Our Lady of the Harbour

by Charles de Lint

  “Jesus,” Amy said. “It’ll take us all night to get there. We’ll be lucky to make it before dawn.”

  As Katrina shrugged, Amy remembered what Katrina’s sisters had said last night.

  Before the first dawn light follows tomorrow night.

  That was tonight. This morning.

  Or foam you’ll be.

  She shivered and looked at Katrina.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” she said. “Please, Katrina. Maybe I can help you.”

  Katrina just shook her head sadly. She mimed driving, hands around the invisible steering wheel again.

  Amy sighed. She put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Katrina reached toward the radio, eyebrows raised quizzically. When Amy nodded, she turned it on and slowly wound through the stations until she got Newford’s WKPN-FM. It was too early for Zoe B.’s “Nightnoise” show, so they listened to Mariah Carey, the Vaughan Brothers and the like as they followed the highway east.

  Neither of them spoke as they drove; Katrina couldn’t and Amy was just too depressed. She didn’t know what was going on. She just felt as though she’d become trapped in a Greek tragedy. The storyline was already written, everything was predestined to a certain outcome and there was nothing she could do about it. Only Matt could have, if he’d loved Katrina, but she couldn’t even blame him. You couldn’t force a person to love somebody.

  She didn’t agree with his need to protect his privacy. Maybe it stopped him from being hurt, but it also stopped him from being alive. But he was right about one thing: he couldn’t be held responsible for who chose to love him.

  * * *

  They crossed over the Dulfer River just as dawn was starting to pink the eastern horizon. When Amy pulled into the campgrounds, Katrina directed her down a narrow dirt road that led to the park’s boat launch.

  They had the place to themselves. Amy pulled up by the water and killed the engine. The pines stood silent around them when they got out of the car. There was birdsong, but it seemed strangely muted. Distant. As though heard through gauze.

  Katrina lifted a hand and touched Amy’s cheek, then walked toward the water. She headed to the left of the launching area where a series of broad flat rocks staircased down into the water. After a moment’s hesitation, Amy followed after. She sat down beside Katrina who was right by the edge of the water, arms wrapped around her knees.

  “Katrina,” she began. “Please tell me what’s going on. I—”

  She fussed in her purse, looking for pen and paper. She found the former, and pulled out her chequebook to use the back of a cheque as a writing surface.

  “I want to help,” she said, holding the pen and chequebook out to her companion.

  Katrina regarded her for a long moment, a helpless look in her eyes, but finally she took the proffered items. She began to write on the back of one of the cheques, but before she could hand it back to Amy, a wind rose up. The pine trees shivered, needles whispering against each other.

  An electric tingle sparked across every inch of Amy’s skin. The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled and goose bumps traveled up her arms. It was like that moment before a storm broke, when the air is so charged with ions that it seems anything might happen.

  “What—?” she began.

  Her voice died in her throat as the air around them thickened. Shapes formed in the air, pale diffuse airy shapes, slender and transparent. Their voices were like the sound of the wind in the pines.

  “Come with us,” they said, beckoning to Katrina.

  “Be one with us.”

  “We can give you what you lack.”

  Katrina stared at the misty apparitions for the longest time. Then she let pen and chequebook fall to the rock and stood up, stretching her arms toward the airy figures. Her own body began to lose its definition. She was a spiderweb in the shape of a woman, gossamer, smoke and mist. Her clothing dropped from her transparent form to fall into a tangle beside Amy.

  And then she was gone. The wind died. The whisper stilled in the pines.

  Amy stared open-mouthed at where Katrina had disappeared. All that lay on the rock were Katrina’s clothes, the pen and the chequebook. Amy reached out toward the clothes. They were damp to the touch.

  Or foam you’ll be.

  Amy looked up into the lightening sky. But Katrina hadn’t just turned to foam, had she? Something had come and taken her away before that happened. If any of this had even been real at all. If she hadn’t just lost it completely.

