“No. Not that she’s said. And I think she would tell me.”
Rebecca traced a finger around the rim of her mug. “I want to see you bonded, Molly. But you each have to come into it whole and unburdened…”
“And you think Kathleen isn’t either of those,” Molly finished.
Rebecca held her gaze. “Not yet.”
IN THE KITCHEN, BLOSSOM raised his head with a small woof when the front door opened.
“Don’t take your boots off,” Kathleen called.
“Why?” came Molly’s weary voice. “I am not shoveling one more inch of snow today.”
Kathleen peeked around the door. “You don’t have to shovel anything. We’re going to the diner for dinner. Wilma called. I’m just wrapping up a pan of brownies to take with us.”
Molly sank onto the small bench next to the door. Blossom wandered over to lick the snow off her boots.
A moment later, Kathleen came into the foyer with a towel-wrapped pan in her hands. She laid it in Molly’s lap and kissed her.
“Tired?” she asked as she pulled her jacket off its hook.
Molly slid over to give her room to sit and put her boots on. “Exhausted.”
“Well, Nels has made a huge batch of vegetable lasagna with the produce he’s been growing in his greenhouse. Sounds good.”
Molly let Kathleen tug her to her feet. “I’m so hungry, these brownies might not make it to the diner.”
Kathleen chuckled and took the pan from her. “Want me to drive?”
“I’m not that tired.”
“Hey, I’m a good driver.”
“Under normal circumstances, yes. But this new snow is still iffy in places.”
“All right,” Kathleen conceded, secretly glad not to navigate in this, even with the Toyota’s four-wheel-drive.
A lingering twilight helped illuminate the winding road as Molly drove them into town. Several trucks and SUVs were already parked at the diner, where the lights cast a welcoming glow into the deepening dusk.
Wilma called out a greeting as soon as they entered. Kathleen went to set her brownies on the counter, making space between Louisa’s orange-cranberry bread and one of Jenny’s creamy pumpkin pies. Aidan, Matty, and Joey were all seated at counter stools.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said sternly as they eyed the desserts.
Molly sank into a chair, her chin cradled in her hand, her eyes drooping. Blossom curled up under her chair.
“Poor thing,” Wilma clucked. She poured a cup of coffee. “Here, Mo. Drink this down or you’ll be falling asleep in your supper, like you did when you were three.”
Louisa joined her. Kathleen, convinced that Molly would be kept awake by having to converse with Louisa, set about helping lay out stacks of dishes and silverware.
“So the greenhouse is a success?”
“Oh, it’s been wonderful,” Wilma said. “The solar panels Molly installed have meant we can keep the greenhouse warmer without using the island’s electricity at all. And the batteries store enough energy to run the heating and lighting even on cloudy days. Nels says it makes all the difference.”
Miranda sidled over. “Tim is convinced. We’re ordering a greenhouse and solar panels for the market and the house. And the chicken coop.”
Kathleen pointed to a platter of baked chicken. “Is this—?”
“No,” Miranda said with a chuckle. “Once we’ve given them names, we can’t eat them. Eggs only.”
“Good,” Kathleen said. “Maybe I should think about solar for Nanna’s cottage.”
“Don’t you mean your cottage, Katie?” Wilma asked.
Kathleen stopped and smiled. “I guess I should start thinking of it as my cottage, shouldn’t I?”
“I think it’s something we should bring up to the island council,” Miranda said. “If we added wind turbines, and if everyone on the island added solar panels, we might be able to cut our fuel bills considerably and not rely on the tankers getting out here.”
“When does the island council meet?” Kathleen asked.
“May first, the traditional day of Bealtaine,” Wilma said. “More often if we need to.”
“Supper’s ready,” Nels called, carrying an enormous pan in his oven-mitted hands.
He dished out generous portions onto plates that were passed out to everyone there. They went down the counter, adding rolls and meatballs from other bowls.
Kathleen brought plates to Molly and Louisa before joining them. Jenny and Joe squeezed in at their table.
