Swimming Lessons (15 page)

If he only knew
. But she shook her head no.

Ethan carried her like she weighed no more than the canvas bag and she was sorry the distance to shore was so brief. He held her on the sand, smiling into her eyes.

“Ethan, you’re supposed to let go now.”

He let her down on the sand. “Like it here?”

She looked around, orienting herself to the small, marshy island. It was actually more shoal than island, lots of rocks and marsh and very little beach. Everywhere she looked there was bird doo and the shells of thousands of oysters.

“This is one of my favorite places,” he told her. “It’s so wild, yet so full of history. Not far from here is a bird sanctuary and, in fact, if you look around you’ll see pelicans are nesting here, too. We’ll need to be careful not to disturb them. The pelicans and gulls fly overhead and drop oysters down on the island. The impact of the drop pops the suckers open. Then the birds swoop down and gobble up their meal. Pretty clever, don’t you think? That’s why you see the empty shells all over.”

She looked around the rocky island. Not far beyond were the walls of the tall masonry fort that looked to be holding back a burgeoning maritime forest. She pointed to a narrow path that snaked through and disappeared in the thick brush. “Where does that path lead to?”

“To Pinckney’s Castle, where else? But it’s not really a castle at all. Just an old fort. Here, take my hand. And mind where you step.”

He held her hand and led her along the winding path to the crumbling brick walls of the historic monument. Nature was gradually succeeding in doing what no
cannon or firepower could. Vines pushed through crumbling brick, creating huge holes in the structure. A steady breeze and the lowering sun cooled the air somewhat but the heat still brought a glow to her skin as they made their way through the tangled weeds to the deep shade of oak and palmetto.

They picked their way through the crumbling fortress. Toy imagined they were kids and playing in a make-believe fort, only this fort was real.

“I don’t know much about Castle Pinckney, other than it was used in the war.”

“After South Carolina seceded from the Union, Castle Pinckney was forced to surrender. That made it the first Union fort to surrender to the Confederacy. But there’s a debate whether anyone actually ever fired a shot from Castle Pinckney. They used to hold prisoners down in there.”

“In that dark and dank place? I can’t imagine having to stay in there.”

“I doubt many prisons were comfortable. But what a view they got. Come here, Toy. Look out there,” he said guiding her view to the spectacular vista of harbor and sea. “From this point you can get a real sense of how important this harbor was during the war and how important it was to defend it.” He pointed to the north. “To the left is Sullivan’s Island with Fort Moultrie. And over there in the harbor is Fort Sumter, which is probably the most shot at and bombed fort in the country. And way over there to the south, Fort Waggoner was built on Morris Island. They had a big battle there, one of the major ones fought by a black regiment.”

“I didn’t know you were so interested in history,” she told him.

“I’m not especially. But you can’t grow up in Charleston without learning it. History is all around us. Wherever we turn we run into a monument, trip over a historical marker or face some bit of where we came from and what made us who we are. Living here, for me anyway, is like having one foot in the past and one in the present. Just look at this crumbling old fort. We’re standing on over two hundred years of history. But all around the crumbling rocks, the wild is pushing up and through the stones, determined to survive. Someday the brush and then the sea will reclaim this island, just as it will a lot of the barrier islands. Probably that old lighthouse, too.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“I don’t think so. It gives us a better perspective of our place. We hold our history so dear, our politics so tight. But in the fullness of time, all histories fade. Rome, Ephesus, the Incan and Mayan cultures. The wheel of time turns round and round and proves change is part of nature. The problem comes in trying to interfere with nature or to think we know more than nature. Our failures are humbling. The more I learn, the more I see that, in the end, nature will prevail.”

She turned to look behind her at the weathered gray stone fortress sinking in the marsh and thought of his words.
Change is part of nature
. Hadn’t she changed, too? Lately, she could feel her old fears and insecurities crumbling as sure as that old brick and mortar.

She gazed far out to the watery horizon. The sun was beginning to set and the mood deepened with the skies. Ethan came to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her. She sighed and leaned once more into the warmth of his arms with a timeless ease. Together they watched the descending sun set the sky on fire.

