Chapter 16
The journey was still not over. A feeling, an intuition, pulled Sarah toward the worn map that Everett had.
“Everett, let’s take a look at the map again.” Sarah’s voice was steady as she traced the faint markings on the worn parchment. Her fingertip was drawn to a small, seemingly insignificant dot near the coast. The writing around it was faded, almost illegible, but a memory stirred within both Sarah and Everett—Tom’s last journal entry had mentioned Rita’s Landing. A jolt of recognition shot through her, and she looked up at Everett with a sense of urgency in her eyes. “Rita’s Landing,” she breathed, her voice filled with a newfound understanding. Tom had known this place well, and now, its significance seemed more important than ever.
The crew gathered closer, realizing that they needed to find Rita’s Landing to uncover the reason Tom had emphasized it in his journal. The full meaning of this place was still a mystery, but they felt a growing urgency to reach it and understand its importance. They now discussed how to safely transport the sacred staff. They knew the staff was too powerful and too important to be left unprotected or easily visible. Concealing it was essential, not just to protect it from prying eyes, but to ensure it could be safely transported without drawing attention.
Riley sensed the gravity of the situation. “We need something that won’t look suspicious, something that can blend in with our gear,” she said, glancing around at their supplies. After a moment of thought, she reached into her gear and unstrapped a long, narrow tube from the side of her canoe. It had served as the protective case for her fishing rod, but now it could serve a far more important purpose. “This should do the trick,” Riley continued, handing the tube to Everett. “It’s sturdy, waterproof, and nobody will give it a second glance. Just a fishing rod, right?”
The crew, appreciating Riley’s resourcefulness, examined the tube. Its length and durability made it an ideal candidate for concealing the staff. With some additional padding and strategic placement within one of the canoes, they ingeniously repurposed Riley’s fishing rod tube into a perfect disguise for the sacred artifact. The hidden compartment seamlessly blended with their equipment, ensuring the staff’s safety as they continued to their destination.
Guided by instinct and Tom’s weathered map, they paddled onto their final stretch through Renegade Bayou. The cool October weather had given way to temperatures in the low 80s. The sun beat down mercilessly, and mosquitoes buzzed a relentless tune. Despite the fatigue and heat, their spirits remained high, fueled by the success of finding the staff. Their unwavering determination kept them going, eager to tackle the last leg of this journey.
As they navigated the tangled mangroves and oyster beds, the sound of paddles dipping into the water and the warm air was almost hypnotic. Progressing forward, they recounted the different aspects of their journey and speculated on what might lie ahead.
After what felt like a long, winding journey, they emerged into a hidden cove. Sunlight glittered like diamonds on the shallow water, revealing a rustic fish camp jutting out over the water, surrounded by the marsh scrub of mangroves, palmettos, and bay trees. A wooden sign up top, with faded lettering, read “Rita’s Landing.” They were approaching their final destination. Relief and interest filled the crew as they paddled closer.
Surprise crossed the leathered face of an older man with eyes as blue as the sky. Standing on the sun-bleached deck, he took in the sight of unfamiliar faces approaching. “Welcome, strangers,” he called out. As they drew nearer, Wally’s tone turned curious, “What brings you out to these parts?”
The crew secured their canoes to a makeshift landing and climbed up onto the outside deck, taking in the rustic charm of the place. “First thing on our agenda is an ice-cold beer,” a determined Riley spoke up. Everyone nodding their heads in agreement.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” answered Wally, beckoning them inside.
Inside the rustic central room of Rita’s Landing, was the kind of place where the floorboards creaked a welcome and the air hung thick with the aroma of fried fish and conch fritters.
There were just a handful of wooden tables and chairs. Each table had a faded red gingham tablecloth, salt and pepper shakers, a bottle of Da’Til’s Datil Pepper Sauce, and a small single-page laminated menu. Inside, a handful of locals sat eating and talking about the morning’s catch, their faces etched with the lines of lives lived close to the water.
