“I didn’t hear a thing.” She felt dazed.
He patted her arm. “You can’t watch them twenty-four hours a day, especially that Ella. No stopping her when her mind is made up, is there? If they did set out, they’re probably close by, at the Mermaid Cave or one of the coves. They’re smart, capable girls. We’ll call Polly from Maire’s. Darn me for not having a phone. She’ll get the word out. Don’t worry. We’ll find them. Chances are, they’re hiding, having a good laugh.”
Nora ran ahead and phoned Polly, who broadcast the alert. “All hands, two young children lost at sea.” She closed the post office for the day to man the radio. It was usually one of the men they searched for, never little girls, not since Nora herself went missing that long-ago summer. The bells rang in the church, in the harbor, summoning the fishermen to duty.
Reilly limped in behind her and made tea in Maire’s kitchen.
“Now what do we do?” Nora paced the length of the living room before sitting down at the table, jiggling her leg.
Reilly gave her a cup of tea, a slice of lemon and spoonful of honey on the side. “We wait.”
Nora had no boat. She must stay there and hope for news. Good news.
They regarded each other across the table, the former fisherman and the politician’s wife. They were a team now. The minutes ticked by without a word. It would take time. She knew that. Outside, the mist gathered. “The weather is turning,” Nora said, not against them, she hoped. She closed her eyes, asking for the strength to get through this one day, and whatever would follow.
Time passed. She tried not to look at her watch, to mark the passing minutes. Reilly told her stories, tall fishing tales, Irish versions of Jonah and the whale, to keep her mind off things, until a ship’s horn sounded from the dock.
They hadn’t expected a boat to come to Cliff House, but it appeared one had—her uncle’s, Owen motioning them aboard. Reilly went first.
“You’re here—” Nora nearly threw her arms around him in relief. She only held herself in check because Reilly was there.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he said.
She fought back tears. It was too much, seeing him again at such a time.
“And a good thing too,” Reilly interjected. “We should get moving. Visibility is getting worse by the minute.”
Owen took the wheel, his eyes on the waves ahead. He wore one of Jamie’s sweaters, jeans, boots, and a rain jacket. “There’s another slicker over there, if you want it. You’re not exactly dressed for heading to sea.” He noted her bloodied jeans. “And bandages in the cabinet.”
“They could be anyplace by now—”
“We’ll find them.”
She wanted to believe him. She’d never wanted to believe anything more in her life. “I thought you’d gone.”
“I thought you had too.” He steered the boat past the breakwater.
“That’s what Ella wanted, not me. Did you believe her?”
“I didn’t know what to believe.”
“No, I suppose you didn’t.” She paused. “I heard a curious story in town about the wreck of the Owen Kavanagh.”
He regarded her steadily, as if waiting for her to draw her own conclusions.
She thought of that night, the ocean, the story Polly told, and that of the sailors.
“You can’t mean—”
“Perhaps you called me,” he said, a glint in his eye. “That first night you arrived on the island.”
Her tears in the sea. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“Believe what you want. It’s what we choose to believe that shapes us.”
“It’s sounding mighty philosophical in here.” Reilly rejoined them, stamping his feet.
“Do you think Ella is trying to get back to Boston?” Owen asked.
“She wouldn’t be so foolish,” Nora said, their unfinished conversation hanging between them. It would have to wait for another time. “The coracle is hardly fit to sail, certainly not that far, not by children.”
“Depends on how badly she wanted to go home.”
“Boston, you say?” Reilly said. “That must have been why she was asking me about navigation. I thought her interest had been academic, not practical.”
“When was that?” Nora asked.
“A few days ago. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what she was up to.”
“None of us did.”
They lapsed into silence as the vessel headed into the open water. They could search for hours, days, weeks, without a trace. The girls were gone. Like Maire’s husband and son. Like Nora’s mother.
A voice came on the radio. One of the fishermen. “Possible debris found. South of the Teeth. Searching for survivors.”
“There are always boards floating about after storms,” Reilly assured her.
“The water’s too cold,” Nora said as if he hadn’t spoken. And the Teeth too formidable, wave-lashed, and narrow for anyone to get a handhold. How would the girls survive? She couldn’t stop shivering. Reilly put Owen’s coat over her shoulders, and still she couldn’t get warm, the adrenaline, the mist, the thought of her daughters out there, somewhere, alone, too much for her. “When can you get us there?” she asked Owen.
“In about half an hour if the conditions are good,” he said. “But the current splits in two, something like a maritime fork in the road. One goes south, where the wreckage was found, the other, which isn’t consistent, north, toward Little Burke.”
“Yes—I hadn’t thought of that,” Reilly agreed.
Nora stared at them. “But the others said—”
“I know what they said,” Owen replied. “There are plenty of boats due south and none to the north. They’ll let us know if they find something definite. In the meantime, we might as well try this.”
Reilly nodded. “He’s right. It’s worth a shot.”
Little Burke. It was an island. A place the girls could find shelter, as she had, once upon a time.
