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Jeanne lived just outside town, maybe a mile walk from the inn, so that's what they did--walked.
"I'll warn you it's not a big fancy meal," she said.
"Wouldn't expect that," Ricky said. "If I invited someone at the last minute, I'd have to get takeout."
"We can do better than that. Laurel's made a pot of chowder and lobster rolls. Hope that's all right."
"That is awesome."
"She said it would be, but I fussed. In my day, you'd never serve a guest lobster. That was poor-folk food. I'd hide my lobster rolls at school so the other kids wouldn't see them while I dreamed of peanut butter or bologna."
"I dreamed of peanut butter, too," Ricky said. "But that's because our school was a nut-free zone. I snuck PB&J once. Thought I got away with something. My dad found out and gave me proper hell."
"Good," Jeanne said. "One of my grandbabies has that allergy, and some parents at her school try to argue kids should be allowed to bring it. I won't keep it in my house. So you're stuck with lobster."
"Fine by me."
Six - Liv
For dinner, we had piping hot chowder stuffed with seafood. Freshly baked rolls with chilled lobster and homemade mayo. Iced tea. Coleslaw. All served in the backyard, surrounded by forest.
As wonderful as the meal was, the conversation was even better. We talked about fae folklore from around the world and how it related to both local Gaelic and Mi'kmaq lore.
The concept of fae as "little people" fascinates me. Older lore is often closer to the truth--that fae are roughly human size. I suppose at one time, with so much of the world unexplored, it was easy to believe full-size humanoid creatures inhabited forests and lakes. As that wilderness dwindled, it must have seemed more likely that the reason we didn't see them was their size. Fairies became tiny beings that slipped past unnoticed. The truth, of course, is that when their territory dwindled, the fae responded the same way humans do to invading cultures: they disappeared by staying in plain sight. Instead of inhabiting forests and lakes, they adopted human glamours and lived among us.
The meal stretched on into dessert. Porkpies. Which were neither pies nor pork, but tarts made with dates and brown-sugar icing. As I ate my second one, I steered conversation toward the swimming hole.
"Hildy says it's cursed?" I said.
Laurel made a face. "It was the site of a few historical drownings, not surprising given the depth. We had a geologist here on vacation who took an interest, thinking it might be glacial. He dropped a sinker and determined it's at least fifty feet deep, which is incredible given the circumference."
"At least fifty feet," Jeanne said. "But he never properly measured it. Care to tell them why, Laurel?"
Her granddaughter made that face again.
Jeanne crossed her arms. "Go on. Tell the nice people why it hasn't been properly measured."
"Because he didn't have proper equipment, and he wasn't going to come all the way back here--"
"No, that's the excuse he gave. After he came tearing out of that forest like the devil himself was on his heels"--she looked at us--"he said he saw a face in the water. A woman's face. He thought it was a drowning victim, but when he reached in? She reached back. She grabbed his wrist."
"Kids playing tricks," Laurel said.
"What kids? Even you wouldn't go up there when you were little. No one goes near that hole. We all know better. It's a passage to the next world."
"A fairy hole?" I asked.
When Laurel looked over, I said, "We were on Kellys Mountain, at the fairy hole there. The cave at the water's edge. I heard a little of the lore. It wasn't something I was familiar with."
"Glooscap's Cave," Jeanne said.
Laurel nodded. "It's also known as the Fairy Hole and, yes, it's believed to be a passage to the spirit world. The afterlife. The Otherworld. Whatever you care to call it. The locals think that our swimming hole is the same thing in landlocked form."
"A
nd you?" I asked.
