The Inn at Angel Island (17 page)

The goat farm came into view, and Liza spotted Audrey Gilroy in the big meadow, wearing a field jacket and jeans. The flock of goats was clustered around, and she was checking the collars on the kids, petting them and giving them feed from the palm of her hand. She looked up at Liza and waved hello.

Liza waved back and slowed her bike. “There’s Audrey Gilroy. You know, the goat-farm lady.” She nearly said “my friend” but realized they weren’t quite friends, yet. “We ought to stop and say hello,” she told her brother. “It’s fun to look around there. The goats are adorable.”

Before her brother could answer, Will let out a loud groan. “Do we have to? What’s so great about a bunch of dumb goats?”

Peter scowled at his son. “If your aunt wants to stop, that’s what we’ll do, Will. You don’t have to argue with every little thing we say.”

“I wanted to buy more of their cheese,” Liza said, “but I guess it’s better if I get it later. It might spoil,” she told them, smoothing over the friction.

She waved back at Audrey one more time, then pushed hard on her pedals to make her way up another hill. An expansive ocean view on the left side of the road was distracting enough to take her mind off her aches.

Distracting and refreshing, she thought. The blue sky was crystal clear, the waves topped with white foam crashing at the bottom of the cliffs. She knew logically the waves must be making a sound, but they were so far up above the shoreline, she couldn’t hear a thing.

Even Will seemed mesmerized by the sight, his gaze fixed on the ocean, the expression on his young face eager and interested.

After a while, the road changed, and the ocean disappeared behind thick brush and trees. They glided down one long hill, which was totally exhilarating. Liza squeezed her brakes but still felt as if she were flying.

Of course, they had to pay for it at the bottom and work hard to get up the next rise. They rode on a few more minutes without anyone talking. Were Peter and Will getting tired already? Every once in a while, she would feel herself pedaling into a cool, salty breeze, but it never grew strong enough to really push them back.

The cycling had felt like hard work at first, but once she got her legs into the rhythm of pedaling and remembered how to use the gears again, a sudden wave of energy kicked in and she felt as if she could ride all day.

“Can we stop for lunch? I’m really hungry,” Will called out.

Liza had guessed that was coming. They had already been riding at least . . . fifteen minutes.

“I thought we could eat at the cliffs, and your dad could take some photos there,” Liza answered.

“Good idea,” Peter said. “That’s a great spot. You can get a cold drink at the General Store if you like, Will, then we’ll go on to the cliffs. It’s not too far.”

Will scowled, looking like an angry bug for a moment under his bike helmet, but he didn’t argue with them this time. He rose up and pushed hard on his pedals, suddenly breaking away from the adults. Just to show he could, Liza thought.

Peter was riding alongside her now. “Let’s just let him go. He needs the exercise.”

“I couldn’t catch up to him now even if I wanted to,” she confessed.

“Oh, I could. But I’m going to give him some space,” he replied with a straight face.

“Right,” she said, grinning at him.

They soon came to the little square with the fountain and the handful of shops, foremost among them the General Store.

“Holy mackerel . . . I’d forgotten all about this place.” Peter parked his bike and swung off, gazing at the storefront wide-eyed. “I can’t believe it’s still here,” he said to Liza.

“It’s still here, still the same inside, too. Marion and Walter Doyle are still behind the counter.”

“Wow, I’ve got to say hello to them.” Peter turned to his son. “You’ve got to see this place, Will. It’s like something out of an old movie. I want to introduce you to the old couple who owns it. I wonder if they remember me,” he said vaguely, as he headed into the store. “Your aunt and I used to come here every day when we were kids.”

That was true, and Liza knew the Doyles would remember Peter, even more clearly than they had remembered her. Peter had always been in charge of their money when they were kids. As the older sibling, he was the one who did all of the buying of their treats.

Peter was so excited about showing Will the store, Liza decided to wait outside while her brother gave Will the grand tour. It seemed like a good opportunity for some father-son quality time. Besides, it felt so good to be outdoors in the clear spring light.

