Page 61 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
Oh daughter, oh daughter of mine
When did you learn to speak when spoken to?
Oh daughter, my darling, so fine
When you’re silent, there’s always a why
A few months ago, on his first kayak trip around the island, Russell had gotten pulled in by a deep current. He didn’t realize what was happening until he looked up and saw how far he was from shore.
Here it was, happening again. He sat staring at her profile, softly illuminated by the twinkling lights, casting a gentle shadow on her delicate features. Her eyes, so soft yet focused on the music, sparkled and danced over every note.
The crowd had fallen silent, even the shrieking children, everyone suspended in a moment of awe as her beautiful melody filled the night air.
She sang on, each note rising from the depths of her heart, the starlit canopy opening above them as the sun disappeared behind the horizon.
He couldn’t help but be captivated by her. He couldn’t stop himself from being carried away, nor did he want to. Sheila wasn’t a current. Sheila was the entire sea.
Twenty-seven
Applause poured from the crowd and Sheila lifted her fingers from the keys. She’d promised Eliza one song and she was sticking to it, but she was tempted to keep going.
There was something magical about performing. Just before she’d begun, a silence had hung between her and the audience, like an agreement to listen, to understand. It was something she had missed so badly, the feeling of being heard.
The adrenaline flowed through her veins now and she stood up, grinning like a fool.
It was time to go. “Thank you, everyone!” Sheila said into the microphone. “Up next, I’d like to welcome my good friend Reggie, who has a poem to share with us.”
Reggie handed off Derby’s leash and approached the makeshift stage. “That was beautiful,” he said into her ear.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she handed him the microphone.
“Hello, everyone,” he said in his slow and steady voice. “I’m going to be reading a poem by Wendy Cope. It’s called ‘The Orange.’”
Sheila floated through the audience as people patted her on her back, pulling her into whisper compliments.
It was too much. She caught sight of Eliza and Patty by the door and rushed to them.
“That wasamazing, Mom,” Eliza said, hugging her.
“Thanks, sweetie. It was for you, you know.”
Her daughter smiled. “I know.”
Patty had her eyes on Reggie, a bemused look on her face. As soon as he finished reading his poem, she blew him a kiss, then rushed them inside the tea shop. “Quick! Before someone asks me for a scone.”
Inside, there were only a few people remaining at the tables and the lobby was entirely deserted.
“Thank goodness the entertainment started,” Patty said. “We’ve almost run out of all our baked treats. I did not expect this many people.”
“To be honest, I didn’t either,” Eliza said, “and I’m the one who planned the whole thing.”
Sheila had to hold back from telling Eliza she might’ve found her calling. It was better she arrive at that conclusion herself. “You did wonderfully. I’m so proud of you.”
Eliza’s eyes shot down, but she smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m proud of both of you!” Patty said. “I swear, this place was weeks away from being condemned until you stubborn goats decided to turn it around.”
“I get my stubbornness from you,” Eliza said.
