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“And what does Ms. Haines do when she’s not visiting Liberty Island?”
“I’m a teacher.” Why was she answering this man’s nosy questions so willingly?
“A teacher?” Fanny’s father sounded genuinely interested. He studied her across the blue table and reached for his glass again. Fanny was busy serving pieces of cake on small plates. “High school?”
“No, elementary. I had grade one and two classes last year.”
“Substitute?”
“Yes. I’m applying for several full-time positions for this fall, though.”
“How is it you’ve come to Liberty Island? Are you related to Doris Bonhomme?”
Eva stared at him, her lips pressed firmly together. She felt her cheeks warm under his steady gaze.
“I wish I could go to school,” Fanny said sadly. She licked icing from her fingers.
“Oh, you’ll be in school soon enough,” Eva said, glad to change the subject. “How old are you, Fanny?”
“Five-goin’-on-six,” she responded, holding up one hand, fingers spread. That had been Eva’s estimate, although the child was small for her age.
“You’ve just turned five, Fanny,” her father said quietly and his daughter frowned. “That’s hardly almost six.”
“Well, I suppose you’re going into kindergarten, then,” Eva said hastily, aware that the subject of school seemed to have cast a pall on their little party for some reason.
“Nope.” Fanny shook her head and sighed. “Kids in books go to school.” Eva thought that was a strange comment but Silas immediately stood up and stepped away from the table.
“Would you like to see Fanny’s playhouse? We can eat our cake and vegetables later. You’ll have to bend over, I’m afraid, as it’s not designed for grown-ups.”
The awkward conversation was successfully derailed and Eva followed Fanny to the Dutch doors of the playhouse, which looked very gypsyish, even to the point of having wooden wheels, nonfunctional, she assumed. Silas didn’t accompany them, which was a good thing, Eva realized, once she was inside. The small structure consisted of one rectangular room with two small upholstered chairs, a brick-look plywood false fireplace complete with painted flames and braided hearth rug, miniature rose-sprigged curtain-hung cupboards and a child-size bed, covered with a quilt and tucked into a nook in the wall. There was even a tiny wrought-iron shelf above the bed, with half a dozen books. Bent over as she was, Eva managed a quick glance at the titles: several worn Curious George stories, Goodnight, Moon, two tiny Beatrix Potter volumes, including Eva’s personal favorite, The Tale of Two Bad Mice, and a well-thumbed older edition of Mother Goose nursery rhymes.
This place was a child’s dream come true!
When she emerged from the caravan, she stumbled as she put her weight on her sore foot, and Silas came forward quickly and grabbed her arm.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Eva felt embarrassed. “I don’t think I got all the rose briar out of my heel last night.”
“What have you got on it?”
“A Band-Aid.”
He sent her a derisory look and offered the cake plate. Eva took a piece and bit into it. Carrot cake with cream cheese icing. Delicious. “Did you make this, Fanny?”
“You’re funny!” Fanny laughed. “Isn’t she, Daddy?”
“I wouldn’t say funny, exactly,” Silas said slowly, choosing a carrot stick from the vegetable tray. “More like interesting or mysterious or maybe crazy for not looking after that infected foot.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Eva said. “Fanny,” she went on briskly, “watch out for Andy. Behind you. Would you like to give him some carrots before he invites himself?”
The donkey was leaning over the table. He’d discovered the open Tupperware container with the vegetables and had already knocked over a glass.
After the cake, Eva thought she could politely leave but when she stood, the pain from her foot shot up her leg and she grimaced, shifting her weight onto her right leg.
“That settles it,” Silas said. “Come up to the house. I’ll put some antibiotic cream on that.”
Eva hesitated.
Was she being foolish? If Doris had a first aid kit, Eva had no idea where to find it. Maybe some antibiotic cream was a good idea. “Well, all right. I appreciate your concern. If you really think it’s necessary.”
“I do,” he said.
Ten minutes later, Eva sat in the large, dim, old-fashioned but well-equipped kitchen and looked around. She felt rather self-conscious sitting there all by herself with her bare foot in a basin of steaming water. Silas had drawn the water, put a handful of salt in it and then disappeared down the hall. A clock on the wall ticked softly. The counters, a mid-century speckled grey Arborite pattern, were spotless and the porcelain-and-brass pump handle by the huge stainless steel sink gleamed. The kitchen was shipshape.
A door slammed somewhere and a few seconds later, Fanny and Bruno entered the room. “Is my dad fixing your foot yet?”
Eva bobbed her foot in the water. “I guess so.” She wished now that she hadn’t let Silas talk her into coming inside the house. An infected splinter was hardly a life-threatening injury.
“Is the water real hot?”
