Maddie consoled herself by knowing that her ancestors had a better view of a sunset and the sea than the inhabitants of North Road did. Still, it would be nice to learn something about her background other than her mother’s Iberian genetics that her father once said was why Maddie had such thick, beautiful hair. “To-die-for hair” a high school friend once called it. Maybe Maddie would learn more when she tackled the boxes and stacks of papers in the cottage. And she’d at least be able to tell Rafe some interesting stories.
Besides, if she were about to become a millionaire, it would be nice to know where the money had come from in the first place. Especially when it came to the land, since, somehow, someone in her past had been able to buy the nearly five acres.
She decided it was time for a field trip, a scouting mission to view her inheritance.
Folding the paper shopping bags, saving them for a recycle bin, she found a canning jar in a kitchen cupboard, washed it out, filled it with fresh tap water, and screwed the top on tightly. Then she grabbed her phone, purse, and the maps Brandon had given her. But before going to the car, she went up to the shed she’d plowed through the day before and retrieved Grandma Nancy’s gardening boots. There was no point getting her sandals mucky or wet—which might be a strong possibility when someone lived on an island.
She set her GPS for West Basin Road, Aquinnah, which she decided must be close by, considering that the address of the cottage was Basin Road, Menemsha, without the “West.” Unfortunately, she hadn’t discerned that between here and Aquinnah was lots of water: Menemsha Basin, Menemsha Inlet, Menemsha Creek. And, of course, Menemsha Harbor. There was the bike ferry that Brandon mentioned—apparently it was only for people who were traveling from here to there on foot or with bicycles. Looking at the GPS map, it appeared that the ferry would be faster and easier than to drive clear out to State Road and circle back.
With the maps, her phone, and the jar of water in hand, she put the keys and a few dollars in the pocket of her jeans, got out of her car, and locked her purse and Grandma’s boots inside, keeping everything safe.
Safe, she thought, rhymed with Rafe. She wished he were there now, sharing her adventure. He would have loved it. And he most likely would have found a way to rent kayaks or a canoe to cross to the other side to add to the fun.
As she walked down the road toward the water, she was amazed at the number of people meandering around on such a cloudy day, drifting in and out of the few small shops, sitting on big rocks, talking in low voices while watching the water or waiting in line for sandwiches or ice cream, hopefully the kind that Mr. Fuller used to sell. Maddie smiled and kept walking until she reached a blue-and-white sign shaped like a surfboard. It read:BIKE FERRY. AQUINNAH VIA MENEMSHA. $5ONE WAY. $8ROUND TRIP. It seemed simple enough. But nothing was in sight that looked like a ferry.
“Excuse me,” she asked a young woman who stood near the sign, holding the handlebars of a red bicycle. “Is this where we get the bike ferry to Aquinnah?”
The girl squinted. She seemed around the same age as Maddie’s students. Rafe’s age. She pointed across the channel. “It’s over there,” she said. “I already rang the bell. It’ll be back in a minute.”
“Thank you,” Maddie said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” She supposed that the girl didn’t care about that or about the rest of Maddie’s story. Maybe she’d be more interested if Rafe was there. The boy—the young man, she corrected herself—turned even more heads than his father once had.
Then the girl announced, “Here it comes.”
Holding her hand to her forehead to shield the gray glare off the water, Maddie said, “All I see is what looks like a pontoon boat with an awning over part of it.”
“That’s it,” came the answer. “No need for anything bigger. My grandfather said it started off as just a raft with a railing to hold on to and a tiny motor. Or something like that.”
Maddie fumbled in her pocket and withdrew a five-dollar bill and three ones. She was about to ask if she should tip the captain (if that’s what he was called), but the girl was removing her helmet, strapping it around the handle of her bike, and grasping the handlebars more tightly, making ready to be piped aboard.
* * *
After a successful “crossing” to the other side, and with her maps unfolded, Maddie began her expedition by following the road. All around her was beach sand, dunes, and sea grass—there were no landmarks for Grandma Nancy’s properties. Not that she expected a sign that read,THIS WAY TO GRANDMA’S,but a hint would have been nice. She continued to walk along the narrow road: a long curve of the beach was on her right—the ocean side—and a few sections of tall, wood-slat fencing stood here and there, dividing the pavement and the sand, perhaps an effort to minimize the amount of sand that wind gusts blew onto the asphalt. That close to the water, there were no tress, no shade to help protect much of anything.
Opposite the beach side of the road, wild plants sprawled in abundance, all of which displayed healthy blossoms, some pink, some white against lush green leaves—Beach roses, Maddie thought. Hadn’t her grandmother once made jam and tea from them?
Other than the beach roses and bits of wild vegetation, the land was mostly barren, shaped by soft-looking dunes and a smattering of small ponds. Maddie would love to investigate them but wasn’t sure she should: the ground around them might be trickier to navigate than it appeared, and she’d left Grandma’s boots back in Menemsha. Besides, it might be tribal land that Brandon spoke about. Or private land that belonged to the owners of the few houses in the distance that stood on higher ground. No matter the case, she wouldn’t want to trespass.
She walked farther than she’d thought she’d have to, but, according to the map, when West Basin stopped, she turned at Lobsterville Road. After a while, her calves started to ache, a sign that she should have worn sneakers, not sandals.
Finally, she found Clay Pit Road.
“Aha!” she said aloud though no one but seagulls must have heard, as no people were in sight.
She headed up the street, hoping to find the property that supposedly was “off it,” whatever that meant. If someone stopped her, she’d show them her parcel maps and ask if they had any idea where the boundaries were. Surely, someone would know.
Her enthusiasm propelled her, aching calves and all, toward a large dune, hoping she’d be better able to get her bearings once she was on the other side. Which was when Maddie’s usual common sense deserted her.
* * *
It was two thirty when, out of necessity, Maddie called Brandon.
“Thanks for not letting this go to voice mail,” she said when he answered. “My choice was to call either you or the EMTs.”
“TheEMTs?”
“Yes. I’ve had a little mishap.” By then she was sitting on the sand, having landed on her butt, after her body had hurtled down the large dune from the top to the bottom. She supposed her jeans were embedded with countless granules of sand, much like her hands, the flesh of her palms stinging as if they’d been burned. She’d managed to take off her sandals, but by the way her right foot was swelling, it did not appear that standing up would be happening anytime soon.
“Are you bleeding?” Brandon asked. “Did you hit your head? Where are you?” His questions burst forth in a rush, each one faster than the last, as if he were a contestant on one of the game shows that, oddly, her father enjoyed watching since he’d retired.
