Free Pieces of Hate (A Wendover House Mystery Book 4) by Melanie Jackson Page A

accept my gut feeling without
feeling creeped out or skeptical about the prediction.
Ben probably would not.

 
 

Chapter 6

 
    We had then
been a score of days in the storm with no discovering of the sun though we journyed ever northward. Then came the call from the bo’sun . There was an island and a
break in the awful tempest.
    —from the unbound journal of Halfbeard

 
    Though Ben probably felt that his research took precedence, my speech
for Founders Day was weighing heavily on me and I decided to review my notes
and see if they were as thin as I thought they were. It was more important that
the speech be tactful than truthful, though managing both would be nice since I
hate lying.
    Of course, they were thinner than I had feared. It was only the
outline of a ghost of an idea without a single crescendo or highpoint even
imagined.
    I sat at the desk and tried to picture Goose Haven, to pick out its
landmarks, hoping it would lend me inspiration. The islands are a little short
on typical places of interest since it had never boomed into a tourist
attraction. There is Wendover House, a lighthouse—which is Canadian—and a
smugglers’ cave that everyone pretends doesn’t exist.
    There is also the Emporium. I called it to mind and studied it from all
angles, but it was about as inspiring as raisinless oatmeal
until I came to that gallows-like beam at the top of the building. That wasn’t
anything I wanted to talk about.
    However, the street in front of the Emporium was another matter. It
was cobbled and old enough to be worn flat in places. It had never been paved
over on account of its historic value and it showed the wear and tear of the
ages, a physical reminder of how many people have lived there and put it to use.
    The stones have been dilapidated mainly by the passage of islanders’
feet since there are few vehicles on the island even today. And that dilapidated
street was my way in, all those people who had worn the cobbles smooth as they went
about their lives. It helped that I had been reading their letters and journals
and felt that, at least to some degree, I knew them, or at least what they
hoped for, desired, and feared.
    I leaned toward the computer and began to type, scavenging images and
words of the imagined past.

 
    We have the
pleasure today of standing on old ground, in the sunlight with the family and friends
who are the children of those who were our parents’ family and friends. And as
we look out at the sea that nurtures and protects us, we know who we are. The
painful search for identity, for roots and belonging which most people face, is
spared us. We know who we are and where we belong .
    Today we
honor those first brave souls who stepped into this wilderness and dared to
imagine a civilization here. They defended their dream, rode out every storm, endured the disease and tyranny and war that afflicted those
first courageous settlers who dared to put lasting footprints in the sand of
our islands.

 
    The phone rang and since I was ready for an interruption I answered.
    “Tess,” Bryson replied to my hello. “Would you be free for dinner
after the Founders Day celebration?”
    This sounded social and not … business related.
    My speech was at eleven. I couldn’t see celebrating on Goose Haven
until dinnertime, even if I thought it would be safe to travel by water after
dark.
    “Unless you’re on duty, could we make it for lunch?”
    “Another storm Friday night?” Like I said,
Bryson gets it.
    “Maybe. It’s at least possible. Ben is going
to bring the box back tomorrow and I need to work out how to.…” I paused.
    “To return it?”
    “Yes. I don’t think UPS is the answer for this job.”
    “Have you come up with a plan?”
    “I’m working on it,” I said, looking at the stacks of papers that
still needed sorting and reading.
    Bryson didn’t make any suggestions about how to return the box and I
didn’t ask for ideas. I had given up asking anyone, except