The Pine Cove Spinster Incident

It felt more like late autumn sweater weather than the second week of July.

The unforgiving bite of a brisk onshore breeze chilled me as I crested the ridge line above Pine Cove. The featureless grey sky seemed to stretch to infinity.

Pleasant traces of cedar firewood smoke mingled with the harsh salty air currents of the bracing wind.

Nestled among centuries old conifers, the isolated cottage made no pretense of being inviting. Shrouded in unruly brambles of honeysuckle vines, the dismal hut would have looked abandoned if not for the smoke billowing from the sandstone chimney.

And yet, the desolate scene stirred instant fond memories of my youth.

Just like when Dougie Christopher, 'Nuggets' Nugent and I raided it during our preteen years, the lush crab apple tree at the side of the residence still bore an abundant bounty of miniature red orbs.

The weekly summer assault was never made because of any desire to savour the

contraband fruit. No, the allure was in tormenting Cornelius McCarthy, the zealous guardian of the tart crab apples.

The effort that old man McCarthy exhibited protecting the fruit from flocks of coastal chickadees was grossly disproportionate to the diligence he put into making sure we left empty handed.

It was sometime later when I learned that crab apples were actually a real thing. Back then, I thought they were just tiny apples.

Dougie had insisted the name for the ones we raided had been amended because they belonged to the crabby curmudgeon of Pine Cove.

He always took great pleasure, reminding anyone who would listen of my naive gullibility back then. He still tries to exploit it to this day. Dougie can be a real ass.

Now 19 and more than seven years after the last sortie, I wondered if it wasn't the feisty septuagenarian who got the most enjoyment out of the cat and mouse confrontations. Despite knowing who we were, he never made a police report or dragged us home to face disciplinary consequences from our parents.

Now, nostalgia made me pluck a ripe crab from a low branch.

The distinctive crisp snap as I bit into it was quickly followed by a face contorting pucker as the bitterness overwhelmed me.

My eyes were still watering as I made my way to the main entry, stopping for a moment of self inspection in the reflected image on the dingy side window.

Satisfied I could pass muster, I advanced to the heavy timber door and lightly tapped the cast iron door knocker.

My apprehension mounted as I waited for the door to be answered.

The clunk of a dead bolt was a prelude to an eerie squeal of rusting hinges as the heavy door inched open.

"Yes?" An imposing woman answered as her presence filled the entry opening.

She wielded a long handled microfiber duster like a medieval knight's jousting lance, poised to fend me off.

Clad in oversized paint stained coveralls and wearing a dusty black head scarf, she eyed me warily as I fidgeted at the entry. A dark greasy smudge on her cheek, resembling war paint, put an exclamation point on her already imposing presence.

"Ms. McCarthy, I'm Marco Gianelli." Nervously, I held out a slip of paper with a hand written annotation, '𝓜𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓜𝓬𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓱𝔂 428-7727'

The tear off strip had been ripped from a help wanted flyer posted at the pub where my buddies and I hung out every Saturday.

"I tried calling the number a few times but there was no answer. I left a couple of messages."

"Sometimes I forget to turn my ringer on...I rarely check my voice mail," she spoke, raising her cel phone and making a quick adjustment to the ringer switch.

"Has the position been filled?"

"You're the only one who has replied."

Mary McCarthy was silent as her dark eyes scanned me from head to toe, eventually steadying as they bore into mine.

"I pay minimum wage for a forty hour week. The job might take four weeks to complete...maybe more...I'll include lunch...interested?"

"I really need a summer job. I just graduated high school and I'm available until I leave for university in late August...what would I be doing?"

"What ever it takes to prepare the property for sale." Ms. McCarthy offered. "My father died recently...he was a notorious pack rat for the sixty plus years he lived here. There's a lot to clean up. Did you know him?"

I hesitated, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "We crossed paths a few times." I finally mumbled hoping she would not request elaboration,

"See you at 8:00 AM Monday?"

It felt like more of a command than a question as I left to meet Nugget and Dougie at the Stonebridge Pub.

++++++

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting when I entered 'The Bridge'.

Dougie waved as he worked at untangling a bundle of amplifier cables on the stage.

Nuggs sat at a table nearby, pouring a dark amber brew from a frosty jug. "Did you get it?"

