In the days following Mrs. Ladwick's death, grief and gossip swirled throughout the port community like an eddy. As a school teacher and sailor's wife, there was hardly a soul in the waterfront neighborhoods who didn't know and adore her.
"I still can't believe this," Noori murmured as she trudged numbly behind Toddrick away from the somber burial service. Her eyes dragged over the faces of the mourning crowd, most still loitering and talking quietly, unable to bring themselves to disperse quite yet. "I saw her just a couple weeks ago and she seemed the same as always. We meant to make plans for tea." Guilt stabbed at her heart and her chest heaved. How she regretted not making those plans sooner.
Miranda Ladwick had meant a lot of things to a lot of people, but she had meant an even greater deal to Noori Owusua. Well before ever sitting in her classroom, Mrs. Ladwick had been a fixture in the Owusua household – she and her husband were as much a part of the family as the rest of the seafaring community. Dak had sailed with Charles Ladwick in his younger years, before he took over the post of harbor master after his father's passing. In the years after Noori was born, Miranda spent many days with her mother. They raised their children—Noori Owusua just a babe and Evelyn Ladwick already coming into her girlhood—in a sisterhood of sailor's wives, side by side. And when Noori's mother eventually abandoned that sisterhood, as well as her husband and daughter years later, it was Mrs. Ladwick who remained.
Thinking about all of this now was like a hand around Noori's throat. Not one for shedding tears in front of others, she dipped her face and hid behind the dark cloud of her hair for a modicum of privacy.
"Does anyone know what happened?" asked Minty between hiccuping sobs. She shuffled along at Noori's side, dabbing her shining eyes with a handkerchief. Unlike Noori, she didn't seem troubled by weeping openly – or loudly for that matter. "I've only heard rumors, but some of them are too awful to be true."
Noori's head snapped up with a jolt. She hadn't heard any rumors, awful or otherwise. The fact that Mrs. Ladwick was dead had been awful enough.
"What did you hear?"
Minty pursed her lips and cast a furtive glance around. "I overheard some gossip at the butcher. They said..." she paused, swallowed, "they said she was murdered. Found dead in her own bed."
"That's ridiculous," Noori scoffed. Her blood boiled. "It's a bold-faced lie. She fell ill, that's all. I heard it from Charles himself."
"Ill?" Minty's brow furrowed with confusion. "But, it's like you said – she was fine. I saw her too, likely right around when you did, Noori. I stopped by to give her one of my new tea plants and she seemed perfectly healthy to me."
Noori didn't want to admit that the notion frightened her. Any kind of illness that could fell its victim in a fortnight was a worrisome prospect, especially in a port city where so many came and went, taking their germs with them like invisible luggage.
Toddrick looked over his shoulder at them and forced a small smile. "Tea plant for everyone, Min?"
Minty answered with a dispassionate flutter of her hand that reminded Noori of an injured bird. "I've been giving them to my customers as a way to say thank you for their patronage. I thought it would be a nice way to invite people to my new stall at the market."
This was enough to shake Noori out of her funk for a moment.
"Oh, was that your news?" Fernweh's wharf market was renowned for its size and quality. Popular with both visitors and locals alike, a hopeful vendor's only chance of getting a permanent stall was either through grandfathering or lottery. So coveted were these stalls that families willed them down through generations. Newer institutions could only wait and hope. "Congratulations, Minty. That's really wonderful for you."
Now it was Minty's turn to fake a happy face. "Thank you."
Noori understood Minty's flatness; it was hard to celebrate amid so much sadness. Silence fell between the three.
"Come on," Toddrick said softly after they had spent a few moments alone in their own thoughts. "Let's find Mr. Ladwick so we can give him that cake."
Noori's eyes dropped to the lemon cake cradled lightly in her hands. Because the harbor master must always be available during day hours, her father was unable to attend the funeral. To make up for his absence, he stayed up late the night before baking his famous lemon cake as an offering instead. When Noori awoke that morning, she found it waiting for her, already neatly wrapped in waxed paper. The package was dense and fragrant, even through the packaging. Its aroma evoked the taste of tart citrus balanced with lavender buttercream icing. It was no eulogy, but it would do.
The touch of a hand pressed lightly into the small of her back brought Noori out of her cake-filled daydream, taking the phantom flavors with it. The hand was Toddrick's, and he was using it to gently navigate her through the crowd of mourners. Noori tense instinctively, and for this she felt a slight swell of shame.
