by Sarita Leone
Temptation to turn and run nearly sent her scrambling, but duty compelled her to hesitate.
“Are you sure you do not mind?”
“I am. Now, go. I hear you sent Mother upstairs this afternoon; now I send you to the shoreline. Take a nice, long walk. It will do you good.”
Mary took her brown shawl from where it hung on the peg beside the back door. She wrapped it around her shoulders. Then, she tied her straw bonnet in place. Its decorative yellow bow, tied from a scrap of fabric left over from last year’s quilt, drooped beside her right earlobe, so she tugged it off and stuck it into her pocket.
“I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.” Molly placed the dishes in the wash sink. She turned back with a countenance that warned another sisterly bit of advice was about to be dispensed. If Mary could have left without listening, she would have because the advice had grown tiresome. But she could not, so she steeled herself and reached for the door latch.
Two minutes at most, that’s all she will take, she thought as she arranged her features in the blandest expression she could given the circumstances. Being trapped in one’s own kitchen by a determined sibling made her wish she had not dawdled out of duty but had run off like a startled rabbit.
“Mary, you know you must get over what’s happened. We have all gone forward, but you’ve still got the glummest of faces. It pains me, dear sister.”
“My face is not glum. And, I am sorry my features pain you. I must point out, yours match mine very closely. Does your own face give a case of shooting pains, it is so tiresome?”
“Don’t be silly. I didn’t say that. I only wish you weren’t so sad. Father is at peace, you know that.”
“I do know it. And I am fine, no need to worry.” She tugged the door open. “I promise to try to keep my face less agonizing looking so you are not as troubled. How is that for an arrangement?”
Molly put her hands in the warm water and began to wash the plates. “It would be better if you had someone to share your dreams, the way I have Billy.”
Billy Abbingdon had been interested in Molly since they were all young. Now, the two saw each other each evening. It was only a matter of time before they wed. Had there not been a death in the family, the special event might already have taken place.
“Yes, I agree. But, my dear, meddling sister, I cannot pull a man out of thin air! When the time is right, I will meet someone. Now, if I may, I wish to walk the beach before sunset.”
“Enjoy yourself.” Molly splashed suds onto the front of her apron when she took a hand out of the sink to wave a mocking finger. “But I hope that right time to meet a man that you speak of comes sooner rather than later!”
Mary passed through the door and onto the back step. When she was out of earshot, she muttered, “As do I, sister. As do I…”
Chapter 3
Henry Titchell could not explain, even to himself, why he had traveled all the way to Lobster Cove. He had never been anywhere on his own before, so it was a big step, but he did not doubt it was the right one for him. He’d heard, all his life, of the place. Now that those who had told him so many stories were gone, he just knew he had to see it for himself.
Maybe more than see it, but that was yet to be determined.
The first night he had taken lodging in the stable, but he could not stay there indefinitely. And if he was going to stay elsewhere, he would need to earn a living.
Working with his father in the blacksmith shop had made the decision to seek a position with the local smithy a simple one.
“So you say you’ve worked an anvil before?” Smith spoke as he flattened out the rough end of a horseshoe. It was a big one, so he took several swings before he paused, looking up for an answer.
“I have. And the forge, as well.”
Another hard swing. “Where?”
“With my father.”
“Where is his shop?” The dull clank of metal on metal echoed in the still evening air.
“Was in Redding, up north a couple of hours.”
“Was?” Clank.
“That’s right.” Henry pulled a ragged breath. Talking about some things just set a man’s heart in ice. He knew what was coming next.
“Where’s his shop now? And why aren’t you there with him?” Clang.
“No shop. No father. No family. All gone.” Best to get it all over with at once.
Smith stopped mid-swing. The horseshoe came up for inspection, but he gazed through the semi-circle into Henry’s face. A slow, thoughtful moment, then, “Is that right?”
Henry held his gaze and gave a sharp nod. “It is.”
They were about the same age. Where he was taut, though, the blacksmith had the look of a married man about him. Not that he wasn’t so muscled his shirt didn’t strain with every swing, but his midsection also strained a bit, and that was probably from some good cooking. Someone fed the man well, and he looked cared for and content, from the little belly right down to his mended breeches.
“Sorry to hear it.” He handed the tool, with the shoe grasped in its tongs, to Henry. “What do you think?”
He did not answer immediately but took a moment to examine the metal. Then, he handed it back.
“Almost ready, but the burr on the arc needs to come off. Otherwise, some poor animal is going to have a hole in his foot, and his owner is going to be out a bit for the loss.”
Smith chuckled. Then, he held out his hand. Henry shook, and for an instant they each measured the other’s strength by the grip they held.
“Good eye.” The other man raised a bushy eyebrow and tilted his chin toward the small bundle near Henry’s boots. “That all you’re traveling with?”
A fast look toward the pile. It was meager. And while he wished he had more to show for his time and effort on earth, it was the sum of things. For now, anyhow.
Henry met the man’s gaze. “It’s all I’ve got. Makes traveling pretty uncomplicated.”