I accepted the brimming mug he pushed to me as I dropped onto my usual stool at our usual table.

Before I had a chance to reply, Dougie joined us and asked, "Is Phase One complete?"

"Yeah, I'm in." I took a sip of the tasty dark ale, refusing to join in as their mugs clinked together.

"You don't seem very happy." Dougie spoke.

"Would you be if the wager had gone the other way?"

"Are you suggesting that I didn't win fair and square?"

The issue at hand was a wager we had made at this table exactly a week before.

Crimson Dawn, the regular Saturday band, was on a break between sets and the drummer joined us. Our high school pal casually asked if we knew anyone who might be interested in being the band's summer roadie.

Dougie and I simultaneously responded, staking our claim for the position.

Our buddy responded. "There's only one spot, figure it out between the two of you and let me know by Monday."

Crimson Dawn was an up and coming rock band who up til now had only played local gigs.

Their plan was to spend the summer on the road and they needed a gofer to drive their aging Winnebago that had clearly seen better days.

Dougie and I had the exact similar thought at the same moment. We were both desperate for summer employment. But more than that, the real enticement was the added benefits from associating with the band.

Week after week, we enviously observed attractive 18 to 30 plus female groupies throw themselves at the young musicians who seemed to have more than their share of testosterone coursing through their systems.

We both hoped that being in their orbit would provide opportunities for sexual conquests. They weren't the only ones with an overabundance of testosterone.

"Best of three tomorrow in the school yard?" Dougie asked.

"You're on." I replied smugly. "Two o'clock...bring your 'A' game."

Since our early teens, we settled disputes with one on one basketball.

As Dougie and I raised our mugs to seal the deal, Nuggs cut in, "Not so fast. How about making it more interesting? I have something in mind."

Nugget stood and scanned the cork bulletin board near the bar. He zeroed in on one poster in the unruly menagerie and ripped off a tab.

"Old man McCarthy's daughter is looking to hire someone for the summer. Loser has to take that job," Nugget said with a smirk as he tossed the tab onto the table. "And since you are both so eager to get laid, the loser has to bed her by the end of August. Agreed?"

Dougie seemed especially uncomfortable with the conditional rider. On the other hand, my superior record in previous matches made me confident I would prevail. It would also provide some payback for a recent event when he stole the girl I had lost my virginity to. I still wanted more satisfaction than I felt when she left him a week later to be with someone else.

Nuggs refereed as I won the first match by two. I lost the second by one before Dougie blew my doors off in the third.

And that was how I was about to be working for the Pine Cove spinster.

++++++

The sun had just peeked over the ridge, bathing the picturesque cove in brilliant sunshine. The last traces of a wispy morning fog still hung over the rippling water.

I descended the gravel lane to Cornelius McCarthy's stone cabin, traipsing after the long shadow stretching out before me.

In stark contrast to Saturday, the air was still, hinting the chill would soon give way to seasonal warmth that would burn off the lingering mist.

I was midway down the descending lane when the distinctive clatter of a high powered diesel engine shattered the peaceful morning serenity.

A moment later, the vehicle's reverse alert beeper emitted it's irritating repetitive warning as the behemoth backed down the hill.

Mary was waiting to direct the operator as he off-loaded a 30 cubic yard refuse disposal bin.

Before I reached the base of the hill, the exhaust stack belched a thick cloud of black smoke as the turbo spooled up, powering the truck back up the steep incline.

Mary glanced at her watch as I approached. "Right on time...I like that."

"Morning Ms. McCarthy." I replied, purposefully making my voice cheerier than the stoic tone of her greeting. "I'm ready to work...where should I start?"

"You can choose between pruning the Honeysuckle vines and rescuing the perennial vegetables in the garden."

"I'm not sure I would know the difference between a weed and a vegetable...I'd better take the vines."

My new boss handed me a pair of pruning shears. As she walked toward the neglected garden, she looked back, "You can call me Mary."

As I worked on the tangled vines, I recalled locals speaking of the reclusive Cornelius and his mysterious daughter. It was common knowledge that he had been in his late forties when he married a much younger woman. They had a child a few years after. I also knew that his wife had died when Mary was no more than five years old.

