The New Shore, page 2
“That’s a good idea.” Meredith gazed out the window. “Not sure that’s happening today, though.”
When the eggs were over easy, Aidan slid them onto plates, and Meredith added the toast.
“Oh, the trucks with plows will get out, start clearing everyone’s drives,” Louisa said, passing the butter and jam over to them. “Might not make it to us till tomorrow, but they’ll be here.”
“Do you contract with someone to do that?” Irene asked.
Louisa frowned for a moment. “You mean, pay? Heavens, no. Those who can help out, do. Then when we can do something for them, we do. Ollie and I always baked our orange-cranberry bread and gave a few jars of our preserves.”
“If you’re going to bake today, I’ll help,” Irene offered.
It lifted Louisa’s heart to think of baking with her daughter, even if they hadn’t established a real mother-daughter connection. Yet. It seemed too much to hope for, but a year ago, she’d never imagined she’d meet the baby she’d given up for adoption in 1960.
“Do you really have to leave today?” Meredith asked Aidan.
“Got to. I’ll boat over to Big Sister. Their ferry is due in today. Catch it back to the mainland and stay with my uncle for a week, till ours comes next week. We’ll be loaded down with everyone’s Christmas packages, so everyone on the island will be down to meet it. It’s a big deal here.” He shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth. “Anyone need anything from Big Sister or the mainland while I’m there?”
Irene perked up. “Yes. I hadn’t planned well enough for the holidays. We weren’t sure how this worked with the ferry only coming once a month now for the winter.”
Aidan nodded. “With Big Sister’s running every two weeks, we can alternate well enough, but that boat ride over is colder than a witch’s—”
He broke off and cleared his throat.
“Aidan Ahearn Cooper,” Louisa chided. “Watch your language.”
“Sorry, Miss Louisa.”
Meredith laughed. “Anyway, I think you’ll have a shopping list to keep you busy.”
“That’s great.” Aidan gave her a forced smile, looking very sorry he’d offered.
Rebecca Ahearn stomped her snowy boots on the front porch of the library. The blizzard had blown snow across it, but mostly the snow had drifted against the west side of the building. She swept the porch free of the white stuff and went inside. Dropping her hat and scarf on one of the long tables, she took her down jacket off and draped it over the back of a chair. She went behind the librarian’s desk and let herself into the back room, where the island families’ genealogy books were kept, along with a few other antiquities.
With her hands on her hips, she stood where she could see both rooms. The main room, filled now with floor to ceiling bookshelves that held the island’s collection of books, used to be the island’s schoolroom. But when Maine had decided to “retire” Miss Louisa as the island’s teacher—and after all the failed attempts to attract a younger, certified teacher to live onisland—they’d turned this larger room into the main library, leaving the smaller back room to be hers. As Keeper of the Record for Little Sister, it fell to her to keep the family histories up to date, to perform other island rituals and ceremonies, such as recording the Passing of anyone descended from an island family who wanted to come and live here, as the Turners had done last summer.
Not that that decision had been without controversy—mostly from me, Rebecca had to admit. They’d never had anyone like Irene Turner. Woodhouse. Whatever. Given up for adoption, not raised on the island. She hadn’t even known about Little Sister until her and Meredith’s dreams had led them here. No matter how Rebecca had tried to justify that they didn’t belong, it seemed the island felt otherwise.
And now, the island council was going to have to consider Meredith’s proposal to let her teach here. As hard as the islanders had fought to get another teacher, just about all of the island families with children had since made the transition to schooling their kids on the mainland, some boarding at school, some living with friends or relatives. A few families home-schooled, but the kids got lonely with all of their friends gone except for the Yule and summer holidays. Most of the children were home now, having returned on the last ferry with the Turners. Little Sister always felt more complete when the children were here.
If they decided to bring school back to the island, they’d need a classroom. Rebecca didn’t want to get rid of the books. The Keeper needed to maintain control of the back room, and there were no empty houses, waiting to be put up for lottery. The island rules meant no new buildings, but she thought, perhaps, the islanders would be willing to grant permission to add on here.
She paced off the dimensions of the larger room, jotting them down. She’d call Molly and get her to help draw up a floor plan, with estimates for needed building materials. Then, they’d have to figure out how to pay for it.
In the back room, she went to a particular shelf and removed the large, leather-bound books sitting there. Behind them, she pressed on the back panel, and it sprung toward her to reveal a hidden compartment. She reached inside to retrieve another book, one passed down from the first Keeper in the 1770s to all the Keepers since. She closed the panel and replaced the larger books. Taking the Keeper’s book with her, she bundled up and trudged back to her cottage.
Chapter 2
In less than a week, the island’s roads and driveways were all cleared, the snow plowed and shoved into tall piles that would probably linger into the spring. Repairs on jammed wind turbines would have to wait, though.
“Please promise me you won’t climb onto snow-covered roofs,” Kathleen had pleaded.
Molly, recalling the tumble she’d accidentally taken off one of the island’s big turbines the previous year, agreed. Kathleen didn’t know about that, and Molly hoped to keep it that way, but the experience had given her a healthy dose of caution when climbing. She had no wish to slide off anyone’s roof.