“I’ll need to fill the oil truck tomorrow,” Molly said. “Got a few people need deliveries.”
Joe shook his head. “Tanker hasn’t come. We’re down to our last two hundred gallons. Better ration it till they get out here.”
Molly frowned. “They were supposed to be here last week. What’s up?”
Joe shrugged as he chewed. “Don’t know. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“I’ll turn our thermostat down,” Louisa said quickly.
“We better tell everyone to go easy with the heat,” Jenny said. “If we don’t get a delivery soon, it’s going to get cold pretty quick.”
Molly yawned as she finished her lasagna. Kathleen smiled and took her plate.
“Let me help wash up, and we’ll head home.”
“You go,” Jenny said, pulling the plates from Kathleen’s hands. “We’ll take care of things here.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Molly stood. “Night, everyone.”
They left to a chorus of good nights from everyone still at the diner.
“Are you okay to drive home?” Kathleen asked.
Molly yawned again. “Mmm hmm. Better sing to keep me awake.”
Kathleen laughed. “That would keep you awake, believe me.”
Molly grinned. When she turned the ignition, she found an oldies station on the radio. There was a lot of static, but she cranked the volume up. They drove home, singing along to Roy Orbison and “Pretty Woman.”
Chapter 17
KATHLEEN SAT AT HER DESK, a blanket wrapped around her legs and fingerless mittens on her hands as she worked. She wore a T-shirt under a thermal long-sleeve under a wool sweater. Next to her, Blossom lay curled up in his bed. She’d taken to carrying it anywhere she was so he’d have a warm place to rest. Currently, he had the additional warmth of burrowing under an old towel she’d draped over him, so that all she could see was a spotted rump.
Outside, the weak April sunshine held the promise of warmth, but it didn’t really deliver.
Molly had cautioned her to keep the furnace only warm enough to keep the pipes from freezing during the nights, which still dipped into the low thirties.
Their nights in bed had become decidedly less romantic.
Kathleen paused as that thought crossed her mind. They weren’t less romantic at all. They were definitely less sexual—getting naked, even under two blankets over top of the electric one, was not appealing—but they had cuddled together most of the night. She couldn’t decide now which was nicer, the shared warmth or the touching.
Lost in those thoughts, she heard the oven timer go off downstairs. Blossom scrambled out from under his towel as she got stiffly to her feet.
She’d never minded cooking when she and Susannah lived together—she was certainly better at it than Susannah was—but she’d found here that she really enjoyed it. The little cottage felt so much homier when it was filled with the scents of a hearty stew or soup, or better yet, bread or pie or cookies.
She made a face as she grabbed the spare tire that had started to inflate around her waist.
“Too many cookies and pies,” she said with a sigh. “Not enough walking.”
Blossom turned circles near the back door. She let him out and opened the oven to take out the loaf of orange-cranberry bread she was trying for the first time. She’d talked Louisa into giving her the recipe. Sniffing deeply, her eyes filled with sudden tears, as the scent brought back the memory of the first time she’d had
this bread when Olivia and Louisa had come over to welcome her by helping her to clean the cottage.
She slid the fragrant loaf onto a cooling rack.
Back upstairs, she decided that neither her butt nor her eyes could take any more time at her computer. She quickly peeled off some layers and changed into others that could wick if she actually managed to work up a sweat—a prospect that seemed unlikely, considering she’d have to thaw out before she could generate any excess heat.
Blossom was sitting on the front porch.
“Were you waiting for me?” she asked. “Come on. Let’s get some exercise.”
Blossom led the way out to the road, and she willingly followed. Without any plan, they walked quickly, Kathleen out of breath way too soon.
“I am out of shape,” Kathleen huffed.
She found herself heading toward the cemetery. Car tires crunched behind her, and she automatically moved to the side. An old Ford pulled up beside her.
“Miss Louisa.”
“Hello, Katie. Where are you headed?”
“Nowhere special. Just out for a walk. What about you?”