Up front was a long wooden bar lined with empty barstools, except for a man who looked like sun-bleached driftwood, sitting at one end with a cold beer, smoking a cigar. Overhead, several ceiling fans stirred the semi-cool air, swirling the smell of sweet cigar smoke.
Everett, Sarah, Remy, Maggie, and Riley all pulled themselves up onto the barstools just as Wally asked, “What can I get you?” As if in unison, the heat-fatigued crew answered, “A cold beer… give us your house favorite.”
“You got it.” Wally then proceeded to fill five frosted pints with Bayou Breeze Pale Ale, a hazy orange brew, a full-bodied, crisp beer, pleasant to the mouth and refreshing.
“Whoa, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Everett exclaimed. The sentiment echoed among them as they all agreed, raising their glasses in a toast to their mission, their friendship, and to Tom Rivers. With each swallow of Bayou Breeze, they quenched their thirsts and celebrated this moment.
Sarah briefly shared their mission, the quest for Tom’s legacy they sought in Renegade Bayou. Wally listened intently, his face reflecting a mix of curiosity and recognition. Finally, after hearing their story, Wally’s eyes lit up with understanding.
“Do much business out here in the boondocks?” Remy inquired, looking around at the almost empty room.
“This place is long past paid off, and the locals living throughout the bayou keep me in business. A mixture of oystermen, fishermen, a few ex-drug runners… a motley crew!”
Riley, already eyeing the mounted fish trophies with the air of a connoisseur, began telling tales of the “ones that got away.”
When the conversation died down for a moment, Wally’s gaze shifted back to the paddlers, and he spoke to Sarah.
“About that journal you mentioned a moment ago,” he said empathetically.
“I knew Tom Rivers; he was a good man,” Wally continued, his eyes distant as he reminisced. Sarah’s eyes opened wide with intrigue.
“Wary of the imminent danger from artifact poachers in the bayou, he entrusted me with these,” pointing to the journal and map Sarah had placed on the bar.
“He said, if anything happened to him, to make sure to get them to Fran Rivers down at Sunset View RV Park in Cedar Key.”
Sarah couldn’t hold her amazement. “That’s my Aunt Fran! I was just down there three weeks ago helping her recover from Hurricane Maya, and that’s where I came across them.”
“Fran mentioned a man giving her the journal and map and that she hadn’t had time to go over them,” added Sarah.
The mention of poachers cast a shadow over the moment, a reminder of the perils Tom faced in protecting the sacred staff. Wally continued, “Tom was more than just a visitor here. He believed in healing, not just the body but the community. In the midst of tragedy, he sought solace in this hidden haven.”
Wally continued to share stories of how Tom, with his knowledge of natural remedies, healed not just physical ailments but also the hearts of the local community.
Everett chimed in, “Wally, this is amazing. How about another Breeze for everyone while we’re listening?”
“I’ve got something better than that,” Wally said, winking at the crew.
Wally went into his office and returned with a plaque from the wall, his eyes meeting Sarah’s. Inside, nestled amidst dried herbs, lay a small, worn scroll. He handed it to Sarah. “Go ahead, open it,” he said with a smile. Unfurling it with trembling fingers, Sarah recognized her grandfather’s handwriting. She continued, slowly reading the faint lettering, “A recipe?” She looked up at Wally.
“Yes, ma’am, but not just any recipe. It was the recipe for his most cherished remedy, a concoction known to hold the power of laughter, healing, and community – The Rita.” Wally continued, “He named it after a calico cat that used to hang out here. We renamed the place Rita’s Landing in honor of Tom.”
As Wally prepared a pitcher of The Rita, sharing its history and symbolism, a wave of understanding washed over Sarah. Rita’s Landing was a testament to Tom’s resilience, his belief in the healing power of community and shared joy.
The Rita, with its bittersweet tang and refreshing chill, made from 100% Blue Agave, became a symbol of their newfound purpose – to honor Tom’s legacy by carrying his light forward, spreading laughter and healing wherever they went.
