She watched the waves roll by. Her father gave her the sewing machine years before when sales at the store were good. The treadle machine, one of the best on the market, proved to be a bonus. She’d turned out to have a knack for sewing, and after a few false starts, she’d mastered designing her own patterns from pictures. If I can sew for me, I can sew for others. My next option is a seamstress business.
* * *
Maggie jumped onto the dock and helped Ivan secure the boat and the barge. She turned toward the store and sucked air as the shock of seeing it hit her. There, more than anywhere else, she missed her father. The warmth of the potbellied stove, the aroma of his cherry pipe tobacco and the laughter as he, Chester and Enos told stories. How could she enter without him there?
Steeling herself, she opened the door and entered. Chester occupied his usual spot. Alma Mae sat in the chair Enos usually used. Her hands were busy with knitting and for a split second, Maggie’s image of her father and his pipe blurred her vision as she took in the empty seat.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Alma Mae set aside her knitting and rose to greet Maggie and Ivan. “How are you, girl?” She hugged Maggie and stood back to look her up and down. “You’re thinner. What have you been doing to yourself?”
Maggie turned her back on her father’s chair. “It must have been the two weeks at the fish plant. I couldn’t eat when I’d spent a day in all the smells there.”
Alma Mae tsked. “Come and sit, have a cuppa and tell me your news.”
Maggie looked around the familiar store. Grief swamped her. I’m not ready to sit in here. “Later,” she said to Alma Mae. “I need to organize what we want to take with us.” She left by the door she’d come in, “I’ll come back later.” Outside she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
She reached the woods between store and house, and barely seeing her way, reached the lawn. There she stopped again. The house, even after the short time she’d been gone, looked forlorn. At least to her. The lump in her chest expanded, cutting off her breath. I’ll never live here again. Of that, I am certain.
Ivan came up behind her and put an arm around her shoulders. They made their way to the building. No lock barred the door. Even if the contents had been valuable enough to steal, there wasn’t anyone to take them.
“I’ll store the sewing machine in its stand and fasten it with some rope or a belt. It’ll be easier to move that way. And, I’ll sort the books,” she said, talking more to herself than Ivan. “Once we’ve boxed the books, you can get them to the boat.”
“Watch for the navigation books, please,” Ivan said and headed for the stairs. “I’ll see what’s left up here.”
“Bring Dad’s clothing,” she said. “I can unravel his sweaters for wool and any clothing you can’t use, I’ll pick apart to get the cloth.”
He waved from the entry hall and disappeared up the stairs.
Maggie headed into the backroom, her father’s reading room with its one overstuffed chair and an oil lantern. How many books were there? She didn’t know. Her father had collected books from the time he was a boy. The shelves displayed a lifetime of reading.
She ran a finger along the spines and reached her own books. Five Little Peppers and How They Grew caught her eye. How she’d loved that book and the plucky Mary called Polly. She put it on a stack to go. I probably learned my stubbornness from Polly. She plunked down on the chair and shuddered. But if I ever had her courage, I’ve lost it along the way.
Several other children’s books could go to Lucy. The texts might not be needed. Standing, she pulled out “The Human Body, A Text Book on Nursing,” and “First Aid to the Injured.” Oh goodness. She hadn’t thought about them in years. Why had she even kept them? She flipped the pages of the anatomy text, turning it slightly to read the notations she’d made in the margins. How she had loved learning anatomy. Her eyes drifted shut and her mind drifted back.
Well, done, Miss Conrad. You’ve achieved top marks in your group.
That is correct, Miss Conrad, we need two spots clamped before we cut the cord.
Miss Conrad, that poultice is spot on. Good job.
The memories pulled up a longing to return to that world. She’d loved the job, her co-workers and her patients. What she wouldn’t give to be back there. You won’t give a thing toward going back. You won’t even find out what is required. You won’t tell anyone what you want. You won’t admit Ivan doesn’t need you anymore. Are you avoiding the choice?