“Going to the cemetery to clean up. Want to join me?”
Kathleen hesitated. Getting in the car would effectively spell an end to her walk, but… “Sure.”
She opened the back door for Blossom and saw the two boxes of ashes secured by their seatbelts.
“He can’t hurt anything,” Louisa said.
He jumped in, settling between the boxes while Kathleen got into the front seat.
“I’ll need a taste tester later,” Kathleen said.
Louisa glanced over. “You made the orange-cranberry bread?”
“Yes. I know it won’t be as good as yours, but—”
“We need someone else who can make it after I’m gone.”
Kathleen didn’t know what to say to that.
An awkward silence filled the car.
“Aidan left?” Kathleen asked.
Louisa nodded. “Two days ago. This will be just what he needs. Bobby will be a good mentor, and he’ll have a goal to work for. He hasn’t had one since that terrible summer.”
Kathleen fastened her own seatbelt, though they had less than a mile to the cemetery. “What was Aidan like? After?”
Louisa steered around a curve in the road. “He never was one for school and studying, but he was only fifteen. Too young to quit school. He struggled through those next few years. He wasn’t drinking then, of course. But he picked fights, snuck out of the house. I believe Jenny and Joe had a hard time with him. He wouldn’t talk to anyone about what happened.”
She arrived at the cemetery a moment later and parked. When Kathleen let Blossom out, he immediately chased a rabbit into the trees. Kathleen was surprised to realize Louisa was wearing a pair of Olivia’s old dungarees—the first time she’d see her in pants—tucked into her rubber boots.
Louisa opened the trunk, and they retrieved a few things she had stashed there: a small rake and a couple of trowels.
“How are you doing, with your oil?” Kathleen asked, noting Louisa’s heavy jacket and scarf and gloves.
“I’m not sure I can remember worse, but Daddy talked about the war, when we didn’t get oil for months at a time, so I try not to complain.”
Kathleen, who had a bitter complaint on the tip of her tongue, swallowed it.
Most of the snow had melted, leaving only small clumps of white in the shadows of the trees and headstones.
They went first to Nanna’s grave, where the little rose bush sat, looking forlorn against the granite. They both knelt, clearing away the fallen leaves to reveal tiny flowers poking through the grass.
Kathleen gasped. “I didn’t know these were here. The white ones are crocus, right?”
“Yes. And this,” Louisa cradled a little purple one, “is hyacinth. I planted these last year, hoping the squirrels wouldn’t get them.”
“They’re lovely.”
Kathleen worked, tenderly raking the grass over the gravesite. She lifted her hands to her face, inhaling the scents of dirt and flowers and spring. “I miss her.”
“So do I.” Louisa sighed and used Kathleen’s shoulder to help push to her feet.
They walked to another part of the cemetery, to an older stone.
“Máiréad Woodhouse,” Kathleen read. “What a pretty name.”
“Mama was pretty,” Louisa said softly. “A tiny thing, but tough as nails. I favor her. Ollie favored Daddy.”
Reading the dates on the marker, Kathleen said, “She died young. Only fifty-four.”
Louisa nodded. “Cancer. We don’t get it often here. The doctors said there wasn’t anything they could do for her. She didn’t want to die in a hospital so far from home, so we took care of her best we could.”
They swept away the leaves and sticks from her grave, finding more small flowers scattered over the site.
“Family is important,” Louisa said as they worked.
Kathleen bit her lip and kept working. “I agree family is an important influence. But not all families are healthy or good for you.”
She felt Louisa’s gaze, studying her.
“I suppose you’re right,” Louisa said softly.
They both looked up at the sound of another vehicle, approaching fast. A cloud of dust followed as it pulled to a hard stop and Jenny got out.
“Emergency meeting. In town. Now.”
She got back into her SUV. Kathleen helped Louisa to her feet, and they hurried back to the car. Kathleen called to Blossom, who came bounding out of the woods.
“You drive, Katie,” Louisa said, getting in the passenger side.
