The Stationmaster's Cottage Read online

  “If I took you up on all of your suggestions, I’d be waddling not running every morning!”

  “You’ll be back for more once you’ve had the apple slice.” Belinda warned as she rang up the sale.

  “I fear you may be right.” Christie answered solemnly, before both of them burst into laughter. Christie was still smiling when she opened the door to leave.

  The woman from the jewellery store was reaching for the handle on the other side and there was an awkward moment while they worked out who would use the door first. It was Christie, who thanked the woman and got “You’re welcome” in response.

  As she went back past the window, Christie glanced in and saw the woman behind the counter, putting on an apron. She was Belinda’s mother.

  CHRISTIE ARRIVED HOME in time to pay the cheery young man who proudly showed her how to work the new hot water system. It was just a second hand unit but would suffice until she decided what to do with the cottage.

  On the kitchen table, Christie laid out several large pieces of white card, a ruler, coloured markers and a couple of pencils. The man at the newsagency had been most helpful with her request, proclaiming the sunny weather was here to stay and giving her a copy of the local paper as she left. Christie made a coffee, leaving the newspaper on the counter as she went over to the table.

  Taking a black marker, Christie wrote cottage in the centre of the card. Like the spokes of a wheel, she drew lines outward with the ruler and gave each one a name.

  Gran, Martha, Thomas, Painting, Rings, Letters.

  With a blue marker, she connected Thomas and Martha with a line and on it wrote - engagement ended 1967.

  Under Martha’s name - Left River’s End 1967, and Returned?

  In pencil, she added information to Gran’s and Thomas’ lines. Deceased

  For a while, she sipped her coffee as she contemplated the circle of information. What else did she know? The painting? That came from Gran, so she put her name underneath it, as well as artist unknown.

  Below Rings, Christie added Found in shoebox in attic, and Forever Taming the Wind. She turned her attention to Letters, writing - Found in shoebox in attic, and - Sent but unopened and kept by persons unknown.

  Oh, it was so complicated! There was no obvious answer, no inspiration from mapping it out. At least, not yet, Christie thought. More information would help.

  The remains of her coffee were cold, so Christie threw them out and rinsed the cup. She picked up the newspaper and opened it, wondering whether much of importance ever happened in this sleepy place.

  A small article caught her attention.

  Bad weather almost claims life. An elderly woman was rushed to hospital after collapsing on River’s End Beach. A local fisherman sounded the alarm after finding the woman on the end of the jetty in pouring rain on an unseasonably cold day earlier this week. Unable to speak and with low body temperature, the woman – thought to be a tourist - was lucky to be found before her situation worsened.

  This must be the tourist the fisherman mentioned. Christie went back to the table and stared at the card. Martha Ryan. Left River’s End 1967. Returned?

  It was too far-fetched to be true. The tourist could have been anyone. Martha would know not to go to the jetty in the rain. Wouldn’t she have contacted Gran before coming here? Why not come to the cottage, or to her family home?

  Christie picked up her phone and googled local hospitals. The fisherman had said there was only one, in the next town. Green Bay hospital. She had to find out.

  Ten

  THE TWENTY-MINUTE DRIVE to Green Bay was a waste of time. As polite as the receptionist at the hospital was, she refused to provide any details about the woman in the paper. Christie pleaded this might be the great-aunt she had never met, the last family she knew of. Although sympathetic, the receptionist would only say the patient was no longer there.

  Nosing the Lotus out of the carpark, Christie frowned. Gran was gone, leaving behind a mystery with few clues and turning Christie’s life upside down. The problems – her damaged relationship with Derek, trying to find Martha, the meaning of the secrets – all gathered like one crushing rain cloud above her head.

  Christie found a rock ballad on the radio and pumped the volume up as she accelerated on the open road toward River’s End.

  MARTHA STOOD WITH HER toes almost in the pond, leaning on her cane as she stared at the ripples in the water. Elizabeth strolled along the path to stand at her side, holding a bowl of breadcrumbs. In companionable silence, the two women spent a few moments throwing the crumbs out to the ducks bickering over the morsels.

  “Dorothy was always frightened of the ducks. They’d chase her around the pond.” The words were emotionless and Elizabeth glanced at Martha’s set face.

  “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to see her one last time.”

  Martha scraped the last of the crumbs from the bowl and nestled them in her hand. “Probably for the best. Some things can’t be changed and now I’m the last of my generation.”

  “There’s George.”

  Martha threw the crumbs as far as she could. “He was a decent man. Maybe I should have married him.”

  The ducks paddled away. The women turned to follow the path back to the house.

  “We don’t get to choose who we fall in love with, Martha.”

  “Someone else said that to me once.”

  “Oh, who?”

  Martha stopped to glance back at the pond. “A man.”

  Unexpectedly, a memory pulled her back to this spot in 1966.

  THOMAS GLOWERED AT Martha, who, without a doubt, was the most infuriating person he had ever met. He stalked to the edge of the pond. He scooped up a handful of pebbles and skimmed them forcefully, one after another, across the surface of the water.

  “You think you’re so god-damned irresistible.” he ground the words out.

