I was so adamant about traveling by myself. And for this?
Charlie Sherman had made the place sound positively delightful, a small gem on the shore just waiting to be discovered. Of course, he had a way of making anything sound delightful, at least to Sorrow’s ears. She remembered his hazel eyes widening with enthusiasm as he spoke to her about his plans for the place, and her face grew slightly warm.
She shook her head as if that could clear Charlie out of it. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in silly daydreams.
Snatches of the song “Keep Away From the Fellow Who Owns an Automobile” ran through her head as she surveyed the street ahead of her. Nobody in Tidepool appeared to need such a warning. Horses stood tied up outside of buildings and houses, and an occasional bicycle was propped up against a wall, but she didn’t see a single auto.
Sorrow finally spotted the inn at the end of Water Street, much to her relief. She was weary from her journey and her case felt heavier with every step.
The inn was a largish brick building attached to the tavern. Nobody sat in the splintery-looking rocking chair on the faded porch, and some of the floorboards looked so rotted that Sorrow worried about putting a foot through them. A weathered sign reading “COOPER’S INN & TAVERN” hung over the front door. Sorrow dusted off her dress and stepped inside.
A short, thin, tired-looking older man with watery blue eyes greeted her almost at once.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“Yes, please. I would like a room here, if one is available.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“Is anyone with you?”
“No, sir.”
He frowned. “Not really used to giving rooms to ladies traveling alone, miss.”
Perhaps she should have expected this. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“Well, I was hoping you could help me. I am looking for my brother. He stayed here a couple of weeks ago.”
The man looked even more confused—and suspicious—now.
“Who’s your brother, then?”
“Henry Hamilton. From Baltimore. As am I.”
The man blinked.
“No rooms to let tonight. We’re full,” he said at once.
“We certainly are not,” said a female voice. An older black woman in a plain, sack-like brown dress that showed signs of being mended several times over appeared behind him.
He turned on her sharply. “We rented out the last room just an hour ago, Naomi.”
Naomi shook her head and turned to Sorrow.
“Would you please excuse us for a minute, miss?”
“Of course.”
As the woman grabbed the man’s elbow and hauled him to an adjoining room, Sorrow considered turning back, getting the horse and buggy from the stables, and heading out of Tidepool. Something about the large cemetery and the stares of the townspeople already had her on edge, and her reception here was hardly improving things.
Angry whispers sounded from the other room.
“Balt, we can’t just turn the girl out. There’s nowhere for her to go.”
She didn’t catch Balt’s response, but it sounded no less heated.
Sorrow sensed that she was being watched. She had a view of the interior of Cooper’s Tavern from where she stood, and indeed some of the Tidepool locals gathered around the bar were looking at her with curiosity, or perhaps something less benign. A grimy fellow with a flushed face leered at her through greasy-looking lips and she turned away in disgust, thinking of her hatpin. The odor of cooking fish that wafted from the tavern and permeated the room made her feel slightly ill.
The angry whispers continued rapid-fire in the other room for a moment, and Balt came out looking tense.
“I beg your pardon. My wife tells me that we do indeed have one room left.”
His wife? Sorrow knew that wasn’t legal, but she held her tongue. She had no wish to antagonize the people she was counting on to help her find her brother.
“Thank you. I’ll take it, please.”
Balt led her to a small room with a desk and a register and asked for her information.
“My name is Sorrow Hamilton.”
He looked up at her and blinked. “Sorrow?”
Truth be told, Sorrow liked her name. She had always thought the word itself, divorced from its dark connotations, was rather lovely, and it set her apart from the endless Marys and Annas and Margarets who populated her everyday life.
But on some days she cursed her father for giving her a name that invariably provoked raised eyebrows and incredulous comments, and this was one of those days.
“Yes. Sorrow. Like the word for ‘grief.’”
Balt stared at her for another moment and blinked those watery eyes before going back to his ledger.