“I’d say it must make life pretty damn uncomplicated.” Waving the hand he’d just used to shake, Smith motioned to the shop behind him. Specifically, to a window set into the front of the building. “Got a spare bed up there. Nothing fancy, but you’re welcome to it. Gets pretty damn hot up there in the summer, with the forge and all, but it’s surely toasty warm come winter.”
“Obliged. And a little heat won’t bother me.”
A low whistle, and a shake of his head preceded the blacksmith’s words. “Oh, it’ll get more than a little hot up there come July. That is, if you’re planning on staying that long.”
Henry tried not to think too much about what lay before him. And, even less about his past. When the branch on a rotten family tree tried to grow straight, it was best to forget the tree and seek the sun.
Lobster Cove suited him just fine, for now, so he nodded. “I don’t have anyone waiting on me anywhere else, so I don’t see why I won’t be here in July.”
“Good. I can use someone who knows his way around the shop to work with me. Some days I feel like I’m running from morning to night, without a minute to catch my breath. And the wife’s a good cook—you’re welcome to take meals with us.”
Hospitality wasn’t what Henry anticipated when he inquired about a job. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Nothing much came to him without a struggle. It had been that way his whole life and he expected it would be that way until the day he died. But this stroke of luck? Who could tell? Maybe his life was taking a turn for the better.
Maybe, just maybe…the cove welcomes me, he thought.
Pushing aside the silly notion, he said, “That’s very kind of you, thanks.”
Smith turned back to the anvil. He grabbed a soot-blackened file and bent at the waist. Turning the shoe to the best working position, he said, “Go put your things upstairs. You’ll start tomorrow.”
He didn’t reply. At an early age he’d learned there were times when it was better to keep one’s lips tightly sealed. This was one of those time
s; not because he had any harsh word to say but because he suddenly felt emotions stirring within him he’d thought long buried. Kindness after brutality apparently turned his gut to mush.
A walk on Quinn Beach. That was what he needed. Some salt air and time to think. He’d come to the cove with a skeleton of a plan, but now that he saw the place and had met some of the people, he wasn’t at all sure he had the heart to do what he’d thought his whole life of doing.
Thinking was one thing. Doing something that was bound to hurt some of the kindest people he’d ever met was another.
Yes, some time to walk and think, that was the answer. Or, at least it was the answer for now.
Chapter 4
Mary watched the man from her perch atop the rocks. His meandering path along the shoreline mirrored the one she had taken merely an hour earlier. It would be a quarter-hour before he reached where she sat, so she did not rush to put her stockings and shoes back on her bare feet, or cover her head with her bonnet. There was time for that yet.
He was in no hurry to reach the rocks. She doubted he even knew she sat upon them, and doubted even more that he was aware he was being observed. He looked down at the sand, stopping to pick up anything that caught his attention. Sometimes he would turn to face the ocean, pull his arm back, and toss stones far and wide. She noticed he threw with his left hand; that was an interesting tidbit. She had never known anyone who favored the left side, although one of her brothers—she could not recall which one, since the stories they told sometimes mixed together to form one big collective—had been discouraged from using that hand when just a toddler. He’d overcome the affection for it, apparently, because every member of the family used their right sides.
But this stranger? A left-handed fellow, which made him even more remarkable.
Mary could not deny she was intrigued by the man. She’d lain awake all night thinking of him. Wondering why he had appeared so suddenly in Lobster Cove. Thinking—foolishly, she knew—that perhaps he was the divine intervention she had prayed for.
Admitting it to anyone, even her closest friend, Mable, was impossible. But the truth of it was she had been imploring the Lord, asking for some sign that her life was going to be more than a series of household responsibilities for a household other than her own. If wanting a home and a family made her selfish, then she was a very selfish woman indeed. But, that is precisely what she had been asking for. And, now that the handsome stranger was in their midst, she wondered if her prayers had been answered.
****
Henry did not expect anyone else to be on the beach, but that did not mean he hadn’t hoped she would be there. He spotted her from a distance, and his heart skipped like a polished flat stone on a pond. Having her believe he sought her out intentionally might make a young woman uneasy, so he strolled the shoreline. It was a difficult task, bending to examine shells and throw rocks out to sea, but he made himself do it. His heart said run to her, but his mind told him to take a slower pace.
Since his heart had never been affected by a woman before, it seemed prudent to listen to his mind instead. Thus far, it had not led him astray.
When he was close, he raised a hand in greeting. She waved back almost instantly, as if she had been watching him. Could it be the case? Or had he merely imagined the timing?
Waves tenderly kissed the sand, which suited him fine. He had heard too many stories from Granddad about the wild, stormy sea to think this was always the case but he was in no hurry to witness the ocean’s fury. It would come, he knew, as all things did, it its own time, but he was grateful that time was not this evening.
Seashells, both whole and shards of those broken in the waves, littered the sand at his feet. He did not know any of the names of what he saw. Someday, perhaps, he would learn some of them. If he stayed long enough to become educated.
Every step brought him closer to the lovely woman sitting on the rocks. He had watched—pretending he did not do so—as she pulled on footwear, then smoothed her skirt over her legs. And he saw her place the bonnet that lay beside her onto her head and tie the ribbons beneath her chin, although that, too, he pretended not to see.
