She ran, her strong heart pounding, until she reached as far north as she could run on the tip of Sullivan’s Island. At last Dora came to a stop, panting hard, her hands on her hips, sweat pouring down her face. She was exhausted but triumphant. A grin stretched wide across her face. She’d made it!
She stood on the sand, letting the brisk wind cool her body, as her gaze swept across the stretch of beach of this small island she loved. Beyond, the vast Atlantic Ocean was stirring like a great beast, growling and spitting, awakened by the storm.
She laughed out loud, her voice minging with the roar of the waves. She had come a long way to reach this morning. Her namesake, Eudora Welty, had been right, she thought. A love of place could heal the soul.
Dora turned her head to look toward the back of the island, to where the Cove raced with the tides, where the cordgrass rustled in the wind, where the egrets feasted. Above the treeline she could barely make out the widow’s walk of Sea Breeze. She smiled as Mamaw’s words sang out in her mind.
Find yourself, and you will find your way home.
Chapter Twenty
Dora showered and dressed in a light summer shift, then carried her coffee and bowl of whole grain cereal out to the back porch. The sun was a ghostly eye in the sky, obscured by an armada of gray clouds. She sidestepped several vegetable and herb flats as she crossed the porch to join Mamaw and Lucille playing cards in their usual spot under the awning. The awning was rattling in the gusts of wind.
She took a seat at the table beside Carson, who was reading the Island Eye.
“Good morning,” she called out as she approached. “Storm’s coming.”
The women looked up and greeted her warmly.
“You were up and out early,” Mamaw said.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Lord, no,” Mamaw said. “At my age one never sleeps well. Harper woke up just minutes after you left.” Mamaw looked out to the garden. “Dear girl made coffee, fueled up, and went straight to work on planting those flower beds.” She sipped her tea, watching, then as she lowered her cup said, “I swanny, look at that girl lift those bags of soil. They must weigh as much as she does.”
Looking out to the backyard, Dora saw Harper lifting enormous bags of compost and dumping the contents into two new raised garden beds.
Lucille chuckled. “She’s little but she’s feisty.”
“Dora, why aren’t you out in the garden with her?” Mamaw asked. “Isn’t it your project, too?”
“Hell, no,” Dora said, chewing her cereal. “Harper took over that garden. I just get in her way.”
Carson lowered her newspaper and laughed. “That’s a switch.”
“Not really,” Dora said with a bemused expression. “She’s not the meek little mouse I used to think she was. I’m kind of afraid of her.”
Mamaw laughed as she picked up a playing card and held it in the air, deciding whether to keep or discard it. “She must’ve ordered every garden book ever written. Her room is littered with them. I’ll wager she’ll read each one, too.”
“What are all of those?” Carson asked, pointing to the flats.
“Vegetable starter plants,” Dora replied.
“Just what we need,” Lucille muttered, picking up a card. “More vegetables. Wish she took a hankering to raising me a nice pig. Or a couple of chickens.”
“Don’t mention it to her!” Mamaw exclaimed. “Or we’ll have chickens arriving tomorrow.” She threw down a card.
“Don’t worry. Sullivan’s isn’t zoned for livestock,” Dora said.
“That won’t stop Miss Harper if she puts her mind to it,” Lucille said, picking up Mamaw’s card.
“Bless her heart,” Mamaw muttered. “Hush now, here she comes.”
The women stopped talking as they watched Harper walking across the yard, slapping dirt from her clothes. It was a futile gesture. She was streaked from head to toe with soil that was fast becoming mud in her sweat.
“She doesn’t even look winded,” Dora said with awe.
“Hi, y’all,” Harper said as she approached.
The three women stared at her wide-eyed with shock that their New Yorker greeted them in the Southern style.
“If that don’t beat all,” Lucille said under her breath.
“I’m just playing with you,” Harper said with a light laugh. “Though I must say that expression is catchy.” She turned to Dora as she poured herself a glass of water from a thermos. “Dora, glad you’re back. I could use your help. I’ve got to get all these plants in before the rain comes.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Green Jeans,” Dora said, but she didn’t look the least bit sorry.
Harper harrumphed and turned an imploring gaze on Carson.
“Carson . . .”
“Don’t look at me,” Carson said. “I hate gardening.”
“Aw, come on,” Harper moaned. “I need to get all those plants in before the rain.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she launched into a monologue of her progress. “I’ve come too far to mess it all up now. There’s three different kinds of lettuce, patio tomatoes, and oh, the herbs! They smell heavenly. Parsley, thyme, rosemary, sage, oregano, dill, and lots of basil. Aren’t they sweet? So tiny and all. I call them my babies.” She turned to Lucille. “Lucille, this will be your very own kitchen garden,” she said proudly. “In a few weeks, you can just saunter out and pick whatever you like.”
Lucille smiled sweetly. “That’s nice. Thank you, baby.” She glanced at Mamaw.
“I really would help you, Harper,” Dora said. “But I’m going out to play with Nate. We have a kayaking lesson this morning. Although . . .” She looked up at the gathering clouds. “I hope it isn’t canceled because of this storm.”
They all looked up at the clouds heralding the tropical storm that was barreling in from the south.
“It’s really moving in,” Mamaw said. “You shouldn’t go out on the water today no matter what.”
“Those clouds now have an official name,” Carson informed them. She looked to Lucille. “Guess what it is.” When Lucille shrugged, Carson said, “They named it Tropical Storm Lucy! Isn’t that a hoot? I think it’s only fitting they named a storm after you, you ol’ windbag.”