Chapter 3: The Sanctuary on Narragansett Bay
Clara drove twenty miles north along the rocky coastline of Narragansett Bay, turning onto a winding gravel road lined with ancient stone walls and wild bayberry bushes.
At the end of a wooded point overlooking the misty, grey waters sat *The Old Wharves of Bristol*—an 18th-century timber boatyard and sail-loft that had belonged to the Castile family since 1794.
The property was unpretentious: weathered cedar-shingled workshops, an old stone blacksmith shop with an iron chimney, and three wooden docks extending into the sheltered tidal cove.
Sitting on a wooden bench outside the main loft was Samuel Cruz. Samuel was sixty-eight, a master boatwright and veteran naval carpenter who had worked alongside Clara’s grandfather for forty years. He wore a thick wool pea coat, heavy canvas trousers, and rubber work boots, holding a mug of dark chicory tea.
Samuel stood up, his weathered face breaking into a slow, warm smile as Clara stepped out of the car into the damp, salt-scented air.
""Heard the glass break down in Newport, Clara,"" Samuel said, his voice rich and deep like seasoned heart-pine.
Clara walked up the timber slipway, taking a deep breath of the cold sea wind, smelling cedar resin, coal smoke, and tidal brine.
""The glass broke, Samuel,"" Clara smiled gently, embracing the old boatbuilder. ""Is the slipway open?""
Samuel pointed toward the open double doors of the boat shop, where the massive wooden hull of a sixty-foot historical fishing schooner rested in its cradle.
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""The timber is seasoned, the iron is forged, and the tide is turning,"" Samuel said. ""Let’s get to work.""
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