The New Shore, page 1
BOOKS BY CAREN J. WERLINGER
Novels:
Looking Through Windows
Miserere
In This Small Spot
Neither Present Time
Year of the Monsoon
She Sings of Old, Unhappy, Far-off Things
Turning for Home
Cast Me Gently
The Beast That Never Was
When the Stars Sang (Little Sister Island #1)
A Bittersweet Garden
Invisible, as Music
Face the Wind (Little Sister Island #2)
An Unlit Candle
The New Shore (Little Sister Island #3)
Short Stories:
Twist of the Magi
Just a Normal Christmas (part of Do You Feel What I Feel? Holiday Anthology)
The Dragonmage Saga:
Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin
The Portal: The Chronicles of Caymin
The Standing Stones: The Chronicles of Caymin
The New Shore
Published by Corgyn Publishing, LLC.
Copyright © 2022 by Caren J. Werlinger
All rights reserved.
e-Book ISBN: 978-1-953070-06-7
Print ISBN: 978-1-953070-07-4
E-mail: cjwerlingerbooks@yahoo.com
Web site: www.cjwerlinger.wordpress.com
Cover design by Patty G. Henderson
http://blvdphotografica.wixsite.com/boulevard
Cover Photo: Shutterstock
Interior decoration: Can Stock Photo/Red Koala
Book design by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com
This work is copyrighted and is licensed only for use by the original purchaser and can be copied to the original purchaser’s electronic device and its memory card for your personal use. Modifying or making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, without limit, including by email, CD, DVD, memory cards, file transfer, paper printout or any other method, constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Piracy is stealing!
To all those who love Little Sister Island as much as I do
Acknowledgements
When I wrote the first novel set on Little Sister Island, I had no idea this would turn into a series. But the island herself, along with all of the characters who populate her, keep calling to me, asking me to tell their stories. We’re on number three with this novel, and I think there might be a few more.
My editor, Lisa, young thing that she is, did not recognize the reference to “By My Side”, a song from Godspell, that plays a pivotal part in this story. If you don’t know it, you may want to find it online. As usual, Lisa’s deconstruction of the story helped me to put it back together better than it was before. She’s the best!
My thanks also to Danielle for her final proofread. I know she takes it as a personal challenge to find at least one typo we’ve missed no matter how many times we’ve been through the manuscript.
To my wife, Beth, your love and encouragement keep me writing, especially at that point mid-way through every story when I’m convinced it’s garbage and not worth continuing.
To the readers who keep asking for more stories, thank you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Miss Louisa and Miss Olivia’s
Orange Cranberry Bread
About the Author
Chapter 1
Blossom lay tightly curled in his bed, his tail covering all of his face save one eye that opened every time Kathleen shifted to look out the window or got up to stride into the dining room, only to return a few seconds later.
Outside, the wind howled, screeching a little as it found tiny chinks in the seals around windows and doors, despite Molly’s best efforts to weatherproof the old bungalow. Though it was only midday, the heavy clouds and driving snow had turned everything into a perpetual dusk. If it weren’t for the gentle ticking of the mantel clock and its soft chimes every thirty minutes, it would have been impossible to tell morning from evening.
Kathleen tried to go back to her book, leaning a little toward the window for the extra bit of light it gave, but after a few minutes, she snapped the book shut and stood. Warily, she went to the dining room, where her laptop sat closed on the table. She glared at it as if it had done something to insult her. She pulled out a chair and sat for a few seconds, then started to lift the lid to wake the computer, but almost immediately shut it and stood.
“I’m going out to shovel again,” she announced. “You coming?”
Blossom was instantly alert, dancing impatiently in the foyer while she sat to lace up her boots, tucking her jeans into the gaiters and cinching them tightly. She wrapped a scarf three times around her neck, arranging one loop so it could function as a balaclava to pull over her nose and mouth. After zipping up her down jacket, she jammed a knit hat on her head and opened the door.
Blossom sprinted through and launched himself off the porch, where he promptly disappeared into the snow, so that only the tip of his tail was visible. He hopped, leaving Blossom-sized depressions in the snow as he made for the sheltering pine trees where the snow underneath was not as deep, and he could do his business.
In the time since Kathleen had last shoveled, less than two hours earlier, nearly a foot more snow had covered the walk, drifting against the porch stairs. She cleared them, making the mistake of throwing the first shovelful of snow into the wind, where it was promptly tossed back at her to coat her glasses. Half-blind, she tried to adjust her scarf over the lower half of her face. The snow already caking her gloves scratched her nose, but at least she could breathe. Slowly, she worked her way to where the Toyota was parked, Kathleen’s Nissan nearly buried beside it. They wouldn’t be driving anywhere anytime soon, but Molly could park the snowmobile on the protected side of the SUV when she got home and at least see a path to the porch.