It was hard to face it, but after this visit to the island, it was unlikely that she would ever return here. She hoped Peter took a lot of photos today on their bike trip. She wanted some for herself, so she could always remember these special places.

She walked across the road to the tea shop, curious to see if anyone was there today. As Liza peered through the dusty windows, she suddenly remembered the poem Daisy had thrust into her hands the other day—and that she had never read it.

Liza stuck her hand in her jacket pocket and found the balled-up scrap of paper. It was still there. She pulled it out and opened it.

The bit of verse was not new to her. Her aunt and uncle had loved William Blake’s poetry, and as Liza had grown older, the long, beautiful poem, “Auguries of Innocence,” had grown on her. The verse was about faith. Mainly, faith in yourself, her aunt had once explained to her. “Sometimes you’ll face a world of naysayers who make you doubt what you know is true, deep inside. You have to bear down, ignore them all, and believe in yourself. Guard that special light inside you.”

Did she have that kind of faith in herself? Liza wondered. She wasn’t sure. Lately, it seemed that all her goals were driven by a need to win the approval of her boss or clients or even her ex-husband.

She smoothed the paper with her hand, stared at it a moment, and then stuck it back into her pocket. It was something to think about.

By the time Peter and Will emerged, she had downed a bottle of cold water and was sitting cross-legged on a bench, eyes closed and face turned up to the sun.

She blinked, then reached for her pack as they approached. “So, how did you like it, Will?”

“It’s okay,” Will conceded. “They have, like, everything in the world in there.” He took a big gulp from a bottle of blue sports drink.

“It’s still the same,” Peter reported. “So are Walter and Marion. And they did remember me. They gave me this for free, just to prove it.”

He held up a package of Wing Dings, the gooey little chocolate cakes that used to be his all-time-favorite snack.

“Wing Dings, wow. I haven’t seen those in a while. Can I have a bite?” she asked, just like when they were kids.

He held the package up above her head. “No, you can’t. I’m saving them for later.”

“I don’t believe you, Peter. We’re grown-ups now, remember? There are a ton of those things in the supermarket. You can at least give me a tiny bite!”

She started laughing—at him for regressing so totally and at herself for regressing just as much.

“I’ll think about it,” Peter replied in a serious tone. Then he smiled as he put the snack cakes in his pack and also slipped in the cameras. “I took a lot of photos inside. Will took some, too,” he added, glancing at the boy. “I have this old digital for him to use. It’s not the latest technology, but it has a good lens. It’s a good camera to learn on.”

“Do you like taking photos, Will?” Liza asked curiously.

Will met her glance a second, then nodded his head. Something about the shy way he answered told her that he did share this interest with his father, and it wasn’t just foisted on him.

She wondered if he also shared his father’s talent for it.

Feeling refreshed, they rode on, heading for the cliffs on the north side of the island. They passed a few large old houses, built in a style similar to the inn, and a few that were more rustic.

The view opened up, and the ocean and a rocky beach were once again revealed. Liza could tell by the terrain that they had almost reached the island’s most famous landmark, and as they reached the top of the next hill, the cliffs came into view.

“Let’s stop here a minute. I want to take some pictures.”

They all parked their bikes on the side of the road. Peter took out the cameras, handing one to Will. Then the three of them hiked the short distance down a path that led to the beach below. They didn’t go too far, though. Just enough so that the famous bluffs were in clear view.

“See what I meant, Will? They’re shaped like two wings.”

“Yeah, I see,” Will replied, though he didn’t sound too impressed. He took a few shots of the bluffs, then turned his camera and took some photographs of the water below, where a flock of gulls were swooping down over large, glistening rocks.

“They must be feeding on something,” Liza remarked.

“It’s neat to watch them from up here, all swooping around in a bunch,” Will said, gazing through the viewfinder.

He’s really into it, Liza thought. Good for him.

