the distance. She felt for the letter that she’d hidden in her pocket, her fingers closing around a shilling in the other. She had no stamps and so planned to appeal to the captain to buy one on her behalf when he reached the main island. She hoped there was a post office there—surely there had to be?
The three of them stood at the end of the jetty, listening to the slap of the waves against the timber and watching as the boat hove into view and then came alongside. The captain threw a couple of lines to Robbie and George and they lashed them to posts on the jetty. The boat sat low in the water, with several sacks weighting the stern. The captain killed the engine, and then, with an agility at odds with his tubby stature, made his way toward them. Hefting a sack effortlessly, he passed it to the waiting men.
Esther watched as the boat was unloaded, her heart drumming as she waited for her chance. She couldn’t risk one of the men seeing her; they would surely inform the doctor. As they turned to haul the cart back up the path, she saw her chance. “I’ll help cast off,” she said. “You chaps go on ahead and I’ll catch you up.”
“Sure you can manage?” George asked.
“Yes, yes, of course,” she insisted. “I know what to do.” It couldn’t be that hard, she muttered under her breath.
They set off back up the path with a wave to the captain.
Thanking her good fortune that they had left her on her own without an argument, Esther waited until she was sure they were out of earshot. She began to undo the knots holding the lines fast to the jetty and then waved to the captain, beckoning him to come closer. “Do you think you can post this for me?” she implored, retrieving the envelope and the shilling from her pockets and holding them out to him.
The captain looked uncertain. “Mail usually goes once a month. The doctor, ’e passes it on to me.”
“Oh please, would you mind? I’d really be terribly grateful.” Esther gave him her most winning smile, doing her best to charm him. “It’s a drawing for my little boy, you see.” She crossed her fingers at the lie.
The wind had started to come up and the captain was anxious to be on his way. Giving him no choice, she pressed the paper and the coin into his hand and went to finish untying the lines. The captain shrugged and put them both in the pocket of his sou’wester while she threw the last line aboard.
As the boat pulled away, she felt relief that her plan—so far at least—had worked. The captain had looked reluctant, but he’d taken the letter and she was sure he would do as she’d asked. With a sudden burst of enthusiasm, she sprang up the path to catch the men. She began to calculate how long it might be before John would come back for her . . . a week? Perhaps two. She steeled herself to cope with that.
Chapter Nineteen
Little Embers, Spring 2018
The crackle and snap of twigs as they caught alight . . . the stutter of rain on a windowpane . . . and somewhere a low whistle. For a moment Rachel believed she was back at Shearwater Cottage, having fallen asleep over her folders.
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw peeling wallpaper with an indeterminate, mottled effect that could have been water damage as much as an intentional pattern. Beneath her was a scratchy sofa. Moss green, with the roughness of coarse wool.
“So you’re awake.” The voice was croaky, rusty almost, as if it hadn’t been used in a while.
Rachel swiveled her eyes in its direction and focused on the slight woman standing in the doorway. The light was dim; a single oil lamp cast shadows over her face but she could make out a snarl of thick, curling auburn hair loose to the woman’s shoulders. She was wearing baggy corduroy trousers in a murky shade of mustard that were held up by a ratty leather belt and a darned, knitted sweater spattered with shades of green, brown, and gray, as if she’d been using it as an artist’s palette. She looked older than Rachel, but younger than her mother—mid to late forties if she’d had to hazard a guess. Her gray eyes fastened on Rachel’s with an unflinching gaze.
“Saw you out there as the storm came