Out of the Mist (26 page)

She jumped as her phone rang. It took a few
seconds before she could pull herself into the moment to answer
it.

“
Hello,” she
croaked.

“
Clare? Is that you?” It
was her neighbour farther down the beach.

“
Yes, yes, I was just
miles away.”

“
Just wanted to know if
you were ok in this first foggy night alone.”

“
Oh, yes,” she answered.
“I’ve been watching the fog on the beach. Tell me, who would I have
just seen walking along the beach just now in this awful
weather?”

“
What! What do you mean?
Walking along the beach now? Tonight?”

“
Yes, an older couple who
looked too frail to be even out in this weather,” she
answered.

There was silence on the other end of the
line, long enough for Clare to think the connection was broken.
“Are you still there, Anne?”

A deep breath came from the phone. “How
about you come by for tea tomorrow morning and we can talk about
your mirage?”

“
Mirage? What do you
mean?”

“
Trust me. The story will
be better in the sunlight. See you tomorrow.” There was a sudden
click as Anne hung up.

“
Now there is a mystery!”
mused Clare. She pulled the bright yellow curtains across the
window and took her wondering thoughts elsewhere. With luck, the
fog would be gone in the morning and her questions would be
answered.

Just before she headed to bed, she took one
last look out at the beach before her. Tendrils of fog played hide
and seek with the full moon that sailed across the sky, but no
figures could she see.

“
My imagination?” she
wondered aloud. She first picked up a mystery novel but her cat
mewed at her. “Yes, you’re right, a good English novel is what I
need. No more mysteries for tonight.”

Clare and the cat made for her comfy
bed.

The next morning, the fog persisted as she
walked down the little lane to Anne’s cape house. With a warm and
welcoming bright red door and a plume of smoke puffing from the
central chimney, it looked like a house in a fairy tale.

She was glad she had chosen this tiny
community. Everyone was busy and friendly. She knocked on the door
and immediately heard the welcome barking of Queenie, Anne’s rescue
greyhound, at the same time Anne opened the door.

“
Come in, come in," she
beckoned warmly. “As you can hear, Queenie is glad for some
company. I am not speaking to her; she demolished half my museum
tea biscuits this morning.”

Clare walked into the open room. Anne had
removed some interior walls so she could see the beach and the grey
ocean swells, or even down to the small freshwater pond with its
flotilla of ducks, from almost anywhere in the room.

“
What a wonderful
vista.”

“
That and its age is what
attracted us to the house. This house has watched the sea for over
200 years and has seen many storms and struggles on that
beach.”

Anne handed Clare a mug of tea. Clare
wrapped her hands around the heat and inhaled the fragrance.

“
Tell me Anne, what did I
see last night? Real or imaginary?”

Anne sat beside her.
“Well, it depends on you." Anne took a deep breath. “It sounds like
you saw Janet and Philip walking the beach as they have for 30
years.”

“
So which house is
theirs?” asked Clare.

“
The house they used to
live in is the grey one surrounded by rhododendrons just as you
round the big curve.”

“
Used to live in.... Do
you mean they moved?”

“
In a manner of speaking.”
Anne sighed and studied Clare’s face. “They both died last winter
about this time.”

Clare sat stunned by Ann’s information. Her
heart pounded faster.

“
Died… but how? What are
you saying?”

“
I think,” Anne said, “you
saw their ghosts.”

“
Don’t be ridiculous.
There are no such things as ghosts.” She paused as she gazed upon
the serious expression on Anne’s face. “Are there?”

“
Let me tell you their
story and you can draw your own conclusions.”

Clare sat back, skeptical, but secretly
wanted to hear more.

“
Long ago, Janet and
Philip moved to our little community. Philip had retired from the
Navy and wanted to live by the sea. Their house had been built some
years before by a sea captain who wanted a safe harbour to come
home to. Philip felt the same. Janet was a writer of scholarly
books and needed a quiet place to work. They added a studio to the
old house and lived there happily. Every night they dined together
by candlelight, then walked the beach together arm in arm planning
their days. On windy days, she’d wrapped herself in a long woolen
cardigan that had originally been his. Their children, grown and
long gone, would visit from time to time but really they lived for
each other. He read to her each evening. Every moment of their
lives was lived in tandem. They even finished each other’s
sentences. Fall before last, though, Philip got ill; it was stage
five colon cancer that had spread. Philip refused to stay in
hospital except for treatment; care givers came to the house. Janet
got thinner and thinner and more ethereal and grey as she watched
over him. They kept their little rituals, even though they could no
longer walk the beach. She ate on a tray beside his bed by
candlelight. She read aloud to him in the evening. It soon became
obvious that time was running out for Philip. Palliative care
nurses began the watch.

“
Janet and Philip had a
ritual. All the years Philip was at sea with the navy, he carefully
entrusted his grandfather’s watch to Janet. He would place it in
her palm and say, ‘Keep this safe for me until we can wind it up
together and start our life anew.’ She would then walk the beach
and watch the ocean upon which Philip had sailed as if she were on
the voyage with him.

“
Late one night, as he
grew weaker, he called her close and asked for the watch. They
carried out the ritual. She put the watch in her pocket to keep it
safe. Soon, Philip fell into his final coma. As he slipped away,
Janet followed her own path. She picked up the well-worn cardigan
and went to the back door. She could see the moon high in the night
sky. The night was fiercely cold. She wrapped her cardigan around
her and made her way through the snow to her favourite place on the
calm beach.

“
She sat down and took out
the watch. Oblivious to the cold and snow, she waited. As Philip
moved into his eternal sleep so did she—a voyage shared.

