Harbor Dust (Survival Romance)

[daphodil]

* On the coast of the Pacific lay the town of Fairwater, a bustling Sea Port known for its local fishing, deep sea travel excursions, and seafood cafes speckled throughout a dying business district.

* It was here, in the heart of Fairwater, that Delaynah nursed her ill father to what she hoped would become some semblance of an independent life again.

* Philip had been a Captain for forty years and, now, instead of raging against the Sea, he raged against his declining heart--for the past ten years.

* The Pale Rudder was gone now, sold--along with his gear, only his faded oars remained: *the last sentimental vestige of a precarious life at Sea, with occasional freshwater fishing as his most rigorous release; that, of which, was his greatest joy--for the better part of his earthly existence.

[daphodil]

* Delaynah checked on her father one last time before her trek to the Harbor Cafe, where she was Assistant Cook. *She grabbed her jacket to help ward off the brutal, salty wind.

* Then, just as she turned the door, she thought she heard her father cry out. *And, eerily, the usual din of the radio was absent; in its place was a most resounding silence.

* Her feet took her with no hesitation to her father. *He was still, his lamp out, his eyes open, his hands twisted upon his chest.

* Delaynah knew, knew without doubt her father was dead. *She pushed his hands down to his sides, listening for his heart-beat, but there was nothing--no steady beat, not even a false pulse against her trembling fingertips as she held his weary wrist for a brief and searching minute: *his pacemaker had failed.

* Failed.

* It was a modern day failure that would mark them both: *her father--marked upon his entrance to the old, common, cold, dark grave, and herself, daughter--marked upon her departure to a new, exciting, hot, stark, "backwoods" life.

[daphodil]

Tears were coming against her determined will to hold herself in check. "The phone," she thought, "I have to call someone."

She ran to the kitchen, picked up the receiver, but the phone line was dead. What was going on?

Nothing in the small cottage home worked; she was alone, crying over loss and sheer disbelief.

She decided to drive to get help, or at least the coroner. She went to the back door to where her father's Buick Le Sabre sat; rarely used in his late years, but there, now, conveniently, to whisk her away from her troubles much like a stalwart chef who might pluck a forbidden bit of yolk from the top of an as yet beaten bowl of collected, cracked, and separated egg whites.

[daphodil]

She turned the key with desperation: the engine would not turn over. She turned it again and again, ever marking herself with more failure.

Her tears turned to anger and frustration. All she wanted now was to flee, from death, from the emptiness her life had become that morning,
and--from Fairwater.

[daphodil]

Delaynah knew the nearest neighbor who would be home on a work day was three blocks away, Mrs. Timble. Everyone else was out to Sea, or otherwise working.

More calm now, Delaynah decided that running wasn't the answer. At least not until she had packed well, but light. A plan. She needed a plan.

A knock on the side garage door interrupted her thoughts. Slight panic. Who could that be? She opened the car door slowly and exited the Le Sabre as if it were an ancient sheath rather than a slick sword, which had cut her comfortable reality into two distinct pieces.

Two pieces she had little time to consider just then since the loud banging of the garage side door insisted she make her approach, whether she wanted to discover who was on the other side, or not.

[daphodil]

"Who is it?" Delaynah demanded, impatiently.

"It's me, your boss. Let me in. Somethin' crazy is goin' on downtown."

With relief, Delaynah opend the door to her elder, greying and dutifully protective albeit somewhat frazzled and agitated boss.

"I can't come to work today," Delaynah stumbled, still unsure of how to bring up her father--dead in the back bedroom of the house, somewhere between sweet eternity and blue rigormortis.

"I can't stay long, just came to warn you to stay put; there's some sort of catastrophe. The lootin' will start soon in the bigger cities, so whatever you do, don't head there.

"Me and the wife are headin' for our cabin at the foot of Mount Shasta." He paused, "If I don't see you again, Delaynah, I want you to know how much I think of you, always Johnny on the Spot and a real looker to boot."

Reaching for his well-worn leather billfold, in his heightened role of "boss," he gave his subordinate more than her usual biweekly salary. And, although it was difficult, he ignored the appreciative daze on her face as she accepted the cash with outreached hands and a very slight parting of her moist, red lips.

[daphodil]

"Well, I gotta go; the ol' Winnebago is runnin'." He forced his feet deliberately towards the light of the opened door, brushed his long index finger over the Le Sabre's front side fender, purposefully etching a straight trail through its thin layer of harbor dust, and walked the short remaining distance to the archway with the assurance that he had done all he could do for Delaynah.

Across the shadows, she caught his blue eyes, briefly, before he casually dropped, first, his left shoulder and, then, his right in a gallant swing of his body along with the door and the knob. Quietly, he shut the door; the sound of its soft, final click reawakened Delaynah's awareness of her coastal predicament.

