as she neared the van. She rapped on the windshield. A startled face rose slowly, like a moon, from behind the driver's seat. Emma squinted and cocked her head, fighting the sun's reflection on the glass. The woman stared back. A large bruise stained the whole left side of her face. Emma gasped. And then she saw the crown of a small blonde head, cradled in the crook of the woman's elbow. 

"Oh, my! What in heaven's name are you doing in this old van? It must be a hundred degrees in there!" 

The door slowly ground open.  Inside, were telltale signs of someone on the run. On the back seat, Emma noticed a thick pallet made up of pillows, covered with a patchwork quilt. The middle seat held a large pillow and an old coat. On the floor, behind the front seat, were two small cardboard boxes, holding the barest of necessities: water bottles, a few cans of soup, crackers, and a loaf of bread. Before Emma could utter another word, the woman spoke.

"Oh, please, ma'am!  Don't call the police. I'm out of gas. I only had seventy-two dollars. But I had to get away." Emma's eyes widened. "I went to Hyannis and I... and I... I just got on the ferry. I wanted..." she choked, "...to put an ocean between us. He'd have killed me." Her words came out in heaves, tears shooting out of her eyes. The little girl started to cry. Her face glistened with sweat, as she looked at her Mom, and then back at Emma. Something inside Emma melted.

"Now, now. Let's get you outta this tin can. Get you both something cool to drink." The woman swiped her eyes on the sleeve of her old blue tee shirt. 

"Oh, ma'am. Thank you," she said breathlessly. "We won't be a bother. I just need a little time...to figure out what to do." The woman hurried to gather her knapsack, as the toddler clung to her.

"Well, let's start by callin' me Emma. Emma Brown. And you are?"

"Jane Duggan. This is my daughter, Sandra."

Sandra.  Sandy. Emma smiled.

"Well, all right. Let's get outta this sun and inside. My cottage is right over these dunes." Jane climbed out of the van, holding the tow-headed toddler. Her legs buckled under her, stiff from the close quarters. Emma reached out to steady her. As she leaned in, the baby grabbed a stray strand of Emma's hair, and tugged. 

"Oh, darling! You'll have to take it easy on me. I haven't too much hair left," Emma laughed. She reached up and gently opened the tiny fist. As she did, Emma's hat toppled off her head, and the baby released her grip. She threw her blonde head back, and let out a giggle that painted the sky a shade bluer. Emma couldn't take her eyes off the little one's upturned face.  

"Here, Emma," Jane said, hooking elbows with Emma, "Let me help you." Emma softened to Jane's touch. It felt like a daughter's. The threesome started the trudge up the dune. Sandra squealed again, poking her finger at the sky as a gull balanced on a breeze, overhead. Emma followed Sandra's gaze and realized she had almost forgotten how lovely a gull looked when it was flying.

As they approached the cottage, Sandra squirmed out of her mother's arms, and ran toward the purple front door. She climbed onto the granite step, turned to Emma and Jane, and clapped her hands.

"We're coming," Emma called. There was a spring in her step, as she approached the cottage door, and lifted the latch. Sandra burst through.

"Sandra!" Jane scolded. "You must behave." Sandra stood still, pushed out her lower lip. "Emma, I am so sorry. She's a little excited, I guess."

"Don't be silly. She's a child," Emma said. "Come in. Make yourselves at home." Emma set her basket down, and scurried to the kitchen to fetch something cool to drink. Sandra clung to Jane's leg, so the two hobbled toward the couch, in tandem, and sat.

Emma perused the fridge for a quick afternoon snack.  "Let's see. I've got some orange marmalade and crackers. And some iced tea with lemon and honey.  Will that do for now?"

Jane's face opened like a sunflower. "Oh, Emma. You have no idea how that'll do." Jane sat quietly, looking around the tidy room, as though she had just stepped off a cloud. Sandra climbed onto a chair, and started making that noise children make, when they don't yet have words.

"Unnnnhhh!" she said, as she pointed at the colored glass. Emma took one of the jars, from the windowsill, and slowly tipped it onto the kitchen table.  A galaxy of colored glass painted a swath across the table.

Sandra's eyes widened. "Oooo!"

Jane stood up and rushed to contain her daughter's grabbing hands.

"Sandra. Don't touch Emma's lovely glass."

"Oh, Jane, don't be silly. Sea glass is meant to be held. Touched. It gets happier when you do. It glistens when it warms to your hand. Not to worry. All the edges are smooth as silk." Emma placed a pale green orb in Sandra's chubby, outstretched hand. 

"Ooooo!" she cooed.

Emma was standing close to Jane.  She surveyed the bluish-black bruise that nearly swallowed Jane's face. It made Emma's knees tremble.  How could a man strike that angel face? She reached out, and gently cupped Jane's chin in her hand.

"Don't you worry, child." Jane started to cry, and tucked her head against Emma's shoulder. "There, there," Emma soothed. She placed her arm across Jane's back, and held her close. "You'll have no more worries, now." Jane lifted her head, looked into Emma's eyes, and smiled. Just then, Sandra let out another shriek.

"Wook! Wook!" she screamed, pointing at the colored lights shooting across the ceiling.

Emma clasped her hands together with delight. "Yes, Sandra. Those are Emma's rainbows. All for you!" Sandra looked at Emma, her eyes green, like the glass. And then she danced away, chasing the lights. Just then, Emma felt a funny feeling in her chest. She felt found.

"Well, now," Emma said, all aflutter.  "Let's get you two settled in. I'll run a bath for you and the baby. I have some old jeans, for you, Jane. They belonged to my Edward," Emma said, with a grin. "They'll be on the big side for ya, but nothin' a belt won't remedy." Emma turned to Sandra. "And for you, Sandra, I have a soft tee shirt. I'll air them on the line, while you two take yer' soak. Now, let me run that bath." 

"Emma, how will I ever thank you?"

"No need. Just let me take care of you two for awhile, that's all." Emma started for the bathroom. Her heart felt like it might fly out of her chest. "And when you're through, we'll have that tea and crackers. And then, we'll decide what we might want at the store. I'll rustle us up somethin' nice for dinner."

"Emma, you're an angel," Jane said.

Emma couldn't stop the train of happy thoughts barreling through her. "We'll put a blanket down, in the side yard. It's the most beautiful view on the island. You'll see."

"Emma, where do you get your energy?" Jane laughed. And then put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, dear. What's wrong?" Emma asked.

"Nothing," Jane said. "It's just that I haven't laughed...in such a long, long time." And then she laughed, again.

"Then we'll have to make plenty of time for that," Emma said. She nervously smoothed her skirt, smiled, and hurried to start the bath. As she turned on the tap, Sandra ran to watch the tub fill.

"Sandy, look! I have soap shavings."  Emma rummaged in the dresser drawer, and pulled out a brown paper sack, filled with pink curls of soap.

"Ooooo!"

            As the hot water splashed into the tub, clouds of steam and bubbles rose, like pink lava. "I'll leave you two, for now. There are fresh towels on the chair."

Emma closed the door. She cocked her ear to the door, for a moment. She  could hear Sandy's giggles, echoing off the walls. Her hand flew to her chest, astonished at how sweetly life had turned.

Emma was heading to her room when she noticed Jane's old backpack had toppled. Tumbling out of the pack, were an old sneaker, a scuffed purse, and some odd socks. As Emma bent to right the knapsack, a baby food jar clanked to the floor. Emma picked it up, and saw a sandy collection of small shells in the jar.

A cobalt disc of sea glass, shaped like a cloud, floated among the shells.