  She heard weeping and lowered her gaze to the surface of the lake. There were four women’s heads there, bobbing in the unruly water. Their hair was short, cropped close to their heads, untidily, as though cut with garden shears or a knife. Their eyes were red with tears. Each could have been Katrina’s twin.

  Seeing her gaze upon them, they sank beneath the waves, one by one, and then Amy was alone again. She swallowed thickly, then picked up her chequebook to read what Katrina had written before what could only have been angels came to take her away:

  “Is this what having a soul means, to know such bittersweet pain? But still, I cherish the time I had. Those who live forever, who have no stake in the dance of death’s inevitable approach, can never understand the sanctity of life.”

  It sounded stiff, like a quote, but then Amy realized she’d never heard how Katrina would speak, not the cadence of her voice, nor its timbre, nor her diction.

  And now she never would.

  * * *

  The next day, Matt found Amy where her brother Pete said she was going. She was by the statue of the little mermaid on Wolf Island, just sitting on a bench and staring out at the lake. She looked haggard from a lack of sleep.

  “What happened to you last night?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I decided to go for a drive.”

  Matt nodded as though he understood, though he didn’t pretend to have a clue. The complexities that made up people’s personalities were forever a mystery to him.

  He sat down beside her.

  “Have you seen Katrina?” he asked. “I went by Lucia’s place looking for her, but she was acting all weird—” not unusual for Lucia, he added to himself “—and told me I should ask you.”

  “She’s gone,” Amy said. “Maybe back into the lake, maybe into the sky. I’m not really sure.”

  Matt just looked at her. “Come again?” he said finally.

  So Amy told him about it all, of what she’d seen two nights ago by the old L & N sawmill, of what had happened last night.

  “It’s like in that legend about the little mermaid,” she said as she finished up. She glanced at the statue beside them. “The real legend, not what the Disney studios used for their movie.”

  Matt shook his head. “‘The Little Mermaid’ isn’t a legend,” he said. “It’s just a story, made up by Hans Christian Anderson, like ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ and ‘The Ugly Ducking.’ They sure as hell aren’t real.”

  “I’m just telling you what I saw.”

  “Jesus, Amy. Will you listen to yourself?”

  When she turned to face him, he saw anguish in her features.

  “I can’t help it,” she said. “It really happened.”

  Matt started to argue, but then he shook his head. He didn’t know what had gotten into Amy to go on like this. He expected this kind of thing from Geordie’s brother who made his living gussying up fantastical stories from nothing, but Amy?

  “It looks like her, doesn’t it?” Amy said.

  Matt followed her gaze to the statue. He remembered the last time he’d been on the island, the night when he’d walked out on Katrina, when everything had looked like her. He got up from the bench and stepped closer. The statue’s bronze features gleamed in the sunlight.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I guess it does.”

  Then he walked away.

  * * *

  He was pissed off with Amy for going on the way she had, and brooded about her stupid story all the way back to t
he city. He had a copy of the Anderson Fairy Tales at home. When he got back to his apartment, he took it down from the shelf and read the story again.

  “Aw, shit,” he said as he closed the book.

  It was just a story. Katrina would turn up. They’d all share a laugh at how Amy was having him on.

  But Katrina didn’t turn up. Not that day, nor the next, nor by the end of the week. She’d vanished from his life as mysteriously as she’d come into it.

  That’s why I don’t want to get involved with people, he wanted to tell Amy. Because they just walk out of your life if you don’t do what they want you to do.

  No way it had happened as Amy had said it did. But he found himself wondering about what it would be like to be without a soul, wondering if he even had one.

  Friday of that week, he found himself back on the island, standing by the statue once again. There were a couple of tattered silk flowers on the stone at its base. He stared at the mermaid’s features for a long time, then he went home and started to phone the members of Marrowbones.

  * * *

  “Well, I kind of thought this was coming,” Amy said when he called to tell her that he was breaking up the band, “except I thought it’d be Johnny or Nicky quitting.”

