Page 95 of The Oscar Escape
Oscar swallowed hard. There wasn’t much educational sightseeing going on that day.
“We didn’t quite get to that.”
“We did admire the quilt on the bed,” Aria chimed.
“The bed?” Etta repeated and raised an eyebrow.
Oh no!
Oscar racked his brain and recalled a minor injury to his butt cheek, which had resulted in some fact-finding. “We did notice a few photographs,” he offered, leaving out the ass part.
“You saw the photographs,” Del said, returning to the dining area lobsterless.
“Yes, framed photographs,” Aria added. “One fell off the wall and pegged Oscar on his—” She stopped, and thank God she did. “We were mostly warming up when we were inside the museum. We’d taken refuge there from the storm,” she added, blessedly changing tack.
“Sit, sit, sit,” the judge ordered, biting back a jowly grin.
There was no use resisting. They wouldn’t be commandeering a boat or huddling beneath a spindly bush.
It was ritual or bust for the Elliotts.
Oscar pulled out a chair for Aria, and the pair joined Del, Etta, Georgia, and the judge at the table.
“Here’s a little refresher,” Etta began. “The Love and Lobsters Festival celebrates the island’s history. And, as you learned yesterday, it begins with love—a love that bloomed between two people. Back in the mid-eighteen hundreds, Homer Havenmatch was a young fisherman who’d fallen in love with the daughter and only child of Barnabas Swan, a wealthy shipping tycoon who owned a large wharf and property on the mainland’s coast.”
“Evangeline, right?” Aria offered, then blushed. “Oscar and I did learn a few things during our time in the lighthouse museum. I recall her name.”
“Yes, Evangeline,” Georgia repeated, injecting warmth into her words. “Evangeline Swan was a gifted artist and musician. She’d often set up her easel on the docks and paint the seafaring scenery, capturing the beauty of the lobster boats.”
“Or she’d bring her violin and play for the fishermen,” Etta added, swooping in to continue the story. “Aria, you played Evangeline’s violin yesterday when you gifted us with the Paganini piece. Some say they sense her tenacious spirit when they play it. Would you agree?”
“You were on fire playing that violin,” Oscar said, taking in her wide-eyed expression.
Aria sat back. Awe graced her features. “I did feel something—a presence. And I felt it with the piano, too.”
“That was also Evangeline’s,” Georgia explained. “It was a wedding gift from Homer. Much like you, she could play any instrument. Music is what drew Homer Havenmatch to her. The first time he’d heard her play, he moored his boat next to her at the wharf and stayed there for hours. He’d missed a whole day’s fishing. But he couldn’t bear to leave her. It was said that Evangeline felt the same way about him and played her violin until the strings broke. It was love at first sight. A perfect match from the moment their eyes met.”
Oscar wrapped his arm around Aria. “We know a bit about perfect matches.”
“We do,” she agreed and rested her head on his shoulder.
“But Homer and Evangeline’s love for each other—no matter how true—didn’t matter to Barnabas Swan,” Del said, continuing the tale. “He wouldn’t approve of the match. He didn’t want his daughter cavorting with a rough-and-tumble working-class lobsterman, and he certainly didn’t want her to marry one. Luckily, Evangeline and Homer had a plan.” Del leaned forward with a sparkle in his eyes and rested his chin on his clasped hands. “You see, Homer was one hell of a fisherman. He worked his fingers to the bone to save enough money to purchase Havenmatch Island. Like Evangeline, Homer was also smart as a whip. This area was growing, and that meant more sea traffic. Homer struck up a deal to build a lighthouse so the government would help him purchase materials to build here. Over the next two years, he built the Havenmatch Island dock and the lighthouse with his own two hands.”
“That’s true dedication,” Oscar murmured.
Etta nodded and smoothed her silver braid. “It is, indeed. The day he’d completed the project, he and Evangeline eloped. They married on the mainland in the next town over and spent the rest of their lives on Havenmatch Island.”
Aria rested her elbows on the table. “Did Evangeline ever speak to her father again?”
“They did reconcile—after the birth of her nineteenth daughter.”
“Oscar,” Aria said, patting his hand. “The trail.”
“Is that why the trail is called the Nineteen Sisters Trail?” he asked, holding Etta’s gaze. “Homer and Evangeline really had nineteen daughters? Were there any sons?”
“All daughters. No sons.”
Aria whistled her astonishment. “That’s a lot of baby-making.”
