Jigsaw Island

By Stephen Stanley

At the height of the Great Depression in 1932, two strangers arrive on Maine’s Jigsaw Island. Artist Ben Turner has fled the desperation of New York City to wait out the hard times and find inspiration. Muriel Peters, along with her son Andrew, arrive on Jigsaw Island to seek a new start. For each, Jigsaw Island will be a place of new beginnings and discoveries.In the midst of the worst economic disaster of the twentieth century, the newcomers will have to establish new ties in a beautiful, but alien landscape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Stanley
• Release date: May 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458010339

Stephen Stanley

Stephen E. Stanley has been an educator for over thirty years, first as a high school English instructor and then as a full-time teacher mentor for secondary education in a large New Hampshire school district. He grew up in Bath, Maine and currently resides in New Hampshire.

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Jigsaw Island

Stephen E. Stanley

Jigsaw Island

© 2011 by Stephen E. Stanley

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Smashwords Edition, 2011

Stonefield Publishing 2011

Author's Note:

Jigsaw Island is a work of fiction, or perhaps I should say a fictionalized account of events and characters from stories I heard as a child. All characters, names, institutions, and situations depicted in the book are the product of my imagination.

There is no Jigsaw Island, though Maine has well over three thousand islands, of which one-third are inhabited to one degree or another.

Smashwords Edition, 2011

Stonefield Publishing

Portland, Maine

[e-mail]

Author’s Web page: http://stephenestanley.com/

Special thanks to Raymond Brooks for his support and help .

Also by Stephen E. Stanley:

A MIDCOAST MURDER

A Jesse Ashworth Mystery

MURDER IN THE CHOIR ROOM

A Jesse Ashworth Mystery

THE BIG BOYS DECTECTIVE AGENCY

A Jesse Ashworth Mystery

"No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main...."

--John Donne 1624

Chapter 1

The red sunset burned over the water and the lights on the island began to glow against the fading daylight. There was no electricity on the island as there were too few year-round residences to support a light company. Even so, there was light streaming out of every window on Jigsaw Island, and music and laughter were as common as the cry of the gulls at sunrise.

Most of the year-round houses huddled together in the little village by the wharf as if to ward off the cold, darkness, and loneliness of the Maine winters. The seasonal cottages were spread out further from the village and many of them had fantastic views of the granite cliffs and the scrub pine woods.

After the stock market crashed in 1929 and the failure of economic recovery in the two years following, Ben Turner packed up his paints and canvasses and left New York City for good. Most of his friends had lost money or jobs or both and the city had become too depressing for inspiration. When Ben’s grandfather, Josiah Turner died and left him the house on Jigsaw Island, it made perfect sense for Ben to take over the island house.

Jigsaw Island had been a haven for artists since the 1890’s when it was discovered by the art world through Josiah Turner’s paintings when his art was first displayed in New York galleries. His own style of Fauvism was briefly in vogue at the turn of the century. When the reality of World War I broke onto the conscience of America, Josiah gave them dreamy, romantic landscapes as an aesthetic escape.

Ben had lived in the shadow of his grandfather’s fame all his life. As an adult he often denied any relationship to his grandfather, saying only the last name was a coincidence. Ben’s father, Black Jack Turner, though gifted, had no aspirations to be an artist, preferring instead the steady income of a private school art teacher.

In 1932 nearly 24.1 percent of the American population was unemployed, but the Depression was scarcely felt on the Island, not because the inhabitants were well off, but just the opposite. Life on the island had always been harsh and difficult even in the best of times. Only the Atlantic Hotel, which sat on a hill at the top of the village, had noticed an increase in visitors, and managed to make enough money to stay open for the summer season and beyond.

Ben’s red cottage was just outside the village and in easy walking distance to it. In fact the island was only two miles long and half a mile wide, so everything was in walking distance. There were no automobiles on the island, just Richard Crooker’s draft horses and wagons. Richard made a decent living hauling luggage up to the hotel and coal and freight to the houses on the island.

One bedroom, a small kitchen and a parlor were all Ben really needed. It was a bonus that the second bedroom had been modified into an artist studio. His grandfather had spent every summer on the island and the little house was well kept and in good repair. Ben had been there several times as a child, but Black Jack and Josiah did not get along well, and the visits were brief and few. Ben couldn’t believe his good fortune to have a house he could live in for free. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to live on an island, but things were bad in New York, and it would be best to just sit tight for a year or two. The only obstacle in Ben’s mind was the fear that he might run out of things to paint. But after all, his grandfather had painted on the island for thirty years.

Ben arrived with his bags on the mail boat and headed straight to the cottage. He had bought some new furnishings for the house but had to wait for the freight delivery. On the first day he cleaned and painted the three rooms and threw out much of the junk his grandfather had collected. He gave away the old furniture to some eager locals who were more than glad to take it. Ben unpacked his clothes and art supplies and slept on the floor until his furniture arrived three days later.

Thirteen year old Andrew Peters had been in and out of Boston hospitals for the last three years. He was not sick, but his mother worked in the hospital and so Andrew spent much of his time amusing himself in the waiting room. His mother, Muriel often had to work in the evenings, and she lived in fear that the Boston social service people would accuse her of child neglect and take him away. At times she was troubled with debilitating headaches and became a patient herself

I’m sorry, said the emergency room doctor on her last visit to the emergency room, but there is nothing we can do. You have severe migraine headaches, and it is causing the crippling pain. The good news is that we’ve ruled out brain tumors as a cause, but the problem is that we don’t know what is causing the migraines. We can give you some medicine for the pain, but you should only use it when you absolutely have to, said the doctor. He was very kind and she had worked side-by-side with him for three years.

How long do I have? asked Muriel. She was sure that she was dying and the doctor was trying to spare her. What would become of Andrew?