  She was sitting in the window seat of her apartment’s bay window, back against one side, feet propped up against the other. She was feeling better than she had when she’d seen him on Sunday, but there was still a strangeness inside her. A lost feeling, a sense of the world having shifted underfoot and the rules being all changed.

  “So what’re you going to do?” she added when he didn’t respond.

  “Hit the road for a while.”

  “Gigging, or just traveling?”

  “Little of both, I guess.”

  There was another long pause and Amy wondered if he was waiting for her to ask if she could come. But she was really over him now. Had been for a long time. She wasn’t looking to be anybody’s psychiatrist, or mother. Or matchmaker.

  “Well, see you then,” he said.

  “Bon voyage,” Amy said.

  She cradled the phone. She thought of how he’d talked with her the other night up at Hartnett’s Point, opening up, actually relating to her. And now… She realized that the whole business with Katrina had just wound him up tighter than ever before.

  Well, somebody else was going to have to work on those walls and she knew who it had to be. A guy named Matt Casey.

  She looked out the window again.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  * * *

  Matt was gone for a year. When he came back, the first place he went to was Wolf Island. He stood out by the statue for a long time, not saying anything, just trying to sort out why he was here. He didn’t have much luck, not that year, nor each subsequent year that he came. Finally, almost a decade after Katrina was gone—walked out of his life, turned into a puddle of lake water, went sailing through the air with angels, whatever—he decided to stay overnight, as though being alone in the dark would reveal something that was hidden from the day.

  “Lady,” he said, standing in front of the statue, drowned in the thick silence of the night.

  He hadn’t brought an offering for the statue—Our Lady of the Harbour, as the bag lady had called her. He was just here, looking for something that remained forever out of reach. He wasn’t trying to understand Katrina or the story that Amy had told of her. Not anymore.

  “Why am I so empty inside?” he asked.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you’re going to play with him again,” Lucia said when Amy told her about her new band, Johnny Jump Up.

  Amy shrugged. “It’ll just be the three of us—Geordie’s going to be playing fiddle.”

  “But he hasn’t changed at all. He’s still so…cold.”

  “Not on stage.”

  “I suppose not,” Lucia said. “I guess all he’s got going for him is his music.”

  Amy nodded sadly.

  “I know,” she said.

  * * *

  Word-of-mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review at your retailer of choice or at Goodreads. Even if it’s just a sentence or two. It would make all the difference and would be very much appreciated.

  * * *

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  About the Author

  Charles de Lint is a full-time writer and musician who makes his home in Ottawa, Canada. This author of more than seventy adult, young adult, and children’s books has won the World Fantasy, Aurora, Sunburst, and White Pine awards, among others. Modern Library's Top 100 Books of the 20th Century poll, voted on by readers, put eight of de Lint's books among the top 100. De Lint is also a poet, artist, songwriter, performer and folklorist, and he writes a monthly book-review column for The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. For more information, visit his website at www.charlesdelint.com.

  You can also connect with him at:

  www.charlesdelint.com

  http://cdelint.tumblr.com/

  Other Books by Charles de Lint

  THE WIND IN HIS HEART (novel; Triskell Press, 2017)

  SOMEWHERE IN MY MIND THERE IS A PAINTING BOX (novella; Triskell Press, 2016)

  RIDING SHOTGUN (novella; Triskell Press, 2015)

  THE WISHING WELL (novella; Triskell Press, 2015)

  NEWFORD STORIES: CROW GIRLS (collection; Triskell Press, 2015)

  TIMESKIP (short story; Triskell Press, 2015)

  PAPERJACK (novella; Triskell Press, 2015)

  WHERE DESERT SPIRITS CROWD THE NIGHT (novella; Triskell Press, 2015)

  OUT OF THIS WORLD (young adult novel, Penguin Canada, 2014; Triskell Press, 2014)

  JODI AND THE WITCH OF BODBURY (young adult novel; Triskell Press, 2014)

  SEVEN WILD SISTERS new edition (middle grade novel; Little Brown, 2014)

