The House Across the Creek

The Chesapeake Bay is the largest estuary in the United States. The word itself, "Chesapeake" is derived from the Algonquian Indian word referring to a village "at a big river." The majestic Chesapeake Bay is over 200 miles and with its many tributaries, (Choptank, Nanticoke, Pokomoke, Patuxent and others) both large and small, have all contributed in playing a vital role in the economic and political history of this region. Over time, however, it has become increasingly difficult to nurture and sustain this delicate and increasingly fragile ecosystem which has been repeatedly stress tested by man seeking progress with the inevitable pollution from industry, runoff from land development and bad farming practices all contributing in some way to strangling this fragile eco-system. This snippet of a story, a mere moment in time, is far less grandiose than the Bay itself but in a way, very much a part of it. The story takes place somewhere deep into Maryland's Eastern Shore, in an idyllic, peaceful spot that has changed little with time, a stone's throw from a little creek that feeds into a tributary and ultimately the mighty Chesapeake Bay itself.

Jack Dearborn was just glad to finally be off Route 50 and to speed along familiar back roads that were flatter than a pancake, straight as an arrow with fields after fields of corn lining both sides of the road. The corn stalks were tall, green and leafy and almost reached up to the sky. An hour later after having crossed the Bay Bridge, Jack finally guided his classic green 1965 MGB GT carefully though the narrow driveway entrance, the car tires crunching softly over the graveled driveway that had once been all oyster shells and parked in front of a graceful, white framed, black shuttered classic tidewater "telescope" house." The house was made up of several units, each of descending height, thus giving one the appearance of fitting together like the components of a collapsible telescope. Belle View, a registered national historical landmark, had originally been built in the late 1600's by a wealthy merchant for his growing family. One generation after another, family descendants had lived in the house through the turmoil’s of the Revolutionary War, Civil War, the Great Depression, two world wars and the rise and fall of family fortunes.

Though it was going on late afternoon, it was still sufferingly hot and the Eastern Shore August humidity clung to Jack like a rug bent on slowly suffocating him. Stepping out of the car, he was greeted with that familiar aroma of fresh cut grass, a certain mustiness coming from the creek, pine trees, charcoal smoke from somewhere and fresh paint. It all seemed to come together and made this spot unique. The afternoon silence was momentarily disturbed by the sound of an inboard engine purring softly; Jack turned just as a handsome sailboat appeared from around the bend of the creek slowly motoring out to deeper water and then on to the Bay. The skipper wore a red baseball cap, aviator sunglasses and looked confident, he smiled and briefly nodded Jack's way before returning his attention to the helm. On board Jack saw who he presumed was the skipper's wife ably arranging the lines in an equally relaxed and assured manner. Two small children sitting at the bow seemed hardly able to contain their excitement at the prospect of an evening cruise. A golden retriever sat calmly by the entrance to the cabin below as if he were guarding the family home.

Just across the creek from where Jack stood, situated on a piece of land that jutted out into the water was a stately Georgian home with perfectly manicured green lawns slopping down to the water's edge. Jack had no real knowledge who lived in the house across the creek other than having heard the couple was supposedly from New York City and initially just summered on the shore. They had eventually traded their Park Avenue apartment to live where they were now all year around. The house stood caddy corner with a front view onto the creek and another towards the expanse of the river leading to the bay. Windows stretched across the front of the house with tall glass French windows the size of walls installed on the main floor thus affording the owners a breathtaking view of the creek and the river beyond. The owners of the house had built an elaborate set of stairs leading down to a dock where a sharp little 48ft sloop stood waiting to take the owners someplace, anyplace. For Jack, the majesty of the view of the house across the creek, was something he always took time to admire and wonder.

Jack grabbed his overnight bag and walked around back to where the neatly manicured lawn met a little picket fence and elegant flagstones surrounded a kidney shaped swimming pool with a table, umbrellas and easy chairs at either end, along with an assortment of inflatable mats and chairs. There he found Billie, lounging by the pool wearing a bathing suit in name only, an over-sized wide brimmed straw hat, with her favorite drink- a Maker's Mark bourbon Old Fashioned soaking a coaster and the ever present cigarette in a long black vintage sequined cigarette holder. Looking over an oversized pair of fashionable sunglasses, she had the beginning of a pout forming then smiled and said:

"Jack darling, it's ghastly hot outside why are you standing there, go put on your trunks and by now you should know where the towels are to be found."

Jack grinned "Thanks girl, I think I can manage that one quite easily" and turned towards the house.

Billie shouted after him " oh and Jack, do fix yourself something real cold, the bar's open, then come and entertain me, I've been so lonely all day with absolutely no one to talk to."

Jack waved over his head not bothering to turn to see the pout he knew would be there. Inside, Jack made his way over the Persian carpets covering the polished wodden floors, maneuvered his way around the antique furnishings, past the ancestral portraits and finally reaching the guestroom.