Something at the back of Sorrow’s neck prickled. She turned and glanced towards the entrance of the inn, hoping she hadn’t caught the attention of the leering fellow again.
A woman dressed in elaborate black clothing far fancier than anything Sorrow had seen on the other townspeople stood by the inner entrance to the tavern and stared at her. Even in the somewhat dim light, Sorrow could see the woman’s pale face clearly. Her intense dark eyes made Sorrow even more uncomfortable.
When Sorrow turned away, she saw that Balt too was staring at the woman. He looked as unnerved as Sorrow felt.
Balt finally returned his attention to Sorrow and finished taking her information and her room payment. Naomi emerged from behind him and handed Sorrow a key.
“Your room is upstairs. Third door on the right. If you’re hungry, we serve supper until eight, though we could provide you a little something later if we’re around.”
“Thank you… I didn’t catch your name?” She’d overheard it, but felt that formal introductions were more polite.
The woman gave her a smile that softened her stern face.
“I’m Naomi Cooper. And this is my husband Balthazar, but we call him Balt for short. If you need anything, please do find one of us and ask.”
Naomi seemed far more personable than her husband, and Sorrow resolved to start the questioning about Henry with Naomi.
But first, she wanted to get settled in her hard-won room. When nobody offered to help her with her case, she lifted it and trudged up the creaking wooden stairs.
If there really were people staying in all the other rooms, Sorrow couldn’t see or hear any sign of them. The doors were all shut, and the rooms themselves appeared dark and silent.
Her room was spartan. A narrow bed with a threadbare quilt occupied one wall. A chair, a desk with a small lamp on it, a pale wooden wardrobe, and a cracked mirror were the only other adornments. The walls might have been painted sky blue once upon a time, but the color had faded to a deathlike bluish gray. She caught a whiff of mildew as she pulled back the yellowed lace curtains to look at the ocean. At least the view of the water was somewhat appealing.
Sorrow removed her hat and gloves and sat in the hard, uncomfortable chair. She had brought stationery with her; the least she could do was let her father know that she was all right. She wasn’t entirely certain that news of her safe arrival would mitigate his fury at being disobeyed, but nonetheless she dashed off a brief, very apologetic note.
With that, she freshened up a bit and left the room, intending to take a small walk around Tidepool before supper.
As she headed down the steps, Balt and Naomi’s heated voices drifted up to her.
“I’m telling you, Mrs. Oliver shouldn’t ever have gone near that man. Whatever could she have been thinking?” Balt said. That sounded quite scandalous.
“You want to be the one to tell her that? Whatever happened there, it’s over now, Balt, and there’s nothing to be done about it.”
Their voices broke off as they heard Sorrow’s footsteps on the stairs. Balt came out to the parlor and nodded.
“May I help you with anything, Miss Hamilton?”
Had he known she was eavesdropping? “No thank you
, Mr. Cooper. I was going to take a quick walk. I’ve been sitting for most of the day.”
“I see.”
She couldn’t resist tweaking the man slightly.
“It’s very quiet upstairs. Are all the other occupants out?”
Balt’s face flushed pink and he glanced away from Sorrow.
“Well, they’re fishermen, mostly, traveling from other places. Probably still out on the water. They get up very early in the morning.” Balt finally raised his head and looked at her again. “Unless you too are an early riser, it’s unlikely you’ll see them at all.”
Sorrow sensed that it was highly unlikely she’d see anyone else in those rooms no matter when she awoke. She left the inn, wondering why Balt Cooper would persist in such an obvious lie.
Chapter Three
MRS. OLIVER’S CHAIR
After finding a post office box and slipping the letter to Father inside, Sorrow walked along Tidepool’s streets, noticing that most of the small shops were closed now. Henry couldn’t possibly have stayed here for more than a day or two. He could only amuse himself for so long in that tavern, and he’d have gone utterly mad from boredom. Small wonder that Cooper’s Inn had been the busiest place she saw here; there seemed to be nothing else to do in Tidepool. Did the residents go elsewhere for entertainment? She hadn’t noticed anyone heading out of the town on her ride from Ocean City, and the bicycles she passed as she walked up the street were little more than corroded metal frames chained to worn posts.
