Dark Waters by D W Ulsterman

Author:D W Ulsterman [Ulsterman, D W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kindle Press
Published: 2016-11-28T22:00:00+00:00

13.

Cattle Point is the southernmost region of San Juan Islands, a place nearly absent of trees and most days of the year subjected to strong winds that cut across the tall grass fields and stir up the adjacent seawater, sending it crashing into its rocky shores. The land narrows the farther south one drives until it reaches out like a defiant middle finger pointing toward neighboring Lopez Island, the two islands appearing to glare at each other across the strong, deep currents of San Juan Channel.

In the 1800s, Cattle Point was home to American soldiers stationed there as a military counterbalance to British soldiers housed some fifteen miles north along the idyllic, heavily forested shores of Garrison Bay. Both camps were constructed as a reaction to the increasing dispute between the American and British governments over who owned the islands.

By the 1870s, a treaty was signed that allowed the United States to finally lay final and permanent claim to the San Juans. The soldiers left, though some island locals continued to believe their long tenure, marked by malnutrition, disease, multiple suicides, and murders, was still carried upon the winds and rains of Cattle Point.

It was a hard, beautiful, desolate place, immersed in a natural indifference to all who visited and those few such as Ophelia Norris, who continued to make the area their home.

Ophelia’s house was at the end of a long, narrow dirt road bookended by fields of tall grass that swayed against the heavy sea-infused wind, which constantly carried the whispers of the wide and often dangerous waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca that dominated Cattle Point’s southern views. The home was a decades-old single-story structure painted dark-gray with a roof that showed patches where the wind had ripped away the shingles. An older light-red jeep was parked to the right of the front door, its presence informing Adele that someone was there.

The yard, such as it was, showed more exposed dirt than grass. Two wooden planter boxes with long-dead perennials hung from the small, partially covered porch. To the left of the home was a pair of seemingly abandoned fiberglass fishing boats, the insides of which were piled high with an assortment of fishing nets and rusted-out crab and shrimp pots. To the right, a newer ten-speed bike leaned against a porch post.

Behind the home, many miles farther across both land and sea, loomed the shadowy mass of the Olympic Mountains. The only unnatural fixture upon that majestic horizon was a white lighthouse that stood still and silent half a mile to the west.

The front door of the house opened even before Adele was able to fully exit her car. She looked up to see a tall, athletically built figure with a head of thick, shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair staring back at her. The woman wore black biker shorts that further complemented her long, muscular legs. The shorts were accompanied by a gray sweatshirt that, though less form-fitting, was unable to completely conceal the generous swell of her breasts.

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