I stepped off the ferry gangway onto the pier. It creaked a little and seemed to sway under my weight. The charm of the wooden pier, with its benches and overhead lattice was all but gone. Time and neglect had certainly taken their toll.
The other passengers alighted without the fanfare of creaking boards. There were only about seven others, but they must be used to the groanings of the old wood and, so, stepped lightly.
At the end of the pier spread out the village of Barlowe Island. Main Street flanked by buildings of indeterminate age and a variety of architecture. At the far end of the street, its face toward the pier, stood a picturesque white church, spire pointing heavenward, windows glittering in the jewel colors of stained glass.
Heat shimmered off the blacktop adding a ghostly aura to the quiet village. The sun can be intense and the humidity oppressive on the Outer Banks, so I grabbed my suitcase and headed toward the nearest awning.
A bait shop, as it turned out, hid in the shadows under the green and white striped awning. The glass door looked in on a dimly lit interior. I held down the latch and pushed open the door. A small bell tinkled to announce a visitor, and cool breathe of air rushed to greet me and settle over me.
"Help you?"
I could barely see the small, white-haired man standing behind the counter in the doorway of a back room.
"Uh, yes," I looked around at the eclectic interior of the shop. Fishing tackle, a small, chest-style refrigerated box for bait, nets, candy, snacks, a blackened pot-bellied stove, two tables with a number of mismatched chairs, and a wall of coffee mugs, probably from patrons who spent chilly mornings hanging out and swapping fish stories. All in all, it was quite an interesting place.
"I'm looking for the Monroe house."
His eyebrows lifted. "Huh," was the noncommittal reply.
"Do you know it?"
"Sure I do." His thick, white eyebrows dipped as if to meet above his nose.
"Can you tell me how to get there?" I was trying to suppress my irritation.
"Yep. Down Main Street, here. Then right on Tidewater. Two blocks, then on your right. Don't know the number, but it's blue with black shutters."
"I have the number, thank you."
The heat was even more oppressive when I emerged onto the sidewalk once more. After the coolness of the shop, the glare of daylight and heat like a blanket almost made me regret my decision to visit Joanne. And, why wasn't she here to meet me?
The other passengers alighted without the fanfare of creaking boards. There were only about seven others, but they must be used to the groanings of the old wood and, so, stepped lightly.
At the end of the pier spread out the village of Barlowe Island. Main Street flanked by buildings of indeterminate age and a variety of architecture. At the far end of the street, its face toward the pier, stood a picturesque white church, spire pointing heavenward, windows glittering in the jewel colors of stained glass.
Heat shimmered off the blacktop adding a ghostly aura to the quiet village. The sun can be intense and the humidity oppressive on the Outer Banks, so I grabbed my suitcase and headed toward the nearest awning.
A bait shop, as it turned out, hid in the shadows under the green and white striped awning. The glass door looked in on a dimly lit interior. I held down the latch and pushed open the door. A small bell tinkled to announce a visitor, and cool breathe of air rushed to greet me and settle over me.
"Help you?"
I could barely see the small, white-haired man standing behind the counter in the doorway of a back room.
"Uh, yes," I looked around at the eclectic interior of the shop. Fishing tackle, a small, chest-style refrigerated box for bait, nets, candy, snacks, a blackened pot-bellied stove, two tables with a number of mismatched chairs, and a wall of coffee mugs, probably from patrons who spent chilly mornings hanging out and swapping fish stories. All in all, it was quite an interesting place.
"I'm looking for the Monroe house."
His eyebrows lifted. "Huh," was the noncommittal reply.
"Do you know it?"
"Sure I do." His thick, white eyebrows dipped as if to meet above his nose.
"Can you tell me how to get there?" I was trying to suppress my irritation.
"Yep. Down Main Street, here. Then right on Tidewater. Two blocks, then on your right. Don't know the number, but it's blue with black shutters."
"I have the number, thank you."
The heat was even more oppressive when I emerged onto the sidewalk once more. After the coolness of the shop, the glare of daylight and heat like a blanket almost made me regret my decision to visit Joanne. And, why wasn't she here to meet me?
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