GOLDEN GIRL

FICTION

Dee Raymond-Canada

There was no one at all on the jetty to assist the Esperance in its docking manuevers. Not that help was really needed, for the schooner was adequately equipped with two powerful diesel engines for emer- genices at sea and for easier manuevering in narrow waters like Porter's Bay. Greg was off the yacht in a flash to begin tieing her up to the dock. While her husband occupied himself with the wheel, Kate Porter was able to look over the 'settled' part of the island her sister-in-law had owned. There was no sign of life in the thatched huts across the bay from the quay, huts that were obviously of native origin. A broad, well-worn path encircled the small inlet, where the Porters' yacht was now tied up and passed in front of the huts before turning into the dense forest growth that came down, on all sides, almost to the water's edge.

"Doesn't look like there's anyone home," mumbled Cathy. She was 17, and had to be coerced into accompanying the family on this trip.

Mrs. Porter pursed her lips. She was an attractive, middle-aged woman, sure of the undying love of her banker-politician husband, and struggling at present with the vagaries of trying to raise two willful and opinionated teenagers. When the native from Porter's Bay had arrived in Nassau with word that Eleanor Porter had died the week before, Kate had known that there was only one thing to do. Propriety demanded that the rest of the family at least visit the island of Eleanor's grave, in the place to which she had retreated in such disgust ten years before. Neither Cathy nor Greg had agreed with. their mother, though Greg had soon come around when he discovered that he would be permitted to sail the Esperance with his father. Cathy, however, regretted every instant that they were on the sea.

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