“I would love to visit your shop sometime. Maybe another day.”
Daisy seemed satisfied and nodded. “Another day it will be then. In the meantime, I have a poem for you . . . yes, I do . . . It’s in here, somewhere . . .” She reached into her skirt and a handful of miscellaneous treasures appeared in her velvet-covered palm. Tess and Jonathan waited as she sifted through them—a ceramic button painted with a flower, a piece of hard candy, a lace-edged hanky, two hairpins, a rubber band, a large old-fashioned skeleton key, and finally, a balled-up scrap of paper. She picked that out like a prize.
“Here it is. I knew I had it.” She presented it very formally to Jonathan. “This is for you. I found it this morning and knew it was for someone . . . a friend whom I hadn’t yet met,” she added.
Jonathan looked down at the ball of paper, which was now in his outstretched hand. “Well . . . thanks very much. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
“I am sure, too.”
Daisy headed into her shop. Tess and Jonathan headed back across the square toward the General Store. “So that was Daisy Winkler,” Jonathan said finally. “Does she get much business there?”
“More than you would think. Sooner or later, everyone who visits the island stops in there. And I’ve heard that her shop is listed in some real tours of the area. Honest,” Tess said, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Oh, I believe you.” Jonathan laughed. “And everyone who visits gets their own poem?”
“No, not at all. That means you’re special,” she told him, knowing it was true.
“Well, then I’m honored, I guess. Let’s see what it says.” He stopped in front of the store to unfold the scrap of paper and read it aloud.
“I started early—Took my Dog—
And visited the Sea—
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me—”
Jonathan stopped reading and looked at Tess. “Emily Dickinson,” he said, “one my favorites.”
“Mine, too,” Tess said, pleased that he knew the poem. “Is that all she gave you?”
He nodded, turning the scrap over. “That’s it . . . Isn’t it enough?” A smile broke out across his handsome face, and she had to smile back.
“I think so. There’s plenty there to think about, the way there always is in a great poem.”
They had not started off early, or brought a dog, but Tess still felt the poetic fragment perfectly fit their outing. The sea was all around them today, and perhaps Jonathan would meet up with something as unlikely and fanciful as a mermaid—or at least open his mind to the endless possibilities.
They walked into the General Store, and Tess’s senses were immediately filled with the varied sights and scents of the place. The store carried everything from canned corn to car oil, fresh pickles to fishing line, baby wipes to wiper blades, and everything in between. The wooden floors gave off a slightly musty scent, mingled with the smell of fruits and vegetables, hot coffee, and the cooked foods at the deli counter.
Marion Doyle, who ran the store with her husband, Walter, stood in her usual spot at the register, sorting a bundle of mail into the rows of pigeonhole boxes behind her. The store was also the island’s only post office and Marion, the official postmistress.
“Hello, Tess. What brings you around today?” Marion greeted her. “Working up at the inn?”
“Just being a tourist. I’m showing my friend Jonathan the sights,” she added.
Jonathan had found the cold drink case and came to the counter with several bottles of water, where Tess introduced him to Marion.
“Nice to meet you,” Jonathan said. “You have quite a store here. I could browse all day.”
Marion seemed pleased with that compliment as she rang up the water. “We’re here to supply the necessities . . . and then some.”
“I can see that. You do very well on the ‘then some,’” he added, making her smile.
“We try our best. Enjoy your day.”
Tess and Jonathan thanked her, then headed outside again. “I didn’t know you worked at the inn, too. How many jobs do you have in this town?”
Tess laughed. “I like variety. It’s all good experience,” she added. “I only work at the inn if Liza is putting on a wedding or a big party. Or if she has a lot of guests and is shorthanded. In the summertime, mostly.”
“Do you work part-time when you’re at school, too?”
Tess shook her head. “No, only at home. I need all my spare time at school to study.”
Jonathan smiled at her. “All your spare time? There’s never an hour or two left for having fun or . . . going out on a date with someone?”
“That depends on which someone asks me out,” she answered playfully.
“Oh, I see.” He nodded, taking in the information. “Any special qualifications needed?”
“Of course,” she answered tartly. “Let’s see . . . the someone has to love history . . . be kind, generous . . . and despise the sight and smell of clam rolls almost as much I do.”
“Hmm . . . I’ll make note of all that. Not sure if I qualify,” he said, pretending to write in an imaginary notebook. “But I could give it a try once we get back to Boston.”
“Yes, you should. I think you’ll have a good chance.”
“That’s encouraging.” He smiled warmly at her. They were standing in the little stone-covered square right next to the fountain. The village center was near the top of a hill, affording a breathtaking, panoramic view of the sea. “Wait, I’d like to get a photo here,” Jonathan said, taking out his camera.
“For your research?” Tess asked.
“Yes, and . . . just because it’s so beautiful.” He snapped one or two frames, then said, “Stand by that wall, and I’ll take one of you.”