Annie was awake now, wasn’t she? Swimming in and out of consciousness. She’d thought she heard Ronan. You’ll be all right. You’ll see. I told you I knew where to find you. She could get her breath now. Air. Land. Her skin felt tight, itchy. Her hair stiff. Sea salt. The sound of waves against the shore. She still felt the movement, though they were no longer afloat. A cabin. No, a shack. You could see the night through it in places, and yet it was dry inside. There was a fire. She didn’t feel the cold anymore. The smell of smoke, seaweed, the beach at low tide. Siggy at her side. He’d made it. So had Ella.
There was a woman with long silver hair. She tucked something around them. A blanket? Annie couldn’t be sure. “You’re safe now,” she said. She had the Burke’s Island lilt, but something else too. Annie wanted her to keep talking, but she turned away and sat by the fire. Ella didn’t stir, sleeping deeply, as if she were under a spell, but Annie drifted somewhere between enchantment and reality, though she couldn’t speak or move. The woman looked away. Who are you? Annie wanted to ask, but she couldn’t form the words. “It’s time to sleep, little one,” the woman said, drawing closer again, stroking her cheek. The warmth, her words, her touch, too much to resist. Annie closed her eyes and dreamed.
Is this the area where the current would have taken them?” Nora asked. There’d been no sign of the coracle. She was beginning to doubt the plan. The mist grew more impenetrable.
“It matches the charts, but the islands don’t always follow them,” Reilly said.
Her eyes ached from the constant effort of peering into the fog. They had to get to the girls—and soon. “Can’t you go any faster?” she called to Owen.
“I’ve pushed the engine to its limit as it is.” As if in agreement, it ground to a halt.
“Oh, God, no. Can you fix it?” Nora didn’t attempt to keep the panic from her voice.
“I don’t know.” He went below with Reilly. She could hear them hammering, swearing.
She paced above, listening to the occasional conversation on the
radio, the latest alluding to another possible storm brewing in the south, churning up the coast. “They say there’s another storm coming,” she yelled down the steps.
Reilly ascended, his breathing labored as he hoisted himself back onto the pilot house. “Yes.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I heard it earlier, when you were on deck.” She’d popped outside at intervals, monitoring the water for evidence of debris. “There was no use in worrying you further—”
“All the more reason to move quickly.”
“Storms like that often lose energy. There’s a good chance it won’t even make it this far.”
“But there’s also a chance it will—and that’s a chance I’m not willing to take.”
“I thought there was life left in the old engine,” Owen said when he joined them a few minutes later, wiping his hands on a rag. “But it’s given out. According to my calculations, we’re not that far from shore. We could radio for help. Someone will come. They’d be able to get closer; they’d probably have a dinghy for landing.” Joe’s boat didn’t have one, at least not anymore.
“It’s as if the island doesn’t want us to draw any nearer. It makes its own rules,” Reilly mused.
“And I make mine,” Nora said. “How far are we from shore?” She shed her shoes and coat. She was tired of waiting. She knew what she had to do. She wouldn’t let Owen stop her.
“It could be a mile or more. Wait a minute. What are you up to?” Owen asked.
“I’m going in,” she said.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“There’s no alternative. You know there isn’t.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you should stay here.” Her gaze shifted to Reilly, who was listening to the radio. “In case one of the boats comes.”
“They will. The Mary Grace is en route. If you’d wait a little longer—”
“There might not be time. I can’t take the risk.”
“Aren’t you taking a greater one?”
“No.” Not when it came to her children.
“If anything were to happen to you—”
She didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. She dove. The water closed over her, chill as ever. She was used to it by now, but she knew she needed to move fast. A seal shot past her, bound for shore. She stroked hard, head down, in its wake. Her breath, her motion, her choice. No struggle, just forward momentum. The seal surfacing, submerging, the mist swirling. She treaded water, saltwater stinging her eyes, the boat no longer in sight. The seal bobbed nearby; its head suddenly appeared human, with long silver hair. Was she seeing things?
A rip current pulled her away. She swam parallel, hoping it would relent. If it didn’t, she might be carried out to sea. Her arms and legs felt leaden. She couldn’t let them fail her now. Perhaps this was what she’d been training for, not that other race with its starting guns and ribboned medals, but this—to reach the shore, to find her daughters. The thought of them spurred her onward when she didn’t think she could go any farther. Stroke. Breathe. Her arms flailed, her legs dangled beneath the surface, lower, lower still. If she could only make it to the beach, feel land beneath her feet once more.
Nora wriggled her toes in the sand. It was the summer her mother disappeared. She’d followed her down to the shore, life jacket in hand. She knew her mother was taking the coracle. She’d seen her do it before. “Where are you going?”
Maeve stood knee-deep in the water, preparing to launch. “On a little trip. I’ll be back soon.”
“I want to come.”
“You’re not old enough.”
“I am. I am.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t let me, I’ll tell.”
Maeve laughed. “Who said it was a secret?”
“No one.” But if it wasn’t, why didn’t she tell anyone? Why did she vanish for hours at a time?
Maeve thought for a moment. “Come on, then.”
“What about Daddy?” Nora asked.
“There’s only room for two. We won’t go far. Does he know you’re here?”
“No.” She wanted to be part of her mother’s secret, whatever it was. She wanted to find out. “Where are we going?”
