Page 35 of The Wexley Inn
“Yeah, most people don’t,” Thomas said, maneuvering his kayak next to hers. “The developed part of Wexley Island is just a small fraction of the total land. The rest is protected marsh and maritime forest.”
“Who owns it?” Isabella asked, gesturing toward the undeveloped expanse.
“A combination of the Island Conservation Trust and the State Wildlife Department. It can never be developed, and that’s one of the few things almost everyone on Wexley agrees on.”
They continued paddling. He occasionally pointed out wildlife or explained aspects of the marsh ecosystem. Isabella proved a quick study with the kayak, matching his pace with smooth, confident strokes.
“Turn here,” Thomas said as they reached a narrow opening in the marsh grass that would have been easy to miss without his guidance. “This creek gets a bit windy, but it opens up to something special.”
The channel narrowed as they proceeded, tall grass creating a natural corridor that blocked views of anything beyond their immediate surroundings. The water grew shallow enough in places that their paddles brushed the muddy bottom.
“Just go ahead,” Thomas said, leading the way around the final bend.
As they emerged from the narrow passage, the creek suddenly widened into a secluded cove, surrounded by giant ancient live oaks draped in Spanish moss. The trees formed a natural amphitheater around the water, their massive branches creating a cathedral-like canopy overhead.
Isabella gasped. “Oh, Thomas, this is magical.” The wonder in her voice surprised her. When had she stopped noticing beauty like this? More unsettling—when had sharing it with someone started to matter so much? She pushed the dangerous thought aside, focusing on the acoustics rather than the man who'd brought her here.
“Wait,” he said with a smile. “There’s more.”
He paddled into the center of the cove and stopped, motioning for her to bring her kayak next to his. When both boats were stationary, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out a simple hello.
The sound echoed perfectly around the cove, bouncing off the natural curve of the trees and returning with clarity.
“The acoustics,” she said. “It’s a natural echo chamber.”
“Try it,” Thomas encouraged.
Isabella hesitated only a moment before she called out her own greeting. Her voice returned to her in waves, the echo clear and musical.
“This is incredible,” she said. “How did you ever find this place?”
“My dad showed me when I was little,” Thomas said. “He called it the Whispering Cove, said the old-timers believed it was a place you could speak to the island itself and sometimes hear it answer back.”
She trailed her fingers through the water, watching the ripples spread outward. “I can understand why they think that. There’s something otherworldly about it.”
“I’ve always found it’s a good place to think through difficult problems,” Thomas said.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing the peaceful atmosphere of the hidden cove. A pair of wood ducks paddled nearby, looking at their human visitors with mild curiosity before continuing on their way.
“I can see why you thought this might inspire ideas for the opening celebration,” she said. “There’s a sense of calmness and discovery here, like you found something precious that’s been here all along, just waiting to be appreciated again.”
He nodded. “That’s exactly what you’re doing with the inn - revealing something valuable that was hidden beneath years of neglect.”
“I’ve been thinking about a theme that honors the past and the future,” she said. “What if we structured the opening as a journey through the inn’s history, with each room representing a different era, culminating in its vision of a new beginning?”
“That could work beautifully,” he said. “We have photographs from different periods, and Luella has all the stories we need from at least the last seventy years.”
“We can incorporate music from each era - maybe local musicians performing in different spaces throughout the building,” Isabella said, “and the menu could feature traditional Lowcountry dishes with modern interpretations.”
Thomas found himself captivated as he watched her work through her ideas, her eyes bright with the same passionate creativity that had first taken his breath thirty years ago. She gestured as she spoke, unconsciously leaning forward, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear the way he used to. This was dangerous territory, remembering how perfectly they'd once collaborated, how their minds had moved in sync.
“What do you think?” she finally asked, pausing for a breath.
“I think it’s perfect. It captures exactly what makes the inn special - its connection to the island’s past and its place in the future.”
She smiled, clearly pleased by his approval. “Thank you for bringing me here. It really does inspire me.”
“Well, there’s something else I wanted to show you while we’re out,” he said, checking his watch. “If you’re up for a bit more paddling?”