Tess felt a little self-conscious at the request. She didn’t like being in pictures and her hair was all messy and she didn’t have on a trace of makeup. But it also seemed a very nice compliment and encouraging to think that Jonathan wanted a picture of her.
“All right, but only if we’re in it together,” she said.
Jonathan laughed. “Okay, I’ll try. I hope my arms are long enough.”
He stood next to her by the stone wall and put his arm around her shoulder, holding her close. Then he extended his other arm out as far as he could reach, pointing the camera at them.
“Okay, smile now,” he said. Tess didn’t need the reminder. She felt very happy in his embrace and was already smiling widely.
“I hope I got it. That could look really nice,” he said, checking the shot on the camera’s screen. “Yes, perfect.”
He showed it to her, and she was surprised by what a good picture it was. They looked happy and relaxed—like a couple who had known each other a long time.
“Not bad,” she agreed. “Will you e-mail me a copy?”
“Absolutely. When we get back to school . . . I’ll send it with my application,” he said. “A nice photo like this should help, don’t you think?”
For a moment, Tess didn’t understand what he meant, but then she laughed. He was talking about her screening process for dating.
“Yes, it will,” she promised, glad to hear that he seemed to want to continue their relationship once they both left Cape Light.
They got back in Jonathan’s car and started off again. “Where to now?” he asked.
“There’s a little fishing village on the south side of the island you should see. Right down here,” she said, showing him the map.
“Sounds good. Maybe we can find a place down there to have our picnic.”
Tess was all in favor of that. It was already her usual lunchtime, and she felt hungry.
The fishing village was a bit farther off from the island center than Tess recalled, but th
e scenery along the way was worth it. A small wooden sign for Thompson’s Bend appeared, stuck to a post in the main road, and she pointed it out to Jonathan.
“We made it. You can turn right there, at the sign,” she told him. Jonathan made the turn onto a much narrower road, and the car instantly began bouncing around. “Cobblestone streets,” Tess said. “It’s a very old spot.”
Tess directed him around a few more turns, down winding streets with evocative names, like Fish Bone and Teapot and Hasty Lane. The rustic old cottages matched the street names well, each property quite unique.
“This is a pretty place,” Jonathan said, driving slowly as he looked around.
“It was once just a summer colony, a group of shacks where fishermen lived in the warmer months so they could go out on their boats more easily. Then their wives and children started coming here, and some families winterized their houses and stayed year-round. And some cottages were sold and became summer homes for people who live in the city.”
“It would be wonderful to live in one of these someday, away from everything. It’s so quiet here, you could really get some good thinking and writing done.”
Tess was surprised at the direction of his thoughts. She had just assumed, for some reason, that Jonathan liked the city better than an out-of-the-way place like Cape Light or the island. She realized that she was glad he saw the beauty and value of a place like this and didn’t think it was boring or too rough and unsophisticated.
“I have no idea where I’ll want to live once I finish school,” she told him. “But I’ll always come back to the village and this island. I know I’ll always love this place.”
“It’s easy to see why.”
They drove over to the dock and spread out their picnic on a long wooden bench. “Let’s see what Claire gave us.” Jonathan seemed excited as he unpacked the basket, as if unwrapping some wonderful surprise package.
There was lobster bisque, packed in a thermos and steaming hot when he poured it into two matching mugs. Then two lobster rolls, stuffed with sweet lobster chunks on toasted rolls. There were cups of coleslaw, tomato and avocado salad, and thick slabs of chocolate cake for dessert. They dove into the feast as if neither had eaten for days. As Jonathan poured Tess a second cup of coffee from another tall thermos, she carefully licked some icing from her fingertips.
“All that food, it was so good,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t move.”
“Neither can I,” Jonathan agreed. “I think I need a nap.”
Tess laughed. “If it was summertime, we could spread out a blanket and sleep off this feast on the beach. But I don’t think it’s quite the right weather for that.”
“Good point,” he said, covering a yawn with his hand.
“I think we should take a walk instead. That will wake us up.”
He looked doubtful but said, “It’s worth a try.”
The beach near the dock was too short and rocky for a good walk, so they got back in Jonathan’s car again. Tess directed them through some winding streets and then back onto the main road, where the ocean soon came into view again.
“This is a good place,” she said a few minutes later. “There are a lot of paths along the road. You can park anywhere on the shoulder. And we’re not far from the cliffs. You wanted to see them again, didn’t you?”
“I do. Now that you mention it, this does look familiar. I guess I recognize this area from my bike ride,” he added.
Jonathan had told Tess that he had ridden a bike here on one of his first days on the island. She was glad that he wanted to come back. She hadn’t realized it before, but she had been looking forward to visiting the cliffs with him. It meant something to her, though she wasn’t quite sure what.
They found a path through the dunes and walked down toward the water. The sun had already reached its zenith for the day and was starting its slow descent into the horizon. “This is the best time at the beach, any time of year,” Tess said.
“Great minds think alike,” he agreed with a grin. “I like the late afternoon at the beach best, too.” They had walked across the sand and reached the shoreline, washed smooth and hard by the tide.