Cornelius had worked for an international petroleum company, spending more time abroad than at home in the early years of their marriage. When his wife fell ill, he became a full time care giver. After she passed away, he raised and home schooled Mary. His wife's insurance policy pay out and early retirement pension allowed for a modest but comfortable life style.

Cornelius and his daughter were rocked by additional tragedy when Mary's fiancée died just before they were to be married. Mary shunned the neighbours and town's folk. It was shortly after that when the locals began referring to her as the 'Pine Cove Spinster'.

When I returned from the dumpster, I found Mary inspecting my progress on taming the unruly vines.

"Good job...it will improve the natural lighting inside now that the windows are not overgrown."

Her voice had lost most of it's edge. A trace of a smile appeared when a pair of Hummingbirds flitted in, tapping into the nectar-rich pink and red flowers adorning the honeysuckle vines,

As she removed the ever present head scarf, her dark locks fell, reaching her shoulders. In an instant, she was no longer the intimidating presence from our first meeting.

"Let's break for lunch...you can wash up in the bathroom."

Mary carried herself with quiet confidence as I followed, getting my first look at the interior of the cabin.

It was no surprise that the furnishing was a combination of heavy wood tables and vintage overstuffed chairs and sofas.

The lighting was subdued and except for worn upholstery in faded maroons and dark greens, there was almost no colour anywhere.

Aside from a cluster of sepia tone photographs, the walls were bare and badly in need of a refreshing paint job.

On my way to the kitchen, I paused to view the photos in the mismatched frames.

The largest in the center of the cluster depicted a smiling couple running a gauntlet of wedding guests as they pelted them with rice and confetti.

Others in the series featured a gaunt woman affectionately embracing a female child in ages ranging from approximately one to five years old.

More candid shots featured a teen aged female. The pretty girl's images had been captured as she participated in various athletic and adventure activities. In one, she was on a horse jumping a barricade, in another, she was riding a high powered dirt bike, mud flying everywhere.

One in particular caught my eye. The young woman was rock climbing. The still image perfectly captured a dangerous maneuver as she swung, reaching to gain a hand hold above her on a sheer rock face. The common theme in each photo was the confident smile that reflected an air of self-assuredness and pure joy.

My eye was drawn to one where the attractive young woman was draped over the shoulder of a handsome young man. Their heads were canted so that they were looking into each others eyes. Her smile portrayed a tender, wordless expression of love. His smile was laced with passion and lust.

There were no photos more recent than that one of the blissful couple.

"Lunch is ready." The call from the kitchen ended my analysis of the photos, but not my curiosity.

"It's a 'make your own lunch' meal." Mary stated as she set a loaf of rye bread beside a platter of cold cuts, cheese and pickles on the worn painted kitchen table. "Water or Coke?"

The silence was awkward as Mary ate without talking.

Eventually, trying to ease the discomfort...mostly mine...I broke the silence. "Are those pictures of you on the wall?"

Mary rose, clearing the table and simply replied, "Yes...we should get back to work now."

The heat of the July afternoon sun soon made her shed the coveralls. It left her appealingly clad in cut off denim shorts and a simple sleeveless gray cotton tee shirt.

I felt a stirring in my loins as looked at her from behind. Her tanned athletic legs seemed to go on and on, terminating at her shapely butt.

When she turned, her profile revealed a soft full bust.

I turned and went back to painting the weathered window shutters before she caught me ogling her or saw the prominent bulge in my shorts.

By late afternoon, Mary had cleared the remaining garden overgrowth and I had rehung the shutters. The shabby shack was transitioning into an appealing cottage...at least on the outside.

In the meantime, I took advantage of every opportunity to admire Mary's 34 year old desirable form.

++++++

Dougie was on the road with Crimson Dawn when Nugget and I met at The Stonebridge Pub for our usual Saturday get together.

"Let's have a progress update." Nuggs demanded as I poured.

"Nothing to report." I had decided to not share anything about Mary...at least for now.

"What's she like?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know, Nuggs. Sad...lonely. She doesn't talk much.

Have you heard from Dougie?"

"Yeah, a few times. Crimson Dawn is coming back to play the Bridge next Saturday...we'll see him then if he can tear himself away from all the sex he's getting." A lustful smile appeared on Nugg's face, "He said he's going to get me laid."