“
The next morning, an
early dog walker found her snow covered body at the same time an
ambulance came for Philip’s body. It was their last journey
together, just as they had planned.

“
On stormy or foggy
nights, folks say they have seen them walking together on their
beach, always arm in arm.”

Clare exhaled. “What a story!” she
exclaimed. “Is it true?”

“
Oh, yes," Anne said and
nodded. “Now the next part is up to you. Did you really see them
last night or were they figments of your imagination? Only you know
that.”

Clare finished her tea and
set down her cup. “I think I need to give this some deeper
thought.”

She set out for home,
taking the beach path, the same one Janet and Philip frequented for
so many years. She sat down on an old log and considered the story.
As a naval officer’s wife, she had her share of times alone. Right
now, David was at sea in the Gulf. He had gone four months ago and
would be gone another two or three before his crew were relieved.
She knew well the aching hours of loneliness and the lack of strong
arms around her. She was a busy and positive person, at least to
the people around her, but deep inside she occasionally yearned for
a life that included David with her each day.

She began to understand
Janet and her choice. Sometimes a temporary absence could be borne
bravely, but a final farewell might break your heart.

~~~***~~~

Neptune’s Wraith

Phil Yeats

S
torm clouds darkened the sky as a nor’easter gathered
strength, sweeping the fog lurking off the headland into the bay. I
hurried down to the dock to secure my dory.

Fog enveloped the little cluster of houses
along the shore in Lower Priest’s Harbour, but a lone boat called
Neptune’s Wraith was anchored not far from our dock, and quite
visible in a small pocket of clear air. It looked low in the water
and seemed to be rocking more than usual, as if a number of people
were moving about on-board. Probably just the effect of the
increasing wind and waves from the impending storm, I thought, as I
turned my attention to Jessie, my granddaughter, and four of her
friends approaching from the road. I could hear them clearly, but
they were barely visible in the mist.

“
Don’t come down here!” I
yelled, abandoning my efforts to tie down the dory. “It’s too
slippery. Go up to the house and see if Grandma can find you some
cookies.” A foggy February afternoon on a slippery dock was no
place for kids.

Fifteen minutes later, Jessie stood in the
doorway to our sitting room surrounded by her four little friends.
“Hey, Grandpa, can you tell me and my friends a story?”

“
Sure, honey, what sort of
story would you like?”

“
A ghost story,” one of
them suggested.

“
I don’t think I know any
ghost stories. Would you like one about fishermen?”

“
But you aren’t a
fisherman, Grandpa.”

She was right. I wasn’t a fisherman, or even
a real Nova Scotian from the Eastern Shore. I’m a city slicker from
away who worked for 35 years in a government office in Halifax.
Muriel and I moved to the small fishing village of Lower Priest’s
Harbour after our daughter, Stephanie, married the son of a real
Eastern Shore fisherman.

“
But my fishermen stories
are my best.”

“
No, we want a ghost
story,” she insisted.

“
Okay, I do know one ghost
story,” I admitted, furiously trying to turn Neptune’s Wraith into
inspiration for a ghost story.

The five village kids gathered around my
recliner. Two settled on the floor and the others bounced up onto
our leather sofa.

“
This is a real story and
it took place before any of you were born, shortly after your
grandma and I moved to the bay.”

“
Before Mummy married
Daddy?” Jessie asked.

“
No, we didn’t move here
until after your mum and dad were married. Now, will you let me
tell my story?”

“
Yes, we want a story!”
exclaimed a little imp who could never keep still. As usual, he was
pestering the two girls. My story would have to compete with their
shrieks.

“
With lots of ghosts,” a
more subdued boy wearing glasses added.

I put the book I’d been reading, Relativity:
the Special and General Theory by Albert Einstein, on a table and
settled into my tale. “It was late fall when a big sailboat, a
Beneteau 37, sailed into the bay, and the crew did a very
professional job of dropping the sails and swinging up to the
mooring in front of our house. There was quite a wind blowing, but
they managed without any need for their motor.”

“
It’s an engine, not a
motor,” Andrew, the little guy with glasses, interjected with the
disdain only a ten-year-old growing up in a fishing village could
show for a landlubber.

“
Engine, whatever. I was
right here, reading this book, but distracted by the late season
arrival in the bay. I watched as the crew cleaned up the boat and
put away the sails.”

“
That was a long time
ago,” Jessie said. “It must have been a different book.” They
weren’t letting me get away with anything.

“
You’re right. It was 12
years ago, so it must have been a different book. But I was here
reading a book and watching the people on the boat when Mr. Duggan,
the man who owns the mooring, rang the doorbell. He told me that
the boaters were friends who planned to leave the boat in Priest’s
Harbour until the next summer.”

“
Was it a ghost boat?”
Andrew asked.

“
I don’t know, but it was
all white and called Neptune’s Wraith,” I said, stealing the name
from the boat anchored in the bay. “Do you know what that
means?”

“
Sea ghost… it really was
a ghost boat,” Andrew said with a melodramatic shake in his voice.
He’d given me a new idea; I needed to add a ghost boat to my
story.

“
So,” I continued, “a
little later the four people from the boat paddled their dinghy to
the dock and tied it down very thoroughly so it wouldn’t blow away
during any winter storms.”

“
Rowed their dinghy,” said
Master Know-It-All, Andrew. “You row a dinghy, but paddle a canoe
or kayak.”

“
Then, Mr. Duggan and the
four sailors drove away in his Hummer,” I concluded, ignoring
Andrew’s interjection.

“
I need to pee,” Alice
said. “Don’t tell any more until I get back.”

I continued after all five children visited
the bathroom.