[daphodil]

* The only spoken words of her boss that clung to her mind, like saran wrap over an early evening's leftover soft brie, were but two: *". . . a catastrophe!" *What was he talking about? *What could be more catastrophic than the sudden heart failure of what had been the only link to family she had ever known?

* The tears were gone now. *Somehow that morning, her simple life of worker and caretaker had metamorphized into a complicated life of survivor and loner. *It was a torch she had no choice to carry, carry or drop to a final extinguishment.

[daphodil]

Delaynah, who was left to her own account, soon realized the enormity of her plight: no one was coming to take her father away. So, what do you do with a dead body?
"Well," she thought, "bury it, . . . him." But she knew her father, Captain Philip Satterfield, would want a burial at Sea, being the old salty dog that he was. However, there was no way to drag him to the dock. Simply put, she would have to bury him by the lilac bush and, later, when, if, life calmed down, give him and his bones a proper, "heave ho."

Darkness was coming on now, perfect cover to start digging; and did Delaynah did, about two feet deep and two feet wide. It took her all night, but before morning, she took her last ounce of strength, which had waned considerably, and pulled her father in his white bed sheets from the back bedroom, about one hundred feet to the lilac bush, and, corner by corner, eased his body into the shallow grave.

Not even time for a long prayer as the sun was rising, Delaynah tossed the mud, rock, and sand over her beloved father. "Please, God, save his soul and mine."

From death, a survivor was born.

[daphodil]

* That day the sun shone, but too exhausted was Delaynah to notice. *She slept deeply, laying her head upon a tattered satin pillow, her unkept and uncombed locks encircling her fair countenance in a saintly splay akin to Saint Anne's thrice belayed radiance.

* When she finally woke from her slumber, it was dark again. *Dogs howled in the distance; few other noises could be heard in the now no longer bustling Sea Port.

* Then, pulling herself away from her downy coverlet, Delaynah cautiously crept down the interior hallway towards her unlit kitchen. *She braced the weight of her body against the countertop with furtive finger tips. * And concluded, quite readily, that she needed illumination.

[daphodil]

* Her newly found nocturnal instincts, therefore, pushed her forward into the black abyss of the corner, pinewood breakfast nook and, beyond that, still further, foward into the built-in pantry shelves near to the garbage receptacle.

* Here, she paused to take a deep breath, before plunging her free hand into the thirteen gallon, soiled kitchen bag, where she retrieved a slightly rinsed Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup can; and let out an audible sigh of relief when she managed to safely return to the front kitchen cupboards, once again.

* With can in one hand, Delaynah pulled open her kitchen junk drawer, rummaging for matches and an old candle. *Its dark wick a reminder of previous use during temporary power outages, as she struck her strick anywhere match across the rough outside edge of her cast iron skillet.

* On her second strike, she achieved a swift flame that dimmed upon its waxed peak, but, nevertheless, placated her longing for luminous companionship.

[daphodil]

Next, she placed her makeshift kindling within the center of the heavy skillet, which sat patiently upon the left, front, electric burner ring.
Then, at last, she reached for pen and paper. She wrote out a plan. Somehow, she had to make it to the other side of Pleasantville, where her father owned a circa 1940 rustic two-room cabin. Could she make it?

[daphodil]

* It would be about three hundred miles distance and all she'd have was her bicycle. *She didn't own so much as a pistol, but she did have her fine hewn cutlery, Chef's Choice; it would have to do.

*In her haste to write out a basic bug out list, Delaynah almost forgot her kind and well-kept widow neighbor, Mrs. Timble. *Almost. *Certain that Mrs. Timble would be most beside herself with worry and slightly arthritic hand-wringing, Delaynah determined to drop by 607 Sargasso Avenue, East, on her way out of town.

[daphodil]

* Meanwhile, lost in her own tumult of thoughts, she barely noticed the wax, which dripped in clear droplets from the leaning lantern onto the very edge of the black iron. *Each drop amassing itself in a cool, white pool reminiscent of an expanding nebula and an engaging encounter. *So it was with some trepidation, as the small flame flickered and the wax dripped down, that she began her list.

[daphodil]

* She would bring a bottle of water, dried figs, beef jerky and green tea, a change of clothes, a salvaged foresail, and a small bit of rope. Fortunately, some supplies were waiting for her at the summer cabin, so she had no need to drag cumbersome equipment. Heavy tools were not on her list.

Before snuffing out her candle, Delaynah wrote out her final and most important note: remember your cash.

Trailing grey smoke; it trailed like a gypsy's scarf in the night and seemed to follow Delaynah as she stumbled across the darkness and fell upon her bed. Here, she rested; it would be her last good night's rest before her journey.

[daphodil]

The sun woke her through her paisly, beige curtains. She would leave Fairwater today.