  OVER MY HEAD (young adult novel, Penguin Canada, 2013; Triskell Press, 2013)

  THE CATS OF TANGLEWOOD FOREST (middle grade novel; Little Brown, 2013)

  UNDER MY SKIN (young adult novel, Penguin Canada, 2012; Triskell Press, 2012)

  EYES LIKE LEAVES (early work, 1980 novel, Tachyon Publications, 2012)

  THE VERY BEST OF CHARLES DE LINT (collection; Tachyon Publications, 2010); Triskell Press, 2014)

  THE PAINTED BOY (young adult novel, Viking, 2010)

  MUSE AND REVERIE (collection, Tor, 2009)

  THE MYSTERY OF GRACE (novel, Tor, March 2009)

  WOODS & WATERS WILD (collection, Subterranean Press, 2008)

  WHAT THE MOUSE FOUND (children's collection, Subterranean Press, 2008)

  DINGO (young adult novella, Viking, 2008)

  PROMISES TO KEEP (novel, Subterranean Press, 2007)

  LITTLE (GRRL) LOST (young adult novel, Viking, 2007)

  TRISKELL TALES: 2 (collection, Subterranean Press, 2006)

  WIDDERSHINS (novel, Tor, 2006)

  THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN (collection, Subterranean Press, 2005)

  QUICKSILVER & SHADOW (collection, Subterranean Press, 2005)

  THE BLUE GIRL (young adult novel, Viking, 2004)

  MEDICINE ROAD (novel, Subterranean Press, 2003)

  SPIRITS IN THE WIRES (novel, Tor, 2003)

  A HANDFUL OF COPPERS (collection, Subterranean Press, 2003)

  TAPPING THE DREAM TREE ("Newford" collection, Tor, 2002)

  WAIFS AND STRAYS (young adult collection, Viking, 2002)

  SEVEN WILD SISTERS (novel, Subterranean Press, 2002)

  THE ONION GIRL (novel, Tor, 2001)

  THE ROAD TO LISDOONVARNA (mystery novel, Subterranean Press, 2001)

  TRISKELL TALES: 22 YEARS OF CHAPBOOKS (collection, Subterranean Press, 2000)

  FORESTS OF THE HEART (novel, Tor, 2000)

  THE NEWFORD STORIES (collection, Science Fiction Book Club, 1999)

  MOONLIGHT AND VINES
(collection, Tor, 1999)

  SOMEPLACE TO BE FLYING (novel, Tor, 1998)

  TRADER (novel, Tor, 1996)

  JACK OF KINROWAN (omnibus, Orb, 1995)

  THE IVORY AND THE HORN (collection, Tor, 1995)

  MEMORY AND DREAM (novel, Tor, 1994)

  THE WILD WOOD (novel, Bantam, 1994)

  INTO THE GREEN (novel, Tor, 1993)

  DREAMS UNDERFOOT (collection, Tor, 1993)

  SPIRITWALK (collection, Tor, 1992)

  HEDGEWORK AND GUESSERY (collection, Pulphouse, 1991)

  THE LITTLE COUNTRY (novel, Morrow, 1991)

  THE DREAMING PLACE (novel, Atheneum, 1990)

  ANGEL OF DARKNESS (novel, as Samuel M. Key; Jove, 1990)

  GHOSTWOOD (novel, Axolotl Press,1990)

  DRINK DOWN THE MOON (novel, Ace, 1990)

  SVAHA (novel, Ace, 1989)

  WOLF MOON (novel, NAL, 1988)

  GREENMANTLE (novel, Ace, 1988)

  JACK, THE GIANT-KILLER (novel, Ace, 1987)

  YARROW (novel, Ace, 1986)

  MULENGRO (novel, Ace, 1985)

  THE HARP OF THE GREY ROSE (novel, Starblaze, 1985)

  MOONHEART (novel, Ace, 1984)

  THE RIDDLE OF THE WREN (novel, Ace, 1984)