“Yes.” Eva smiled and lifted her foot, which was quite pink already. She wiggled her toes. Where was Silas with the first aid cream he’d promised?
“Did you like my party?”
Eva nodded. “It was lovely. Thank you for inviting me—”
“I made the ’vitations myself,” Fanny interrupted. Her eyes glowed.
“You did a beautiful job.”
“I did, didn’t I?” she agreed.
“Oh, my goodness! No one told me you were here.” An older woman, obviously the housekeeper, came in through a side door. “You must be the young lady staying in the house on the other side.”
Eva extended her hand awkwardly. “I’m Eva Haines. Doris is a cousin of my mother’s.”
“I see. So she’s your second cousin then?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Agnes Klassen.” Mrs. Klassen put a knitting bag on the table and bustled toward the stove. She glanced at the hall and lowered her voice. “How is she, by the way?”
“Doris?”
The housekeeper nodded. “I don’t know her well, of course, just to say hello if I saw her shopping or whatnot on the mainland, but I do know she had a bad spell earlier this spring.”
“She broke her hip but she’s doing quite well now. She’s in a nursing home in Sechelt. Seaview Lodge.”
“Is she? I’m glad to hear it,” the older woman said hastily, then glanced again at the doorway to the hall. “You’ll have a cup of tea?” she continued in a normal tone.
“Oh, no, thank you,” Eva said. “I’m just on my way—” She looked helplessly at her foot, immersed in the rapidly cooling water. “I’m just—”
“She’s got a sore foot, Auntie Aggie,” Fanny explained. “My dad’s gonna fix it up.”
“Silas should have told me you were here. Honestly!” The elderly housekeeper settled into a rocking chair by the window with her knitting. She took out a small piece, yellow, with blue ducks knitted into the yoke of what looked very much like the back of a child’s cardigan. The color was suspiciously familiar.
The clack-clack of the knitting needles filled the silence for a long minute. Eva desperately wished again that she’d just gone home. “Are you here for the summer?” she asked, casting about for something—anything—to say.
The housekeeper raised her head abruptly. “No, we’ve been here, me and my husband, for nearly three years now.” She sighed. “This latest time, anyway. I worked for Silas’s parents before, too, you know. Here and at their place in West Vancouver. That would be some years ago, of course.”
“I see.” So Fanny and her father—and the Klassens—really were living on the island year-round. What did one do here in the winter? “It must be lonely.”
“Sometimes.” Mrs. Klassen shook out a strand of yarn from her work bag. “Oh, but there’s always something to do and I go over to the mainland regular to visit our son—goodness, child, what are you after now?”
Fanny had opened the refrigerator door and was inspecting the contents. “I wish we had some of that fizzy water like Eva has in her fridge. Or pop.”
“So you’ve had a look in our guest’s fridge, have you, you nosy little dickens, you?” the housekeeper asked with a cheerful smile. “Come here, honey, I want to measure this on you again.”
The girl went obediently to the window, carrying a juice box, and stood quietly while Mrs. Klassen fussed with the garment, pulling and pushing until it fit, in a manner of speaking, on the child’s back, over her T-shirt.
“There! Thank you, dear.” The housekeeper flopped the piece she was working back to front and began on a purl row. It had been years since Eva had knit anything. Her mother had taught her. She’d knit a pair of slippers for Girl Guides, once. And a scarf as a Christmas gift for her sister Kate.
The Newfoundland’s sudden focus on the hall entrance alerted Eva to Silas’s return. He carried a towel and a handful of first aid supplies, including the tube of ointment he’d gone for.
“How’s the foot?”
“It’s fine, really. I feel rather foolish going through all this just for a sliver….”
“You can’t be too careful. We’re on an island here with no doctors, no nurses, no medical help of any kind. It’s best to avoid emergencies.”
“This isn’t an emergency,” Eva insisted.
“No. But if your foot had become badly infected, it could be. Would you have come to us for help?” His eyes, a stormy-sea-color, not blue, not green, were intent on her.
“My cousin managed,” Eva grumbled, realizing she was being difficult and not exactly sure why.
“Did she?” Silas’s look was challenging as he hunkered down in front of her and held out the towel. Obediently she raised her foot and he dried it gently.
“Yes. She was airlifted off, you know. She was a very resourceful woman. She used her cell phone to call for help.”
“Did she?” Silas repeated, not meeting her eyes. “So you’re related to Doris Bonhomme—”
“I’m her second cousin.”
“Sounds like you admire her.”
“I do,” Eva retorted hotly, realizing she’d just answered the questions Silas had posed in the orchard. “I’ve always admired her independence. I think she’s a wonderful woman.”
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