Stories from the Emporium

The good thing about leaving the mainland and settling on an island is that it is all up to you to make it happen.

Anita sat on the porch looking through the branches of the old pepper tree towards the bay where the water was an intense blue now in the late afternoon. She took another sip of the chilled wine and thought that she should walk down to the foreshore and watch the seabirds even though she felt tired from painting and cleaning. American River was known for its birdlife, and it was not unusual to see pelicans and black swans swimming together and with the sun setting in the west the water and the sky became one. “The Watermelon sunset” is how her husband used to describe it when they first visited the island. It almost seemed like a dream now, something that happened a long time ago. If anyone had told her that she would eventually end up living on Kangaroo Island in South Australia, she would have laughed. This was about as far away as she could travel from where she was born in Stockholm, Sweden, and life could not be more different.

She remembered the first time they came here. Christian was excited about the abundance of wildlife, and they had explored the island from one end to the other, discovering little secret bays where the sea was pristine, and they would set up camp for the day. Then there were the caves where the seals lay on the rocks basking in the sun, and the bush quietly exploding in colors from the undergrowth. The home of the kangaroos. They rented a small cottage which used to be the schoolhouse years ago and now stood as an historic icon from the late 1800s. Anita fell in love with the cottage and the surroundings, and they returned several times before things changed.

The marriage had been good but started to turn into something they did not expect. They were young when they met by accident on the tube in London where they both were holidaying. Christian, coming from Australia, was hopelessly lost and Anita stepped on the wrong train. Little did she know then that the incident would take her all the way to Australia. Love blossomed and they became inseparable. They had an interesting life together but as it sometimes happens with a long relationship, they started to outgrow each other and decided to go separate ways. It was a long and emotional divorce, and Anita knew she had to start afresh somewhere else. She was retired now and with no children and family of her own there was nothing to hold her back. She had to get used to being alone and she found no better place to so than on the island. Leaving the mainland was easy and she jumped at the opportunity of buying the old schoolhouse when it came up for sale. And so, she packed a truck with her belongings and took her old golden retriever Ben onboard the ferry to start a new life.

The air started to become chilly. It was time to light the sitting room fire and cook dinner before retiring for the night. Ben was already sound asleep on the carpet in front of the sofa, and she was pleased with the work she had done today. Tomorrow she would go to town to do the grocery shopping, the pantry needed to be replenished.

The main street was quiet with only a few locals moving in and out of the shops before returning to their cars and taking off again. People did not stay around long as it was not the tourist season yet and things would change once the school holidays started. Anita was not in a hurry; it was good to get out of the house for a while and she strolled along the streets occasionally gazing into the small shops before she turned up one of the side streets where the old historic buildings remained intact and holly hocks were flowering behind the picket fences.

“The Emporium,” was an old yellow limestone building with a large archway entrance, where a few shops remained opened: secondhand clothing, various brick-a-brack, and a health store. At the very end was Hobbs Antiquarian.

“Just what I need,” she thought. “A good book.”

A little bell rang as she opened the door and she stepped into a room filled with bookshelves. There was a musky smell of old paper and dust, but everything looked surprisingly clean and looking along the shelves where paperbacks mixed with leather bounds, she realized each book had a marking with a code written in pen on the spine. She let her fingers run along the books, taking in the many different titles.

“Can I help you there, Mam?”

A man walked up to the desk at the end of the room. He was short with a bolding head and round glasses pushed up on his forehead. He wore a cream long sleeved shirt and a waistcoat with a clock pinned to the pocket. It was as though he had stepped out from another time.

“Well, yes. This is a real library, so what does it take for me to join?”

“Ahh, indeed Mam. The finest library on the island, and with the best selection I might add. If you cannot find it here, you cannot find it anywhere.”

Anita walked up to the desk.

“I am Harold Hobbs, and I am pleased to meet you, Miss?”

He stretched out his hand in a greeting.

“Edwards. Anita Edwards.”

Mr. Hobbs pushed his glasses back down onto his nose and peered at her.

“Are you a tourist from the mainland? I have not seen you here before?”

“Well actually no, I have just moved here, I live at American River.”

Mr. Hobbs glanced at her again, this time at her clothes and Anita realized she must look like a tourist after all.

“Well, welcome to the island Mrs. Edwards. I hope you will like it here.”

There was something about Mr. Hobbs that reminded Anita of her own father. She did not get to know him very well; he was shot on duty as a police officer when she was thirteen and she never got over it. Sometimes she would look for similarities in other men because she wanted to remember him, but it was a long time ago and the memory had started to fade.

They chatted for a while and Anita relaxed enough to except the cup of coffee Mr. Hobbs offered her.

“And what is it that interests you?”

Anita thought for a moment.

“Travel, distant places and different people, I suppose.”

She sat in the big worn leather chair and looked around. It was not a secret that she was a bit of a bookworm and had been so from as far back as a little child and she found this room exciting.

“Some collection you have Mr. Hobbs.”

“You are more than welcome to ponder through it. Let me know if you need any help.”

Anita moved down the aisles, looking at the varied titles. There were the usual classics which you would expect in a library of this seize but there were also odd books scattered here and there. “The secret of clouds and other stories.” “Under a mushroom.” “The dead widow.”