Perhaps she had become too spoiled by the cultural activities in Baltimore. She and a friend had seen the motion picture Tess of the d’Urbervilles at the Auditorium just last month, and Mr. Henry Walters’s remarkable art gallery had opened a few years prior on Charles Street.
Sorrow doubted she would find anything like that here.
The long hill that led up and out of town caught Sorrow’s eye. That thing probably turned into quite the mudslide whenever it rained, she mused, hoping she wouldn’t be in the town long enough to find out if she were right.
She heard little noise except for the sounds of the nearby ocean. Sorrow had always liked the water; she and Henry often walked from their home to the harbor to take in the view of the Patapsco River as the sun set. She hadn’t been to the ocean since a brief trip to Chesapeake Beach in Maryland when she was fifteen. The property development that had begun to turn that small town into an attractive shoreside destination had given her father ideas, and he eventually set his sights on Tidepool.
Father certainly had his work cut out for him with this place.
Sorrow followed the sound of the waves breaking until she found a narrow wooden boardwalk that led to a sandy beach. A few fishermen worked out on the water, calling to each other and laughing. Gulls soared overhead, their cries echoing over the water.
A cold breeze washed over her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Even for chilly autumn sea air, the wind had an unusual bite this afternoon.
The beach looked perfectly normal. Almost dull.
Then why did she feel so uneasy as she looked out over the water? Something made the hair on her arms stand up as the waves rolled in, and the feeling only increased as she sat there. She had eaten very little that day; perhaps hunger, on top of the long day of travel, was getting to her.
She resolved that she was not going to stay in Tidepool any longer than was necessary. She’d find out whatever she could about Henry, and then she’d leave. Facing her sure-to-be furious father at home suddenly seemed far less alarming than anything she might encounter here.
Sorrow returned to Cooper’s Inn and welcomed the warmth as she entered the tavern. A roar of laughter from someone in the crowded, bustling room greeted her, as did the smells of fish, coffee, and a log fire. The patrons all sported the faded, threadbare clothes that seemed to be the uniform of everyone in the town. Once again, heads swiveled and glances swept over her with interest that didn’t strike her as entirely friendly as she looked for either of the Coopers.
At the bar, Naomi Cooper spoke to a heavy, balding older man as she poured drinks. Sorrow waited until Naomi turned in her direction and requested dinner.
Naomi nodded, sweeping the back of her hand over her moist forehead. “Seat yourself wherever you can find a spot, and I’ll bring you the menu.”
Sorrow glanced around the busy room. Most of the rickety tables were already occupied by groups of people, but a lone velvet armchair and round wooden table sat close to the fireplace. The armchair looked very elegant—and distinctly out of place—in the tavern, and the spot by the fire appeared soothing and inviting after the chill that had settled into Sorrow’s bones out on the beach.
As she was about to claim the armchair, someone behind her spoke.
“Can’t sit there, miss.”
“I beg your pardon?” She turned around. A very nervous-looking older man with a sweaty, flushed face addressed her, keeping his eyes on the floor as he spoke.
“That’s Mrs. Ada Oliver’s spot. The Coopers keep it open for her. Mrs. Oliver won’t like it if she finds someone else sitting there.”
Sorrow bit back irritation. It hardly seemed fair that this Mrs. Oliver should be able to monopolize a choice spot when she wasn’t even at the tavern.
“I will be more than happy to move if this Mrs. Oliver should arrive,” Sorrow said. This didn’t appear to mollify him or the other tavern patrons who had turned to watch this exchange.
“It’s best if you don’t sit there at all, miss.”
