I gripped my suitcase and stared resolutely ahead, refusing to look at my father when he tossed his arm over my shoulder. Had he brought me here under any other circumstances, I would've been racing ahead, stopping only to fill my lungs with briny air. My granda had told me many stories of Merrow Island, and as a child, I'd fallen asleep dreaming of pirates, sirens, and treasures buried in rocky caverns.
But most of all, I dreamed of calling it home one day.
And now that day was here. The Hallorans had returned to their motherland. Even the sorrow clouding my mind couldn't distract me from the sense of rightness that had settled over me as soon as the soles of my shoes touched the rocky shores.
I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
"Cheer up, Isla girl," my father boomed, putting his hand on my back and pushing me forward. "You've done nothing but chatter away about this place since you were old enough to talk. We're here, and yer not smiling."
"It's cold, and I'm hungry," I snipped, moving out of his reach and continuing up the one lane path. It took all my resolve to not turn around and beg the ferryman to return.
"You don't even know where yer going." We hadn't been here five minutes and already the light bur in his accent was thickening.
The suitcase hit the ground, and I spread my arms out wide. "I thought I'd go with the only road in sight, and seeing as how going that way," I pointed toward the sea, its waves gray and gnashing, "leads to a cold swim, I thought I'd try this direction."
I waited for him to snap at me. Dylan Halloran didn't put up with much snark from anyone, even less so from his own daughter. Six months ago, this much attitude would've earned a solid grounding that would've lasted at minimum two weeks. Now, he just filled his cheeks with air, the tops of them red with frustration and cold, before blowing out a long breath.
Wrangling a smile back onto his lips, he jogged to my side and scooped up the suitcase. "We can stop for a bite to eat before heading out to the house. Mrs. Rose, the lady who has yer granda's car, owns the best pub on the island."
"Considering the population of the island is about three hundred people and there's likely only the one pub, I'm not sure you should sing her praises."
"There's actually three pubs. There's a lot going on in the town center here. Tourism has really boosted the economy, and in the last few years all sorts of shopping and cafes have popped up. Some of them close in the off season, but mostly, you're not going to miss out on much Isla."
I tuned him out as he prattled on, sounding every bit like a local tour guide. The sky overhead was the same color as the sea we'd just arrived on. The heavy clouds blocked every ray of late August sunshine, but even the dreary weather couldn't suppress the brilliant colors in the pastures lining the road. Miles of tall emerald grasses dotted with deep purple heather in full bloom. And the shaggiest little donkeys grazed, not bothering to lift their heads as we walked by.
A gnawing ache grew in my stomach, and it had nothing to do with my claim of hunger. This place was everything my granda had promised- more, really. He could never do justice to the sounds and smells, some of them things I'd never encountered until this moment. I wondered if she'd seen what I was seeing, would she have stayed?"
"Here we are," Dad shouted as we crested the hill and the hamlet of Merrow Island came into full view.
The path widened, becoming a proper road until it reached an open space paved with cobblestones. As my father had promised, shops and cafes filled the square, some part of rows of what looked like stone cottages, while others were freestanding, creating narrow alleys that connected the center to other streets. I saw no cars, only pedestrians and bike riders navigated the area, the sound of voices and bells signalling filling my ears.
Many of the cafes had outside seating, most covered by awnings to protect from the near daily drizzle. As it was a Saturday afternoon, people in raincoats occupied the chairs, sipping coffee, and studying travel brochures. Chicory and cinnamon coalesced on the breeze, mingling with sea salt.
"I forgot how clean the air was here," my father breathed, taking his hat off and lifting his nose up to the sky. "I guess I never realized the difference because the last time I was here, I had nothing else to compare it with."
"I still don't understand why Granda wanted to leave," I said, trying to soften the tone of my voice. It was difficult to maintain a surly attitude amidst the newness and my father's exuberance.
The light in his eyes dimmed, and he squashed the hat back onto his head. It pushed the dark brown curls over his ears and into his eyes, the effect removing years from his face. "The Island is great in many respects, but there's no escaping-"
"Dylan Halloran, is that you?"
"Siobhan Murphy, as I live and breathe. Yer a sight for sore eyes."
I stood back as he scooped up the petite woman and twirled her around. Her laugh was silver, tinkling like bells as he put her back on her feet. She straightened her flannel shirt and tucked an auburn strand of hair behind her ear before she clapped him on the shoulder.
