Secrets of Selkie Bay (6 page)

Da was cooing to Neevy, and she was listening, I think.

Ione was already cooking the broth on the stove. The same kind Mum always made when this happened. At least she'd thought enough to do that.

“Neevy, little one, wake up,” Da whispered in Neevy's ear, though I could hear it across the room. I walked over and touched her head, praying with all my soul she wasn't hot.

She was.

“Da,” I said, “I think she's got the fever again.”

I hadn't wanted to say it. Neevy's fevers were strange. They used to worry us sick when she was first born. Neevy would turn red as a beet and her dark eyes would be large and glassy. She wouldn't cry or eat—she'd just lie there limply.

“Maybe we should take her to the doctor,” I said even though I knew there would be no money to pay the medical bill. And besides, the doctors never did much for her. They always said the fever would just run its course. Unless it didn't. Then we were to bring her in again.

“In the morning,” he said. “If the fever hasn't broken, we'll take her in the morning.”

I nodded across the room to Ione, who poured the broth into a small bowl.

It was going to be a long night.

*   *   *

The fever was still raging when Ione and I turned in. I hadn't wanted to go to bed, but Ione wouldn't go without me. I knew that she needed her sleep if she was to go and help Mr. Doyle the next day, and I knew that we needed money, especially if we had to pay the doctor now, so going to bed seemed like the smartest thing to do.

Of course, Ione wanted another selkie tale about Mum. With Neevy being sick, I didn't have it in me to argue. So I told her how our selkie mum took care of her little cousin selkie pups during a horrible storm, how she stayed with them on the island so the other selkies could go save shipwrecked sailors, and how the sailors repaid the selkies in treasure. At some point during the telling, I was so tired I wasn't sure what I was saying anymore. But by that time, Ione was fast asleep.

At about midnight, I crawled out of my bed, crept into the sitting room, and there Da sat by the hearth, still holding Neevy in his arms.

Mum's rocking chair creaked a little as I slid into it.

“Da,” I said, rocking back and forth only the tiniest bit, like Mum used to. “What are you thinking?”

He was quiet. I thought he hadn't heard me, but before I could ask again, he said, “I am just thinking about … things.”

“Do you think she'll be okay?” I asked.

“Neevy? Yes, I think she'll be okay. She's feeling cooler. But I think she needs…” His voice trailed off.

“Mum,” I finished for him. “Neevy needs Mum.”

There were no words he could say, so he just nodded.

He held my baby sister there for a moment, gently rubbing her forehead.

“And how was your day, Cordelia?” he asked.

He was a master at changing the subject.

“Oh, fine.” I got up, walked to the small bookshelf where I'd stashed my meager pay from earlier. “Here's this,” I said, handing him Mr. Doyle's wrinkled bills.

He took them without even counting them and nodded, like he was trying to say
thanks
but couldn't get the word to come out.

As I sat down again I must have scooted the chair over, for the floorboards underneath Mum's rocker groaned. It was as if the chair or the floor or maybe even the house itself was daring me to fill the empty space between Da and me with words. Not just any words—questions. For a few seconds, I felt brave.

“Are you mad at her?” I asked Da for the very first time since she'd left.

“Neevy?” he replied, even though he knew I hadn't meant Neevy.

“No,” I said, my own tiredness adding to my courage. “I meant Mum. Are you mad at her for leaving?”

Da was quiet. Then he shook his head from side to side.

“No, Cordelia,” he whispered, “how could I be mad at her?”

“What if she needed your help or something? Would you go help her?”

“Your mother doesn't need anyone's help, Cordie.” His voice cracked and I knew I had pushed too far.

“I'm sorry, Da, I—”

“Your mum is strong, the strongest person I ever knew. She always was. If there was something she thought needed to be done, then she just did it, no question. Your mum is strong,” he repeated. “Like you, Cordie.”

 

Daughter of the Selkie

I
N THE MORNING,
I assured Da I could look after Neevy on my own and sent him to work. She had no fever when she woke. So I bundled her in a couple of soft, faded blankets and laid her gently in the pram. She was a sleepy thing this morning.