Sometimes it seemed as if Billie lived in another world, in another time. She once told Jack that “if ever I could put myself in some sort of time capsule I would most surely go back in time to the 1920s and never, ever mind you, even think about coming back.” She seemed particularly emphatic on that one point. For some reason Billie found the 1920's a fascinating period, for her it was the music, the dress, the lavishness of it all and she would start to obsess over it after a few Old Fashioned's and would swear that one of her relatives had haunted her body, mind and soul "you know that's entirely possible don't you Jack?" That kind of conversation is tough to deal with but when laced with Bourbon it's downright crazy.

After her parents and only brother, who she "simply adored" had passed away, Billie lived alone on the family estate with her steady companion, "darling Kikka" a neurotic Cocker Spaniel. Bertina (Bertie), the housekeeper came by three days a week to check on Miss Billie in case she needed some groceries from the market or something special from town and tidie up as necessary. Her son Amos who, according to Billie, was known to take an awful long time to mow the lawn around the pool area and always when she happened to be sunbathing. Amos would rake the leaves and trim the hedges in the Fall and come winter time, would show up to dig out Billie - that is when his car could make it through the deep snow covered road to her house which never ever saw a county snowplow.

Billie may have been living alone but Jack recalled (or maybe he had been told) there had been a succession of male suitors who had attempted to rise to the challenge of wooing Billie, each one professing to have been successful, at least that was the word among certain good ol’ trust fund boys who had little else to do other than drink at the Golf or Yacht club bar and think about the next goose season. But even if there had been a successful suitor, no one seem to have stayed around for too long because, in Billie words, she found them "boring, dull and not at all peppy" adding, "not at all like you Jack." Jack only wondered when the next shoe would fall.  Granted she was was appealing in more ways than one, a little crazy at times that was true, they made each other laugh and she was even a great cook when she wanted to. Jack admitted to himself that he had skirted the edge but never thrown his hat in the ring. Throwing caution to the wind was a fine thing to do, sometimes, but for now he was keeping his powder dry as long as he could. He knew he had a bad habit, he found crazy dames appealing.

 

Jack strolled from the house in his plaid trunks over the flat stones to the pool, a white over sized monogrammed bath towel in one hand and a tall gin and tonic with a couple extra limes in the other. He dove in and swam easily underwater reaching the other side and surfacing with a splash which made Billie shriek "you are simply awful Jack, now you've made me all wet!" She dove in after him and continued the splashing contest, laughing like two children. In the simmering heat, they languished by the pool for as long as they possibly could knowing full well that the setting sun would give way to an army of super sized, dive bombing insects the size of small helicopters. You heard the buzzing which signaled that an attack was imminent and indeed they would gather in a formation ready to dive, anxious for the taste of human flesh, lathered in sweet smelling suntan oil.

That evening, having retreated from poolside they found refuge on the back deck with an expansive view of the creek. Billie and Jack, still in their bathing suits, feasted by candlelight on a sumptuous meal that included thick, rare T-bone steaks that Jack had worked on the grill, sweet Eastern Shore corn on the cob dripping with butter, salt and pepper, juicy oversized slices of beefsteak tomatoes with a dash of mayonnaise, salt and pepper and a tossed green salad with a vinegar and oil dressing. This was all wonderfully paired with a chilled, crisp Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand and a lovely, remarkably bold, Chianti Classico. For desert, Billie came back to the table with two dishes of chewy brownie squares topped with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream. It was a quintessential American summer feast.

As it grew dark, with the last blood red glows of a setting sun slowly sinking then finally disappearing over the horizon, they patiently waited. Suddenly, the sky lit up with a magnificent burst of multicolored fireworks, one after another each one reaching up to the end of the sky then finally trailing down harmlessly somewhere over the inky blackness of the water. From across the creek, the neighbors had decided to put on a fireworks show; you could see the magnificent house all lit up and one could almost peek inside each time the large French doors were opened. Outside, shadows moved about on the lawn, a bit of laughter here, a round of applause there, and then another giant sunburst would open up over the creek. Jack told Billie, because he knew she would appreciate the reference, that he felt a little bit like F. Scott Fitzgerald's character Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby; Nick was Jay Gatsby's neighbor and more than once observed the goings on at the house across the water.

Billie clapped her hands, "Oh Jack, I just simply love that and from now on I shall call you Nick, you won't mind will you? I hope not."

Jack assured her that it was fine if she wanted to call me Nick "but in private because others just simply would not understand."

We watched the rest of the fireworks go off, the house across the creek all aglow, the party sounds, the clinking of glass, the music, the laughing, and the clapping as each succeeding firework reached higher than the one before illuminating the sky and the creek below. Then it was over. Jack lingered outside for just a while longer absorbing the moment and finishing his cigar. He could hear the faint notes coming from inside, Bessie Smith singing Downhearted Blues "Gee but it's hard to love someone when that someone don't love you". Billie was getting worked up again playing her records. "Nick" she called out then again "Nick, are you ever planning on coming inside?"

"If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay....You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock." (The Great Gatsby)