The Tide Pool

Melody was out of the house at the first sign that the rain was letting up. It had been pouring for days, and her grandmother’s house was starting to feel awfully small. The idea had been so exciting when her parents proposed it last fall. A whole summer with her grandmother at her cottage on the coast of Maine. She’d been there before, a week here and there with her parents, but a whole two months! Without her parents. The idea felt so grown up and independent.

At first it was wonderful. Her grandmother had planned special outings, a shopping trip that resulted in a new blue and white dress, dinner at the Harbor Club, ice cream on the boardwalk. But after the first week, the reality started to set in. Melody was a young girl who was used to spending her time among a gaggle of children, constantly in motion, constructing wild adventures and games of imagination. And her grandmother was a venerable woman of society, used to her schedule of social visits, tea with the other wealthy matrons who were not particularly amenable to a young, spirited girl running around.

And then as both Melody and her grandmother were really starting to wonder just what the next two months would look like, a late Nor’easter rolled over the coast with unusual strength and intensity for June. Her grandmother had always been a little afraid of storms (though she would never admit it) and typically used them as an excuse to stay home, reading, knitting, writing letters, or some other solitary pastime, and so wasn’t quite sure exactly what to do with this other small being who spent all day looking politely bored.

So on Tuesday, when Melody woke up and the rain was not much more than a cold cloudy drizzle, she announced that she was going to go out for a walk along the coast. “I want to go look at the tide pools this morning, Grandmother. I’m sure after the storm they’ll be quite interesting.”

Her grandmother looked up from a book and smiled with relief. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, dear. Wear a coat, and be back by lunchtime.”

Melody grabbed her coat on the way out and wrapped it around her tightly as she stepped out into the dreary day. Soon enough, though, she felt warm enough, blood flowing from her brisk pace and the sight of the rocky coastline distracting her. She always loved low tide near her grandmother’s cottage, with the way the water drew back and lay bare the strange rocky terrain underneath it. She clambered her way over the exposed stones, peeking into tide pools to watch the trapped fish dart around the anemones and sea urchins, running her hands through the cool water and watching the ripples bounce back off the walls and scatter her reflection.

Eventually she decided to sit and take a break, resting on a flat rock overlooking the ocean. She listened to the waves crash against the shore, spraying up foam in sudden jets briefly portended by the noise. She had her hand in a pool next to her, idly swirling it through the water, when she felt a sudden small pinch on her finger. “Ow!” she said, drawing it out suddenly. She saw a slight red welt on her finger and looked down to see what had caused this injury.

There in the tide pool, she saw a strange-looking black and white crab. A distinct coloration and pattern she’d never seen before on her previous forays out on this beach. But most strange of all, she realized, was that some of this pattern was not the natural color of this crab’s shell. No, in fact, the animal was sporting a small black and white captain’s hat, resting on top of its head, remaining affixed through some mysterious means.

The crab clambered out of the tide pool, and then to Melody’s amazement it spoke to her in a clear, strong voice.

“Good day, my dear Melody. I have been looking all over for you the last few days! I’m so glad this storm cleared up so you and I can have a nice talk.”