She busied herself making oil deliveries and tuning or fixing furnaces. Though the islanders relied less on their furnaces when they could use the electricity from their turbines and solar panels to power electric blankets and such, their need for oil would never disappear entirely.
“Hey, Mo,” Joe said when she parked the oil truck and went into the marina’s office to log her deliveries. “Rebecca came by. Needs to see you when you have a few minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll swing by now.” She paused at the door. “Oh, I drove by the cemetery today. We’ll need to get a crew together to clear the stone circle of snow for Yule.”
“Right.” Joe scribbled a note for himself.
Molly left her SUV in the marina’s lot and walked the short distance to her aunt’s cottage. She had to smile. Typical of Rebecca, her walk and front porch weren’t only shoveled free enough of snow to be able to walk, they were completely clear and dry. Molly gave the door a rap and then walked in.
“Hey, Rebecca.”
“In the kitchen.”
Molly sat to unlace her boots and take them off. She padded through to the kitchen to find her aunt bent over her table, which was covered with several sheets of paper.
“Kettle’s hot.” Rebecca pointed without looking up.
Molly poured herself a mug and selected a teabag from the tin. Joining her aunt at the table, she pulled one of the papers near, a floorplan of some kind.
“What’s all this?”
“Sketches for how we might add on to the library.” Rebecca sat back, frowning. “For the classroom. I’ve tried adding on to the main room, but I don’t think we have the space without having to cut down a couple of the oaks. Then I tried putting it over here, but that doesn’t look like it’ll work.”
Molly arranged the sketches in front of her, tilting her head as she pictured, not just the dimensions of any addition, but how the area around the library would be impacted. “You’re right about the trees here,” she said. “That won’t work. If we add on this side, it’ll mean having to reconfigure and replace the current roof trusses, plus digging the foundation would mean digging into the cellar.”
“We can’t do that,” Rebecca said quickly.
“I know.” Molly squinted, trying to see it in her mind’s eye. “I think the simplest thing,” she reached for a pencil, “would be to extend the current roofline in this direction.”
She sketched a rough drawing over Rebecca’s floorplan. “It’ll be the least expensive in terms of materials, and I think we can get a good-sized room added on without disrupting any of the trees. Need a bathroom, too.”
“Oh.” Rebecca leaned forward to look at Molly’s drawing. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
Molly watched her, her black hair tucked behind her ears as her eyes—the same light blue-green as Molly’s—scanned the sketch. They looked so much alike that visitors to the island often mistook them for mother and daughter. Kathleen had. Molly hoped she’d still look as youthful in her sixties as Rebecca did.
Molly sipped her tea. “You think the council will approve the school idea?”
“Not sure.” Rebecca picked up her delicate china cup. “We searched for a teacher for so long, and then finally gave up. Now, we’ve had one dropped in our laps, one who’s offering to teach here again. With Meredith and Aidan bonding this spring, it’s not like she’s going to pick up and leave. That was always a worry if we had found a teacher to hire.”
Molly tapped one of the drawings. “How’re we going to pay for this?”
“Not just this. We’ll need to pay Meredith something. Like the stipend you and I get. We’ll need to go down below. I’ll have to arrange to get to the mainland. Don’t think I can squeeze it in before Yule, but soon. Might take a while to sell whatever we pick. Which reminds me, I want Kathleen to be part of this process. She needs to learn.”
Molly nodded. “I’ll tell her.”
Rebecca slid Molly’s drawing back to her. “Can you take this, work out estimates of what we’ll need to order? I’ll propose it all to the council when we meet.”
The hotel diner, even in winter, buzzed with activity. Early in the day, men occupied the counter stools, discussing last year’s fishing hauls, trying to forecast what the upcoming season would bring, some with catalogs of boat parts for repairs and maintenance they needed to do or dreaming of boats they’d like to have.
Nels kept busy cooking up breakfasts while Wilma served them, topping off coffee cups as she wandered.
“Need anything else?” she asked when she got to Roy and Meredith’s table where they both had laptops open.
She expertly sloshed coffee into their mugs without spilling a drop and then stacked their empty plates.
“No.” Meredith smiled. “Nels still makes the best waffles. Wilma, are you sure you don’t mind us using your internet?”
“Land sakes,” Wilma said with a booming laugh. “Not like you’re going to use it all up. Help yourselves.”
“Still,” said Roy, “I’d like to repay you somehow. Any winter projects you need help with?”
Meredith hid a smile. As much as her dad had enjoyed the island’s slow pace during the summer, he needed to keep busy.
“Well, we are painting some of the guest rooms. Could use a hand with that if you’re willing.”
Roy grinned. “Deal.”
“Paint should be here on the next ferry. Figured we’d start after the holidays.”
“I’ll help, too,” Meredith offered.
Wilma scooped up the stacked plates. “Won’t say no.”
Meredith returned her attention to her laptop, where she was filling out an application to have her teaching credentials transferred from Oregon to Maine. She’d begun the process before she left, making sure she had hard copies of everything. She wrote a couple of long emails to her friends back there, filling Barb and Jan in on the uneventful cross-country caravan with her parents, and the adjustment to living on Little Sister full-time. Being with Aidan full-time. Something she’d never wanted with any man before.
