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We walk the winding dirt trail to the village slowly. Baby runs out front. When we reach the lanes, I find each porch and lawn are empty. I take my time memorizing details: Mr. Button’s purple porch, Bill and Sarah Green’s collection of six rocking chairs, the mermaid bench on Holly’s porch—carved by her father. Then we’re near the café. I think perhaps all the island’s shown up for my farewell.
Inside, Charles and I are met with a crowd and a feast. I can’t eat a single bite.
I step into the kitchen, and Mrs. Alice hugs me tightly. I break down, and she takes me outside through the kitchen door, into the foggy morning.
“Let me tell you something, my dear. Something I don’t believe you know about me.”
“What?” I whisper.
Her eyes twinkle. “This old lady, lifelong Tristanian, wanted to stay back in England. More than anything.” She smiles gently. “Oh, yes. I was listening to Elvis Presley on the neighbor lady’s records. I’d walk down the way and get a cut of steak from the butcher. All that was lovely. But my Harold didn’t care for it. So we came back here to the island.” She looks wistful.
My throat knots, so tightly I can’t speak. I swallow hard.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“I’ve had a lovely life here. I’ll be buried by my Harold, glad to have these bitter winds whistle over my headstone. But…” She lifts her eyebrows. “But.” She hugs me once more. “There’s so much for you to see, my dear. Your grandmother would be dizzy with pride. I’ll tell you a secret.”
“What?” I murmur.
“Your Gammy—I believe she wanted your mum to go. She liked that Mr. Carnegie. In fact, I helped her stitch your mother’s wedding gown. We designed it secretly to be befitting of a New York lady.”
I start sobbing then and never do quite get a handle on myself. Anna comes to fetch me from the kitchen sometime later, taking me to bid farewell to…well, to everyone I know.
Dot hugs my neck a long time. “I wish you the very best, my friend. No one deserves happiness more than you do.”
Holly says, “I’m green with envy.” She gives me a red-lipsticked smile. “Have the grandest time. And do send postcards.”
Rachel’s eyes fill with tears. “It’s my dream as well,” she whispers, so softly no one but I can hear her.
I’m standing for hours as I hug everyone I’ve ever known.
Mrs. Petunia White assures me, “I’ll manage nicely till the next physician arrives. Mike Green has agreed to help me.”
Mrs. Dillon presses something into my hand. A bank note. I frown, and she smiles kindly. “Some of us pitched in for you, dearie. Give it to that Mr. Carnegie. He’ll turn it to the proper currency.”
“The dollar.” I note the amount and nearly pass out. “Nine hundred pounds! That’s a fortune.”
“Oh, that’s pocket money. In America, you’ll sell your gorgeous pottery. This is just a token of our well wishes. After all you’ve been through, my dear…” She hugs me close. “You know I adored your mum. She’d be so proud.”
There’s one person I haven’t seen, and he appears as I stand near the coat rack, wincing at my aching feet.
“Father Russo.”
At first I think he’s looking at my feet as well. When he finally lifts his eyes to mine, I realize he’d been avoiding my gaze. I’m near stunned when his arms wrap around me. “Finley Evans—I’m so very sorry!”
For a moment, I fear perhaps he’s weeping, but he pulls away, his eyes squeezed shut, shaking his head as if he’s quite disgusted. When he opens them, they’re brimming with tears.
“I am…so remorseful.” He covers his face with a kerchief, shaking his head before pulling it away, revealing a grooved frown. “I’m not sure what to say. I was blind to what was there before my eyes. So foolish. And so arrogant in my assessments. You have suffered greatly for my errors. And now what I’ve done…” He rubs his lips together, shaking his head once more. “Simply devastated over the young Mr. Carnegie. And…what happened with Daniels…it’s on my soul.”
I can’t find the proper words. Father Russo hugs me again, and I pat his back. I find as we embrace that my heart feels…softer. As if something’s shaken loose.
“What happened in the boat was merely tragic, Father. Not intentional nor your fault. Thank you,” I say softly. “I forgive you.”
And I do. I find I truly do.
Later in the afternoon, Mr. Carnegie comes to me and gives me his small smile, and offers me a plastic water bottle.
“We’ll need to be leaving soon.”
