Martha Read online

  “Visit me. And shop first for proper clothing. I’ll make a list.”

  And he had. The holiday was two years in the making, and the journey itself challenging, with transport from plane to train, bus to foot, and boats.

  Ten people were along tonight. Or was it day? This time of year they looked the same, so far north. It was cold in a way Ireland wasn’t. Not always wind or snow, but a deep coldness that cut into you. Martha shivered and tucked her scarf in a bit more. The boat was an hour from land and the sea quite choppy, but she didn’t care. She loved the ocean as much as she always had, despite nearly losing her own life in it once, and losing her mother to it.

  “Are you English?” A soft female voice made Martha turn. The woman beside her was younger, a classically beautiful face with strikingly sad eyes.

  “Australian, actually. But I live in Ireland.”

  “I’m Elizabeth White. My husband is somewhere around. He loves the sea.” Elizabeth smiled.

  “So do I. And you are English.”

  “I’m afraid the accent gives it away every time.”

  “And a lovely one it is.” Aksel returned, handing Martha a steaming cup. “There’s plenty inside, Mrs White, which is where I just saw your husband.”

  “I might join him then. Nice to meet you…”

  “Martha. Martha Ryan.”

  When Elizabeth disappeared inside, Aksel dropped a kiss onto Martha’s forehead. “Alone at last.”

  “Apart from ten other tourists and your staff.”

  Aksel shrugged. “Drink up. And, you might want to turn around, but don’t drop your cup.”

  As if she would do such a thing. Martha turned to look over the side of the boat. And gasped.

  Above her, the black sky morphed into a thousand moving colours. A curtain of a million stars hosted the light show, a slowly moving kaleidoscope of green, blue, and gold. Swirls and waterfalls of colour filled the sky.

  Joy and delight and terror mingled inside Martha until she began to cry soft, silent tears that almost froze as they fell from her eyes. Aksel surrounded her with his strong arms and gently tilted her face this way, then that, to take in every detail of the Northern Lights. Aurora Borealis at its finest.

  “I…oh, Aksel.”

  He chuckled. “Tourist.”

  Martha laughed aloud. “That I am! How do you get anything done living here?”

  “Being in the dark half the year, you don’t see the neglect. Haven’t painted the boat in years, or the house.” He laughed again. “Grew up with it, but still, it amazes me.”

  “Wow. Keith, look!” Elizabeth was beside them, this time with a tall, slender man holding her arm. Her face was alight with the same wonder Martha knew must be on her own, yet those eyes still haunted her with their sadness.

  Many hours later, as the boat headed back to the town, Martha and Elizabeth wandered alone around the boat. Everyone else was inside, away from the increasingly freezing conditions, but they were arm in arm, each with another of Aksel’s spiced drinks.

  They stopped at the stern, gazing at the Northern Lights.

  “It almost made me cry.” Elizabeth said.

  “It definitely made me cry!”

  “Oh, did it?” Elizabeth sipped her drink. “Lately, I’m all cried out.”

  Martha turned her back on the lights to give Elizabeth her full attention. “I feel as though I’ve known you forever.” She tilted her head.

  Elizabeth nodded. “As do I. And I’m sure it is the mead, and the scenery, and perhaps the cold, but I do believe we will be friends always.”

  “I agree. And you must come to Ireland.”

  “We will. These few months are about us. You see, we found out we cannot…I cannot have children. It hurts.”

  Martha put her arms around Elizabeth and squeezed tightly. “I am so very, very sorry.”

  Approaching footsteps drew them apart. Martha whispered. “I shall never be married, so perhaps we shall both have adventures together?”

  As though the telling helped her, the sadness lifted from Elizabeth’s eyes, replaced with mirth. “And keep everyone on their toes! I should like that.”

  10

  A Milestone

  1987

  Dear Martha,

  Happy 40th Birthday. I do miss you.

  Dorothy

  Martha checked the envelope for more than a card with a flower on the outside, and Dorothy’s perfect handwriting inside. Nothing else. No letter, or even a note.

  I do miss you.

  “Then visit me!” Martha sighed and took the card to the mantelpiece. The picture on the card was quite pretty, a single white tulip in a slim crystal vase. Something Dorothy might well have at home. All Dorothy ever talked about when they were growing up was having a beautiful home filled with precious objects. It was close to twenty years since they’d seen each other, but Martha doubted anything would have stopped her sister reaching her goals.

  She’d collected her mail on the way in from school, juggling an assortment of presents from the students. The best news though was her promotion to principal. The retiring principal had been adamant Martha was his perfect replacement, and the official notice had arrived this morning. When the students were informed, a cheer broke out. As firm as she was with them, they all knew she had a soft side and loved her as much as she adored each of them.

  In an hour or so, a group of her friends were expecting her for dinner and celebrations at the pub. This village and its people were her family as much as anyone could be. Even the old-timers who treated anyone not from the region with suspicion had finally accepted her. It was a good place to live.

  But forty years old! How had the time got away? Martha wandered outside to her back garden, her greatest joy. Here she cultivated vegetables and flowers, and crooked row of fruit trees. Every season there was something different to preserve or bottle, freeze or dry. She even entered her jams into the local show each year and was no stranger to winning awards.

