 THE DROWNED LAND By Arline Chase James Brannock's bulk seemed to fill the slanted space of the dormer bedroom. He slid strong arms under the paralyzed body of his mother-in-law, Monnye Bolden and carried her dead weight down the back stairs to the kitchen of the farmhouse. "Good morning, Mama. You're looking pert this morning." Brown-haired, blue-eyed, Lottie Brannock held the high caned back of the invalid chair to steady it as James settled the old lady gently onto the seat and covered her bone-thin legs with a knitted afghan. A watery sun shone through the eastern window of the room, where wainscoting reached halfway up the walls. James pushed the chair up to the claw-foot oak table, covered with cheerful red-checked oilcloth and set with time-crazed ironstone, that stood in the middle of the room. "I thank you, James." Monnye pulled a shawl around her shoulders and checked to see if her bag of 'hand work' was in easy reach. "A pleasure, Ma." James laughed. "You ain't nothing but breath and britches, anyway. Lighter than a bird." "Get along with you, James. A bird, indeed! Old crow, likely! But I got to admit that you carry me with no more trouble than a tune." Monnye's faded blue eyes sparkled. Pointing toward the table, she added, "Don't that look tasty, though? Lottie, you outdone yourself." "Ma's right." James's face lit with pleasure when he saw Lottie serve up one platter heaped with crisp bacon and fried eggs, and another stacked with griddle cakes dotted with spoonfuls of melting butter. "Nothing out of the way." Lottie poured scalding hot coffee into four cups. Her father, Tyrus Bolden, came from the woodshed with an armful of kindling. "Better get Frank to split some more firewood when he gets here." The older man paused to wash his hands at the dry sink and moved to his favorite chair. Lottie was last to find her seat, and they clasped hands and bowed heads around the table. "Lord." Ty Bolden's deep voice rumbled through the kitchen. "We thank Thee for Thy bounty and ask in Jesus's name that you give us strength to meet the trials of this day, faith to help us through all our troubles, and hope that all our days may be spent in Thy service. Amen!" "Amen." Monnye nodded and thought about the days of trial -- three sons killed, fighting with Lee in Virginia, three girls and a boy lost in the Diphtheria epidemic of '67, and Edward, the precious youngest son, only three years older than Lottie, drowned in the creek when he was only nine. Good to know they are safe in the arms of Jesus. "Got any strawberry preserves, darling? They go right good with pancakes." James grinned at his plain but pleasant-faced wife. Lottie, six years his senior, had long been considered a spinster before their marriage. There were some people on the island who thought James had married her because as Tyrus Bolden's only living child Lottie was heir to a good sized farm, the skipjack Monnye B., and a half-interest in the island lumber mill, where James had worked before the wedding. Whatever his motives, the younger man seemed fond of his wife. "That looks good." James dug his spoon into the sugary red fruit and licked his lips in anticipation. "I'm going to miss your cooking, Lottie." "Oh James, you can take some with you." "Won't be the same without the company," James answered, with a wink. "I do wish that you would work closer to home." Monnye spoke clearly across the table. "At least you could come home on the weekends, Tyrus. It's hard on the young'uns to be apart for so long a time. How do you expect their family to come, when you haul James off to Tolchester for the whole winter." "Monnye we talked about this before. We can make out a lot better up north. The oyster beds here is dredged out. They got plenty time to raise young'uns. You was forty-six when Lottie was born." "I know that." Monnye's eyes twinkled. "But I ain't prepared to hold off until I'm ninety-two to have a look at my first grandbaby." "Ain't asking you to. Thing is, the saw mill needs a new engine that's going to cost a pretty penny. Sage Proudfoot's got the Mercantile -- so he's always got cash money on hand." Tyrus bit into a crisp piece of bacon, crunching the rind between his mail order teeth. "For me, cash ain't so easy come by. We need them oysters." "It was a sorry day when you bought into that mill." Monnye waved a gnarled hand at her husband. "You're eighty-six years old Tyrus! You got no business sailing off for the whole winter like a young man." "Too old am I?" Tyrus gave his wife a narrow-eyed look."The Lord knows you'll do as you please, but I'd rather have you home with me." "Oh, we'll be safe enough, Ma." James winked at Lottie. "Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder. When I do get home, me and Lottie will be making up for lost time -- then you'll get those grandbabies for sure." "Pshaw! You do talk folly, James." Monnye sipped her coffee, eyes twinkling. "Well, I wish James wasn't going!" Lottie spoke for the first time, her blue eyes brimming with tears. "Why don't you let him stay home on the farm, Papa? He don't know nothing about dredging anyway." "Keep an able man home all winter? When there's naught to do but tend the animals and split a little kindling? Not likely! It's hard enough to find a crew as it is." A tap came on the back door. "That'll be Frank." Lottie jumped up and swung the heavy door open to find the black face of their hired man, Frank Robinson, grinning at her. "Come in. I'll fix you a plate to eat. It's going to be a long day." "Thank you, ma'am." Frank entered the kitchen and went to sit in a backless chair in the chimney corner. Lottie piled bacon high around a stack of pancakes and put three eggs