By the time she’d dug her way out to the cars, the path she’d just cleared behind her was nothing more than a depression in the rest of the snow. Muttering behind her scarf, where her lips were rapidly becoming numb, she shoveled her way back to the cottage, where Blossom waited for her up on the porch. Gauging the drifts, she decided she needed to do the same for him or she’d never find him the next time he had to go out. She cleared a path to the pines, pausing under them to catch her breath and listen, certain she’d heard the rumble of a snowmobile.
Peering through her iced-up glasses, she caught the gleam of a single headlight piercing through the murk. Her heart leapt when the beam swept in her direction as the snowmobile turned into the drive. She plowed back the way she’d come to meet Molly, who was stiffly swinging her leg over the seat. Her goggles and balaclava were almost completely covered in snow, with an icy layer blanketing the hood and back of her jacket.
Kathleen reached for her hand to lead her to the porch, but Molly paused, shielding her face with her gloved hand to peer at their roof, where a small wind-turbine whirled madly. Apparently satisfied, she followed Kathleen to the cottage where they both stomped their boots and swept each other’s backs free of most of the snow.
Inside, Molly dropped to the bench and worked her hands free from her gloves. Kathleen knelt to wrestle with the frozen laces of Molly’s boots and pull them off.
“Let me see your hands,” she commanded.
Molly held out one, the fingers almost blue. With her other hand, she pushed her hood back and tugged her icy balaclava over her head, her black hair sticking up every which way. Kathleen helped her out of her jacket and snow pants.
“Go upstairs now and change. I’ll have hot tea ready when you come down.”
Wearily, Molly stomped up the steps in her socks and thermals. Kathleen wrestled with her own icy zipper to get her jacket off. She hung their jackets and scarves up on pegs to drip and dry over the mat on the floor. All of the gloves and hats she arranged along the warm cast-iron radiator that sat below the front windows.
She padded into the kitchen in her slippers and turned on the burner under the kettle. By the time the kettle was screaming, Molly had come back downstairs in sweatpants and a heavy wool sweater. She dropped into a kitchen chair. A singl
“You look exhausted.” Kathleen poured two steaming mugs and set them on the table with a plate of molasses cookies.
Molly stuffed a whole cookie into her mouth, dunking her teabag up and down with her other hand. “This is the heaviest snow we’ve had in years,” she mumbled, spraying a few cookie crumbs. “Half the wind turbines on the houses have frozen. Thank goodness the big ones are churning, cause most of the islanders’ solar batteries are down to nothing after three days of this. Dad and Joey and I had to make sure the island’s generators were topped off and working okay.”
Kathleen nodded toward the counter. “I’ve been reserving all of our power for the essentials—the slow cooker and the fridge. The oven if we need it.”
Molly cradled her mug in her hands. “Thanks. One less thing to fix.” Blossom laid his head in her lap. She smiled down at him and played with his ears. “Times like this, I wish we could pick this island up and move it a few hundred miles south.”
“Tropical sounds good about now,” Kathleen agreed. “I’m so glad Miss Louisa isn’t alone in this.”
“I know. If Aidan and Meredith and her folks weren’t living there now, I’d’ve had to sling her across the back of the snowmobile and drag her home with me.”
“Along with her dad and sister’s ashes.”
She watched Molly’s eyes, half-closed as she sipped her tea. Kathleen stood and pulled her to her feet. “The soup will be ready in about an hour. You go rest in your recliner. I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”
Molly went without argument, stretching all the way back in her recliner, a heavy woven throw pulled up to her chin. Kathleen kissed her lightly, tucking the throw under her shoulders. It seemed Molly was asleep within seconds, her breathing deep and slow.
Kathleen, drawn back to the dining room, sat at the table and faced the laptop again. This time, she opened it. The screen woke to the email she’d received earlier.
Kathleen, we missed you at Thanksgiving. It was quiet, just your mother and I. I think you should come home for Christmas. We miss you and would love to see you if you can arrange to get offisland. Think about it, Dad
She stared out the window at the swirling snow, driven sideways by the continued wind. How long had it been since she’d seen them? She had to think back. Her first birthday after returning to Little Sister, her tar abháile, her homecoming. A year and a half. Probably the best year and a half of her life. Even now, she could see the wraithlike expression on her mother’s face as they’d gathered in the island’s ancient stone circle to perform the ceremony that would link Kathleen to Little Sister forever. While everyone else had celebrated Kathleen Halloran’s life, Kathleen had seen in her mother’s cold eyes that she only wished it had been Kathleen’s brother, Bryan, standing there.
That day had marked twenty-five years since Bryan’s drowning, but it had done nothing to diminish Christine’s resentment that her beloved son was dead, while Kathleen had felt more alive than she had since Bryan died.
