Excerpt: The Stones of Burren Bay by Emily De Angelis

Excerpted with permission from Latitude 46 Publishing

Nestled in a small, forested area, at the edge of town beyond a tidy, red metal roofed cottage and an old garage, was a small house with a wrap-around porch. It was sided with grey cedar shingles and the white paint on the trim and around the eaves and windows was peeling. On the wide, wooden front door, that didn’t seem to match the size of the building, was a sign that read The Jolly Pot Tearoom and Gift Shop. The front yard, surrounded by a low, wooden picket fence, was unkempt and weedy. The grass, what there was of it, poked out of the dirt, and the flower beds were filled with dead plants and greenery struggling to grow up through the debris.

The disarray Norie witnessed in the yard continued into the house. Tables and chairs were all stacked on one side of the main room and two or three area rugs were rolled up and placed along one wall of a second inner room. Boxes were scattered here and there in various states of being unpacked. A set of French doors that closed off one room from the other were held back by folk-painted milk cans.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess. We’ve only just started setting up for tearoom season.” Dahlia marched Alice ahead to what Norie guessed it was the kitchen. Wilhelmina and Gibson moved boxes cluttering the path they were taking.

“I need to go to the washroom,” said Norie, lowering the bags she was carrying to the floor just inside the front door. “It’s down this hall, the door at the end.” Dahlia gestured toward the hallway without stopping. Norie watched her mother sit down at a long table along a row of windows before making her way through the boxes stacked in the hall. The tiny washroom was also in a state of disorder, with plastic bins shoved into corners and cleaning supplies and rags strewn about. When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, it struck her how remarkably different this room was. Here everything was orderly and clean. Open shelves above a sideboard held various labelled jars of loose-leaf teas. Some were as black as licorice, leaves curled tightly into tiny buds. Some looked like bits of dappled leaves and twigs gathered and crumbled into jars. Others reminded Norie of sage coloured moss and lichen dried by the summer sun. The whole room was warmed with the scent of brown sugar, butter, and spices.

“I just got most of this season’s new teas that I ordered online.” Dahlia busied herself at the counter as she spoke. Gibson, who had been standing silently leaning against the doorframe moved out of the doorway to the other side of the kitchen. He was a big man, tall and muscular, and seemed to fill the kitchen as he leaned against the cupboards. Dahlia continued, “I’m still waiting for some special brews I discovered over the winter. I have a few ideas for this year’s blends.”

After setting a kettle over the flame of the gas stove, she chose a jar of dark loose leaf, scooping out a measured amount into a white teapot. Norie sat in the kitchen chair closest to the door. She glanced into another room off the hall in the same state of messiness. It looked like an office, but the corner of a bed draped in a dark blue comforter jutted out from behind the door indicating that the small house had many functions. There was an odd collection of photos and prints lining the walls, none of which seemed to be connected by theme or colour or style. A wooden sign with the words Jolly Pot Teapot Museum painted on it, hung over a doorknob. A floral print border trimmed both main rooms and continued down the hall towards the washroom. The whistle of the kettle drew her attention back to the kitchen and the two women—one talking nonstop and the other sitting still and quiet. Wilhelmina sat on the opposite side of the table, watching Norie. When their eyes met, Wilhelmina looked down, busying herself with the fringe of one of the placemats that adorned the table. Dahlia poured the freshly boiled water over the tea leaves, put the lid on the pot and turned over a small hourglass timer on the shelf above the stove.

“Three minutes steeping makes the perfect cup of black tea,” Wilhelmina stated. Dahlia looked at her and smiled warmly. When her gaze settled on Norie she declared, “My goodness you are the spitting image of your grandmother.”

“You knew my grandmother?” 

Norie looked at her mother.

“Oh sweetheart, your mother and I go back a long way.” Her mother flinched and turned to look out the window.

“You have a beautiful place here Dahlia,” Alice said, changing the topic. “I guess this month is all about cleaning and setting up for the tourist season?” Norie looked away, irked by Alice’s evasiveness, and annoyed by her willingness to talk here and now, while she hardly had two words for Norie over the last few weeks.

“There’s a lot to do as I’m sure you could see in the front rooms. We basically wipe away our cozy home and reconfigure it for the tearoom. And there’s cleaning and decorating…” Dahlia’s voice drifted off as she arranged cups and saucers on a tray and took scones out of a baking tin, placing them on a small platter.