You are going to die, but not from the migraines, and not for a long, long time. In other words, like the rest of us, you will die someday. But the migraines are not going to kill you.

Honest? asked Muriel. She couldn’t believe it.

Honest! replied the doctor. "But, as your friend, I suggest you find a less stressful job. I think the source of your headaches is too much worry about Peter and too much hard work. You’re a good mother and he’ll be fine.

**************

Richard Crooker’s wagon pulled up in front of Ben’s cottage. Ben had sold and given away his furniture in the city and had bought a few new pieces in Rockland. Richard and his son Darryl began to unload the wagon.

Welcome to the island! said Richard as he and his son brought in the steel bed frame. Where is this going? he asked.

Up the stairs. There’s only one room up there, replied Ben.

I know. I’ve been here many times. I was a friend of your grandfather.

Did he have a lot of friends on the island? asked Ben. He realized that he really didn’t know a lot about his grandfather’s life.

Everyone knew and liked him. Everyone is looking forward to meeting you, said Darryl from the top of the stairs.

Before long they had unloaded the furniture from the wagon. There was the bed and dresser for upstairs, a chair and sofa for the parlor, and a kitchen table and chairs. The last piece was the most expensive. It was a new Atwater Kent farm radio.

The young Brewster kid comes around and takes people’s radio batteries to his father’s shop to be charged. He’s got quite a little business going. Anytime you need a charge, just stop in to the shop and little Billy will be around with his wagon. Richard enjoyed giving Ben information about the island. More people meant more business for everyone.

Thanks, I wasn’t sure how that was going to work, Ben replied. I did notice that everyone seems to have radio antennas up."

We’re not as isolated as everyone thinks, joined in Darryl. We get the daily papers on the mail boat, and most of us have radios. The hotel shows movies, too.

Really? That’s good to know.

The hotel is the social center of town and so is the general store. Gertie Sewell runs the store and is the post mistress as well. Nothing gets by her.

Ben was perched on the top of the ladder, winding wire around a glass insulator. When he was finished he had a radio antenna that stretched from his house to a nearby tree. With any luck he would be able to listen to the evening news. With limited battery power, he would have to carefully plan out his listening. In fact, he pondered, everything about life on the island would require planning. Briefly he doubted the wisdom of moving from New York to this tiny island. Then the images of the masses of the hungry unemployed roaming the city streets brought him back to reality. New York was no longer the prosperous and carefree city it had been before the crash. It was gritty and grim. At least on the island there was light and fresh air.

It was time for Ben to make his way around the island. He was all moved in and set up, his studio was ready to go, and Ben realized he would be dependent on the local businesses for the goods and services he would need. His first stop was to the general store.

The tiny woman behind the counter had white hair and a tan and wrinkled face, like a dried apple.

I’ve got some mail for you dear, she said when she saw Ben. He was surprised when she handed him a letter.

How do you know who I am? he asked.

How many new faces do you think we see here this time of year, Hon.?

I guess I never gave it much thought, he answered. Could you fill this order for me? He handed her a list of groceries.

She grabbed the can goods he had requested and stacked them on the counter. Shall I run a tab for you? she asked.

Oh, no. I’ll pay now, he answered.

Oh, Honey, she said smiling. We’re going to get along just fine!

The letter was from Ben’s father. Black Jack wrote every month in an attempt to connect with his son. It was a strained relationship. Ben’s mother died when Ben was ten and Black Jack had remarried shortly after that. Ben and his stepmother got along fine, but his new siblings were much younger than he was, and he always felt like an outsider. Black Jack, for his part, was a distant parent at best, preferring to spend his time with his students rather than his family.

Ben folded the letter and put it in his pocket. He would answer in due course, but there were more pressing things on his mind. Since it was lunch time, Ben dropped off his groceries at home and headed to the Atlantic Hotel for lunch. He knew that most of the social life of the island revolved around the hotel. Ben had never been inside the hotel because his visits to his grandfather’s had been brief. The hotel was the most visible building on the island. It sat up on a hill and had a commanding view of the small harbor and the Atlantic beyond.

Ben was seated in the dining room at a table that gave him a good view of the island homes below. Off in the distance he could see a sliver of red, which was his own house. There were only a few other diners present as Ben looked at the menu and ordered bowl of clam chowder.

In another part of the hotel, John Gage, the manager, was wondering how he was going to staff the hotel for the busy summer. One or two of the island women worked days changing linen and waiting tables, but there weren’t enough of them to fully staff the hotel. In past summers he had hired students to come and spend the summers working at the hotel. The back wing of the building held several rooms for the staff as well as a staff kitchen and dining room. The girls almost always became homesick and had a hard time adjusting to island life. They either left or they were miserable. Even if they stayed, they left before Labor Day to return to school, leaving the hotel short staffed at one of the busiest times.

A stack of letters had come across John’s desk, inquiring about jobs. With many out of work and desperate, John felt it might be time to look for year-round workers. He was not able to offer them much in the way of salary, but he could offer them modest room and board, and they would make money in tips as well and a small paycheck from the hotel. As it was, there were four year-round residents of the hotel. All four of them were elderly and no longer interested in keeping house. Whoever he hired would have to stay and take care of the four residents during the winter.

The last letter John looked at caught his attention. The applicant had worked as a nurse’s aide in a large Boston hospital. A young widow with a child, John thought would be motivated to settle down in a small community like Jigsaw Island. John picked up his pen and wrote back.

Chapter 2

Ben Turner sat in front of the radio and twisted the dials trying to find a good signal for the evening news. News programs on the radio had become more frequent and had garnered a large listening audience in March when the Lindberg kidnapping took place. Listeners developed the habit of checking the news for updates and discovered that the radio offered news in a much more timely way than newspapers. The story had ended tragically just a few days ago