And now, they want to pretend that we’re a happy family for Christmas?
She jabbed at the Delete key and closed the laptop with a snap.
Louisa woke and listened for a moment, expecting to hear the continued howls and moans of the blizzard, but all was quiet. She rose and went to the window. The sky, just going from pink to pale blue, was cloudless.
A few minutes later, wearing her favorite fuzzy slippers and her heavy robe, she got the coffee started. While she waited, she hastily twisted her silver hair into its usual bun, secured with a few bobby pins. The others would be down soon. Jasper got up from his padded bed—one of several scattered around the house to cushion and warm his old bones. He stretched, his tail wagging when Louisa bent to give him a rub.
“Morning, old man.” She let him out the back door, where he stood on the porch and looked over his shoulder in disgust. “You go on down. I know the snow’s deep, but there’s nothing else for it.”
He gingerly picked his way down the porch steps, lifted a leg, and immediately trotted back into the kitchen to eat.
“Morning, Daddy. Morning, Ollie.” She shifted two wooden boxes to a windowsill where they sat in the weak sunlight.
As much as she’d looked forward to the Turners’ return to Little Sister to live with her, the reality of their arrival three weeks ago—their houses in Oregon sold and their vehicles loaded to the max with their remaining possessions—had been more of a shock than Louisa had expected. Unbeknownst to her, she’d become accustomed to having a quiet start to her day. A couple of cups of coffee over breakfast, maybe reading or sitting in her rocker on the front porch if the fall chill wasn’t too much. But with Irene and Roy now occupying Mama and Daddy’s old room, and Meredith sharing the spare room with Aidan Cooper—only he isn’t a Cooper anymore, is he? At least not for much longer. They’ll all be Woodhouses soon.
Louisa knew Aidan’s decision to become a Woodhouse must have been a bit of a blow to his parents. Jenny and Joe still had Molly and Joey and Matty to carry on the Cooper line, and men who bonded into families on this island had always taken the woman’s name if they weren’t from here, but still.
She sat at the table with her coffee and a piece of toast spread with some of last summer’s strawberry jam. Her quiet lasted only a few minutes before Irene and Roy’s voices reached her. They descended the stairs, apparently continuing a discussion they’d begun earlier.
“I told you, you can’t ask her that,” came Irene’s voice.
“Why not?” asked Roy.
“Because we just got here. We’re still practically guests.”
The voices hushed as they neared the kitchen. Louisa glanced up with a smile.
“You’re not guests, and what did you want to ask?”
Irene flushed in embarrassment at having been overheard, but Roy poured a cup of coffee and joined Louisa at the table.
“Would you mind if we had a satellite dish installed?”
Louisa stared blankly. “A satellite.” Her mind churned, picturing orbiting spaceships firing down at them like in the science fiction movies.
“A dish,” Roy clarified, “To receive an internet signal. So we can use our computers.”
“Oh.” Louisa nodded. “I don’t mind at all, but I don’t think it can happen until the weather warms. We don’t get many repairmen from the mainland until the ferry runs more than once a month.”
“Oh.” Roy’s shoulders slumped. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
“Wilma and Nels don’t have any guests at the hotel now,” Louisa said. “I’m sure they’d be willing to share their internet with you.”
Roy brightened. “That’s a great idea. I’ll gladly pay.”
Louisa waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure you’ll work something out. You talk to Wilma when you get a chance.”
“I’ll do that.” Roy got up and busied himself making more toast while Irene fried up some bacon and eggs.
“You don’t have to do that,” Louisa protested when Irene slid an egg and a couple of slices of bacon onto her plate.
“You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,” Irene scolded gently. “A strong wind could blow you away.”
Louisa chuckled. “That’s what Ollie always said.”
“Wish we could have known her,” Irene said wistfully.
“Wish she could have met you.” But Louisa’s eyes stung at the thought. She could almost hear Ollie say, “And whose fault is it we never met?”
The floorboards overhead creaked, followed by footsteps on the stairs as Meredith and Aidan came down. They entered the kitchen, hand in hand. Louisa hid a smile at the dreamy look in Aidan’s eyes. It wasn’t all that long ago that he was drinking himself silly nearly every night, trying to erase the memory of Bryan Halloran’s death when they were teenagers—the death Aidan had blamed himself for. Even now, Louisa caught him brooding every so often, but those moments were becoming rarer now that he’d found Meredith.
“Good morning, everyone.” Meredith poured two cups with the last of the coffee in the pot, handed one to Aidan, and began making a fresh pot while Aidan cracked another half-dozen eggs into the frying pan for the two of them.
“I’m going to talk to Wilma about using their internet until we can get a dish installed here,” Roy announced.