Noori had never known life without Toddrick. They had been friends since their youngest days; his was a family of deep sea fishers, and so his mother had joined hers in that sisterhood of theirs. Some of Noori's earliest memories featured Toddrick, the first of which was the day their mothers taught them to swim in the frigid inlet where the Tristini River empties into the ocean. When they paused for lunch that day, shivering beneath their woven blankets, a brazen gull stole Toddrick's biscuit clean from his hand. Without a second thought, Noori gave him what remained of hers, and they had been the closest of friends ever since.
The companionship Noori shared with Toddrick always came easily, in part because they always seemed to be of the same mind. They shared a love of the sea – the saltwater in their veins was their birthright. They both tolerated Fernweh, knowing it was a fine enough city but dreaming of the far off magic-filled lands they'd grown up hearing about in the tales of countless sailors. Becoming harbor pilots had been a remedy to cure their youthful boredom. Fernweh, Noori argued, was best tolerated from the water. Toddrick seemed to agree.
But lately, it felt as though something had changed. It came on slowly, so imperceptible that Noori couldn't pinpoint exactly when Toddrick had started standing closer, or when his gaze began lingering just a touch longer than a friend's should. Where once there had been childish horseplay and crude jokes, Toddrick had grown tender. Noori knew she wasn't imagining the fondness that seemed to color Toddrick's every gesture.
Noori wasn't naive – though she couldn't remember when things had changed, she knew what it meant. What she didn't know was what to do about it. How was she supposed to keep their friendship the same when it seemed as though Toddrick wanted it to change? She didn't want to hurt him – to have to watch his face fall when he discovered she didn't want him to be anything other than her best friend.
So she did what she'd been doing since she first noticed things changing between them: she pretended she didn't notice.
"There he is," she announced loudly, hurrying forward and away from Toddrick's hand. "Under the tree with Evelyn."
The great weeping silver birch at the cemetery's entrance was where grieving families received the hushed wishes of peace and healing from their guests. Hands clasped tightly with his grown daughter, Mr. Ladwick bowed his pallid face in a gesture of thanks to each person who paused to give their condolences. Dappled shadows from the drooping branches above made the bruises beneath his eyes look even darker. And still, Noori couldn't help but think — perhaps optimistically — that he looked better than he had that day in the doorway of her father's office. Grief, she noted, came on too fast and always overstayed its welcome.
"Noori, it's good to see you." Evelyn relinquished one arm from her father's grasp and reached out. Noori turned, shifting the cake to one hand so she could accept the single-armed embrace with one of her own. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course." Noori pulled back and willed the corners of her mouth into a sympathetic smile. She pressed the package gently into Evelyn's hand and quickly withdrew her own before anyone could see how it trembled. "Papa wishes he could be here. He made this for you and wishes you both solace. I can't even begin to tell you how heartbroken we are."
Evelyn nodded, her eyes, mirrors of her mother's, shone like glass. Minty reached out and gave her elbow a gentle squeeze.
"Noori Owusua," Mr. Ladwick said, surprising them all. They turned to him, ready to jump at whatever the grief-stricken widower might need, but he saw only Noori. "I have something for you – something Miranda wanted you to have."
Brows knitted, Noori exchanged a mystified look first with Toddrick and then with Evelyn, both of whom looked just as puzzled as she was.
"Mrs. Ladwick left something for me?"
Again, the once-husband bobbed his head. "I'll bring it to you in a day or so, once we've had a chance to put this terrible business behind us."
"You don't have to do that," Toddrick insisted, resting that gentle hand of his on the man's hunched shoulder. "We can come and collect whatever it is. You needn't trouble yourself."
"Nonsense." As if realizing his own projection of frailty in Toddrick's offer, Mr. Ladwick drew himself up a little straighter. "I'll appreciate the excuse to leave the house and be among friends. A day or two – I'll bring it by the house and say hello to your father, I think, Noori."
Not one of them insisted on the contrary again. After a round of embraces, the three took their leave. They walked from the graveyard, a salty wind washing in across the ocean and filling the spaces between them. Only once they were far from the crowd did any of them speak.
"I'm so curious," Minty whispered. "Had Mrs. Ladwick ever mentioned that she might leave you something?"
"No, we never talked about things like this."
Toddrick tipped his head, his expression thoughtful. "What do you think it could be?"
Noori turned random memories over in her mind, but came up with nothing. She looked down at her now empty hands; they still smelled of sugar and lemon, the fragrance mixing with the salty air.
"I haven't the slightest idea."