She paused, gazing out the diner window down the hill to the marina. It had been hard to say good-bye to Aidan just days after they’d arrived and knowing they’d be faced with these weeklong absences for the remainder of the winter, but she was here.
She sat, cradling her coffee in her hands, savoring the knowledge that she was home. She still couldn’t explain how or why Little Sister Island had called to her and her mother in their dreams, but their blood connection to the island, to Miss Louisa, had been stronger than anything she’d ever felt. Even her father, with his logical engineer’s mind, had believed what couldn’t really be explained. The islanders’ acceptance of that connection, of them, had meant the world.
Her dad’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Do you think your mother will begin to think of Louisa as her mother?”
Meredith stalled by taking another sip of coffee. “I’ve wondered the same thing. They’re getting close.”
Roy nodded, nudging his glasses higher on his nose. “They are. I think Louisa won’t make the first move.”
“No,” Meredith agreed. “She’s being careful not to step into another woman’s shoes. But it’s like there’s a hunger in Mom for this connection. I never realized she didn’t have that with Grandma.”
“Nor did I. Not that their relationship was strained or anything,” Roy mused. “But it was never really affectionate. I always chalked that up to New England reserve. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“Art sure has reevaluated his relationship with them,” Meredith said. “Kenny says he’s still angry.”
“He and Irene believed one thing all their lives, and then found out they’d been lied to.” Roy shook his head. “I think if they’d been told from the start they were both adopted, it never would have been an issue.”
He redirected his attention to the scene beyond the window. “How about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, to point out the obvious, Louisa’s also your grandmother. Do you think you’ll begin to see her that way?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Meredith gave a half-laugh. “I don’t know her that well.”
Roy drained his coffee cup and shut his laptop. “You’ve got nothing but time.”
Meredith also closed her laptop and slid it into her bag. “Right now, it’s time to do some grocery shopping. We go through more food in a week than Louisa would in a month.”
At the mention of the market, Roy’s face lit up. “And I have to check in with my buddies. Did I tell you, little Charlotte remembered me?”
Meredith followed him out of the diner, grateful that the Shannahan children had captured her dad’s affections. But she was certain it wouldn’t be long before he and her mom started dropping hints about wanting grandkids.
“Nothing but time,” she muttered.
In the back room of the library, Kathleen leaned over the table, flipping through the yellowed pages of the Keeper’s book. The first dozen or so pages were filled with a sort of inventory, the handwriting cramped and smudged in places. She took her glasses off to bend closer.
After those pages were others, listing dates and descriptions of items, some with sketches of old coins, or handwrought cups and dishes, or jewels, some in ornate settings.
“What’re these?” she asked.
“Those are the items we’ve sold,” Rebecca replied. “We keep careful track of what, when, and where.”
Kathleen saw now, little notations describing Boston or New York or Albany, along with surnames. “Who are these people?”
“Not people, but auction houses,” Rebecca corrected. “We try to scatter them, not arouse curiosity or suspicion about where our objects come from. The last thing we need is treasure hunters diving the waters around the shipwreck.”
Kathleen glanced up. “You think there’s more down there.”
Rebecca nodded. “I do. The last dives were done by the First Ones, who were experienced divers, but limited by how deep they could go and how long they could hold their breath. Who knows what else could be down there? I’ve been wondering about mounting another search, but I don’t want to bring in outsiders.”
“Wow.” Kathleen sat back. “I hadn’t thought there could be more. Don’t any of the islanders scuba dive?”
“No. Too busy trying to scratch out a living fishing. But I’ve been thinking we should propose it. Get a few people trained, certified, and see what we can find. In the meantime…” She tapped the book. “You and I need to decide what we’ll sell and where. Get the council’s okay on it.”
She stood and went to lock the library door. “Don’t want anyone walking in on us. Help me.”
Blossom scrambled out of the way as the two humans moved the table and then rolled the woven rug under it. Rebecca produced a hook-shaped iron tool slim enough to slide between two floorboards. She inserted it, fishing it around for a few seconds before it caught on something with a metallic click. An upward pull on the tool released the catch on a trap door. It popped up enough for their fingers to grasp it and open it all the way.
Rebecca lit an oil lamp and led the way down an old set of wooden steps to a cavern below the library. Kathleen had been here once before, but it still amazed her, the treasure recovered from the ship that had carried their ancestors—tables laden with dishes made of fine china, gold, and silver; bags of coins and jewels; stacks of gilded frames, and leather cases filled with heavy silver and gold eating utensils.
Blossom whined from above, his head hanging into the opening.
“Can’t believe this has stayed hidden and protected down here,” Kathleen murmured. “Even if the First Ones didn’t value this, the Irish must have. Why didn’t they ransack this when it was first brought ashore?”
“It wasn’t retrieved right away. By the time it was, the survivors who wanted to leave had been rowed over to Big Sister, and from there, who knows. But the ones who chose to stay here had already accepted the wisdom of the First Ones—no one owns land or houses, we all share what the island has to offer. That includes this.”
