Part 4 About a week later Magdalene was back and she and I planned an early morning walk. “Hey Magdalene,” I called and waved as I approached her. “It’s good to have you back. How was the trip?” “Good,” she flashed her famous impish grin, “I can’t get enough of those grandkids.” We hugged then headed down the beach toward the cove, our customary walk. “I know what you mean. Tell me what’s new with them.” As much as I wanted to dive right in on the whole Orton mystery, I needed to let Magdalene fill me in on the little ones, all of whom I’ve met over the years. “They’re not so little anymore, Maddy,” I said when she finished. “You need to talk someone into having another baby.” She laughed. “So, tell me what’s been going on since I’ve been gone. Anything new with you sand fleas?” She nodded down the beach toward the row of beach homes and cabins. “Not really. But I think there’s something new with you hill people.” I looked up at the houses on the hill and nodded. “Oh, what’s that?” “Have you ever met Cammie Orton? She’s apparently a niece of the…
Month: September 2014
Pt. 3 of the Cammie Orton Story
Part 3 In the following weeks, Cammie and I ran into each other regularly, usually walking the beach early in the mornings. She offered nothing more than a weak smile and a wave, so it came as quite a surprise when one morning she stood on the beach in front of my house and called my name. “Hey,” I stepped outside and waved from my deck, “good morning.” “Hi,” she looked down at her feet then back up at me, shading her eyes with one hand, the other fluttering about as if it had nowhere to land. “I hate to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to have an extra cup of coffee would you?” I was so shocked, I was slow to reply. “Sorry,” she stammered looking back down at her feet, “I shouldn’t…” “Of course I do,” I interrupted. “Come up. A little company this morning would be nice.” The dogs were wagging their tails, excited by the idea of more hands to pet them, I’m sure. Cammie climbed the stairs, opened the gate at the landing then continued up to my deck. The t-shirt she was wearing had seen better days. It was sky blue by default,…
Pt. 2 of the Cammie Orton Story
Pt. 2 Not long after our first encounter I spotted her about a block down the beach from my house, wading out into the water with a rake and a bucket. Crabs, I thought. It’s an easy was to catch crabs if you’re without a boat and/or pots. Yet there was something odd about the whole scene. I snatched the binoculars from the basket on the deck table and quickly discovered what was troubling me. She was in the same clothes she’d worn the first time we’d run into each other; the billowy long white pants, tank top, old slip on sneakers. Now the pants appeared to drag her down as they became soaked up to her thighs. She seemed to struggle while putting one foot in front of the other, sternly concentrating on the sandy bottom. I wondered why she hadn’t put on shorts or a bathing suit if she’d planned to wade so far into the bay. It wasn’t long before she had a crab in her rake, pinchers snapping as it struggled to get free. The bucket was under the teeth of the rake in a second as she shook the crustacean off. Then she turned towards…
The Story of Cammie Orton (again)
For those of you who have already read this story’s beginning, I apologize. Summer got in the way of writing, so I’m starting over. It’s been so long, you probably can’t remember it anyway! My blog postings over the next few weeks will be an ongoing story I’ve wanted to share for quite some time. It occurred to me the other day that I could do it as long as I break it up into as many blogs as it takes to relay the whole adventure without wearing my readers out in any one sitting. So, here goes…I hope you enjoy it. The Story of Cammie Orton Cammie Orton was the only name I ever knew her by although it’s doubtful that was really her name. We first met one day about five years ago in the early morning while I was walking the beach with my dogs and she was combing for treasures, tossing shells and beach glass into an old worn duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She was tiny in stature; probably just under five feet tall, maybe ninety pounds. Her hair was bigger than life, gold streaks intertwined with mahogany and nearly reaching her waist. Her…