To the south, Cara sat on her dock and watched the pink bloom over Hamlin Creek, slowly turning the glassy waters that unique, soft tint of lavender that always moved her to introspection. She sank deeper into the mesh folding chair and stretched her legs out along the dry, splintered wood. Across the dock, Brett sat at the edge, feet dabbling in the water, teaching Little Lovie how to fish. She was so small she had to hold the rod between her knees. Cara watched him patiently help Lovie hold the rod steady and how to swing the line to lure the fish.

Cara had offered to mind Little Lovie for the evening. She smiled. Toy was out on a date…at last! She felt like the proud mother of a fledgling. Cara approved of, and even liked, Ethan Legare. Not because he was handsome. Good looks had never meant much to her. She’d known plenty of handsome men who turned out to be empty-headed bozos. Ethan had that rare quality called character. She saw it in him when she first met him, as she’d seen it shining in Brett’s eyes. That Ethan had brains was a big bonus. Toy would blossom with someone like him. Her mama had always told her to marry someone who raised the bar.

Yes, Cara was pleased as punch that Toy had agreed to actually go out with Ethan, just as she was happy to have Lovie for the evening. She’d missed having Lovie patter around and all her questions.

June had flown by. If all went well, July would be a quiet month of hope and prayer that the new life inside of her would thrive. She sighed deeply and looked out over the dusky creek. As the rounded, flaming tip of the sun slipped beneath the horizon, Cara laced her hands across her belly and made a wish.

“Well, we should roll her in. It’s getting dark,” Brett said to Lovie. On cue, the mosquitoes hummed annoyingly close.

“But I didn’t catch a fish,” Lovie complained.

“That’s the lot of all fishermen,” Brett told her. “You just never know.” Then seeing her pout he added, “But let’s see if we’re any luckier with the crabs.”

“Do you want me to help?” Cara asked, attempting to rise from her chair.

“You stay put,” Brett replied, pointing his finger at her.

Cara sighed and sank back into the chair. Brett had been fanatic about her taking it easy since the implantation of eggs. He didn’t even want her to attend the annual barbecue at the beach house on the Fourth of July. At first she’d been annoyed by his hovering and worry, but in her heart she viewed his concern as a sign of his desperation for a child. His face was set yet she saw the softness of concern in his eyes. So she obliged him and propped her legs up on the bait box.

“Happy now?”

He cracked a grin as he nodded, then turned back to Lovie. “Okay, now stand back from the edge,” he said to the girl when she finished rolling up her fishing line. “I’m going to pull up the crab pot.”

“Come over here, honey,” Cara called, waving her over to her chair.

“I want to see.”

“You can, just give him a chance to pull the trap up on the dock. You don’t want him to bump into you and knock you into the creek, do you?”

Lovie leaned against the chair with a sigh. Cara put her arms around her slender body with bones as tiny as the egret’s standing in the marsh. As they watched. Cara
caught the scent of bug spray on Lovie’s arms and shampoo in her wispy hair. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. Across the dock, Brett bent far over the edge, straining the fabric of his shirt as he pulled up on the thick rope, hand over hand, until a large, black iron cage emerged, dripping from the murky waters. Inside the trap, several crabs skittered noisily along the bottom, their claws waving in the air.

“You got some!” Lovie exclaimed, leaping from Cara’s grasp to join Brett at the edge of the dock.

“Everybody stand back!”

Lovie halted in her tracks as Brett eased the trap onto the dock. Then she inched closer, hovering nearby, oohing at the crustaceans clicking madly.

“Lovie, go get me a ruler,” he ordered.

The little girl ran to Cara who lifted her legs from the bait box. Opening it, Cara pulled out an old, splintered wooden ruler and handed it to Lovie, who raced back to Brett with her treasure.

“Okay then,” he said, waving her closer. “Here’s what I want you to do. Bring the ruler up close to measure. The crab has to be longer than five inches for us to keep it. That’s from here to here on the ruler, see? If it’s too small, we’ll toss the crab back in. Ready?”

“Yes.”

Cara smiled at Lovie’s seriousness. Brett was a natural teacher. He loved his work as a naturalist and hated being trapped behind the desk. At every chance he shot off from the office like a kid excused from school to go out on the sea with the boats. He believed deeply that in teaching children—of all ages—he was helping to preserve the landscape he loved for another generation.