She jerked back to the present. About to put the nursing books away, she changed her mind. Soon the stack of wanted books expanded to two. They included The Poems of Robert Service, The Good Housekeeping Book of Meals, and The Jungle Book by Kipling. She found the navigation books and put them on the top. Enough. Her father’s law books and other university texts would have to wait.
Ivan clattered down the stairs and appeared in the doorway. “I think we should take these.” He had both arms wrapped around a jumble of clothing.
She laughed. “Yes, however, I think I’ll fold them so they’ll transport more easily. Go and put them on the settee.”
When he came back, she pointed to the books. “These can go if we can manage them. I’ll get some boxes from the shed.”
Ivan turned on his heel. “No, I can get the boxes. You fold the clothing to go in a box as well. When I take them to the dock, I’ll ask Chester to help with the sewing machine. Go ahead and have tea with Alma Mae.” He rushed out.
Maggie took one last tour through the house, folded the clothing, and walked out and across the yard without looking back. The house resided in her past. Her future lay elsewhere.
First, I’ll have tea and ask Alma Mae how the store is doing. How much has sold in recent weeks? Will there be enough money to make a payment at the bank? Once Ivan has all items loaded, we’ll head home to Riverport. The thought jolted her. A new home, a new beginning.
Her next beginning would be sewing for others. If she wanted to run a seamstress shop, she needed to take all the fabric and sewing items from the store. She was paying the bank for them anyway, she might as well use them. She opened the door and the bell clanged over her head.
“The store has been busy,” Alma Mae said. “I’ve been surprised at the number of people coming in to buy.” She passed Maggie a mug of tea. “And the fishing must be good. Several of those owing your father money have come in and paid.” She went behind the counter and pulled out the cash box. The bundle she handed Maggie turned out to be bills wrapped in a sheet of paper with the amount written on it.
“Goodness,” Maggie said. “This is amazing. Not enough to retire the loan, but more than I anticipated.” We are attempting to pay off the remaining eight months in only three. We can use all we get. She looked at her friend. “You have been taking goods in payment, haven’t you?”
Alma Mae pointed to a basket beside the chair. “I took enough wool to knit for weeks if not months. And I tried that Coca-Cola drink. I decided to use things that are not selling well. Better in the long run for you if we sell as much as possible for cash.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Maggie said. “Take what you can use.”
Alma Mae nodded, counted the stitches on her needles, and changed the subject. “I checked your house last week. I got up at night to go out and there were lights over there. Not sure if they were in the house or not. I went over in the morning and everything looked normal in the house.” She turned the knitting to start another row. “But someone had put a lock on the shed.”
“On the shed? Maybe Ivan did, but I don’t know why.” A niggling thought tickled her. Boris provided the boat. Eugene provided the car. Did Ivan provide the storage?
Alma Mae wrapped up her knitting. “Now tell me your news.”
The clanging bell announced an arrival. Both women looked at the man entering.
Maggie sprang from the chair, her pulse accelerating. She stared at JM. “What are you doing here?” She’d never thought
to see him out on the island. Not that she minded. Seeing him tended to put a smile in her heart.
“Maggie. There you are.” He stated the obvious and walked toward her. “And this must be Mrs. Kaiser. Ivan told me she’s watching the store for you.” He held out his hand to Alma Mae. “John Murdock McInnis,” he said and grinned at Maggie. “Of the St. Ann’s McInnis Family.”
Alma Mae looked from JM to Maggie and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“JM is boarding with us in Riverport,” Maggie explained. But why is he on Bell Island?
“Lovely to meet you, Mr. McInnis.”
Maggie waited, knowing what would come next.
“Call me JM,” he said, “all the best people do.” He smiled, showing his dimples.
“What brings you here? And how did you get here?” Maggie asked. “I didn’t hear a boat.”
JM sat in the third chair by the stove. “I drove along Crescent Beach. I didn’t bring the car over the flats, it’s a nice walk.”
“But how did you know where to come?”
“Ivan had mentioned your father’s store,” he said, “so I simply asked for directions.”