  “Sometimes I hate you!” Martha wanted to push him into the pond.

  “Maybe you’ll stop following me around.”

  Martha almost choked on her response. “Following you around? Everywhere I go, there you are. Even places you’re not invited to!”

  “Maybe I have to invite myself! I’m hardly suitable for the grand affairs of the Ryan family, now am I?”

  “I don’t care what my family thinks! I care about what I want.”

  Thomas tossed the last of the pebbles aside and faced Martha. With her hands on her hips and wrath in her eyes, she was like a fireball ready to explode.

  The anger melted and Thomas smiled.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

  “Never. So, what is it you want, Martha Ryan, she who only cares about what she wants?”

  “I want to travel the world. I want to be a famous writer. I want to...” her words trailed off as Thomas came close enough to touch Martha. She expected him to, but he did not.

  “Go on.”

  “Um, I want the freedom to do whatever I want. With nobody telling me what to do.”

  “Nobody? That might be a lonely life, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll... I’ll take lovers when it suits me.”

  Thomas brushed the hair back from her wide-open eyes. “No, you won’t.”

  “You can’t stop me.” There was no conviction in her voice.

  “You don’t get to choose who you fall in love with. Do you?” Thomas brushed his lips against Martha’s, ever so lightly. “Do you, Martha?”

  With a shuddering sigh, Martha melted against him.

  WRENCHING HERSELF BACK to the present, Martha closed her eyes.

  “Sounds like a wise man.” Elizabeth remarked.

  Martha opened her eyes and banged her cane on the path.

  “He was a fool!” She stalked toward the house with a surprised Elizabeth hurrying behind.

  CHRISTIE PARKED AROUND the corner from the real estate agents and walked across to the jewellers. The shop was empty, so she browsed for a while, lingering over an emerald and diamond pendant. The emerald
was the same colour as her eyes and beautifully simple.

  Christie caught the reflection of someone watching her from the doorway behind the counter. It was Martin, leaning against the doorframe.

  “How many expensive toys does one woman need?”

  Christie gathered herself and turned around.

  “You assume a lot about me.” she said.

  He stared back and the silence drew out.

  The jangling of the door interrupted them and Christie glanced away.

  George Campbell, dressed in a dark grey pin striped suit, hobbled past Christie without noticing her. “Ah, Martin my boy, thank you. Such a long council meeting today.”

  “My pleasure, George.” Martin patted George on the shoulder as they passed. “You have a customer.”

  “Why, thank you.” George went behind the counter and pulled a spectacles case from his top pocket.

  “How are you going with my painting?”

  Pausing at the door, Martin glanced at Christie. “I’ll phone when it’s ready.”

  “You said that the other day.”

  “Why must I repeat myself?” He exited, letting the door close on its own behind him.

  Christie watched him jog across the road, aware her heart was racing and not at all happy with the unbidden reaction.

  “Now, young lady,” said George, “how may I assist?”

  Christie forced a smile to her face and approached the counter.

  George’s face paled. “You have to be a Ryan.” he said.

  “I’m Christie. Dorothy Ryan was my grandmother.”

  “Dorothy. Of course. I thought for a moment...”

  She took the ring box from her bag, opening it to reveal both rings. “The wedding ring is engraved and I know it’s a long shot-.”

  “Forever taming the wind.” George said.

  “You know the rings?”

  George stared at the door over Christie’s shoulder, lost in a memory.

  TWENTY-FOUR YEAR OLD George hummed as he polished the glass counter. The door jangled and Thomas, aged twenty-three, rushed in with an expectant expression.

  “Well, I’m here! So, what’s the panic?” Thomas said, and George raised his eyebrows.

  “Must you be so melodramatic?” George folded his polishing cloth.

  “Frannie said I needed to get here right away. Is something wrong?”

  “Frances is as bad as you are.” George put the cloth away. “Nevertheless, I do have something to show you.”

  He reached below the counter and brought out a ring box. He opened it to display Martha’s engagement ring and the wedding ring.

  Thomas picked up the box admiringly. “Brilliant work, George! Perhaps the finest yet. Do I know the lucky couple?”

  “Call it my wedding gift.” George located a black velvet pouch. Taking the ring box back from Thomas, he slipped it into the pouch.

  “What wedding?” Thomas was confused, more so when George held out the pouch.

  “Well, there never will be a wedding if you don’t ask Martha to marry you.”

  Thomas stared solemnly at the pouch, then at George. His face lit up with a delighted grin. Taking the pouch, he tossed it into the air.

  “Oh my, take care!” George was horrified.

  Thomas deftly caught, and pocketed the pouch. He grabbed George’s hand to pump it vigorously.

  “You are right! Thank you! Thank you again.”

  Thomas waved and ran out of the door, leaving George smiling in his wake, but shaking his head at the same time.

  Thomas flung the door open again with an evil expression.

  “Just remember, my friend, it is you I shall blame when I am in misery in years to come!” With that, he closed the door, leaving it jangling.

  “GEORGE? DO YOU KNOW who made the rings?”