Brett pushed back his sleeve and reached into the crab
trap. The crabs scuttled sideways as far from his hand as possible, their pincers clicking menacingly. Moving with the speed of experience he dipped his hand in, grabbed a crab and pulled it out.

“How big is it?” he asked Lovie, holding the crab out for her to measure.

She shrank back, afraid.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I can do it,” she answered defiantly and overcame her fear to reach out her hand and bring the ruler close to the crab.

“Come on, slowpoke. This guy’s gonna pinch me, not you.”

“Okay, okay.” She gathered her courage to bring the ruler close and measure carefully, though with excruciating slowness. “Six,” she announced with relief.

“Good girl. That’s a keeper,” he replied and put the crab into the bucket. “I’m proud of you. Now here comes a big Jimmy,” he said, holding up a large blue crab with beautifully blue tipped claws. “I can tell just by looking he’s legal.” He put this one into the bucket as well. He reached in again and pulled out another crab for Lovie to measure.

“It’s five,” Lovie reported with a hint of cockiness.

“Hmm…are you sure? Check again.”

Lovie held the ruler closer to the crab.

“I don’t think it’s quite five,” Brett said. “So, what should I do with her?”

“Put her back in the water?”

“Right. She needs time to grow up, just like you.”

“But Uncle Brett, how do you know it’s a girl crab?”

Brett turned the crab so Lovie could see the underside. “Girls have an apron, see?” he said, pointing to the
rounded curve on the shell. “When she’s grown up, we call her a Sook. But this one isn’t grown up enough. So back to the water, Sookie.” He gently tossed the small crab into the creek. Then he reached into the pot and pulled out another large crab with blue tipped claws snapping. This one he turned over so that he could show Lovie the underside.

“The boys have shiny blue tips on their claws and on the back of the shell they have a point. It looks like, uh…a pencil.” He looked over at Cara and they shared a silent laugh. “We call the boys Jimmy. Into the bucket, Jimmy.”

When he pulled the next crab out, Lovie leaned far forward, pointing excitedly. “Look, Uncle Brett. What’s that? The big crab is holding on to the little one!”

Brett nodded while gently lowering the crab to the dock. The larger crab remained immobile, carrying the smaller crab closely beneath him with its front claws mantled over it.

“We call this a doubler. Come, honey, look closer. This Jimmy is a daddy crab. When the mommy crab is carrying the fertilized eggs, the daddy mantles her for about three days until she can defend herself. He guards and protects her so nothing can hurt her.”

Cara listened, never having known this about blue crabs. She was strangely moved.

Brett went on, “When the eggs grow, it will look like she has a big orange sponge on her abdomen. Then, when the eggs are ready they turn black and she’ll release them into the water. Guess how many.”

“A hundred?”

“Nope. Around two million. Can you even imagine that many eggs?”

Lovie shook her head.

“Neither can I. That’s one big passel of eggs.” He reached over to pick up the doubler. The male crab held tight to the female, cradling her when lifted in the air. “Only one egg in every million will survive to adulthood. And that’s why,” he said as he very gently lowered the pair of crabs back into the water, “we take care to put each and every mama crab back into the sea so she can produce more crabs for you in the future.”

He reached into the creek to dampen an old towel with sea water then placed it over the crabs in the bucket. “That’s all we’ll collect this time. Let’s bring the lot inside and we’ll cook them up for the party.”

“No, Uncle Brett! I’m not going to eat any crabs. They’re my friends,” Lovie said tearfully and got up to get her fishing pole.

Brett understood this sweet reaction and let her go, walking instead to Cara. He stood behind her to bend low and wrap his arms around her.

“Know what I’m doing?” he said in a low voice at her ear.

“No.”

“I’m mantling you.”

Her heart near spilled over with love for him. She closed her eyes, feeling safe in his arms and leaned far back. She turned her head to rub her cheek against his. “You Jimmies sure know how to talk pretty to a Sook.”

“Yep. It’s my job to guard and protect you.”

“Sure. For three days.”