“Around the bend.”
Off they went, across the cove, into the ocean.
“Look, Mamai,” Nora called, mamai the Gaelic word for mommy, “I’m flying.” Over the waves. Nora spread her arms and closed her eyes.
The fishing boats were farther afield, mere dots on the eastern horizon. They’d gone out early that morning, as always. Nora and her mother were the only ones on that part of the ocean. Nora thought of it as their kingdom, the paddle her mother’s scepter, ruler of all that lay below. Onward they went, to places Nora hadn’t been before. They sailed around sea stacks and through arches, to a hidden cave.
Her mother tied the boat to a rock. “Wait here.” She went inside.
Nora sat in the boat, counting the waves. She could never count them all. They kept coming and coming.
A short time later, her mother returned with a package, wrapped in oilcloth and tied with string.
“What’s that? Is it treasure? Is it a surprise?”
“You’ll see, someday.” She began paddling again.
Nora didn’t want to wait until someday. She wanted to know now. She pulled away an edge of the wrapping when her mother wasn’t looking. She still couldn’t see what was inside. It was odd. It felt like fur.
“Nora!” Her mother snatched the package away. “You mustn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”
“What happens if I do?”
Her mother didn’t reply. She seemed worried now. The weather was changing, and they needed to get back to Glass Beach.
The fur reminded Nora of the story in the book of fairy tales her mother read to her. “Are you one of them?”
Maeve didn’t answer. The waves rose around them, peaks of liquid glass. They swept the vessel into the channel. The sun dimmed, the clouds advancing, the wind blustering. Maeve stroked hard up one face, then another. She was strong. She could do anything. She would keep them safe. That’s what Nora told herself, though she crouched in the bottom of the coracle, frightened.
The boat flipped, as if an invisible hand had turned it over and tipped them into the ocean. Nora fought against the water; it slapped her in the face. She glimpsed the boat continuing on its way, like a riderless horse, before the waves closed in on them again.
She felt her mother’s arm around her. The package floated from Maeve’s grasp. She couldn’t hold on to them both. “You can swim, remember?”
She could, but never so far.
“Pretend you’re a fish, a fish in the sea.”
“I can’t. I’m just a girl.”
“Try. You have to try—”
Maeve’s voice grew fainter, her breathing labored. She was bleeding. Nora saw the blood, seeping down her arm, staining both of them red. “You’re hurt—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She pushed Nora up on a rock ledge.
Where were they? Everything was too far away. The boats. The shore. Nora began to cry.
Maeve hugged her. “Hush now, hush.” She hummed a lullaby, her grip on Nora, and the rock itself, weakening. Nora didn’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry I peeked inside the package, Mamai. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not, love. It’s mine, for not making the choice.”
“What choice?”
A seal appeared, then another.
“You need to help her,” Nora said. “She’s hurt. You can help. I know you can.”
“Hold on. Don’t ever let go.” Her mother slid into the sea, the seals too.
“Mamai! Mamai!”
Her mother didn’t answer. She was gone.
Be strong. Swim. You know the way. Maeve’s voice again. Nora thought she was losing her mind, falling through time. Then she heard seals barking nearby. Land had to be close. T
he current lessened, her strength too. There was nothing else for it; she had to make a hard break for shore. Her lungs felt as if they might burst.
She was all motion now, memory. She sensed the tide with her, carrying her in on the crest of a wave. She scraped her legs against a rock, kicked with everything she had left. The sea spat her out onshore, the seals sliding off the rocks into the water. She struggled to stand, her legs so wobbly they gave out the first time. She’d crawl if she had to. She pulled herself up on the granite boulders lining the bank, sensation slowly returning.
“I’m here,” she shouted. “I’m here.” There was a trail, heading upward. A trail she would take.
Granite, sand, pebble, that was all Little Burke was, chosen by seals and birds for its natural ledges, leading up and up, to a stone plateau. Tide pools flourished along the shoreline, shadow boxes filled with delicate starfish and anemones, in shades of orange and green, rocks slick with seaweed, barnacles, and mussels. The beach was littered with sea glass, shells, floats, a single glove, a shoe, a cobalt blue bottle—the treasures, the debris, of those who lived or spent time by the ocean.
The island’s stones held its history, of creatures large and small, the living and the dead—of the earth reshaping itself, this place too, the waves that never stopped, would never be still.
The way was far from clear. The path seemed to peter out, then started again a short distance ahead. She needed to be alert to find the way. Her feet were numb from the cold, bleeding from barnacle cuts. She felt the pain only mildly, as if it belonged to someone else.
She heard the blast of the ship’s horn in the distance, Owen letting her know he was there. She imagined the seals circling the boat, as if to tell him she’d landed safely, that she’d finally come home—and she had. She understood that now. That this was part of a journey begun years ago, left incomplete, the site of her abandonment, of beginnings and ends. The island had been waiting for her. Everything circles back on itself in the end, she thought. Everything is connected. The geography of the land, of the soul. The edge of a curtain had lifted, and she glimpsed what lay beyond, if only for a moment, and yet that moment was enough to comprehend, in part, her mother’s sacrifice.
The Cottage at Glass Beach Page 25