  Martha settled on a bench beneath one of the old trees. From here, the garden surrounded her, so alike the one around another home. Her fingers played with her pendant. The porch at the back of the stationmaster’s cottage had a love seat, and there she’d sat many times with Thomas. Their hands entwined, they’d watch night fall over the long-established garden with its beautiful orchard behind the vegetable patch.

  “I’ve made my own cottage here.”

  Alone.

  No husband or children. Not even a pet, not with the amount of travelling she enjoyed. No Dorothy, and no Thomas.

  Well, she had a busy, fulfilling life and friends. Speaking of which, she might go down to the pub a bit early and toast herself with whatever champagne they kept for special occasions.

  11

  Good Motives. Bad Choices

  1993

  “I think the battery is going on this one.” Martha tapped her flashlight and the beam flickered back on. “Or a loose connection.”

  “Which is another good reason to go back now.” Elizabeth stopped walking and crossed her arms. “I don’t believe it is even legal!”

  Keith grinned as Martha turned back. “She does have a point, Martha. If you’re not allowed on them during the day, odds are you aren’t at night.”

  “I did ask.”

  “Since when did you speak fluent Egyptian? I think the poor man you asked had no idea what you were going on about. No, I think we should go and find some dinner in town.” Elizabeth shook her head.

  Martha glanced back into the dark. Rising from the sandy ground, the remains of a pyramid loomed above her. For the past week, she’d spent a wonderful time with Elizabeth and Keith, and this was their final night in Egypt.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she smiled at Elizabeth. “Give me just five minutes so I can go up a few steps, that’s all. I’ll be right back. Okay?”

  She didn’t wait to hear a response. In a moment, she was taking careful steps up the side that was much steeper than she’d ex
pected. No sprinting easily up mountains man-made or otherwise anymore. And she was being a bit cheeky by climbing onto the ancient relic even though her motives were pure. This school term she was teaching about the pyramids and all she wanted was a moment to explore, to touch, and absorb the wonder of the history.

  As she crossed a gap between blocks the flashlight went out. Instead of stone, her foot met air and for one heart-stopping second she grappled for a handhold. The flashlight slipped from her fingers and she heard it hit the ground.

  Her hands flapped wildly, missing any purchase, and she fell, tumbling from narrow step to narrow step, pain shooting through her hips and shoulders where she landed.

  Eyes clenched shut, arms reaching up to protect her head, air forced from her lungs into a long, low cry, Martha heard the snap as her legs buckled. With a scream, she thudded onto her side.

  “Martha!”

  She lay winded, barely aware of gentle hands, of something covering her body. Her ankle was on fire. Everything hurt. Above her, huge stars blinked in silent reproach. Stay off the pyramid.

  “Oh, darling. We’ll get you to a hospital.”

  “Elizabeth, we’ll need to splint it first. I’ll find some help.”

  Keith must have left, but Elizabeth held her hand and made soothing sounds. Martha’s breathing steadied and she lifted herself up a bit.

  “Don’t move too much, your ankle is broken I’m afraid.” Elizabeth’s face hovered near Martha’s, lined with worry.

  “I’m fine, just a little fall.” Adrenalin pumped through Martha. The pain was a throb now, and thoughts rushed around her head. “You are the best friends ever. And the other day on the Nile when you said you were looking for a new start? Do you remember?”

  “Well, yes, but you really should rest.”

  “Did you mean it when you said you’d love to move to Australia? Because I thought of something. About Palmerston House.”

  “Your family home?”

  “It will stay boarded up forever unless someone buys it. And it isn’t for sale because I don’t think Dorothy wants to let it go. But if you spoke to her…not telling her it was my idea. It is big enough to become a bed and breakfast, like you wanted.”

  “We’re almost there!” Keith’s voice drifted from a distance.

  “It sounds wonderful, Martha. But I think we might get you to hospital and then we’ll discuss it later.”

  Martha nodded and lay back, moaning as pain radiated up her leg.

  “I promise, we’ll talk. After we discuss a no pyramid climbing policy.” Elizabeth kissed Martha’s cheek as Keith arrived.

  Anything for you, my dear friend. Anything at all.

  12

  Out of Reach

  2005

  I’m on the jetty. The night air cools my face and the soft splosh of water against the pylons reminds me the tide is beginning to rise. Below my bare feet the old timber boards are rough, and they creak as I move to the very edge.

  The water is clear and by the light of the full moon I see juvenile King Whiting swim this way and that around the seaweed on the sandy seabed. We’ve sat here so often, watching the fish and sunrise and sunset, and sometimes nothing at all but each other.

  A hot wind lifts my long hair from my shoulders. I look down at the emerald green dress hugging my body, the bottom of the skirt touching my ankles. Tonight was our engagement party and I wore this, loving the soft fabric against my bare legs.

  On my hand is my engagement ring, a solitaire. So perfect and beautiful. And I wear Tom’s pendant. A gift from my twentieth birthday. But where is he?

