Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [41]
There were freshly baked blueberry muffins and mugs of hot tea on the table when she returned to the kitchen.
“You’ve been busy.”
“I promised a plate tart for the garden party today, so I had to get that on the go. It was no trouble to do up a few muffins at the same time. Eat up now. I’m nearly done here.” Unsteady hands lifted a tart from the oven and set it on top of the stove. Nora watched as Peg lightly touched the golden crust with her fingertips.
How could everything seem so normal? Nora began to doubt her memory. Had she been dreaming? But the thought of the luminous, vacant eyes coming towards her in the darkness sent a shiver right through her and made her realize that it had been no dream.
She heard Peg give a little grunt as she reached over and turned off the oven. Systematically, Peg did a quick check, touching knobs. Finally, nodding her head, she made her way to the table.
“Did you sleep well, Peg?” Nora put the question casually.
“Oh, best kind, but I was some tired. It was a bit late when we shut her down.” There was no sign of unease or embarrassment, no indication that anything was other than normal.
“I’ve been thinking, Nora, maybe you’d like to take a run down to visit Bird Rock today.” Peg poured more tea, using both hands to steady the pot. “It’s a wonderful sight to see this time of year with the thousands of birds feedin’ and busy with their young and it’s not too far from here. I used to go there with my father the odd time, when I was a girl, but I haven’t been there in the longest while. I wouldn’t mind seeing the place again and it would be nice for you too.”
“I’d love that. It’s not too far, you say?”
“No, just a few miles down the road, a nice little run in the car. Years ago, the fishermen used to row down there and then across as far as Golden Bay to the fishing grounds. Those days it took nine and a half hours of solid rowing just to get to Golden Bay. They’d set out on a Monday, fish all the week and come back again Saturday.” She reached for a muffin. “My father had an engine on his boat so it was an easier run for him, but on the way back, if I were with him, he’d pull in for a spell near the rock to watch the birds. It was just a bit of fun.”
“We’ll do that then.”
Peg’s face lit up. “Right, soon as we get clear of the dishes, we’ll be off.”
11
They drove south, through Great Barasway, Ship Cove, past Gooseberry Cove and Angel Cove, the narrow road cleaving tightly to the edge of the ocean. To the left, brown rocky barrens pocked with massive boulders and great clumps of low stunted bushes stretched back to where a great big sky met the horizon. Nora was glad to be out and about. It was part of her reason for coming here. She hadn’t placed a whole lot of hope in finding a link to her grandfather but she was interested in seeing this remote place, reputed to be the closest thing to Ireland on the North American continent. On the way back she’d hoped to stop and explore some of the little communities along the way. The road began to climb into an area of low hills covered with thick lanky spruce. The dark earthy smell of the woods filled the warm air.
“You know, Nora, he came down here one time,” Peg began tentatively, “with a student of his; he wanted to see the birds. Of course he wouldn’t hear tell of going in the boat, so they walked all the way. They went in across the path from St. Bride’s, but here on the way home, all of a sudden, didn’t the fog come in as they were crossin’ the barrens. In no time they were lost, but the young fella with him, smart enough, knew what to do. Got in under the tuckamores, them’s the low bushes you see out there, and settled down ’til morning when the fog lifted. They got home none the