Henry opened his mouth to call a greeting at the same instant he saw something sparkle in the sand. His mouth snapped shut as he bent to retrieve the object. It was wet, and sand-covered, and worn, but it was not a seashell. The Spanish coin lay heavy in his hand. He rubbed his thumb across its face, thinking his mind was finally playing tricks on him, but his faculties were intact. The coin was real.
He shoved his hand into his pocket, at the same moment he bent a second time to look for any other coins. There were none but just inches beyond the indentation left by the one he’d lifted from the sand, a perfect seashell. It was tiny, but shone almost as brightly as the metal had. He separated it from its spot with a careful finger; it looked fragile and just touching it made him uneasy.
Holding his hand open wide, he walked the last feet to the edge of the rocks.
“What have you there?” Her voice was as gentle and lilting as birdsong.
He removed his hat, gave her a tiny nod and shrugged his shoulders. “I confess, I do not know.”
“Well, why not bring it closer, so I may see if I know?” She was dressed in a perfectly ordinary, serviceable blue dress, but when she looked down at him, he realized the shade of blue matched her eyes and his heart did something very unordinary.
“You do not mind?”
“Certainly not. Why, there is room upon these rocks for the whole village, almost. I promise, I will not bite.” Her smile was so wide and welcoming, he could not refuse. Not that he wanted to, anyhow.
Taking care not to crush the treasure in his hand, he climbed to her. When he stood above her, he paused. “May I?”
She nodded. “Please.”
He sat, taking care to neither drop the seashell nor brush against the woman, mindful that she not consider him an improper sort.
His upbringing had been filled with hardship but he was intelligent, and knew better than to offend a woman.
She appeared intent on examining the seashell but there was a small, but important, matter to settle first.
Henry cleared his throat. There wasn’t anything about it that needed clearing, but it seemed a good way to begin. Her gaze met his, one eyebrow raised in question above the eye he now saw was the truest shade of navy blue he recalled having seen anywhere.
“It comes to mind, miss, that we have not been properly introduced.” He paused, giving a small smile when she gasped at the realization. “Yes, you see it is true. And, since there is no one about who would make an introduction between us, I hope you do not mind if I am brash enough to introduce myself.”
Demurely she placed her hands in her lap. “I do not mind. In fact, I would rather like that. We are not as concerned here in the village as some other places are, I am sure, about social rigors, but we do hold with good manners.”
“Manners are never to be tossed aside, and I fear I may have done just that when we met.” He held his hat loosely in his free hand. “I am Henry Titchell. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She turned, nodding as if they were in church instead of on the beach.
“I am Mary Sweet and the pleasure is mine, as well, Mister Titchell.”
The sound of his name rolling off her tongue like a lullaby almost made him weep. He had never heard it spoken so kindly. Again, he wondered if the woman were more angel than human.
“Well, Miss Sweet, now that we have been introduced, I wonder if you wouldn’t give me your opinion on the beautiful item I hold in my hand.” He brought his palm into reaching distance for the lady and held it steady as she took the offering from him. Her fingertips brushed his skin, sending gooseflesh across his arms and up onto his shoulders. “It is, I believe, very pretty. And almost too delicate to have been tossed about in that water.”
She held the shell less reverently than he had. In her hand it did not look out of place.
Her fingers were long and graceful, and he wondered how it might feel to be holding one of those hands in his own.
Then, he remembered his own hands were work-roughened, unfit to touch the gentler sex.
“It is beautiful.” She ran a slow fingertip over the ridges on the shell. “You have a good eye. And, you’re right; these don’t usually get to the shoreline. They are too breakable by far to survive.” Pointing, she added, “Too many ships have been lost to those rocks. They run beneath the water in a long, dangerous line. Getting past them is not for the faint of heart.”
His own heart clutched in his chest. Taking a deep breath, Henry asked, “You say a lot of ships are dashed upon the rocks?”
“Yes, they are. It has always been that way. Why, I have heard stories of so many men being lost to the sea right beyond our own beach that I have become nearly immune to them. I’m not saying that I don’t grieve for those who are lost. I do…but I cannot say I am surprised they meet with unfortunate ends. It is a miracle for any vessel to get around those rocks. Only one who has been raised in the cove would be aware of them, and able to steer around them and to shore.”
“I don’t imagine most who journey this way are from the village. Aside from local fishermen, that is.”
She left off gazing at the ocean and turned to face him. Her head angled to the side, and she squinted slightly. A thoughtful pose, one which pulled a curl loose from its pin beside her cheek. Enchanting, he thought.
“You are wise beyond your years.” She smiled. “An old soul, perhaps?”
Heat rose in his cheeks. He had not received many compliments in his lifetime, so he was not schooled in the ways of accepting them without coloring.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He shook his head when she giggled. “It is funny, thinking I am at all wise. Now, you must see how silly the idea is.”
“No that is not it! I am—well, I am just a bit amused by the way you seem so put off. Your observations are correct; only locals venture out to sea from this point. Up the coast, it is safer, even for the larger vessels. But here? Not as much, and you have seen that already. Granted we do not meet many newcomers, but those who do visit do not often realize this is not a safe place to come ashore.”
