Skin Deep (34 page)

She would go home and find out if she could only stop crying.

Rob still lay where she’d left him, his broken arm straight beside him. At least it was a clean break and hadn’t poked through his skin; getting him home was going to be hard enough as it was. Or maybe she should leave him here and go for help? But there was no guarantee she’d be able to come back again. No, she’d have to bring him now. Somehow. First she had to find her boat.

She zipped off her lifejacket and slid it under his head and whispered, “I’ll be back,” then rose and looked around the room. The selkies would restore it and rebuild the damaged parts of their hall. Alasdair would sit here in his rightful place again and Conn would come after him. Maybe Alasdair would take another wife and they would give Conn brothers and sisters. He would love that.

And maybe sometime, when she was sailing her boat on a perfect, hazy summer day, she would catch a glimpse of this island hanging between the worlds. But she wouldn’t try to land on it. Not again.

In a corner she found another length of fur, smaller than Alasdair’s and lighter in color, with spots dappling it like a fawn’s coat. Of course. Conn was still a baby, wasn’t he? She healed the cuts Mahtahdou had made in it—it was plusher than Alasdair’s sleek fur, almost like a stuffed animal’s—and held it to her cheek for a moment. Would Conn be as happy to see his skin again? Would he gaze up at her with his large, wondering eyes for a moment before disappearing into the water after his father? Would he try to wear her purple shirt over his sealskin? She smiled, but it felt more like a grimace of pain.

Then she picked up the fishnet quilt again—much as she hated to touch it, she wasn’t going to let it out of her sight until its final prison had been decided—and turned to the door. She paused next to the Storm at Sea quilt where it still lay on the floor in a puddle of seawater. Alasdair had no need of it now that Mahtahdou was chained and he had his own skin back.

But it wasn’t hers anymore either, even if she’d sewn her heart into it. It had served its purpose. She stepped past it and out the door.

* * *

The sinking sun edged the wrack of dark blue clouds near the horizon with shining silvery orange, and a soft breeze rustled the beach grass at her feet as she ascended the first dune. Just enough wind to carry her home, assuming Alasdair hadn’t blown her boat away. Spending the night on this island was simply more than she could face.

A small, purple-clad figure appeared in front of her just before she crested the dune. “Hi!” it said, and launched itself at her.

“Conn! Don’t startle me like that.” She caught him and held him tightly, just for a minute. Then she let go and knelt beside him. “I need to leave soon. But take this.” She put his sealskin into his hands. “It’s all better now. You can use it again.”

He took it from her but barely looked at it. “Come on,” he said, pulling at her arm.

“Oh, Conn, I can’t. It’s getting dark and I need to get Dr. Mowbray home because he’s hurt. But I’m glad I saw you so I could say good-bye.” She brushed his hair off his forehead, then leaned forward and kissed it. “I’m going to miss my little limpet,” she whispered. “Be a good boy for your Daddy, all right?”

“No. Come on.” He dropped his skin and tugged at her arm with both hands.

She sighed and rose, brushing sand off her knees. Maybe he’d found her boat. That would be helpful. “All right. I was going there anyway. Take your skin, honey. I don’t think selkies are supposed to leave them lying around.”

He bent obediently and picked up the fur, then seized her hand again and tugged. “Come
on!
”

She let him lead her down the dune, pausing to look back across the short plain dotted with yellowed rose and beach plum bushes and skeletal cedars and dune grass. Would they grow strong and green again now that Mahtahdou was gone? Did Alasdair know that beach plums made a delicious jelly that was considered a delicacy on Cape Cod? Not that he’d be able to have toast anymore…oh God, she had to stop thinking about him. He was no longer part of her life.

Conn let go of her hand to run ahead of her and scramble up the high bank above the beach. “Come on!” he said.

She clambered up the steep face of the dune—not as easily as she had earlier, what with trying to hold the fishnet quilt as carefully as possible…and damn, but she was tired. “What, Conn?” she asked.

He pointed down at the dark surface of the water. She squinted into the setting sun.

Seals, dozens of them, swam toward the shore below where she stood. Some had already inch-wormed their way up onto the beach in their oddly boneless wiggle. They snorted soft whoofling sounds through their noses or made quiet, low-pitched groans to one another, and she couldn’t help wondering what they were saying…if seals could talk, that was.

But one of them, a large, strongly-built one, had reared up on its flippers as if standing to attention. The air around it seemed to change, to grow hazy and indistinct, like the rising waves of heat seen over a desert. The squat figure inside it lengthened— she couldn’t quite see in the dusky light—

“Garland.”

Alasdair stood silhouetted in the dark golden light, gazing up at her where she stood on the peak of the dune. He was shrugging something off his shoulders, something sleek and dark. His skin, that she’d made whole again. Her heart gave an almost painful thump.

“Alasdair,” she said, and swallowed. “I was just—”

Before she could finish her sentence, another seal next to him faded into that strange mistiness and someone—a woman—appeared beside him in its place, tall and dark-haired with shining eyes. Ah. Yes, of course.

But then another woman joined him, and then a man. As she watched, thirty or so—men and women and children—wiggled from the water and
changed
, and clustered around her and Conn in a wide semi-circle at the foot of the dune. They held their sealskins over their arms or draped casually over shoulders, and they were tall and beautifully formed and totally careless of their nudity so that she felt not only shabby in her rumpled, wet shirt and jeans but overdressed as well.

Alasdair stepped through the crowd. “Here she is,” he said over his shoulder. “This is she who bound Mahtahdou.”

Conn grabbed her hand. “Come on,” he said once again and pulled. She was tempted to dig her heals into the sand and resist, but Conn’s determination was going to land her on her backside if she didn’t follow.

Alasdair was waiting for them at the bottom of the high bank. He took her arm and raised it so that the fishnet quilt was in plain sight.

