In the Shadow of Ely Marsh

By Stefan Kulakowski

Let Elizabeth Blackwell recall for you a summer of intrigue and an event that changed her life forever.
"I didn't know it at the time, but the events that were unfolding were the beginning of my life changing. I watched Daddy disappear down to the dock, when the only thing visible was a small flicker from his flashlight in the distance. There were no sounds. How strange this was. Momma and I stood there looking out the old screen door. I'm not sure why Daddy went down to the dock; the screaming didn't even come from that direction. I didn't ask. Momma made a fuss but Daddy ignored her. I suppose I kept quiet because I knew the pecking order and knew my place, besides, the man was my Daddy and he must have known what he was doing. His time investigating seemed endless."
Liz has a cursed life, expected to follow her father into the family fishing business but she rebelled and only wished she had the life of other wealthy Savannahians. From her family's dock she can see the Ely's mansion across the marsh that holds their namesake. Liz wallows in pity and finds the hard road of alcohol and drugs the route to escape her unhappiness. Misfortune follows her as she is whirled into a murder mystery and attempts to escape to a small fishing village in Northern Florida. She eventually must face her demons, her family, and herself to come to grips with the realities of her life.
In the Shadow of Ely Marsh, explores life's toughest challenges through adventure, mystery, crime, and redemption. You will meet her upstanding and over achieving big brother Wright; her nemesis and former lover Wade Turner, and Dixie, a friend to whom Liz unexpectedly seeks to escape from her troubles. The characters create intrigue as well as adventure and soul searching as you venture into the Shadow of Ely Marsh.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stefan Kulakowski
• Release date: Oct 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301156429

Stefan Kulakowski

Stefan Kulakowski grew up in Ft. Myers Florida enjoying the salty Gulf of Mexico and the area beaches. He now resides in Tallahassee after attending the Florida State University and getting a Bachelor of Science in Criminology in 1985. He's always had a passion for enjoying good conversation and learning from the people he's met, places he's been, and life's experiences to create unique characters to write about. Stefan still enjoys travel to small coastal communities, the beach, fishing, camping, and time with his grown children Chris and Nicole.

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In the Shadow of Ely Marsh

Published by Stefan Kulakowski at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 by Stefan Kulakowski

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CHAPTER ONE

By the time I was sixteen my hands were scarred by the sharp edges of blue crab shells. Momma was my caretaker, and Daddy spent most days haulin’ crab traps. Daddy was so exhausted when he came home that he would barely have enough energy to throw a quick smile my way and tell me how beautiful I was. Ely Marsh was our home.

My past 60 years have been spent here growing up in the shadow of this place. Ely Marsh was named after a wealthy cotton merchant whose family had resided here for 200 years and built the stately mansion that keeps watch over the other families like mine, whose circumstances were not quite as fortunate as the Ely’s.

Unlike my life here in the marsh there is another existence. In the distance, the tourists come to Savannah to ride the trolley and spend their easy earned money on Ghost Tours and drinking in bars on River Street. They tour the garden squares and the Owen-Thomas House, among others, and observe the old Southern culture that hangs in the air like the moss draping from the oaks. Undoubtedly, they believe the average Savannahian has a life full of garden parties and society balls. I see it very differently having grown up here. We weren’t in the social scene. Daddy didn’t much believe in that. Daddy believed in hard work. He raised us close, and we spent our days working hard in the marsh and Ossabaw Sound to earn a living and taking in the things that were important to us. Church brought us together as a spiritual unit and tied my family together with others in the area as it has for so many generations. I strayed from those beliefs and turned rebellious. At the time I did what was needed to escape a life I hated. I didn’t know any better. I think my family forgave me in the end, but it was hard to tell.

The winters were sometimes long however when the seasons changed, the sunsets and summer breezes brought relief from a hard day of work. We lived for the small things. I often tire easily now, recounting my life and looking forward to the sunsets I have yet to encounter and trying make up for the ones I’ve missed.

My name is Elizabeth Blackwell, and this is my story of a summer of change. Come with me on this journey and experience a summer in Ely Marsh as I have.

To know me is to love me, my Daddy used to say. I’m not sure what love is or what it stands for. I know the marsh has brought heart ache and bitterness to a world they say is full of love and happiness. To really know me, one would have to look deep into my soul, to my heart, my fears, my sacrifices, my desires, the marsh, but most of all, my family. This is where my journey begins.

Nothing much about my life is really unusual, I guess. I was born to parents who were together for 37 years, for better or worse. My brother Wright is two years older than I; he turned his back on the marsh as soon as he was old enough to leave. Wright held a great deal of bitterness towards people like the Ely’s; he felt the Ely’s would never let us Blackwell’s gain a thing in this world. He saw their money and power as a form of corruption. Perhaps it was.

Wright got his revenge through brains and hard work. He left for Atlanta, to go to Emory University on a full scholarship. He often joked about his worthy poor boy scholarship, but as long as he got out of Ely Marsh, he would take whatever others would give him.

Wright is a lawyer now, a partner with a large firm in Atlanta, married to a sorority girl named Katie, who was born into a life of privilege much like the Ely’s. I often felt during Wright’s too short visits home, usually a couple of hours while en route to Katie’s family’s summer home in Hilton Head, that he believed he would never be able to prove himself worthy of a girl like Katie, with her perfect teeth, expensive yet understated clothes, and an air of quiet self-assurance that only those born into such a life could know. His feeling always persisted, despite Katie’s admonishments that she never cared about where he came from, only where he was headed in life. Her parents, too, always seemed to accept Wright on his own terms, admiring of his desire to better himself and make his own way in the world. But none of this mattered to Wright.