“And all as a newlywed,” Alice said and Norie couldn’t tell if she was being congratulatory or sarcastic. Gibson nervously shifted his gaze out the window. What was he hiding, Norie thought. She didn’t trust him.

“Will I have my own bedroom while I’m here?” Norie’s voice interrupted Dahlia’s tea preparations and her mother’s attempt at subject-changing chitchat.

“You and Wilhelmina are sharing a bedroom. We’ve been cleaning out the attic room. It’s not done yet, but it’s livable. It’s a calm, peaceful place though. Alice, you will be in the room at the end of the hall.”

“That was my old room, but I don’t mind sharing.” Wilhelmina smiled at Alice and then looked at Norie. “The attic isn’t a huge space, but we added a couple of cots and a little dresser we can share.” Again, Wilhelmina and her mother shared a smile. Dahlia placed the tea tray on the table and turned to Norie.

“If you want to bring up your stuff, it’s just down the hall towards the washroom—last door on the left.” Dahlia turned toward Gibson. “Can you show her?” Gibson nodded and smiled at Norie as he moved forward out of the kitchen. “Mind the stairs, they’re steep,” Dahlia called after them. Norie jumped at the chance to leave the room but didn’t want or need an escort. She hurried out to the foyer, grabbed her travel bag and backpack and wove her way back through the mess in the hall to the attic door. Gibson stood back and let her climb the stairs ahead of him. The attic room ran pretty much the whole length of the house, but at least half of it was full of boxes, suitcases and two old steamer trunks.

“It’s not fancy, but it’s functional,” Gibson said. Norie felt a headache coming on. The room was hot and airless. She moved across the attic to the only window, a tiny porthole at the front of the house looking onto the bay. She struggled to open it.

“Let me,” Gibson moved into her space to help, and she stepped out of the way, irritated by his attempt to take over. “The latch sticks.” He fiddled with it for a few tense moments until it let go and he pulled the framed glass inward. The slightest of breezes blew in through the screened opening. Norie moved away saying nothing.

“Well, I’ll let you unpack and relax a little. I’m sure you’re tired from the long bus ride.” Then he added, “I’ll be taking out the rest of these boxes when I have some time, so you girls will have more space.” She said nothing. She listened to his footsteps on the stairs as he quietly left.

Norie stood beside the cot she claimed as her own. She didn’t expect Gibson to be there. She thought it would be just her, her mother, Dahlia, and Wilhelmina. She didn’t want another husband or father in her life right now. Even if he wasn’t her own.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your family.” Norie startled at the disembodied voice coming from the stairway. Wilhelmina moved into the dim light. “My mom said you were in a car accident. That your dad died?” Norie could only nod.

“I don’t have a father either. He left when I was little.” Norie felt a twinge of sympathy.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. At least we have Gibson now. You’ll be okay too, you know, eventually.” Wilhelmina wandered around the open space between the cots and in front of the little window.

“This is a sacred space, you know. The spirits feel welcome here.”

“You mean there are ghosts here?” Norie scanned the room.

“It’s haunted?”

“No,” Wilhelmina giggled, “It’s not haunted, just…blessed.

Mom says spirits, their energies, are somehow tied to a place or a person, and I think someone is tied here. Don’t know why.” Norie sighed. She didn’t want to talk anymore, especially to a virtual stranger who seemed a little weird.

“It’s been a long day, Wilhelmina.” She turned to her suitcase and backpack.

“That’s okay. I understand,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

She began to move down the stairs. “By the way, I prefer Wil. Wilhelmina just sounds so old!”

As soon as Wil left, Norie felt suddenly heavy with fatigue. She sat down on the bed, her grief and anger overcoming her for a moment. Collapsing onto the pillow, she realized she had never felt so completely alone in her life. Her father was dead. Her mother, gone, in a way. Everything that happened the night of the accident was just a blur, and yet the guilt was overwhelmingly sharp. She knew everything started with her—her stupid art class, the stupid drawing box. Her promise to Gram. She thought she could play her father’s game and win. She knew she was to blame for this whole mess. She buried her face in her pillow, oblivious to the swish of a skirt in the darkened corner of the attic.