A murmur rose among the gathered selkies, and one by one they stepped closer, reaching out to touch it with nervous fingers. Someone took Conn’s sealskin and it was passed from to hand to hand as they stroked it and looked at her. She could see the wonder in their eyes and hear it in their subdued whispers to one another. Then an older woman very gently reached out and touched her arm. “
Tapadh leibh, laidire boireannach
,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“Oh…uh, you’re welcome,” she replied. That seemed to give the others courage; now they touched her too, sometimes saying words she couldn’t understand, sometimes just smiling and nodding. Next to her Conn bobbed up and down on his toes, grinning proprietarily as if she were his show-and-tell object on the first day of school.

Alasdair watched as well, just to her right where she couldn’t see his face without turning. When the selkies around her seemed to have satisfied their curiosity and had fallen back into a semi-circle once more, he spoke. “It’s getting dark. Where were you going just now?”

Darn it, the sun had touched the horizon while the selkies had been inspecting her. Would she be able to make it home all right? Twilight would linger for at least another forty-five minutes at this time of year, but she still had to figure out how to get Rob out. Maybe the selkies would help her since she’d helped them.

“I—” Her voice came out in a rasp. She cleared her throat and continued. “I was going home. But I’m glad I saw you before…before I left. Here.” She held Mahtahdou’s quilt out to him.

He shook his head. “I can’t take it. You bound him. You’re his guardian now.”

Oh,
splendid
. “I was afraid you’d say that. Well, uh…good-bye. I hope—”

“Good-bye?” He shook his head again. “No, Garland. I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” Why was there a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth?

“You must consider my position,” he said, eyes wide and innocent. “You’re the most powerful magic-wielder we’ve seen since my grandmother’s day. You were the one to enchain Mahtahdou. If you were me, would you let the person who had control of your deepest enemy out of your sight? It would be most unwise, I think.”

“Alasdair! Are you saying that you don’t trust—”

The smile she’d seen blossomed into a laugh, and through her indignation she realized she’d never heard him laugh before—a rich, deep,
happy
sound. Then he caught her in his arms and brushed his lips across her ear.

“Mahtahdou is gone and I can love again. You’ve given everything back to me except for one thing—my heart. I love you, Garland. I don’t want my heart to be anywhere else but with you. You can’t leave me.”

The world spun around her, balancing delicately like a gossamer top on his words. “But…I’m human. You—”

Instead of whirling to a crash, the world lifted and filled with light as he spoke. “Yes, you’re human, and I’m a selkie. You weave magic and I don’t. What does it matter? I love you and I can’t live without you.” He blew gently in her ear. “Be my wife, beautiful lady.”

She clung to him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Are you
sure?
”

Someone tugged on her shirt. She looked down and saw Conn staring up at her hopefully.

“Please?” he asked, and wrapped his arms around her leg.

Joy in the form of laughter bubbled up inside her. She pulled Conn into their embrace. “I was right when I called you ‘little limpet’, wasn’t I?”

“Limpets know where it’s safe to cling,” Alasdair said. “But I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“You know what my answer is. You knew all along. I don’t know how we’ll do it, but I’m yours.” She laughed shakily. “Will they make a song about us? The human who gave a selkie back his skin, and he stayed with her instead of leaving?”

“They’ll make songs about more than that. What about one with the blue-eyed lady who trapped Mahtahdou in her golden net? But we’re going to prove those old stories wrong. Neither of us has to choose one world over another. In summer we’ll live here with the selkies, and in the winter I’ll help you make your quilts. We can have both.”

She touched his cheek where a smile had banished his old stern expression. If she had anything to say about it, it would never return. “Ha. You and Conn just don’t want to have to completely give up toast.”

His eyes gleamed warm gold. “I’d thought of that. But more importantly, we won’t have to give up
you
.”

Chapter 22

A year later...

F
rom the June 5 Mattaquason
Mariner
, “Mattaquason Faces and Places” column by Jim Barnes:

Fans of local quilt artist Garland Durrell held their collective breath as the gavel went down on an extraordinary auction of her quilts last weekend, held to benefit local conservation efforts by Cape Cod Preservation (CCP).

The glittering evening, held at Ms. Durrell’s home on Eldredge Point, featured food, music, and twelve of her fabric creations. The guests, both local and from off-Cape, were spellbound as each quilt was presented for bidding. A bank of phones was brought in for call-in bids from as far away as London and Los Angeles, and altogether close to $75,000 were raised for the CCP, a not-for-profit group that works with the National Park Service to preserve and protect the natural resources and habitats on and around Cape Cod, especially for the marine mammals that call the waters of the Cape home.

A radiant Ms. Durrell, who is expecting her first child next month, presented a ceremonial check for the amount to Henry Bard, the CCP’s executive director, supported by her husband and stepson.

Ms. Durrell is well known for her exquisite quilts, a favorite of both locals and summer visitors. Examples of her work can be seen in both the library and town hall as well as in private collections around town and around the country…

* * *

From the “Mattaquason Faces and Places” column, same issue:

Dr. Sidney Phelps is pleased to announce that Drs. Chandra and Mahdavi Ram will be joining his practice as internists. The husband-and-wife team will be welcome additions to Mattaquason, short on local medical practitioners since Dr. Robert Mowbray returned last year to his native Iowa to practice medicine with his uncle. Existing and new patients are welcome to stop in to the office next week and meet the new physicians, who are both graduates of…

* * *

From the “Upcoming in Town” notices, same issue:

Plans are underway for the Equinox Extravaganza to take place on September 21, starting at 5 pm and featuring two local bands, a bonfire and cookout, and ending with fireworks at 9 pm on the Town Beach. All Mattaquason residents and their guests will be invited to attend.