"Katie told me you were coming back to the island with your girl, but I told her I wouldn't believe it until I laid eyes on you. This yer girl?"
Siobhan wiped her hands on her pants and stuck out a pale, freckled hand. I took it, unwilling to be petulant to a complete stranger even though her more than familiar greeting with my father had me seeing red. "I'm Isla."
"That's a lovely name," Siobhan said, her grip firm but brief. "You look to be about my son's age. You'll meet him when school starts on Monday."
The last bit of positive in my mood soured. Somehow, school had slipped my mind. Worry must have been visible on my face because she shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Don't you worry. Everyone is excited about the girl from the states coming to our little island school."
"Dad," I groaned, tugging on my braid.
They both chuckled, and my dad said, "You know she's going to stress about it no matter what us old people say."
Siobhan cupped her cheeks and shook her head. "Ach, we are the old people now, aren't we? Strange, when I'm talking to you, I feel young again."
A pretty blush spread across her peach complexion, and my dad cleared his throat, though I didn't miss the pink singeing his own skin. Well, this was a pretty pickle. We hadn't even made it to our new house, and he'd found a girlfriend. All of the angst and attitude I'd tried to put aside rose, filling my mouth with a bitter taste.
"I'm hungry. Can we go?"
"Ah right," he muttered, cutting his eyes at me while giving Siobhan a lingering hug. "Best be off. I promised Isla that we'd stop for a bite at Mrs. Rose's place."
"Yer in for a treat," she said.
My eyebrows jutted up, and I shrugged. "Come on, Dad."
"Bye, we'll talk later," he called out as I dragged him by the hand.
He waited until Siobhan went back to wherever she'd come from before springing on me. Grabbing my arm, he spun me around and fumed, "I know yer not happy right now, but that was uncalled for. I didn't raise you to be disrespectful."
"Disrespectful! Mama hasn't even been gone a year, and you can't make it five seconds on this island without making googly eyes at a woman. That's what I call disrespectful."
"Not that it's any of yer business, but Siobhan and I were close friends. And you're just going to get used to the idea that I will not be single forever."
"Whatever," I said, turning my head so he couldn't see my bottom lip tremble. There were few things that moved me to tears, but my father's disappointment was one of them. "Which one of these is Mrs. Rose's place?"
He readjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and handed me my suitcase. His voice was kinder when he spoke. "It's not on this main strip here. Too touristy. All the good places are further in. Come on."
We turned down one of the narrow alleys. Puddles filled the worn spots of the road, and water dripped from the eaves of the buildings. Flowering vines crept up the stone walls, anchoring in plaster between the bricks and suctioning onto the glass in windows. It amazed me that anything could grow so well in a place so chilly.
The alley ended, dumping us into another street, this one less busy than the one vacated, but still filled with obvious tourists. We went left, up a hill, before cutting back onto another backstreet, this one even more cramped than the other with a strange smell pervading the space.
"What is that?" I asked, clenching my nostrils together and stepping around the pools of water in case they held the source of the unpleasant odor.
"Ah, I forgot," he said, patting the wall to our right. "This is Branna's store. Potent Potions. She dabbles in um, natural...um... herbal remedies. Things always smell a little off here. There you go. Mrs. Rose's place is right there."
He pointed at a quaint, free standing cottage across the street from where we'd emerged. Vines, both withered and alive, covered the front of the building, leaving only the windows untouched. It was clear the look was carefully cultivated.Wooden shutters were pushed wide open, the wood dark with age. A sign dangled over the door, its teal paint fresh, and the name The Merrow Cafe written in elegant white script. A mermaid sitting on a rock, brushing her hair with a fishbone, was etched beside the name.
"Come on, I can hear yer stomach fussing," my dad declared, stepping into the road without looking both ways.
I could find no reason to argue with him, though I wasn't sure the rumbling he heard was from hunger pains or protest of the smell. Either way, going into the cafe would solve both problems. I followed, but stopped to examine the storefront for Potent Potions. It lacked the loving care of its neighbor. The sign was rickety and cracked, while the large bay window was coated in grime.
"Isla!"
"Coming," I called, hesitating as the sensation of being watched washed over me. But if someone in the shop was spying, I couldn't see them through the filth.