Typical Dougie. My rule with him was to disbelieve half of what he bragged about or promised. I seriously doubted the other half.

Oh well, at least Nuggs would be happy for another week with the anticipation of losing his innocence.

++++++

Mary's plan for the new week was to attack the single bay garage. A large empty replacement bin had been delivered and dropped just outside the entry.

The full impact of her previous comment about her 'pack rat' father became abundantly clear as Mary raised the overhead door.

Stacks of moldy newspapers and trade magazines stood in orderly piles, some as high as my shoulders. The air was thick with an unpleasant musty odour.

By late morning, we had managed to get about half of the piles transferred to the disposal bin, pausing often for iced water to avoid dehydration. Profuse perspiring soaked our attire in the scorching summer heat.

When I peeled my drenched top off, Mary groaned, "I wish I could do that."

As she stood there dripping sweat, her tee shirt clung to her, accentuating every detail of the white sports bra that confined her impressive bosom. I thought to myself, 'I wouldn't mind if you did'...at least I hoped it was a silent thought.

When we broke for lunch, Mary changed into fresh clothing. The shorts were shorter and her sleeveless tee shirt was eye catching, almost provocative with the amount of her tanned skin that was left exposed.

In no time, Mary was dripping wet again seemingly unaware that the white fabric had become almost transparent. She was braless...I was mesmerized by her magnificent breasts and large dark areolae.

The ever present prominent bulge in my shorts reminded me of Nuggs' challenge to make love to Mary before the end of summer. One thing was certain...I was no longer resisting the idea.

The stifling weather system persisted for the rest of the week as we made sluggish progress in the garage.

By mid afternoon on Friday, the dumpster bin was full and Mary had neatly segregated the items she wished to save.

Believing we were finished, Mary raised her hand to 'high five' me in celebration of our accomplishment. Before contact, she cocked her head and diverted her gaze to something wedged in the open roof trusses at the rear of the garage.

A moment later she scaled a questionably safe ancient wooden step ladder and began removing items from a decaying cardboard box. She briefly inspected each item before dropping it to my waiting hands.

One by one, I caught climbing shoes and harnesses, nylon ropes and quickdraws. Mary laughed for the first time since I met her when I mishandled a chalk bag, causing me to be covered in a dusting of magnesium carbonate powder.

Her smile vanished a moment later when she picked up a climbing helmet. With no warning, Mary lost her foothold on the rickety ladder.

In desperation, I lunged to break her fall. My arms encircled her body as we crashed to the garage floor.

I became aware of two poignant aftereffects of our near catastrophe. One was a sharp pain in my left shoulder...the other was Mary's soft breast fully cupped by my right hand. The thin fabric of her shear sweaty tee was only thing preventing direct skin contact as she lay on top of me.

"I don't know why my father kept all this." Mary sighed as a tear trickled down her cheek. She seemed not to notice that my hand maintained a lingering contact with her breast.

As she struggled to extricate herself, the teardrop fell onto my lip. The salty taste lingered as she sat up beside me, intently examining the climbing helmet.

'PATRICK' was hand painted on the cracked orange and black plastic shell. Deep abrasions made the last three letters barely discernable.

Mary laid her head on my bare shoulder and sobbed quietly as her body convulsed against me. The sepia tone image of the happy couple popped into my mind.

I held her silently until she regained her composure and said, "Let's call it quits for this week."

++++++

Nugget was in high spirits, no doubt in anticipation of the expectation that Dougie would be setting him up before the night was over.

On the other hand, my mood was far less cheerful. In addition to the fatigue from the hard work at Mary's, my shoulder was hurting like hell.

Aside from a brief nod from Dougie when I arrived, Nuggs and I seemed non existent in his self centered world.

I had mixed emotions as I watched him hitting on the groupies around the stage while Crimson Dawn went through their repertoire. I was dreading the moment he would join us and insist on a wager progress report. I did, however, enjoy watching him get repeatedly shot down in his efforts to score. Everyone in the bar watched as a voluptuous blond pushed him away and wagged a finger in his reddening face. No one had to hear her words as the rebuke to his advances was obvious.

Nuggs had been watching as well and his mood sank as he realized neither he or Dougie had any likelihood of getting laid tonight.