“Resourceful, aren’t you,” Maggie said.
“Actually, I need to find the school. The trustees told me to take any of the supplies from there that could be used in Riverport. Apparently, there are not enough students to keep this one and the one on Bush Island both open.”
“That’s right,” Alma Mae said. “And a shame it is, too. Put Maggie out of a job.”
“You were the teacher?” JM asked, turning his attention to Maggie.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Her tone sounded cynical even to her.
“Why didn’t you apply for the job in Riverport?”
“She did,” Alma Mae said. “They gave it to a man.” Her inflection on that sentence told what she thought of that choice.
The whole room took a breath and held it.
JM cleared his throat.
Maggie closed her eyes for a long moment.
“What’s wrong?” Alma Mae demanded. “They did, didn’t they?”
“Yes. I’d have told you,” Maggie said, “if we’d had time. JM is the man they hired.”
Alma Mae narrowed her eyes and stared at JM. “Ah. I see.”
“I’m sorry,” JM said. “I never realized I took a job away from someone local.”
Maggie shrugged. “If it hadn’t been you, it might have been someone else.” She attempted a smile. “At least I get a renter out of the deal.” And a friend.
Ivan walked in on the silence that ensued. “The boxes are loaded.” He halted in front of them. “JM. What are you doing here?” JM explained.
“Good timing,” Ivan said. “I have to bring Maggie’s treadle machine down to the boat. How about you give me a hand?”
“Happy to, and maybe you can show me the local school.”
“Ivan,” Maggie said, “since you have JM to help, do you think we can take Dad’s chair as well?”
“I think so,” he said. And he and JM went off to the house.
Alma Mae looked at Maggie out of the corner of her eyes. “So, tell me about your renter?”
“You’ve met him and know his name,” Maggie said. “Nothing else to tell.”
“Don’t give me that,” Alma Mae answered. “You lit up like a Christmas tree when that man walked in. Whether you know it or not, he brightens your life.”
Heat rose from Maggie’s throat and flashed across her face. About to deny it categorically, she halted. She could fool herself, but not Alma Mae. “He’s fun to have around. That’s all.”
“Ah huh.” And Alma Mae once again counted stitches.
Chapter Twelve
By the standards of the world
No great success was he.
They say his faults were many
And no doubt that well may be.
“What do you think, Daisy? How do you like our shop?” She knelt beside the dog and scratched her ears. Daisy grunted and Maggie took it as approval for the new arrangement in the parlor. A dress and a jacket she’d made earlier hung on the wall beside the fabrics. The dress, although of everyday fabric, sported current styles. Even if the fancy dress she planned to make attracted customers, most local customers would want garments in the sturdy fabrics. Two hats, constructed in the spring, sat on top of the shelves.
“Let’s put the mirror here,” she said and placed the mirror against the wall. Daisy lay in the sun watching the proceedings and offered no comment. The magazines Violet had left her, along with a current Sears catalog, filled the end table by the settee.
“You are not much help,” she said to Daisy. “You shouldn’t have gone and got yourself pregnant.” Daisy rolled over and huffed as only dogs can.
With the room organized, Maggie sat with her feet up and leafed through the magazines and catalogs until she found a dress she liked. Digging out her own basic patterns, she unfolded one and set to work altering it. Once the pattern met her specifications, she turned toward the fabrics. Nothing on her shelves matched the silk crepe de chine of the dress in the magazine. Maybe Ritcey and Creaser’s will have something. She checked her meager cash and headed up the street, returning later with some beautiful mauve fabric. “It’s an investment,” she said to Daisy. Maggie hummed as she pinned the pattern and cut the fabric. By suppertime, the garment lay on the dining table basted and ready for sewing.
Bright sunshine greeted her the next day. “I’d prefer to sew,” she told Daisy, “but the weather is perfect for laundry day.” She set up the laundry tubs and ringer in the summer kitchen, heated water and prepared to wash bedding. “You’re so lazy,” she told Daisy who watched from a prone position. “All you do is watch me. You could lend a paw now and then.”
