The drive to Jekyll was about eighty miles down Highway 17 through Savannah and Brunswick, his father driving him to the ferry for the ride over to Jekyll. As the waves lapped the sides of the old ferry, Troy’s mind drifted back to the days when he and George, as young boys, ran all over the island. They took odd jobs in the millionaire’s quarters and fished in the creek every chance they got, bringing buckets of crabs for George’s mother to make into crab cakes or fish stew. Now the millionaires were gone, the cottages boarded up and the grounds growing over with weeds, despite the resident caretaker’s efforts. The island residents were those who had worked for the millionaires and a few hardy souls who chose to make this idyllic place their year ‘round home…the Watsons were some of those souls. “Boy, if they just had a causeway to the mainland, this island would come alive,” he thought, little knowing that in a few years the State of Georgia would buy the island and later add a causeway.
Effie was waiting at the dock as the Seagate pulled in and tied up. With a little boy hanging on to her skirt and a baby in her arms, Troy ached at her sight and the thought that he had hoped for this scene with Penelope. “Troy, hello,” she yelled, briskly waving her free arm. The little boy broke free and ran to greet the tall stranger. “Bubba, you wait up, you heah?” Effie yelled as she ran to catch up with her son, Stormy bouncing on her mother’s hip.
Troy hugged Effie tight and kissed her on the cheek. “Whoa, who is this big boy?” he said as he reached down and picked up Bubba. “I reckon you must be George Watson’s son!” he laughed with the little boy. Turning his attention to the baby, he asked, “And what is this pretty girl child’s name?”
“Stormy. She chose to come into the world the night we had that bad storm… back six months ago. Troy, you ain’t never heard nor seen such wind and rain on Jekyll in yore whole life. Why we had water up to the front door, windows blown out…it was a terrible mess. Nobody on the island recalls anything like this…ever.” Breathlessly continuing, “So George had to deliver his own child. No way we could make it to the hospital in Brunswick. But he did a good job and we’re both fine. Come on, I’ve got Daddy’s old truck and you can drive, just like old times.” They both laughed as they put the two children between them and he started the engine.
“Hey, Effie,” Troy announced, “I like your house. You and George done made it look real good. Guess havin’ your folks next door helps a lot, too.” He walked around the house looking at pictures and recalling good times.
“Yeh, well, sometimes it’s a bit close, but sure does come in handy if George and I want to go somewhere alone. Say, Troy, George will be home in about an hour. Would you like to take Bubba for a walk, say down to the lil’ market and get me a loaf of bread?”
“Sure thing, Effie. We’ll take the long way down Beachview drive and I can smell the ocean. Hey, Bubba, maybe you can help me find some sand dollars to take back to England.” The two slammed the screen door as they left, laughing as Troy put Bubba on his shoulders to start the mile walk to the market.
As they walked along the beach, the wet sand hard beneath their feet, they searched for sand dollars…looking for the telltale bubbling up in the sand that denoted a live sand dollar beneath the surface. The murky water, a result of prehistoric land beneath the ocean sending particles forth, was gently making its way out with the tide. Left in its path appeared sand dollars that had worked their way out of their sand homes and were now exposed to the sun and air that would dry them out. “Hey, little buddy,” Troy said as he lifted the boy down from his shoulders, “Let’s see how many of these critters we can find who have left their sand homes and leave the live ones alone. Don’t like killin’ those critters…not like fishin.” His thoughts turned to England, to Bungay, and to the friends across that big ocean who had been so kind to him when Penelope died. He hoped the gift of sand dollars would let them know of his appreciation.
Troy’s two weeks leave was coming to an end and he was feeling disheartened at the thought of leaving Jekyll Island where he had come to know peace and serenity among old friends. The walks along the beach and through the woods, the hours spent holding a fishing line or a crabbing net on the dock, the laughter he shared with Effie and George as they sat around the kitchen table peeling shrimp and drinking beer, the joy of holding Bubba and Stormy as he read them a bedtime story… these memories he would hold close in his heart. “Ya’ll don’t forget, when this big war is over, I’m comin’ back,” he told his best friends as he walked down the porch steps. “George, you and me are goin’ to have a business and make us some money.” Troy hauled his duffle bag into the back of the truck and got in. George was quiet on the drive