Conversations broke off and the other customers stared at Sorrow with tense expressions. Naomi Cooper glared at her from behind the bar. Sorrow’s evening would clearly be less than peaceful if she stood her ground.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do, Henry liked saying. Sorrow found the whole thing perfectly ridiculous. But maybe it was unwise to start a fight with the people who might be able to help her track down her brother.
“My apologies.” She glanced around and noticed another empty table by a window at the far end of the tavern. She moved away from the fireplace, settled into the chillier and much less inviting seat, and gazed out the grimy window at the quiet Tidepool evening. The other patrons turned away and the chatter in the bar resumed. All’s right with the world, Sorrow thought, rolling her eyes.
Naomi brought a handwritten sheet of paper listing the food options, and Sorrow sighed. It had been her lifelong curse to live in a city by the water and detest the taste of fish. Even the sight of them in the markets bothered her; she couldn’t understand how anyone found those glassy, cloudy eyes or gaping dead mouths appetizing. She wasn’t especially fond of beef stew either, but it was the only non-fish option on the menu.
She wanted to ask Naomi about her brother, but the older woman bustled away from the table as soon as Sorrow was finished placing her order. Naomi rarely stopped moving. She carried things in and out from the kitchen, or refilled glasses, or collected used plates, or exchanged banter with patrons.
Was Sorrow imagining it, or was Naomi avoiding coming near Sorrow’s table whenever possible?
The glances from other customers had mostly stopped after her gaffe with Mrs. Oliver’s seat, although she still attracted the occasional look from younger men. Sorrow had never been one to command much attention back in Baltimore, and the stares and glances made her shrink into her chair.
Perhaps there are fewer young women to look at here. She certainly hadn’t seen many, either at Cooper’s or elsewhere in the town.
Naomi brought out a bowl of stew and a thick slice of brown bread, depositing the meal quickly and hurrying away. Only Sorrow’s hunger made the tough, salty beef palatable. She used the dry bread to sop up the watery remains of the stew.
The tavern patrons grew quite loud as Naomi poured glass after glass of ale and spirits. The swinging door leading to the kitchen made an irritating squeal every time one of the Coopers passed through it; the noise began to make Sorrow’s head ache. The glances in her direction were
becoming more frequent, and she feared that one of the Tidepool locals might invite himself to her table if she remained here alone much longer. She had no wish for such company.
Ask her, she told herself. Ask Mrs. Cooper what she might know about Hal, and then turn in. And tomorrow, we see about getting the hell out of this place.
Naomi approached Sorrow’s table and asked “Anything else for you, miss?” as she collected Sorrow’s empty dish.
“Perhaps a glass of sherry. But Mrs. Cooper? I have some questions about my brother Henry, if you’ve got time to talk.”
Naomi swept an arm around the very busy room, smirking.
“Time to talk? Not tonight, Miss Hamilton. All these folks keep me very busy, as you can see.”
Sorrow wasn’t amused. Yes, it was indeed quite busy in here, but she’d noticed the woman taking the time to engage in chats with other patrons at the bar. Why would Naomi have no time for her?
“But perhaps we can plan something else,” Naomi said, as if she could sense Sorrow’s irritation. “Come down for breakfast tomorrow morning, miss. It’s quieter here then. I’m not sure what I can tell you, but I should have more time to answer whatever questions you’ve got.”
“I’ll do that.” And you’d better, as well. “Thank you.”
Naomi left the table and returned with a small wineglass of amber sherry. Sorrow sipped it quietly. She didn’t really want the sherry, but she’d always had trouble sleeping in strange places and hoped the drink might help. The liquid burned slightly as it slipped down her throat, and she felt warmer until the memory of her unease on the beach came back to her.
She rubbed her forehead. This odd little town had to be getting to her.
A slight hush fell over the tavern. The conversations didn’t stop, not entirely, but people grew noticeably quieter. Even the kitchen noise died down for a moment. Sorrow glanced up to see what was happening, and she felt quite cold again.
Tidepool Page 3