In Ivan’s room, she pulled the sheets off the bed and tossed them down the stairs. She stepped into JM’s room, and his male scent wrapped around her. She inhaled and her innards quivered. Oh for heaven’s sake, girl, don’t be so silly. But the memory of those goodnight kisses on the cheek had her putting a hand on her face. She hurried to the bed and threw back the top blankets to get the sheets. The tucked edges, firmly in place thanks to her hospital corners, balked at removal and she tugged harder. An object caught between the bed and side table slid to the floor, encouraged by the force.
Maggie picked it up and it fell open revealing sketches of beaches and rocky shores. Goodness, the man can draw. But why are there arrows pointing to that rock pile? She turned the page. That’s our shed on the island. This time a circle had been added to the basic drawing. It highlighted a lock on the door. Just like Alma Mae said. But why is JM marking it?
The sheets dropped to the floor as she turned another page to find two columns of notes, the first titled ‘Delivery Dates’ and the second ‘Who was in Port?’ Suddenly aware that these were JM’s private notes, she snapped the book shut and stuck it on the side table. But not before her brain registered one of the entries in the second column. The Lucky Lucy, Uncle Henry’s schooner. Her mind racing, she picked the sheets and headed downstairs. What is JM up to?
She submerged the sheets in the washing tub and started the motor. Deliveries? Who delivers around here? And how are the schooners connected? She stood with one hand on the tub as the swish and whoosh of the agitator created vibrations. Oh goodness. Ivan and Eugene are delivering booze. Is Uncle Henry’s ship supplying the product? But he couldn’t bring it in and off-load it in the port. The coast guard and customs agents would confiscate it.
The motor stopped and she reached into the water to find the end of a sheet. Pulling it free from the others she lined it up on the ringers and started the small motor that turned the ringers. The sheet disappeared through the rollers and into the galvanized tub at the back. Water cascaded back into the wash tub and ideas cascaded through Maggie’s thoughts. I bet they are bringing it ashore in small boats before The Lucky Lucy comes into port. And JM’s sketches must show places he thinks are used fo
r storage.
Her stomach churned. Has he lied to me? I’ve been a fool. All that friendliness and time with me and Ivan is because he’s trying to find out who’s doing the bootlegging.
After changing the water in the wash tub, she put the sheets back in to rinse. And if he’s recording that information, what’s he doing with it? Is he an informant? She started the motor. A prohibition officer? Disappointment tainted the pleasure she’d felt in recent weeks because of JM’s presence.
She rinsed sheets and started them on a second journey through the wringers. What a mess. It might as well be my stomach going through the ringer. A bootlegger and a preventative agent, or an informant, living with me in my house. Both of them keeping secrets, secrets that could explode and create shambles in my life and Ivan’s.
No longer enjoying the day, or her situation, she hung the sheets on the line and hauled the rinse water to the garden where she spilled it by the bucketful on the plants. Daisy roused herself long enough to chase one trickle of water before puffing off into the shade for another nap. “When are you going to have those babies?” Maggie asked her on her way to the chicken coop.
She cleaned the chicken coop, collected eggs and made lunch. She swept the house and washed the windows, keeping herself busy enough to ignore the thoughts attempting to invade her mind. By mid-evening the beds were re-made, the chickens bedded down for the night and exhaustion claimed Maggie. She crawled into bed and slept fitfully, waking momentarily when Ivan came in and later when JM arrived. Had he been watching for the bootleggers? Did he realize Ivan and Eugene delivered booze? She drifted back to an uneasy sleep before deciding.
* * *
Wednesday, Maggie rose early but still missed Ivan’s departure. She retrieved more fresh eggs from the hen house, let the hens into the fenced yard and started breakfast. How many eggs to cook? She listened. Is JM on the move? Right on cue, his footsteps clattered down the stairs. He sounds different. The image of him walking up the drive away from her and Violet flashed in her memory. He isn’t limping. Was he misleading her about that, too?
The Left Behind Bride Page 12