The sun sparkled on the blue water, and Tess cupped her hand over her eyes to look out at the sea. “Looks like low tide. We can make it all the way to the cliffs. It’s not very far.”
“Yes, I remember. It’s easier walking down here, but don’t get your shoes wet,” he warned her.
“I’ll be careful.” Just as she said the words a fast wave rushed in. It was just about to wash over her when Jonathan grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.
They were suddenly very close. He was much stronger than he looked, she realized, and then her mind was filled with a million other thoughts about him.
The foamy seawater retreated, and Jonathan set her down again, out of the tide’s reach.
“Thanks . . . you saved me. My sneakers, at least,” she added.
His answering smile warmed her, almost as much as the sun.
“My pleasure. I couldn’t have you walking around with soggy feet today on my account. It’s still December.”
Tess was having such a wonderful time, it was hard to remember that it wasn’t the middle of summer. He took her hand and they continued, walking on higher ground.
“So, you never told me . . . have you read through Digger’s letters?”
“I started working on them, but it’s slow going,” Jonathan replied. “The ink is faded and the handwriting is hard to make out. So far, I’ve only transcribed the first few paragraphs of what I think is the first letter. I have to make sure I don’t miss a word or mistake any words. One inaccuracy could change the entire meaning of a sentence—or the whole letter.”
“Very true,” Tess agreed. “You know what Mark Twain said, ‘The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—it’s the difference between the lightning bug—’”
“‘—and the lightning,’” Jonathan finished. He glanced at her and smiled. “I will say that so far, the first letter is just about heartbreaking. Digger’s ancestor, Mary Hegman, had been taken to the island with her three-month-old baby. It sounds like her husband, Ezekiel, wanted to go with them, even though he wasn’t infected. But—you probably know this—the village council issued a proclamation that all fit, able-bodied men had to stay on the mainland, I assume, because so many had already died off.”
“Exactly,” Tess said. “Men were needed to hunt and fish and protect the community.”
“So far in the letter, she’s just telling him that she arrived safely and understands why he couldn’t come with them.”
“She must have been very brave,” Tess said.
“I think she was. You can almost tell that from the very first words she wrote.”
Tess was a little disappointed that Jonathan had not read more of the letters yet. She was eager to hear what they said. But of course, it would be difficult and time-consuming to interpret the pages. She had seen the scrawled, faded script for herself, and was barely able to make out a word.
Would the letters reveal some startling bit of evidence about what happened on the island? Some clue to the true identity of the visitors who had helped the villagers quarantined there? Or would Mary Hegman’s letters show that there never were any visitors and, as Jonathan proposed, that the legend was just a story that evolved to give a sad event an acceptable ending?
But before Tess could ask him more, the cliffs came into view, their silhouette golden against the stark blue sky. She stopped in her tracks and so did Jonathan, still holding her hand. “There they are. I’m always amazed by the sight,” she admitted.
“It is pretty amazing,” he agreed, “the way that entire chunk of stone looks so light. As if it could break off at any moment and fly away.
It’s totally . . . counterintuitive.”
Tess totally agreed. She couldn’t have said it better herself and didn’t need to reply. They started off again, walking faster now. Finally they reached the cliffs and stared straight up.
Tess was tired and took a seat on top of a big flat rock that was still warm from the sun. A good thing, since the sun was going down faster now and the shadows growing longer.
She watched Jonathan amble around the base, viewing the rock formation from different angles and taking photos.
“How long do you think it took for the wind and water to carve away the stone like that?” Jonathan asked.
“That’s a good question. I guess you could ask a geologist.”
“Want to go up to the top? There’s an awesome view.”
“Can we get up there?”
“There’s a path, but you need an official tour guide.” She hopped down from the rock and took his hand again. “Follow me.”
She led him to the path on a hillside beside the cliffs. Jonathan stood at the bottom, looking up. “You want us to climb all the way up there? Have you done this before?”
“Sure, lots of times.” She actually had only done it once before but was eager to try again. “It’s not as hard as it looks—and it’s definitely worth it,” she promised. When he still looked doubtful, she added, “I dare you.”
He stared at her a second then said, “Okay, I dare you back.” She started off first, with a burst of energy, but soon slowed down to a reasonable pace. The path was winding and steep, though not impossible to ascend. Tess was glad now that she was wearing sneakers. Jonathan had fallen a few yards behind her, and she glanced back to check on his progress.
“Are you all right back there? Too much sitting in reading rooms, Jonathan. You have to get into better shape if you want to do this sort of field research.”
“Sad but true. I’d better get in shape to keep up with you.”
Tess turned around and smiled. He looked fit enough to her. She’d just been teasing him. But that was something they could work on together, she thought.
Finally, she reached the summit. The very top of the rock formation was a flat, smooth space. Not so small that she was afraid of falling off, but not all that large, either. When Jonathan joined her, it seemed even smaller.
Season of Angels (9781101612170) Page 17
