Me and My Island

Them newspapers called me homeless, but that ain't the truth. I got a home. If you ask me, I got a palace! I grew up on a small island in Florida. Down here, we call 'em keys. But they’re really just little islands off the coast. My island has been our family home for a few generations. We was mostly fishin’ folk. I guess I still am, I just don’t run a fishin’ business like my grandpappy and his pop used to. When grandad first came, it was still called Clam Island.

Back in the late 40s, when my daddy was a teenager, he would take fresh fish over to the big house on the north end of the island. It was owned by a nice business man from somewhere up in the midwest. He had a wife and a son, but his son was grown. I’m not sure why they needed such a big house, but I guess that’s just what they wanted. I always called him Mr. Henry.

Mr. Henry took a likin’ to my daddy, said he was a real Southern gentleman. I’m not sure how he knew that daddy was one of the most trustworthy and honest men to ever walk God’s green earth, but he did. Used to say, “George, I think I could trust you with the Hope diamond.” Whatever that means, I’m not sure, but I do know he was sayin’ my daddy was a real Honest Abe. He was too.

When daddy married momma, Mr. Henry offered him a job. He asked him to come tend to the grounds of his estate. And that’s where the family line of fishermen ended. When I came along, Mr. Henry had a small cottage built on the grounds of his big estate just for us. One room was about all we needed. In summer, we spent most of our evenin’s on the big front porch because it was cooler than inside the house. Momma and daddy had a bed in one corner of the room, which was surrounded by a fancy ratan screen that Mr. Henry’s wife gave us as a house warmin’ present. I had a small cot on the other side of the room, and in the middle, under a window, was a square table and four chairs where we ate our meals, played cards, and did any kind of writin’ or tinkerin’.

There was a door at the back of the room that led to another porch, and on the other side of it was our little kitchin. Momma’s spinning wheel was out there. She sat on that back porch most days, workin’ in the cool of the shade, darnin’ socks, fixin’ buttons, churnin’ butter, and whatever else she had to do.

Momma taught my lessons (readin’, writin’, and such) at the little table in our house. And after they was done, I went out to help daddy in the yard. We had our dinner in mid-day, and then daddy went back to work. I was allowed to explore my island until supper time.

I had a few friends here and there, but for the most part, I just wasn’t a person who needed to be around a lot of people. The island was my friend. The dolphins and the manatees were my friends. The ibis and the great blue heron and the egret were my friends. I enjoyed all the creatures of my island more than I enjoyed bein’ around people, I guess. I never felt lonely a day in my life.

When daddy was too old to do the work on Mr. Henry’s estate, I did it. I was sad to learn about Mr. Henry’s passin’. Daddy and Momma were both pretty old themselves when he passed. We didn’t know what would happen to the place, but we weren’t the worryin’ sort.

It took many years for them to sell that big house. It’s no wonder. I was always amazed that one person could have that much money, so I wasn’t sure they’d ever find another one. No one ever came to tell us to leave, so we stayed. I took care of the grounds as I always had, and I took care of momma and daddy too until their time came -- daddy first and momma not much after.

One day, a bunch of cars started comin’ and goin’. Looked to me like they was showin’ the place off to folks who might want to buy it. I don’t know how much it was worth, but Mr. Schuyler and his family bought the place. That was about ten years ago now.

Right away, he come knockin’ on my door. “Mr. Daniels?” I was surprised he knew my name.

“Yes sir.”

“I’m Michael Schuyler.” He reached out his hand to shake mine. “My family and I have just moved in.”

“Welcome.”

“Mr. Daniels, when the previous owner died, he left explicit instructions in his will that the house could only be sold with the understanding that you and your family were allowed to live in this cottage for as long as you’d like, the rest of your life if you choose.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes sir. I’m guessing it’s just you now?”

“Yes it is.”

“The cottage is still owned by the estate, which means you wouldn’t be able to rent it out or sell it, but you’re welcome to stay.”

“Why that’s mighty kind of you. Thank you for lettin’ me know, Mr. Schuyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Can I offer you a glass of lemonade?”

“That would be very nice. Thank you.” I always have some fresh lemonade on hand. Nothing more refreshin’ in the Florida heat, if you ask me. Mr. Schuyler sat down at the little table -- same one that had been there all my life.

“Mr. Daniels, I’m guessing that you have been keeping up the grounds all these years.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I might ask, how did you support yourself without pay?”