The summer that changed my life started like any other in the marsh. The weather turned humid, hot, salty and muggy. Daddy’s consistent hard work on his crab boat kept us with minimum food and few new clothes. The sights, sounds, and harmony of Ely Marsh kept pace with life. I would like to say life was a steady stream of experiences that lead one to feel a sense of wisdom and accomplishment as you age, but that’s someone else’s life my mind often drifts back to that summer.

Lizbeth, I need to talk to you before your Daddy gets back to the dock. Momma said in her soft but raspy voice.

Momma was getting old and frail in her years, but she was always a fisherman’s wife and could still hold her own.

I need to send you to Doc Fleming’s office to fill Daddy’s prescription. She stated.

Yes, Ma’am! I replied.

I never questioned Momma. I would never think to ask what the prescription was for, although I always knew. We’ve survived here as a family because we were the sort of family who always looked out for the other and had a keen understanding of the family pecking order. Daddy was head of the household. Momma let Daddy have the final say, but she always was vocal about what she wanted.

Momma would joke, Daddy may be the head of the household, but I’m the neck, and I turn the head.

I always understood that Momma and Daddy were in charge, and I was to honor their wishes and obey their authority. However, the exception to the pecking order may be Wright. He was off on his own and really never looked back too often. There were times when, like Wright did, I would dream of running away to a new and exciting life. I often ask myself what I could do to escape from this place in the same way, but I seem to always come back to reality. Wright was a boy, and in the South that made all the difference. Wright could ruffle feathers by leaving home and exerting his independence, but I was expected to be the dutiful daughter, and stay close to home and endure the harsh fishing life, maybe marry a local boy, but always be there for Momma and Daddy. I remembered a time when I was 15 or so that I was gazing at a copy of National Geographic, speculating how I could get to the glamour of Manhattan shown in those glossy pages. I was a talented artist, and I could imagine myself working for a Madison Avenue advertising agency drawing pictures, or even working as art gallery manager.

My mother was quick to snort in a derisive way and informed me, My god, Beth, New York is a horrid place, full of horrid people. Why on earth would you want to go there? Besides, you’ve got no sense of how to act in a big city. You’re from Ely Marsh and don’t need to get above your raising.

It may sound harsh, but I know Momma said it as much out of fear for my safety, as her own concern of being left alone. I felt trapped a lot, and was downright jealous of Wright at times, but then I did get scared at the idea of leaving the only home I’d ever known, and of meeting people I hadn’t known my whole life who would likely make fun of my accent and public school education. I blame my Daddy for most of my stunted upbringing.

Momma took care of Daddy like a mother hen to her chicks. Every morning in a consistent manner Daddy would walk along the dock overlooking the marsh and hop aboard his boat. Momma would check and make sure he had his coat and tool box. It was a routine that never seemed to fade. Momma waved as he set out on his route through Rockfish Creek and on past Raccoon Key. Daddy would set, check, and empty traps. At age 68 he could still throw a cast net for mullet and haul in a load. It was nothing for me to help Daddy cut up the mullet and tie the heads into the traps for the afternoon run; I suppose it was just part of the routine.

I washed my hardened hands, threw on a sun dress and gave Momma a kiss on the cheek.

I’ll be back soon from Doc Fleming’s office, Momma. Is there anything else we need?I asked.

She simply shook her head no and walked in the kitchen. I grabbed my hair brush and keys and set off to Dr. Fleming’s.

The sand driveway winds around a few palms and through a short stretch of marsh grass that offers a view of highway 204 and the bridge into old Savannah. The driveway meets hardened pavement about a half mile down and then a short drive into town. It was towards the end of the day when looking west it was as if the sky was on fire from an orangey glow that comes from the setting sun. The burn of the sun wears off and cooler air moves across the coastline with the scent of salty air. On hot days in the summer we often hoped for rain just to cool the ground. It was a nice time to drive into town.

Dr. Fleming’s office was on Whitaker Street, across from Forsyth Park. Not a bad place to have a business. It was an old historical building standing under stately oaks blending into the scenery. The family lived on the second floor above his practice. Dr. Fleming was a graduate of The University of Alabama School of Medicine and knew Daddy from way back when he would buy his seafood from the market where Daddy worked. Daddy slipped on some ice one winter and broke his shoulder. Daddy bartered Dr. Fleming to heal his shoulder and gain some pain pills in exchange for some fresh seafood. Dr. Fleming didn’t mind. Daddy had been seeing Dr. Fleming ever since, through shoulder pain, knee and back problems to heart ailments. Dr. Fleming was about Daddy’s age and spends most days in retirement. He had a no nonsense way about him that Daddy liked. In any event, I was here to get a new prescription and I slowly opened the large old door. I heard a southern lady’s voice coming from the parlor.

Honey, can I help you? Oh my child it’s you, Elizabeth, how are you my Dear? She asked.

I recognized the sweet lady as Lois Fleming, the sister of the Doc.

Very well Ma’am, thank you.I replied.

We quickly became reacquainted as I had not seen her in over a year. She walked to the back and retrieved