Heddy, the Fearless

Heddy is a young girl who lives on a barrier island off the coast of North Carolina. She plays by herself and has a hard time fitting in. She has a thirst for learning and has one special gift, she can see and talk to her late grandmother, Nonni. Nonni helps her understand how a world so beautiful can sometimes be cruel.

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I polish the silver tea service, making sure it shines like a mirror. My reflection stretches out, making me look like a drawing from a comic book. I stick out my tongue and make a face, giggling as I turn the silver teapot back and forth.

"I'm finished, Momma," I say after I get bored making faces.

She comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the crisp pale yellow apron she's wearing. "All the silver is polished?"

"Yes, ma'am." I wave my hand at the tea service that sits in the middle of our good table. We only eat at this table on Sundays and sometimes Christmas. It's mainly used for Momma to sit and write letters to her sister in Richmond.

She lifts the little cream pitcher and takes the rag to buff a spot. "Okay, Heddy, you can go play. But stay out of the water. The ocean is still too cold. You'll catch pneumonia."

"Can I put my feet in?"

Her hands settle on her hips. "Stay out of the water."

It's useless to argue. If I do argue, she'll make me stay in and find more chores for me to do.

I pull my sweater on as I run down the back steps. The soft grasses grow taller the closer I get to the beach. They bend in unison as the ocean breeze catches them.

I run down the dune and promptly pull off my shoes. The sand is warm and I stop long enough to dig my toes in deeper. I could stay here longer but I've got things to do.

I need to check the tide line and see what washed up. I walk south on the beach. It juts out into the Atlantic and there are always more shells and driftwood littering the sand.

I kick over a dead horseshoe crab, moving its legs around with a small stick I found nearby. I sniff the air near it and right over it. It doesn't stink yet. Must have just died. It looks like it would have come from the age of dinosaurs. A hard brown shell with two trails of points running from front to back. Then it has the hard flap and a sharp pointed tail. Sometimes the tails will wash up. Those make excellent swords.

I see a shadow pass right over and I look up, squinting against the impossibly bright sun. A black capped gull swoops over, then circles back again. He probably wants a go at the horseshoe crab. Poor thing is dead so I step away and let the gull have his dinner.

There are lots of shells today. Shell beds so thick you could fill a hundred buckets and still not get them all. I pick up several, turn them over in my hands. I pocket the prettiest ones. Momma likes it when I bring home ones that aren't broken. She puts them in her garden.

"They make a nice border, Heddy. I don't want the broken ones. But you can bring the good ones home."

The broken ones are my favorite. I like to run my fingers over the edges and think about how they got tossed around in the ocean. How far did they travel? What kind of sea creature lived in them? The broken ones tell stories and keep a million secrets.

I follow the curve of the beach and look up over the dune. I can see a thin whisper of smoke rising in the cloudless sky. There's only one house around this side. It belongs to Dr. Monroe.

I heard Momma and Daddy talking about him. Said his daughter had come and packed him up. Said he was too old and frail to live alone. It's what we did to Nonni. She couldn't see so good anymore. She caught her kitchen curtains on fire one day and tried to put it out with a pan full of water. She was going back to the sink to get more water and she slipped. After that, my momma put her foot down.

Nonni took my older brother, Willis's, room after he joined the Army. He don't come home much, besides, Momma says he uses the Lord's name in vain, too much.

I put the shells I got for Momma down in a pile then climbed the dune, hiding amongst the tall swaying grass. Sure enough, the smoke is coming from Dr. Monroe's chimney.

Maybe he used the Lord's name in vain too much, and his daughter sent him home.

I never knew what kind of doctor he was. He never came to our house when we got sick. Daddy said there are all kinds of doctors, not just the kind that help you get well.

I move around to the back of the house. I'm just gonna peek in the window to see if he's back. I know Nonni wouldn't like that idea.

"Go to the front door, Heddy. Don't skulk around spying on people. It isn't polite."

But Nonni isn't here. I pad quickly around the back, jumping as the water pump starts up. The window is covered in a film of slimy sea salt. My fingers wipe it off, and I quickly brush my hand on my shirt. I peer inside. There's a bed and a dresser in the room. The linenoleum floor is tacked down on the wood floor. All that's left of the pine floor is a two foot border around the edge of the room. The covers are messed on the bed.

I twist my head this way and that way trying to see further in.

"It's not nice to spy on people," a voice says.

I freeze, too scared to move. "I was just, um, looking for Dr. Monroe."

Slowly, I turn to face my captor. It's not Dr. Monroe, or his daughter or anyone I know.

It's a man, taller that anybody I've ever seen before. His hair is the color of a copper pot. Blue eyes that make the prettiest sky pale in comparison.

His body blocks the sun and he looks around.

"Are you alone?"

I nod.

"Well, go home. And don't tell anybody about me. You won't, will you?"

His words tumble out. He looks around again. "Go on, little girl. Go home."

I nod, darting around him. As I run through the grass and jump down to the base of the dune, I realize something.

The man was scared.