As the crew moved out to the weathered porch of Rita’s Landing, sipping the healing concoction Tom had left behind, Wally’s eyes twinkled with curiosity.
“Folks, you’ve traveled a long way to this hidden haven. But how do you plan to get back from the middle of nowhere?”
Everett grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Wally, my friend, we’ve got it covered. There’s an outfitter in Cedar Key, not too far from here. They specialize in transporting paddlers and their gear back to civilization. No need to worry about battling the current for a hundred miles.”
Wally’s eyes widened with understanding. “Ah, planning ahead, I see. Smart move. If you need anything else, just let me know. Rita’s Landing might be secluded, but we take care of our own.”
As they continued to enjoy the Ritas and the amazing story of Tom Rivers, Everett using his VHF radio, discreetly made arrangements with the outfitter in Cedar Key. The logistical challenge of the return journey faded away, allowing the crew to focus on their amazing discoveries.
As the drinks flowed and the sun began dipping below the horizon, Sarah raised her glass in a toast. “To our amazing crew, who faced the challenges of Renegade Bayou together. Your support and solidarity have made this journey unforgettable.”
Everett chimed in, lifting his glass. “And to Wally, the guardian of Tom’s legacy. Thanks for protecting his journal and map, and for getting it safely to Fran. You’re an honorary member of the Paddle Posse.”
As the crew savored their drinks, Sarah’s thoughts drifted to the pendant nestled against her chest. It warmed her heart, solidifying her conviction to heal others. She reflected on the journey, the obstacles they overcame, and the bond they forged in the heart of Renegade Bayou.
The mention of poachers cast a shadow over the moment, a reminder of the perils Tom faced in protecting the sacred staff. Wally’s stories about Tom’s efforts to heal both body and community resonated deeply. Sarah vowed to continue his legacy, protecting the artifacts and sharing their wisdom.
Everett shared their plans for safeguarding the staff. “We need to ensure the staff and its knowledge are protected from poachers. We’ll work with local authorities and historians to secure its future.”
Riley, the curator of the local museum’s Timucua exhibit, nodded thoughtfully. “I can coordinate with the museum and other historians to ensure the staff is properly preserved and protected. We can also create educational programs to share its significance with the community.”
Wally nodded in agreement. “Tom would have wanted that. His work was always about healing and protecting.”
As the sun finally set, the crew raised their glasses one last time. “To Tom Rivers, whose legacy brought us together and will guide us forward,” Sarah said, her voice filled with emotion.
The crew echoed her sentiment, toasting to the journey, their friendship, and the enduring legacy of Tom Rivers. As they finished their drinks, they knew their adventure was only just beginning, with a shared mission to honor and protect the wisdom of the past.
It was now dark and beneath the thousands of stars above, the Paddle Posse felt a sense of completion and purpose. They had found the staff and uncovered the secrets of Renegade Bayou, but more importantly, they had strengthened their bonds of friendship and commitment to preserving Tom’s legacy.
As they prepared to leave Rita’s Landing the next morning, Wally handed Sarah a small parcel wrapped in weathered cloth. “Take this with you,” he said. “It’s a piece of Tom’s legacy that belongs with you now.”
Unwrapping the cloth, Sarah found a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside, nestled on a bed of soft moss, was a delicate piece of Timucua jewelry—a bracelet adorned with symbols that matched those on the staff and her pendant.
Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes as she carefully placed the bracelet on her wrist. “Thank you, Wally. This means more than words can express.”
Wally smiled warmly. “Keep it safe, and let it remind you of the connection between past and present. Tom’s spirit will always be with you.”
Their mission was clear: to honor Tom Rivers by protecting the Timucua artifacts, sharing their stories, and continuing the legacy of healing and community. The Paddle Posse, united by their journey, knew that together, they could navigate any waters and face any storm.
Their adventure in Renegade Bayou had come to an end, but the journey of preserving and honoring Tom’s legacy was just beginning. And with each sunrise, they are reminded of the power of friendship, the importance of heritage, and the enduring strength of the human spirit.