When Peter finished with his photos, he snapped the lens cap back on his camera but kept it slung around his shoulder. “Should we try this path to the beach?” he asked Liza. “It looks a little steep.”

“They’re all steep now, Peter,” Liza teased him. “I think when we were younger we just didn’t notice it.”

Peter and Will started down the path, and Liza went back to the bikes a moment and retrieved the pack that held their lunch.

Will hadn’t complained again, but she was sure he was hungry by now. She was sure they all were.

They finally reached the beach. Will raced down the last few yards and ran at the water, shouting at the top of his lungs and waving his arms like a wild man.

“The ocean! The ocean! The big blue Atlantic Ocean!”

Peter watched him, his arm crossed over his chest. “I guess he likes it more than he let on.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Liza agreed with a smile. She felt like that about the ocean, too. Secretly, of course.

When Will was done venting his enthusiasm and his last bit of energy, he dragged himself back, panting, his head hanging to his chest. “Food, I need food,” he gasped dramatically.

“I’m handing it out right now. Take a seat.” She and Peter had already picked out boulders, and Peter sat on his, munching a sandwich.

Will took his sandwich and water bottle over to a rock nearby and began to eat. “So, we’re here. What’s the famous legend?” he asked his father. “Can you tell me now?”

Peter glanced at Liza. “Your aunt will tell you. She’s a much better storyteller than I am.”

Liza took a sip of water and settled herself. “Let’s see, where should I start? You know that the village of Cape Light was founded in the 1600s, during the colonial era, right?” she asked her nephew.

“I guess I know now,” he replied between huge bites of sandwich.

Liza ignored his snide tone and went on. “Well, during that time an illness spread among the colonists. They had no real medicine, of course, except for some herbal remedies. Nothing could cure the pox, and it was very contagious. So the sick and dying were separated from the rest of the colonists, and they were brought to this island.”

“That’s called a quarantine. Did you ever learn about that in school?” Peter asked him.

“I guess so. I don’t know.” Will made a face at his father, but he turned back to Liza with a curious expression and said, “So all the sick people were living here. I get it. Then what?”

“Well, it was very grim. There was little hope of them surviving out here, and very few people were brave enough or selfless enough to come out and help them. There would be weekly visits with food and water and other necessities but not much more than that. And if the land bridge was washed out, the help had to come by boat, and that was difficult, too—”

“Especially in the winter,” Peter cut in. “The winters were brutal, and the island was practically inaccessible.”

“I was about to get to that.” Liza gave her brother a look. “Do you want to tell the story?”

“No, you go on,” he said apologetically.

Liza turned back to Will. “The people in quarantine had very little help from the village—sometimes, none. And most of them were too weak to care for themselves. No one expected them to survive.”

“Whoa, that’s pretty nasty.” Will looked shocked. Which was saying something, Liza thought. “They brought all these sick people out to this island and just dumped them here to die?”

“More or less,” Liza said.

Will shook his head. “Then everybody was pretty horrible back then.”

“It was different times, Will. It was hard to survive even if you were healthy. They didn’t want to be uncaring, but they couldn’t risk everyone in the village getting sick,” Peter tried to explain.

Liza saw her nephew considering this idea. The story had finally captured his imagination.

“Well, the winter was long, and there were very few visits here,” she went on. “Then a series of storms came, and no one could come at all. Finally, well into spring, a group of villagers were able to return. They came out to the island, not knowing what they would find . . .”

She purposely paused to draw out the suspense.

“Yeah? So? What did they find—a pile of bones?” Will said bluntly.

Liza shook her head. “Not at all. They found that everyone here had not only survived . . . they’d fully recovered. They were cured and healthy again.”

“How?” Will made a disbelieving face at her. “You said they were dying and starving to death.”

“They were. But the sick people on the island claimed that help had come from some other town. That a group of very able, gentle people had come and nursed them. Though no one could say exactly where these helping hands were from.”