“Oh, I don’t need much. I grow my own fruits and vegetables in that there little garden, and I fish right here in the bay. But I do have some income. See them little boxes out there?”

“Bee hives?”

“My momma used to keep bees. She made honey and used the wax for all sorts of things. She had a little cart that she wheeled out to the road on Saturdays. After she couldn’t do it no more, I just kept doin’ it for her. Now with all these tourists and people movin’ in here, I sell my wares before the sun gets high in the sky. That gives me more than enough, plus some to save for a rainy day.”

“That’s admirable, Mr. Daniels. My wife and I have contracted with a company to do the groundskeeping and landscaping, so you won’t need to do that any longer, but I suspect they will be grateful for your bees pollinating their flowers. I’d even be willing to donate a few more hives if you’d be willing to keep them.”

“Sure would. If I don’t need to worry about the lawn and such anymore, I’ll have some more time on my hands.”

After that, I took to walkin’ around my island more often. Things sure did change here. They say it’s progress, but I’m not so sure I agree.

On the day that made the newspapers show up on my doorstep, I was passin’ one of them big hotels that block the view of the Gulf. I suppose I’m the sort who takes my time and looks ‘round more than some folk. I noticed a brown paper bag under a hibiscus bush. When I opened it, I saw a little black book inside. I flipped through the pages, and I knew three things for sure. One - someone had spent a lot of time in this book. Most of them pages was filled with writin’ and sketches. Two -- It was a girl’s book. I could tell by the bubbly shaped letters. And three -- it was none of my business what she wrote.

I considered leavin’ it there, but then I thought the better of it. Whoever spent all that time writin’ them words and drawin’ them pictures would want it back. I took it into the hotel, but the lady behind the front desk looked like I was handin’ her someone’s dirty socks. Somethin’ in her expression told me loud and clear that she was gonna toss it in the trash when I left.

“On second thought, I’ll take it.”

Thinkin’ back on it, it seems a bit crazy to imagine the police would care about some young girl’s diary, but I’m glad I didn’t let good sense stop me. When I handed it to the officer, he didn’t seem too bothered by it. He asked me some questions, filled out a form and said they’d keep it if someone came lookin’ for it. Best I could do, I thought, and that was that. But not too long after, a knock came at my door. It was two men in suits. I figured they were lookin’ for Mr. Schuyler, but they was there for me.

“Mr. Daniels?”

“Yes?”

“We presume you’re aware of what’s happened with the girl?”

“Which girl, now?”

“Mr. Daniels, the diary that you turned into the police last week?”

“Yes, I brought in a little black book that I found outside the Pink Papaya hotel out there on Midnight Pass.”

“Sir, that diary belonged to a fourteen-year-old girl who had been taken outside the hotel while on vacation with her parents. She had been missing for 48 hours when you brought in the book. She wrote in her diary about an older boy who had been flirting with her at the pool and she sketched a picture of him leaning against his car. We tracked the license plate number in her sketch, and it led us to her whereabouts. The girl has been safely returned to her parents.”

“You don’t say!” I just stood listenin’. My jaw musta been hangin’ wide open.

“Mr. Daniels, the young man was an underling for a human trafficking ring that runs from Miami to Tampa.”

“Human what?”

“They kidnap teens and young adults -- boys and girls -- and then sell them, usually into the sex industry.”

My head was spinnin’. I couldn't even wrap my mind around what these men were sayin’. I had to sit down just to take it all in.

“Mr. Daniels, we’re here today because there is a cash reward. Your actions led directly to the return of the girl and the capture of some of the members of the trafficking ring.”

Truth be told, I had no idea what to do with $20,000, but I was sure someone would. I talked to Mr. Schuyler because he seemed to know a lot about money. He asked me if I had any charities that I wanted to support. I guess I’d never thought ‘bout that.

“Well, is there anything that troubles you? Anything you’d like to see improved?”

I scratched my head. “I tell you what. Ever since I heard them men talk about that human traffickin’, it has haunted me. I can’t imagine people buyin’ or sellin’ other people.”

“There is an organization here in town that helps people who have been rescued from trafficking. They give victims a safe place to live while they rehabilitate them and help them learn skills they can use to live successfully and earn a living.”

“Well, I bet they can use that money much more than I can.”

I s’pose my life has been a little more crowded since then, but it won’t last long. Soon ‘nough it will just be me and my island again.