“Hurry up, Ione,” I said, stuffing some bread in the toaster. I didn't feel great about Ione walking all the way to town by herself, so I'd offered to accompany her. True, during the school year she often walked home alone, since we got out at different times. But that was before.

She munched her toast loudly instead of talking to me as we walked to town. And when we got there, she went grudgingly off to help Mr. Doyle. I'd made sure she looked presentable, which included dressing her in her cleanest shirt (the purple one with stripes) and attempting to brush her tangled hair. I had warned her numerous times not to be a pain. And all during the walk, she didn't mention the selkie stories I told her about Mum, so I didn't, either.

“Be good, Ione,” I called as she turned the knob to his store. She whipped her head around and stuck her tongue out at me. There were toast crumbs all around her mouth, but it was too late to do anything about it.

I was left with a sleeping lump of a baby in the pram. I wheeled her across the street to the Mermaid's Tresses, but there was Maura's sign,
CLOSED UNTIL THE
1
ST
, taped to the front of the door. So I found my way to a tourist throne—that's what we called the benches that lined the harbor and faced the water—and sat for a bit.

It was early, but not too early for the shops to open. Flipper's Fast-Mart was always first. You could smell their coffee all the way down the street. Most of the shopkeepers went in for a cup, even those who liked tea better. The town moved slowly today, not like it would in a few weeks when August hit. Then the light traffic of those out for a morning stroll would be replaced by the bustle of families, all hoping for a summer swim, a harbor tour, or maybe a glimpse of a selkie.

Even though the brisk air of the morning felt good to me, Neevy gave a little shiver. Her cheeks were deep pink, not the healthy pink of a laughing baby, but the reddish pink of a baby who's not feeling well.

And her lips were pale. I felt her head.

Fever.

I started quickly toward home. I thought about going to find Da at the other side of the harbor, at the workmen's dock, where the tourists never went because rusted-out boats in dry-dock didn't look all that pretty. But it was a long walk past a couple of pubs that weren't as fancy as the three named after the pirate queen. Maura said they were seedy and to steer clear. I hadn't liked it one bit when I'd had to walk there before. Besides, I didn't want Da to have to leave work early again.

So I hurried home. As I jogged, Neevy bounced gently in the pram, but didn't stir.

*   *   *

Neevy's fever continued throughout the morning, and into the afternoon. I kept trying to feed her water and milk, but she liked neither.

At two o'clock, Ione burst through the door. “Oh, Cordie, you'll never guess what I did!”

“Well, you're a couple of hours late. Where have you been?” I asked, keeping Neevy covered up so Ione wouldn't see her red arms and worry about the fever. Ione was too much of a worrier as it was.

“That Mr. Doyle is … well … weird,” Ione said. She went to the kitchen and took a piece of bread and ate it hungrily. I had forgotten to put it away after I tried to feed it to Neevy. It was probably a little stale, but at least someone would eat it and I hadn't wasted it. I needed to remember to take better care of things.

“What work did he make you do?” I asked. “I had to dust, stack stuffed animals, and arrange pamphlets yesterday.”

“Well, at first he just squinched his eyes up tight and looked at me, like I was a frog or something. He said that if he didn't know better, he would think he was looking right at a young selkie, what with my eyes and hair being so dark and all. And then I told him ‘Well, that's because my mum is a selkie, but it's a secret. So don't tell.'”

“You told him
what
?” I stood up, nearly dropping Neevy. She roused, fussed a little, then went back to sleep.

“I know it was a secret, but, Cordie, you won't believe what he said.”

“Let's hear it,” I said, knowing what was coming next. He must have told Ione what an idiot she had for a big sister. He must have told her that her sister had told her a big fat lie. Both of which points, at this moment, were true.

“He said
‘I knew it!'
and he slapped his leg, like I'd just told him a joke.
‘I knew it! I knew it!'
He danced around. I didn't know he could move like that. He looked really funny. So I laughed. And, Cordie, Mr. Doyle laughed, too!”

Mr. Doyle was not capable of laughter. There was some kind of mistake.