I didn't make it two steps into The Merrow Cafe before two plump arms drew me into a squishy hug. Heavy, floral perfume seared my nostrils, and the rough material of the woman's shirt scratched against my face; however, with my father's admonishments still ringing in my ears, I allowed the stranger to smother me.
"Oh, Dylan. She looks just like Aileen did at that age," the woman said, holding me by the shoulders and looking me over. Her rosy cheeks were sparkling with tears, but her lips were split in a wide grin. '"When word got back to us you'd had a daughter, why we just couldn't believe it."
"You must be Mrs. Rose?" I hazarded a guess, and though I'd not thought it possible, her smile grew.
"You'd be right. Come, come. Let's get some food in to yer bellies. Yer lass looks half starved, Dylan."
She ushered us over to a scarred wooden table surrounded by ladder-back chairs. In the center was a lace doily, upon which sat a bowl of seashells with a candle settled in the middle. Simple, brown paper menus were at each place setting as well as empty, blown glass cups. A heavy, rusted anchor hung on the wall beside my chair, and a sea shanty played from the speakers.
"Looks just as I remember it," Dad said.
Mrs. Rose tittered and plopped into a seat beside us. No one else was in the restaurant except for a girl who hadn't looked up from her book once.
"I don't know if that's a good thing. Brodie is forever blethering about updating the place. He doesn't understand that folks come here because it feels like home. The MainStreet can have all the fancy, modern places."
They chatted for a few more minutes while I studied the menu. The only thing that looked remotely familiar was macaroni and cheese and fish and chips. Granda had often talked about haggis, but I'd googled it the other day. There was no way I was eating it.
A chipped fingernail slid into view and tapped on the menu. "The special fer today is the Cullen Sink. My favorite."
I looked at the item. "Smoked haddock, potato and leek stew...I think I'll stick with the fish and chips."
"Don't worry, Mrs. Rose. We will have her eating like an islander in no time. I'd love the Cullen Sink."
"Alright, and a bit of fizzy juice, yeah?"
"Soda," Dad explained when I lifted a brow.
"Oh, yes, please. Coke."
"Be right back," she trilled, bouncing up and moving with far more speed than I'd expect from a woman of her size and age.
"So, what do you think? Dad used to work on the boats- the harbor is on the other side of the island, and Mum worked as a seamstress in a shop just a few streets over. I'd come here after school and study until she got off, and when the weather was good, we'd ride our bikes out to meet him at the docks."
Dad stared across the cafe, a faraway look in his eyes. He scratched at his beard as he took me down memory lane, and it was then that I noticed how many grays dotted the black. The last few months had not been kind to either of us. My father had been the young, cool dad. The handsome one that made our house the popular choice for sleepovers. Mama hadn't minded it at all; she'd laugh and pop cookies in the oven, telling my friends they'd be lucky to get a man half as handsome and sweet as my daddy.
I slammed the door shut on that image. My father might be willing to travel into the past, but while the stay was pleasant, the journey to the present was nothing but painful. Not to mention that none of it would help my current situation.
"Here you go," Mrs. Rose said, returning with two plates.
Golden batter covered two longs strips of fish, and the fries were thick cut and crisp. The aroma wafting from the plate banished the last dredges of the alley from my nose, and for the first time since we'd arrived, I was content. Until I spied the odd green heap.
"What is that?" I asked, poking it with a fry.
"Mushy peas," Dad exclaimed, reaching over and scooping up a bite with his spoon. He popped it in his mouth and hummed as he swallowed. "Try it. You'll love it."
"Dylan, don't bother the lass. If she doesn't want it, she doesn't want it. She'll come round, eventually. The Island is in her blood."
"Yeah Dad," I waggled my brows as I bit the end off a fry, "leave me alone."
Mrs. Rose chuckled. "That's not quite what I was angling fer, but it's about right."
While we ate, the older woman caught my dad up on the local gossip. Apparently, he and Granda were odd for leaving the place as everyone my father had ever known had either died on the island or still lived on it. I watched him closely, curious about this side of the man who'd raised me. It wasn't as though he'd ever hidden his love for his homeland, but when Mama was still with us, he'd been happy to leave this place in the past.
"Now, here are the keys to the car. It's parked over in the stables," Mrs. Rose said, plunking a set of keys onto the table.
"The stables?"