on top, handed it to Frank, then filled a white mug with steaming coffee. "Have some preserves, Frank." James reached back to hand him the jar. "Thank you kindly." Frank spooned strawberries liberally over his pancakes. "Lottie, put some more wood in the stove before you sit down," Tyrus instructed. "I reckon Frank's chilled through." "Yes sir." Frank grinned and forked half an egg into his mouth. "Weather sure does look funny this morning, though." "How so?" Tyrus asked, instantly alert. "Water looked funny colored when I was coming across the bridge. Greeny-like. Old fishhawk fly off to the woods and the seagulls are moving inland. The creek has got a right good chop, yet there ain't no wind to speak of. No more than a baby's breath." "Big storm coming." Tyrus grunted. "Been making up the last two-three days. We're in for a gale, I reckon." "'Bout time for a good one." Monnye nodded. "We ain't had a big blow since August of '67. I mind it well -- blowed the steeple right off the Meeting House. We lost them two big oaks down by the gate, and the woodshed collapsed. Water was everywhere. Tide drowned most of my chickens right inside the hen house, and the water rose so high it come clean into the parlor. Oh, the young'uns thought it was a lark -- they was singing and laughing an a-listening to the wind howl! It ruined my mother's good Turkey carpet." "I mind that time, all right." Tyrus waved his fork in the air. "Wind come round from sou'west to west. When it does that with a big one, you know it'll be mighty bad. Anyway don't you worry none, James. This house is safe. My grandfather built her to last, even if she does sit on low ground." "Well Papa, the whole of Killraven Island is low, if you stop to think," Lottie reminded him. "Ain't anywhere over ten-twelve feet above high water mark." "I know, but a foot of extra water and it's near-about up to the hen yard. So I want you and Mama to make sure everything's snugged down tight. Move the chickens if the tide gets too close." He turned back to his son-in-law. "We'd best be leaving right after breakfast, so as to make the lee of Kent Island before she hits." "Whatever you say, Ty." James scraped a spoon on the bottom of the emptypreserve jar. "My land, but those strawberries were good." "Well, I still don't like it." Lottie's cheeks were pink and her eyes looked suspiciously bright. "James has never worked the water before. Papa, I don't know what makes you think you can handle that boat in a storm with just the two of you. Why cain't you wait until it's over?" Lottie shivered. "I don't like it. You know I've been afraid of the water ever since Edward drowned." By the time they were ready to sail, the morning was so shrouded in mist that the trees on the other side of the creek looked as if they were seen through a fine mesh curtain. The wind blew steadily from the southwest and the tide was so far above normal that Tyrus and James had to step up from the dock to board the Monnye. After stowing his belongings in the after cabin, James came back on deck to stand awkwardly about waiting to be told what to do. Tyrus told James to cast off and raise the jib. Then in a single motion, he dropped the stern mooring line and spun the wheel. The jib filled and she took on steerage way. Tyrus raised the main and the Monnye B. heeled as he brought her smartly about, tacking slowly down the narrow channel toward Chesapeake Bay. No sooner had they reached open water than the stiff breeze veered west. Tyrus was forced to tack directly against the wind to keep from being blown aground by the on-shore gusts. It took hours of beating back and forth before the Monnye B. had enough sea room to run a northerly course. As Tyrus watched the increasing wind, his wrinkled face showed added lines of worry. He had expected the wind to fall south and speed him on his way. When the wind failed to change, the older man still didn't turn back. He expected the wind would fall south, and he knew when it did they could race halfway up the bay in less time than they'd already spent beating around without really getting anywhere. Arline Chase, author of THE DROWNED LAND (winner of the Maryland Govenor's Award) and GHOST DANCER, is an exceptionally diverse writer who can, and does, write everything from romance and mystery to humorous essays. She has published more than 450 freelance stories and articles, covered the 'cops and courts' beat as a journalist, and for 20 years now, has led workshops at writers' conferences on the East Coast including the International Women's Writing Guild Summer Conference at Skidmore College. Soon coming to ebooksonthe.net from Arline Chase will be NO BROKEN PROMISES. She can be reached at:www.sunweaver.com/arlinechase. 
THE DROWNED LAND by Arline Chase is a masterpiece of storytelling. Arline has
painted a detailed picture of the people in Killraven.These short novellas give you a glimpse into the past and the ways of the people of Killraven. The author writes about them with such authority that one would believe she actually knew these fictional characters. In the first story, I could feel the sway of the boat as James fought to keep the boat steady in the storm. The author described this seafaring fight with such authenticity that I was sure she must've lived through a similar situation. In the last story, A Friend in Need, Arline weaves a beautiful tale of attraction between Hope a beautiful, young Quaker girl and Coursey, man of the world. A delightful read from beginning to end. The Drowned Land is truly a work of art. Reviewer Tamara Fairchild is a freelance writer who has been published in International magazines as well as local newspapers and literary magazines |