Kathleen adjusted the seat and drove as quickly as she could down into town, where it seemed most of the islanders were already gathered, tightly packed inside the diner.
She and Louisa crowded in. Someone got up to offer his seat to Louisa, but Kathleen remained standing as she scanned the crowd for Molly. She saw her on the other side of the diner, a somber expression on her face as she nodded in Kathleen’s direction.
Joe called for quiet. “I found out why we haven’t had any oil delivered for over a month.”
An ominous silence followed.
“Our oil company has been bought out, and we’ve been cut off.”
An angry buzz broke out, like a disturbed hornet’s nest.
“Who?” someone called out.
It seemed to Kathleen that Joe was deliberately looking anywhere but in her direction.
“Michael Halloran.”
As one, every person in the diner turned to stare at Kathleen as the floor tilted under her feet.
VOICES CONTINUED TO BUZZ around her. Someone lowered Kathleen into a newly vacated chair.
“Land sakes, she’s white as a ghost,” Wilma clucked, pushing a steaming cup of coffee into her hands.
“We need to hear what she has to say,” someone called out, and several people echoed that sentiment.
Kathleen was guided toward the counter, where Joey and Matty each took her by an elbow and hoisted her up to sit on the counter. From there, she felt like a specimen on display for the assembled islanders.
Joe pushed through the crowd and laid a hand on her knee. “Did you know?”
Mutely, Kathleen shook her head.
“Of course she didn’t know,” Molly said, elbowing people aside to get to Kathleen.
“We have to ask, Mo,” Joe said.
“It’s okay,” Kathleen managed to say, clasping Molly’s hand. She looked down at Joe. “I haven’t spoken to my father in months. I had no idea.”
“Why would he do this?” someone else asked, Kathleen couldn’t tell who.
She shook her head again. “I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is…”
She scanned the sea of faces, most of them familiar now. “He never forgave my grandmother, or the island, for my brother’s death. When I came here, I think that may have been the thing that pushed him to do this.”
&nb
sp; She blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry.”
The murmurs this time were sympathetic rather than angry.
“It’s not your fault,” Rebecca said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Those of us who grew up with Michael know he’s more than capable of this.”
“How bad is it, Joe?” came a voice from the back of the diner.
Joe gave Kathleen’s knee a squeeze. Turning to the others, he said, “It’s not just heating oil. The generators for our electric are still half-full. We filled them when we got our last shipment of diesel, but it won’t last long. We have enough fuel for another couple of weeks for the fishing boats. And gasoline for cars, we have maybe enough to get us through the end of the month, based on our typical usage. We’ll all need to conserve as much as we can. Carpool or bike if you don’t have to drive. Turn off everything electric that doesn’t need to be on.”
He shifted onto a counter stool. “I’ve contacted another oil company, down the coast. They can get a delivery to us sometime in the next couple of weeks, if the weather holds. It’ll cost more, as they’re having to ship it farther.”
Another angry hum rose.
Joe spoke over it. “We won’t charge any mark-up on that shipment. You’ll pay what we pay.”
The hum died down.
“That’s good of you, Joe,” said Tim.
Joe shrugged. “We’re in this together. All of us or none of us.”
Miranda climbed onto a chair and held up her hand to quiet everyone. “This is exactly why we need to make a real commitment to becoming self-sufficient. Solar and wind and waves are all things we’ve plenty of and can make use of. We always complain about the wind. We can turn it to our advantage.”
“That won’t help with the boats,” Joey said.
“True,” Miranda agreed. “But it’s a start.”
“How do we start?” Wilma asked.
Kathleen raised a timid hand. “I… I’ve been doing some research on that.”
MOLLY GAVE A WIDE yawn as she drove the empty tanker truck back to the marina. She’d spent the day delivering load after load of heating oil to various houses around the island. The islanders had all agreed to cap deliveries at no more than one hundred gallons each until the oil company could get back to them with another tanker of oil and gasoline.
When the Stars Sang Page 24