“How many can I borrow?” she yelled into the back room where Mr. Hobbs was busy pulling out the draws of a large cupboard.

“Just a minute, I know it is here somewhere.”

Anita waited, she became aware of the big clock ticking in the corner and knew she had already spent far too long here, and she was eager to get back to Ben and her house before dusk. It was the time when the kangaroos came out to feed, and she knew how easy it could be to hit one of them as they crossed the road. One of the first things she had noticed when she came to the island was the “roadkill” on the side of the road.

“I have something here for you.”

Anita watched Mr. Hobbs as he closed a draw after taking out a big bundle of papers.

“I am so glad I found it.”

He quickly dusted the cover page with his arm and handed over what looked like a thick bunch of disorderly papers.

“This is something you will like, I am sure. It is a manuscript, not yet released.”

Mr. Hoggs was obviously pleased with himself and she smiled when she read the first couple of lines.

“Yes, yes thank you. I would love to read this. It is kind of you to lend me an unpublished manuscript. Who is the author?

“Hmm, let me just say the author writes under a pseudonym.”

“So, you have unfinished manuscripts in your collection. That is interesting.”

Mr. Hobbs walked her to the door.

“But wait a minute, I am not signed up here.”

“No worries, another time Mrs. Edwards, another time.”

He laughed to himself.

“It is not that easy to hide on this little island.”

The door closed behind her as she was about to say that she would bring it back soon. “Soon,” she thought, knowing it would take a long time to read this long manuscript.

So that is how the story began with Anita and the manuscript. She read a chapter every afternoon on the porch with Ben by her feet and she grew fond of the story of the young woman falling in love and planning to move to another country. It was indeed about people and other places, and she soon became absorbed.

It did not take long before she began to find similarities between the character in the story and herself. Things like finding love at an early age, moving to another country, loosing the things you love and trying to find a fresh start in a remote place was one thing. And then the reference to the father of the protagonist who had also been cut down and murdered when she was thirteen. What about the dead bird on the porch with a rose beside it? A coincidence? She had found it in the morning as she was looking out from her bedroom window. A small dead bird on the porch, with a pink rose beside it, exactly as it had been described in the manuscript. It made her feel uneasy. These were the things that touched her on a very personal level. How did Mr. Hobbs find this old manuscript with so many personal details, and who was Mr. Hobbs? And who was the author? She would have to confront him.

Anita continued working on the house and eventually finished painting all the rooms. It looked fresh and welcoming and the white linen curtains in the bedroom lifted the room and made it light and serene. She loved the view from there, the peppertree and the blue line of the water at the bay.

It was when she reached the last chapter that something happened which chilled her to the bone. The previous evening, she heard a loud bang outside the door. Ben barked loudly as a car drove up the embankment of the driveway knocking down her mailbox. She took the dog with her and walked out to investigate. A man stood in the darkness, obviously the driver. He staggered slightly, wobbling from side to side. She could see his eyes in the darkness, starring at her and he breathed heavily.

“What on earth are you doing?’ she finally blurted out.

At first, he said nothing but looking at the broken mailbox he sneered.

“Special delivery Mam.”

And with a snigger he got back into his car, backed out to the road, and drove off into the night.

Anita took another sip of the wine. This was not happening, it was impossible. Outside the moon was shining over the still waters of American River and all was quiet. Had she not just read the same thing occurring in the manuscript? The sound of a crash, a drunk driver standing in the shadows and even the mailbox. Was somebody playing a joke on her? What was going on?

She spent a long time in front of the fire the next evening, watching the flames flicker in the darkness. This was getting crazier by the minute. There were only a couple pages left of the story and a cold feeling of dread came over her. She knew she had to finish reading it and within minutes she reached the last few pages. She drew breath, starring at the last lines. She suddenly came to attention. It said, “Footsteps could be heard walking up the driveway, there was a knock on the door and the door slowly creaked open.” It was the fear of all fears, and it was obviously something bad that was about to happen. It was the last thing the protagonist would ever hear.

The manuscript fell from her hands and the fire danced in front of her. She could hear footsteps walking up the gravel driveway, slowly getting closer to the door. She wanted to scream but could hardly breath. And then the knocking slowly, knock, knock, knock. Ben jumped up from the carpet and barked as he ran out to the kitchen door.

She sat there paralyzed unable to move as she suddenly heard a voice from outside.

“Mrs. Edwards, are you home?”

“It is Rebecca from over the road. Are you all right? I was worried about you. Looks like old McCloud has been drinking again and done damage to your postbox.”

It was late at night and the lights were still on at Hobbs Antiquarian. Mr. Hobbs was pleased with himself; he had just finished typing the last page of another manuscript. He attached a small note before putting it in the draw. “Carl Tilllinger, arrival 2.15 on Wed from the mainland.

He had often wondered why people liked to read stories that reminded them of their own life but as long as they did, he would keep on writing, and he would stay in business.

There was no answer at the other end of the phone, so he left a message on the answering machine.

“I am ready for another protagonist when you are McCloud. Find an interesting mainlander this time.”