Mrs. Rose winked at me. "As you probably noticed coming in, we don't have room fer cars and such driving around these narrow streets, not with all the tourists buzzing about. So we all park our cars in a large lot next to the SeaHaven Inn. It's an old carriage house they converted, so it's a joke that our cars are in the stables."
"Thanks, Mrs. Rose. I can't tell you how much I appreciate yer help." Dad tried to hand her money, but she pushed his hand away.
"Dylan, this one is on me."
"No ma'am," he insisted, "You've already done enough. Without you looking over things for Dad while we were gone, we'd be staying in a hotel for weeks trying to get everything together."
"Ennis and Aileen were my dear friends, and I thought of you as one of my own. You know that. We take care of family here."
Something hot prickled in the corner of my eyelids as the two embraced. The response was unwelcome, and I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping the move would broadcast my unwillingness to be touched. Either Mrs. Rose wasn't the most observant or she didn't care, because she pulled me into a hug every bit as tight and long as the one she'd given my father.
"I expect to see you in here before the end of next week," she said, booping my nose with her finger. "I know how those Halloran men cook, and that's saying not at all. Aileen would come back from her grave if I let a grandchild of hers starve. Especially a girl."
"Thank you," I replied, my body growing less rigid the longer she held me. There was something comforting about this woman. Those hot prickles grew stronger, and I wiggled out of her grip. I'd shed enough tears already. I surely wouldn't waste them on strangers.
As we headed out, the other patron finally paused her reading and looked up. I had paid little attention to her earlier, but now that she was staring unabashedly, I returned the scrutiny. Bright red hair was wrestled back into a bun at her nape, and her skin was clear but washed out, as though she'd not seen the sun in months. Even her eyes were pale-a crystal so clear I had to look twice to confirm there was color around her pupils.
"Be wary," she whispered, her knuckles whitening around the edges of her book. She crossed her ankles and leaned forward. "Don't trust anyone you meet here."
"Excuse me?"
"A cursed place, this is. Wretched are our souls."
"Leslie, I think yer mother is waiting for you," Mrs. Rose snapped.
I yanked my attention away from the girl- Leslie- and back to Mrs. Rose. She had her fists propped on her generous hips and her lips were turned down. It was the first scowl I'd seen on her face, and I could see why parents would trust her to watch over their children after school. It was frightening. Leslie, however, was unmoved by it. She grabbed her things while rolling her eyes and skirted around us to exit the store.
"Did she say anything odd to you just now?" Mrs. Rose asked.
"No," I lied, surprising myself. The girl had made no sense, but something tightened in my gut and warned me to remain silent. "Just hello."
The older woman shook her head and sighed. "She's an odd one, just like her mum. Ach, look. What a dreich day. I'd hoped the sun would come out, but it's likely to rain again. Best be getting to the house with you both."
We waved goodbye, and continued the same route as before, working our way to the outer edges of the city. The further we went, the businesses turned to homes. Damp laundry hung on wires, the stiff breeze the only chance the clothes had of drying. A few people were already out in their yards, muttering curses at the sky, while stuffing the wet articles into baskets.
Children shouted in the street. Some rode bikes, while others jumped rope, or tossed a ball. Cats napped on top of fences, their tails flicking as we hurried by. It wasn't so different from home, really. Kids spent their fair share of time running about with bare feet covered in red clay and chasing bugs and birds. Those years of carefree play were shorter now than when I'd been a child, even the smallest lured inside by video games and smartphones. I wasn't ready to admit it now, not out loud, but the atmosphere was soothing.
"Dad," I panted, jogging to catch up to him. His long legs were eating away at the pavement, but the black clouds broiling on the horizon explained the urgency. "Just a quick observation."
He flipped the hood of his jacket over his head as he looked over his shoulder. We cut between two houses, the occupants waving at us, not at all concerned by the strangers in their yard. "Yes, pumpkin?"
"Everyone looks a lot alike here. Like, a lot a lot."
The amused grin I expected didn't materialize. He turned away and increased the pace, forcing me to break out into a sprint and praying no one was around to watch. Running made me look like a flailing turtle. In the water, I moved like a fish. On land, the struggle was real.