“He wanted the details then, so I told him all I could remember. And I told him about the old book and he asked if he could borrow it, so of course I said yes. You know, I think I was wrong about him. I don't hate him, after all. And then, oh, we had so much fun.”

I was getting a little mad at Mr. Doyle. Sure, he hadn't called me a liar and told Ione that there were no such things as selkies. He hadn't crushed the tiny hope that I had given her.

But maybe it would have been better if he had.

“He took me out on his boat, Cordie. The one he gives tours on. He says he's going to make a big sign for me to hold and put me right out in front of his store. Then we chugged all around the harbor in his tour boat, even though it smells like car smoke. He said it would be good for business to have a selkie girl seen riding in his boat. Cordie! Don't you see? Mr. Doyle thinks I might actually be a selkie, too!”

And this was the moment I knew it had gone too far.

“Ione, calm down.” My voice was gentle and quiet, so quiet, in fact, that it actually got Ione's attention.

“What's the matter, Cordie? Why are you like this?” she whined. Then her eyes got wide. “Did you hear something from Mum?”

I felt my pocket for the letter to make sure it was still hidden, and took a deep breath.

“Ione, the stories I told you, well, they were just stories. You know that, right? You are not a selkie. Mum is not—”

Ione flipped her hand at me, brushing me off. “I knew you'd say that. Mr. Doyle told me you might.”

“Ione—”

She wasn't listening. She was at the sink filling a glass with water, turning the tap all the way on to drown me out.

“I mean you were right,” she went on. “Of course she's a selkie. Otherwise, why did she leave?” Ione whipped around and faced me again and within one second, she had gone from bubbly to heartbroken. “Because she doesn't love us? She does love us, doesn't she?” she asked, the tears coming.

“Of course she does.”

“Then we have to try and get her to come back,” Ione wailed.

*   *   *

And that's how we ended up back at the shorefront that afternoon, feverish baby and all, the midsummer wind whipping at our cheeks and tugging at the ends of our hair, except for Neevy, of course. Facing west toward the waves, we stood and did the only thing we could think to do to get our mum to return. The only thing the legends said would summon a selkie. It was Ione's idea, and I just didn't have it in me to say no. It would have looked strange to passersby, so luckily there weren't any. Just us, the three Sullivan girls, crying our seven silver tears into the sea and letting them float atop the foam, hoping they would bring our mum back to us.

 

Alone

W
HEN DA GOT HOME
we ate a simple meal of soup and cheese sandwiches. Mum hadn't liked cheese sandwiches, but the rest of us could never get enough of them.

“There's an old boat that needs restoring at a museum over in Glenbay,” Da said finally, as if testing the words on his tongue. “The money is good, very good in fact, but I feel bad leaving you girls all alone.” He paused and took a spoonful of soup. “It wouldn't be for long, a couple of days maybe.” He didn't have to say that we needed the money. We all knew it. And it wasn't the first time his work had taken him away from Selkie Bay, just the first time since Mum left. “I could have Maura watch over you.” He gestured toward town with his soup spoon. “I'll phone her about it tonight.”

Ione started to protest, but I kicked her under the table, not hard, but just enough to get her attention. “I'll do it, Da. I'll talk to Maura tomorrow for you.”

Da took a bite of his sandwich and looked over at Ione, whose eyes were watering from the kick.
Such a drama queen.

I gave her a look. A hard, hard look.
Shut up or he'll find out Maura's gone and then he won't be able to go.

“But, Cordie—” she blurted out, cheese and chewed bread completely visible. If I could have shot lightning bolts out of my eyes and fried Ione's tongue into silence, I would have.

“It'll be fine.” I was smiling too much, in that forced way where your cheeks do all the work, pulling your mouth up and crinkling your eyes, like the happiness is real.

Da turned to me and said, “If you could do that, Cordie, if you could talk to Maura about looking after you girls, it will save me from having to find time to do it.”

He turned back to his dinner and I glared at Ione, praying that she wouldn't ruin this. Then she started to smile, the real kind of smile. She probably thought our little trick at the dock would bring Mum waltzing back through the door. Thankfully, at least she was silent.