In Wonderland: A Combination Of Fact & Fiction

I pull my car onto a red dirt lot, packed down by clay and silt, it faces two of the straits of the sea. My muscles relaxed, one fiber at a time, as I crossed the eight miles of bridge. The smell of sea and wind burrowed deep in my hair. I comb my fingers through the strands that tangled themselves together to build a nest. A short wall of rocks lines the path along the lot and is the only thing that separates me from the shallow waters, so I climb it to stand on top and wave at an old lighthouse. An older couple is taking photos of the diamonds shining on the water. The woman’s hair is snow sliding halfway down her back. It begs to be played with, curled around your fingers. I wonder what mine will look like one day. We catch each other’s eyes and smile. I stretch my arms out, wanting to hug the water. Finally here. I close my eyes, indulging in the smells and sounds, the wind on my arms. When I open them again, the woman is watching me, smiling with lambent eyes.

“First time on the island,” she asks, knowing the answer.

“Yes. You?”

“I grew up here, on the other side. In Souris.”

“Did you stay?”

“No,” she smiles, and the man beside her squeezes her hand. “I went looking for gold first.”

“Found some?”

“Amongst the tin, yes, I did. Eventually.” She leans her head into the crook of the man’s arm, and he kisses the top of hers, then watches the birds fly over the waves.

“Why are you here?” He asks me.

“I need the adventure.”

He nods. “Searching for gold,” she adds. “Yes, ma’am,” I reply.

“Nope, Lucy. This is Robert.” She offered me her hand, smooth and soft and spotted with a map of freckles that I wanted to trace.

“Caroline. Are you visiting your roots?”

Robert chuckles. “She came back to roost with me.”

“And lucky are you that I did,” she says, patting him on the butt. His eyes twinkle as he agrees.

“Robert and I grew up together. Old friends. But he pined for me, so I came back.”

“Took you long enough,” Robert quips. Lucy smiles at him.

“And here we are. Old poops in love and living in our last home, in the town where we met.”

“That’s beautiful,” I say, and we pause to watch the birds together.

“Never know when you’ll find gold,” she says. “How long are you staying?”

“For the next three months,” I tell her. Her face lights up.

“Where?”

“I rented a house in New London.”

“Ah. You’re a romantic. I knew it,” Lucy says. “Well, you’ll have to come have lunch or dinner with us. We’ll show you the other sides of the island. There’s a lot to fall in love with about this place.”

“I would love that,” I say. We exchange numbers, shake hands again, and I make my way further inland, taking in every town as I pass through them. In New London, I park in front of a little church converted into a restaurant. Pink flowers creep up from the ground, welcoming me in, but I’m rushing to get to the beach house. I cut the engine and called the number saved on my phone. The voice that answers belongs to a bird.

“Hello?”

“Is this Helen? This is Caroline Norris.”

“Why yes, dear. Did you make it to the island?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m in New London now.”

“Lovely. Ready to check in?”

“Yes, please,” I flex my fingers on the wheel, tapping them to some old tune in my head.

“I’ll meet you there. See you in 10 minutes, dear. Mind the turns on the drive.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply. “Just Helen,” she chortles. I imagine her feathers unfolding as she moves.

“See you there, Helen!”

I catch the soft trill in her laugh as she ends the call, pleased by the eagerness in my voice. I can’t help it. Finally, I think to myself. I punch the radio on, mind every curve in every road that leads me to the beach house, and drive up the long path to the house, which is covered by shingles that are a soft grey shade of blue. Helen stands on the front deck and looks exactly as I imagined. Of average height, plump, with a pretty face and a friendly wave. She is holding keys and a pie plate.

“Come in, come in, ” she sings, her voice trailing behind her as she holds the screen door open.

Everything is lovely. Helen ushers me to a blue kitchen table, setting the pie down. “Peach. Welcome to the island. I stuck a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer for you.” I thank her and stare at the windows that face the Southwest River and a bay, the land covered by trees. She watches me take in the view, giving me a minute, while she bustles behind me in the kitchen.

“Keys are on the table, with a spare set and the garage opener. I have a spare, too, so don’t worry if you lock yourself out. Jeff and I live just down the road, off of Hebrides. Thank you for taking care of the deposit and rent so quickly.”

“I was excited to get here,” I replied, admiring the old stone fireplace.

“I know,” she smiles, “Three months on the island? You’re going to fall in love with it here.”

“Already did,” I say, resting my arms on the kitchen counter.

“Wonderful. I left you a binder with information about the island and a couple of bottles of wine. Here’s the corkscrew,” she says, placing it on the kitchen island.

“Let me show you how to work the heat and A/C and the fireplace’s flu. Then I’ll get out of your hair and let you explore.”

She moves from room to room, teaching me the tricks of her house, and I watch her hands, impressed that she talks with them even more than I do. She throws the double French doors open when she’s done and leads me onto the back deck.

“Firewood is just outside, by the deck. The grill is charcoal, and there’s a bag and lighter fluid in the garage. You can park your car in it. The garage has a bunch of things you can use. A canoe, a couple of bikes and kayaks, some life vests, and anything else is up for grabs. Just take good care of everything and let me know if you have any problems. Did you see the grocery store on your way here?”

“Yes, Arnold’s? Is it good?”

“Yes. It closes in about three hours today but opens tomorrow at 8am. Has its own pharmacy. Lots of good farm stands and markets in the area, too. Your neighbor, Claire, to the south of you, owns a tea shop, Lilly’s Tea. It’s lovely. Knock on her door anytime. I told her to expect you. And a guy named Eric lives two more houses down from her. He runs a kayak stand and can set you up with any tours on the water. Nice man. Has a great kid named Alice who likes to visit my chickens. They’re in that little red shed or the coop next to it. You’ll see her most days. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. Do you need me to do anything with them, the chickens?”

“Nope. Between Alice and me, we’ve got it covered, but feel free to visit them. They love a good chat. Well, dear, you have my number, so call if you have any issues. We’ll see each other around. Enjoy the house.”

“Thank you, I will.”

I watch Helen climb into her car and drive away, waving as she leaves. My toes curl into my shoes, and I sigh, ready to explore. Hauling bags and odds and ends out of my car, I abandon them just inside the house’s entrance and wander from room to room, exploring knick-knacks and books as I roam.

The cedar walls are knotty and hide faces that reveal themselves to me, grinning back at me as I slide my fingers against the grain. The house’s living room is a triangle, pointing towards the water, its windows clean from floor to ceiling. White pine and yellow birch trees lead to stones that border the beach. I wander outside to explore, inspecting the grill and garage, admiring the flowers in the yard, and snapping a few photos for my parents. The trees lead me to the river where I dip my toes into the water, and sketch imaginary creatures in the beach with a stick until I decide to make my way to Arnold’s for provisions.