—HENRY DAVID THOREAU The little Boston Whaler bounced across the harbor, leaving a narrow trail of white foam in its wake. Flecks of salt water speckled Olivia’s face, hair, and hands, but she didn’t mind. Neither did Haviland, who licked at the air and smiled widely. The poodle enjoyed a boat ride even more than a car trip because he could stand on the deck. He was so content that he appeared to have forgiven Olivia for strapping him into a canine life jacket. For her own part, Olivia had refused the boatman’s offer of a life jacket. She wanted to feel the wind ripple her clothing and gently chafe her skin. Besides, the harbor was calm today and the man working the shift and throttle levers handled them deftly, his alert gaze constantly sweeping from east to west in search of approaching vessels. She’d found her ride to the creek that ran alongside the eastern boundary of the Croatan National Forest by asking questions at the docks on Friday afternoon.
