Page 75 of Patio Lanterns

Robin brushed her forearm across her sweaty brow. “Just trying to get as much done as I can before I leave for the day, but I promise, I’ll make up the time tomorrow. I’ll take the extra set of keys to let myself in. That way I can get an earlier start and stay a couple hours later.”

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” the old lady said, pulling out a chair. “Take five, and I’ll put on tea.”

“Afraid I don’t have time today,” Robin said apologetically. A five-minute break would become fifteen, and before she knew it, she’d lose a precious hour of productivity. She’d been proud of her discipline in setting her alarm, sleeping downstairs on the couch, and getting out of the Blue Canoe first thing without waking anyone. She didn’t want to slow her roll now. “There are a lot of people coming tonight, and if I don’t get back soon, my sisters are going to have a conniption,” she said. “Of course, you’ll be there too, won’t you?”

Mrs. C shook her head. “Not me.”

Robin frowned. “But you have to. You knew my parents. You know everyone who’ll be there. So, say you’ll come. Please? For me?”

Mrs. C turned her back for a moment. “I appreciate the work you’ve done, Robin. I expect that you’ll want to continue after…”

“After the party? You have my word. As long as it takes, I will clean up the stock room, and I still have to work on getting you that new store logo. I haven’t forgotten about that being part of our deal either,” she said to Mrs. C’s back. “It’s funny, but I never expected I’d enjoy working here so much. It’s almost fun.”

“I never expected I’d enjoy having you around,” Mrs. C told her. “You’re almost tolerable.”

Robin smiled. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we? That’s probably been the biggest surprise of all. You and me. I mean, considering how scared of you I once was.”

Mrs. C. turned her head. “Not anymore?”

“No,” Robin said, rushing out her reply a little too quickly. “Well, maybe just a little.”

Mrs. C cackled. “All you kids were scared. Thinking I was going to turn you into toads.”

“You knew about that?” Robin gaped.

“Of course I did. How do you think I kept you all in line?”

Robin laughed. Mrs. C was all right. Yeah, she was still a little spooky, especially when she gave off those witchy vibes and stared into your soul, but Robin had come to realize that her childhood fear likely stemmed from never being around anyone so elderly. The old woman’s skeletal frame, brittle hair, and tremoring, gnarled hands still freaked her out a bit. But as Robin had grown more accustomed to being around her, she’d begun to see beyond the physical frailty. For someone around nearly a hundred years and who moved slower than a glacier, Mrs. C was still remarkably quick.

She turned back to the table with a leather-bound album inscribed Lake Whippoorwill Memories. “I found this after you left,” she told Robin. “Suppose it’s been buried for years under a pile of junk.”

She sat down, and Robin stood behind her, watching as she turned the pages of faded black-and-white images, each vintage photo framed with scalloped borders along its edges. Very delicate, very old school.

Mrs. C shakily lifted one of the pictures out of the book, and with a little smile, passed it to Robin for closer examination. It was pretty fuzzy, but she could make out the faces of the couple, standing side by side, yet an arm’s width apart. The young woman, plain but pretty, couldn’t have been much older than sixteen. She had curly hair and a cute figure, her light-coloured dress hugging her womanly curves. The grumpy older man next to her was expressionless, but his features were sharp and his brow stern. Probably the girl’s father.

Robin turned the picture over and read the handwritten inscription:

Mr. & Mrs. John Pelletier

Wedding Day, 1942

John Pelletier? But he was the man who built the Blue Canoe Cottage over a century ago. Her father’s grandfather. Holder of the luckiest hand in five-card stud there ever was.

“Is this…?” she stammered. “I mean, it’s the same name as…”

“That’s your great-grandfather,” Mrs. C said. “In front of what is now your family cottage. And standing next to him is—”

No. Robin was not ready to hear what was coming next. There was no way that the wildest, craziest thing to ever pop into her twisted imagination could possibly be true unless she had walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone. That would be totally nuts. Mrs. Crawley never married. She was a spinster. An old maid for life, she once overheard her mother say. But if Mrs. C was the girl in the photo, and that man standing next to her was Robin’s great-grandfather on his wedding day, then that would make her…? Omigod.

Robin swallowed hard, peering into Mrs. Crawley’s eerily translucent green orbs. Were they actually the ghostly eyes of her own great-grandmother?

“Don’t be a twit, child. I am not your great-grandmother.” Mrs. C tapped on the photo. “This is. That’s my best friend, Rosalie. She’s the one who married your great-grandfather.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Robin held up the photo to study the couple’s faces. “But he looks so old, and she’s just a girl. Was she a child bride?”

“She was seventeen. He was nearly thirty years her senior.”

Robin’s jaw dropped. “Nearly thirty years?”

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