  I turn to scan the beach but it is so dark.

  “Thomas?”

  I walk back along the jetty and go to the sand, so hot beneath my feet. A wave rolls over my toes and I stay where I am, enjoying the water.

  Lightning forks onto the cliff above the stone steps and I see him. Thomas walks away from me, his head down.

  “Tom! I’m here!”

  But he keeps walking. And now the waves are around my hips, then my waist, until one roars over my head and I am below the sea again.

  13

  An Unfinished Plan

  2005

  “Tom!” Martha’s eyes flew open. Dawn was peeking through the windows. Windows with a view to the Atlantic Ocean, not the Great Southern Ocean where her heart belonged.

  Unwanted tears dripped down her face as she gave in to the memories. Her beloved town of River’s End, the friends she’d grown up with and a sister who’d once been loving and sweet. Two parents proud of their home and the life they’d created for their family. And Thomas Blake.

  Gone forever.

  She reached for tissues, sat up and blew her nose. This wasn’t how women in their late fifties behaved. A school principal, no less. Yet, these dreams continued, even though they’d stopped being every night, or week, or month now.

  It was time to get up, get moving, and get over the past. How she’d tried. And how many experiences she’d enjoyed in the process.

  You should write a book.

  Halfway out of bed, Martha stopped, mouth open. Something stirred in her memories. A conversation with Tom when she’d been angry with him. Furious in fact. But it was her reply to him which struck a chord now. “I want to travel the world. I want to be a famous writer.”

  She shook her head, slid her feet into slippers, and wrapped a dressing gown around herself.

  As the kettle heated, Martha prepared a teapot, glancing outside as the first rays of sun lit the sea. It was the middle of summer, not a long warm season as Australia offered, but a time she loved nevertheless.

  There was a seat outside, a narrow bench against the stone wall. She sat there, nursing her hot cup and watching birds begin their day-long hunt for food.

  She had travelled much of the world. Most of Europe, North and South America, and parts of Asia. The world was more familiar than her birth place. So she’d accomplished one of her declared intentions and how wonderful the memories were.

  Over the years she’d kept notes, diaries of sorts, with photos and memorabilia from the most treasured places. Even Egypt.

  Martha glanced at her ankle. At the hospital she’d pressured the doctor into setting the injury for her flight home the next day. He’d advised her to wait for a few days, let the swelling subside and full x-rays be done, but she needed to come home. The ankle set, and she recovered, but it was never the same. A lasting reminder not to do the wrong thing, even for the right reason.

  Her life was busy and fulfilling so becoming a famous writer wasn’t on the horizon. Maybe one day, when she retired, she’d think about turning those memories into something. For now though, she had garden beds to weed, seedlings to plant, and fruit to bottle.

  “Mornin’ Miss!”

  A group of children ran past, waving as they crossed the road to go down to the beach. Martha waved back. She had these youngsters to teach and every year brought a sense of happiness almost nothing else could. Her hand went to her pendant. Almost.

  14

  A Prod from a Friend

  2007

  Martha’s birthday came and went quietly. No doubt her friends in the village would have made a big deal of it had she reminded them it was her sixtieth, but for some reason, she wanted to keep the day to herself.

  The morning had passed in its usual Saturday way with housekeeping, some gardening, and a few cups of her favourite tea. Then, she’d dressed in her best dress and taken the bus to Dublin where she’d shouted herself lunch at a fancy restaurant. Every bite was delicious, and there was a certain pleasure in eating alone and being waited upon.

  On a whim, she joined the queue of mostly families with younger children to see a new film. Who could resist the tale of a lonely boy and an unusual egg set in a part of Scotland she adored? She’d spent many hours herself at Loch Ness, waiting in hope for a glimpse of the creature she really wanted to believe in. The film was delightful, even if she’d had to use a few tissues par
t way through.

  But worth every moment.

  Martha arrived home near dark, the bus driver kindly stopping near her gate. By now, her ankle throbbed, so she was relieved to go inside and take off her shoes. She giggled as she changed into pyjamas and dressing gown for the rest of the evening.

  From the city she’d brought a selection of cheese, a bottle of Australian wine, and some lovely bread. This simple meal rounded off what was a wonderful day. And then, there were the presents!

  One by one, she opened the small pile of gifts which had arrived at the cottage, and from school, over the past week. A couple of new release novels, which she immediately put to one side to look at before bed. From her students, a pretty scarf from a local shop. The teachers sent a bottle of her favourite sherry and Waterford crystal glasses.

  “Oh my, how very pretty!”

  The last gift, the one she’d left to unwrap at the end, was from Elizabeth. Like an excited child, she tore off the wrapping and put the card to one side so she could see what Elizabeth had sent. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  The final piece of wrapping paper floated to the ground, revealing a leather book. On the cover, engraved in gold, were the words “Martha’s Adventures”.

  She opened it to Elizabeth’s beautiful handwriting.

  “To my dearest friend who taught me to live life to the fullest.”

  This was a journal, ready for words. A small fire ignited deep in Martha.

  She slid the card from its envelope.

  Happy Birthday, darling Martha!