We reached a place I could only assume was the stables. Rolling pastures spread out around us, and in the center was a grand old building made of the same stone as the cottages in the principal part of the city. Windows filled with the soft glow of artificial lighting lined the top floor, while the bottom portion had multiple entrances that reminded me of barn doors. Around the side was a big, ugly parking lot filled with older model trucks and cars.
Dad raised his hand in the air, pushing the horn button on the keys. A tarp covered vehicle honked and flashed, and we peeled back the sheet, tossing it in the back of the truck as the first raindrops plopped on the cherry red hood. Our meager luggage went into the backseat. The doors clanged shut, and the heavens delivered.
"Look at us," Dad crowed, pumping his fist before turning the key. Face flushed, I laughed, bumping my shoulder against his as I drew a shuddering breath into my starved lungs. And another dam burst, this time in the car.
"Isla. Baby, what are you crying?"
Hiccuping, I scrubbed away the tears, but they fell so fast and heavy, I wasted the effort. I could smell Granda. The same tobacco that clung to his clothes when he held me ingrained every corner of the truck's cab. When I shifted on the worn cloth seats, it puffed up in a cloud, and just beneath it all was cinnamon.
I let my father pull me across the seat and pressed my chin into his chest while he smoothed my hair. Being so close to him, his own fragrance fighting against Granda's, I calmed. He was sunshine, summer days, and a hint of something I'd never been able to put my finger on. Until today. Sea salt and heather.
"Better?"
"Better," I admitted, buckling my seatbelt with a sniffle.
He shifted the truck into gear, and we pulled out onto a winding road which took us up into the island's highlands. "Care to explain what that was about?"
"The truck still smells like Granda. I didn't expect that." Condensation clouded the window where I pressed my freckled nose to the glass. The rain lashed against the truck, and I could feel its icy bite through the thin barrier.
"It kind of got me too," Dad admitted. He turned the knobs on the dash to heat the cabin, but nothing he did could coax any warmth from the vents. "Looks like the heater is out. Mrs. Rose said she kept up the basics like oil changes and such. Otherwise, it wouldn't even run, and the manor is far out. We're only one of a handful of families who live this far away from the town center."
"Joy," I groaned. Not that I had any friends to visit, but utter isolation was unappealing.
"Sorry about not answering yer question earlier. I was in a hurry to beat that storm. I mean, the answer is obvious. Merrow Island is small. Only about 673 square kilometers- er, 260 ish square miles. Population 3000. Lots of people are related."
"No wonder you moved away. Get some fresh blood."
A strange emotion twisted his features, but it was gone before I could place it. "Legend has it that everyone is descended from two groups. There're the aristocrats who settled the Island."
"Lovely, they were already inbred before they got here."
"Isla..." He drew out the last syllable of my name, but there was no heat in it. "King William III gave the land to Fiona Halloran," he winked when he said our surname, "as a wedding gift. The king died shortly after the Halloran's settled here with their people, and Fiona's husband, Ian, was not a fan of the monarchy. He declared Merrow Island to be its own nation, and Queen Anne, whether she was simply unaware of the land or didn't care, sent no one to say otherwise."
"Isn't that a little odd," I mused, drawing loops in the fog on the window. "What monarch misplaces an entire island?"
"Think, back then the island was even more wild than it is now. No one thought it much good for anything, but the Hallorans raised livestock and grew decent crops. But the real wealth of the island came from the port."
"Who came all the way out here to trade? With people who had potatoes and sheep?"
"It wasn't trading so much as hiding."
We turned and climbed a hill that made the little truck wheeze and shake. The rain had slowed, but the road was mostly mud now. The tires lost purchase a few times, slinging muck behind the vehicle. But Dad was patient, and we didn't' get stuck.
"So," I prompted him once we were back on level road and he could afford to split his attention. "They were smugglers."
"Smugglers. Pirates. What's in a name?"
I bounced in my seat. "So is that who the second group is? If you live on the Island, you're either descended from the lords and ladies or pirates."
"Pretty much," he said.
"But wouldn't the lines have crossed, eventually. We'd all be connected somehow."
"Oh no," he said. We were driving through a tree tunnel, and I craned my neck to see my new home. "It was an unspoken rule. The Hallorans never married into the families that settled here from that business. It just wasn't done."
"Lovely," I said, giving him the stink eye. "We're a bunch of snobs."
He stopped, cut the engine, and pointed through the windshield. A massive manor filled our view, three stories high."You think?"