Mystery in a Cashmere Shawl

She was, everyone agreed, nothing less than stunning and wickedly out of place.

Long red hair coiled at the base of her neck, cameo earrings on thin gold wires hung from her ears and a rust colored cashmere shawl carelessly covered one shoulder.  She was standing alone, leaning over the ferry railing with the sun side lighting her.  When one of the crew approached her for the fare, she pulled a $5 bill from a sequined purse and waved away the change with a shy smile - the ferryman stood awkwardly, not sure what to do next with this unexpected good fortune - and the woman in the shawl laughed, a sweet, light sound not at all unkind, and then firmly folded his hand over the dollar bills and turned back to the railing.

I declare, Nana remarked as she pulled a Kent 100 from its pack and struck a match, That's not something you see everyday.

I wonder who she is, my mother said aloud, lowering her sun glasses for a better look, Surely can't be local.

I expect we'll know by the time we get home, my grandmother said mildly, And don't stare, Jeanette, it's not polite.

She looks like a movie star, I said hopefully.

My mother shrugged diffidently and reached for her Parliaments.

I watched her as we made the crossing.  She was undeterred by the salt spray or the wind that tried so hard to
un-tether her hair.  She just stood, holding the railing and watching the water, glancing occasionally at the opposite shore with a faraway look that I recognized.  She smiled when we passed the lighthouse at Boar's Head and although I didn't know who she was, I was sure my mother and grandmother were wrong - she was local, I was certain - and she was coming home.  It was all over her face.

We docked at Tiverton and and Cap emerged from the wheelhouse to offer her his arm and lead her up the slip.  They made an odd pair, Cap in his patched work pants and boots, flannel shirt rolled to the elbows over his longjohns and the pretty young woman with her hair and shawl dancing in the breeze.

Well, I never!  my mother exclaimed at this unprecedented turn of events and Nana looked on wide eyed with surprise.  

If he bows to her, I swear I'll run the old the old coot down, my grandmother said gruffly as she turned the key in the ignition and the Lincoln came to life with a rumble of engine and exhaust.   The ferryman motioned us forward and up we went, slow and steady, Nana wincing slightly when the back end grated and bounced on the chain link covered slip as it always did.   By the time we reached the top, there was no sign of Cap or the pretty young passenger and we drove slowly off the wharf and onto the dirt road, picking up speed and leaving a cloud of dust as we headed for home.