The Cottage at Glass Beach (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

I
t began with a speck, a grain of sand, on Nora's arm. She brushed at her skin, whole parts of her sloughing away—fingers, hands, limbs. She was losing shape and form, disintegrating, a woman made of sand. She tried to scream, but she had no mouth, no voice. The wind carried her away. She was borne skyward over the ocean, scattering across the beach, the waves. There would be nothing left of her. The girls, playing far below, out of reach—

She opened her eyes with a start. Eyes gritty from sleep, as if filled with the sand from her dreams. She rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Her eyes were red and puffy. She reached for the glycerin drops in the medicine cabinet. There, that was better, though the raw feeling remained.

It was uncharacteristically quiet in the cottage that morning. The girls, early risers, were generally up by then, playing, plotting, arguing. Though Ella had started to sleep in, as adolescents often did. Nora felt daunted at the prospect of a teenage Ella, the challenges that next stage would bring. Joys too. There would be joys, if she had anything to do with it.

She puttered in the kitchen. The fridge and pantry held ingredients for coffeecake—frozen blueberries from Maire's freezer, buttermilk, eggs, flour. She poured and mixed, a meditative quality to her movements. She would begin the day from this centered, nurturing place. The scent of baking filled the cottage. She glanced at the clock: 10:30 a.m. She'd take a peek, check on them, as she had when they were babies. She turned the knob, winced at the click—she didn't want to wake them if they were still resting. She smiled as she pictured Ella, sprawled with her face half in the pillow, Annie with her hands folded over her chest, like Snow White. Their faces peaceful, innocent in sleep.

Instead, there was the open window, the empty beds. They must already be adventuring. It was kind of them to let her sleep; even Ella, demanding Ella, had her considerate moments. The coffeecake would be ready soon. She set out to call them to breakfast. Or maybe they'd already had cereal? No, there were no bowls in the sink or on the drain board. It didn't appear they'd eaten anything that morning—which was the first detail that gave her pause. A pause in which the scene gradually went still. Everything was in its place—the path, the trees, the beach, the house—except the girls weren't there. Nora tried to be logical. Where would they have gone? She checked the woods, the meadow, Maire's. She hardly felt the ground beneath her feet, the wind in her face, the absence of sensation, of her daughters, intensifying. She looped through another field, down along the bluff to the beach.

No girls.

No coracle either.

The sea lapped at the shore, delicate and knowing as a cat. The sea that went on and on as far as the eye could see, not a boat, not a person in sight.

She ran to Reilly Neale's, falling and skinning her knee, rising, running again. She couldn't feel her legs beneath her. She beat on his door with both fists. “Mr. Neale? Mr. Neale, are you there?”

He shuffled to the door, the dog barking. He wore a moth-eaten sweater, his hair a white-wisped nest, as if he'd just run his hands through it or gotten out of bed.

“Have you seen them? Have you seen the girls?” she asked.

“No, I—” He tugged at the sleeves of his holey cardigan.

“The coracle is gone.”

He seemed to understand the source of her panic now. “The tide might have taken it,” he said. “When did they go?”

“I'm not sure. Sometime during the night?” She'd slept hard, dreamless, for once.

“During the storm?”

“Storm?”

“Didn't you hear it? Wasn't as bad as some—winter brings far worse—but rough enough for this time of year. The quick and dirty type. No time to be on the water, especially for the young, though there's no saying they took the coracle in the first place. The sea came high up the beach yesterday. There's been a surge lately.”

“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.

A
nnie 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.

I
s 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—”