  Christie’s question brought George back to the present.

  He sighed as he picked up the ring box. “I made the rings.” His face was sad and his voice heavy with emotion.

  “So, you knew them? You knew Martha?”

  “Martha was the most beautiful girl in town. Rich, of course. Kind. And wild. That was the real attraction for Thomas.”

  “But they never married?” Christie was almost afraid to ask.

  George handed her the ring box. “No, they never did.”

  He removed his glasses. “I thought I’d never see these again. I thought she’d sold them.”

  “Do you mean Martha?”

  The door jangled behind Christie.

  “No. Not Martha.”

  “Who?”

  “I must attend to my customer, please excuse me. It was nice to meet you, Miss Ryan.” He shuffled away and Christie put the ring box back into her bag.

  CHRISTIE GAZED AT THE paper on the table, remembering the words George said so sadly. They never married. The couple that loved each other so deeply and once held the world in their hands. Separated forever.

  Taking a pencil, Christie wrote - Never Married below the line she had drawn between Thomas and Martha’s names. Under Rings, she penned - Made by George. Thought sold by unknown woman.

  Whom had George meant? Most likely Martha had given her ring back to Thomas so it must have been someone else in his life. His mother? Sister? Future wife? If George thought someone in Thomas’ life sold the rings, how had they ended up in the cottage, with the unopened love letters?

  Christie found a piece of paper and wrote a list.

  - Visit Palmerston House and speak to Elizabeth White.

  - Get painting back.

  - Ask George about unknown woman.

  - Read remaining letters.

  - Find owner of pendant from graveyard.

  That made Christie stop and think about where the pendant was. She remembered holding it at the grave of Thomas Blake but what she had done with it next escaped her. What had she been wearing?

  Christie went into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. The pendant was nestled inside the pocket of a light blue jacket. She held it up, taken with its simple charm. This was also a quality piece of jewellery and lovingly maintained. Perhaps it was another of George’s collection. Another thing to ask him about.

  Christie’s phone began to ring and she sprinted back to the kitchen to find it, pendant in hand. The ringtone was Derek’s and the phone was buried somewhere in her handbag. She emptied it on the table with coins, lipstick and keys spilling onto the timber. The note from Gran fluttered down, catching Christie’s eye as she grabbed the phone. On its last ring, she answered, breathless.

  “Derek? Um, hi honey.” She flopped onto a chair.

  “Were you running?”

  “The phone was down the other end.”

  “The other end? Are you still at that cottage? Thought you’d be at home.”

  “I’ll head home in a couple of days.”

  There was a long silence and Christie could hear talk and laughter in the background. It was as though Derek always surrounded himself with people who had fun.

  “That won’t help me. I needed you to check my passport for the date I was in London in 2012. Can’t if you’re miles away.”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “Settle a friendly debate. Told you I knew Ingrid already and we were trying to work out the first time we met. That’s all. Doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry.” Christie wondered if this was just an excuse to call.

  “Well, I’m sorry you’re missing all of this, Chris. Serious fun and so much food. Must have gained kilos so I’ll have to do one of those detox things next week. I bet you’re sorry too.”

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it.” was the best Christie could manage. She was not sorry she had come to the cottage, only that Derek made things so much harder than they should have been.

  “Ah, the crew are ready on the yacht for our sunset cruise. Gotta go, babe. Just be at the apartment because I’m over the absences. Bye.”

  “Derek, wait!”

  She
slumped back in her chair. Why could he not have a normal conversation or even ask how she was and tell her he missed her. That he loved her. They had some talking to do when they both got home and Christie’s stomach tensed up thinking about it.

  After tossing everything back into her handbag, she unfolded Gran’s note. The handwriting was a fragile version of Gran’s and hard to read. Christie gulped as she realised this was probably the last thing Gran had done before she passed away.

  The enormity of being in Dorothy’s thoughts at the end was too much. Dropping her head into her arms on the table, she sobbed.

  IT WAS DARK BY THE time Christie had her promised long, hot shower, going over the phone call with Derek in her mind. He had mentioned Ingrid again. If he wanted some sort of response from Christie, he would be disappointed. Games like that were of no interest to her.

  Christie reached for a glass of wine resting on the edge of the sink. She took a long sip, loving this chardonnay. It was local, dry and pure gold in colour. Replacing the glass, she slipped back under the shower.

  Where had this passive aggressive Derek come from? They were partners and he needed to understand.

  For a few moments, Christie stood directly under the stream of hot water, letting it surround her and wash away the negative emotions that bubbled up. She loved Derek and when she got home, would do her utmost to show him how much he meant to her.

  Wrapped in her dressing gown, she made dinner from local cheese and olives, some of the beautiful sourdough bread from the bakery, and a fresh salad. These and the wine accompanied her to the bedroom where she laid the letters out on the bed; putting aside those she had already read, she opened the next one.

  Darling girl,

  These past few months have been the worst of my life. I miss you as much today as the moment you ran into the night. Our connection is so strong I believe – deep inside myself –you feel the same way. Whether it is pride, fear, or anger that keeps you silent, I do not know.