I miss you so much but imagine you happy and well in your dear cottage. This gift is to encourage you to record your wonderful travels and perhaps share them with the world.
All is well here in River’s End and I love Palmerston House more with each passing year.
As ever,
Elizabeth
Her eyes suddenly misty, Martha closed the card and placed it on top of the journal. After blinking a few times, she picked up her wine glass and held it aloft.
“To you, Elizabeth White, and to Palmerston House.”
The wine warmed and calmed her a little. Elizabeth and Keith had followed her suggestion all those years ago and approached Dorothy, who’d inherited their childhood home, but done nothing to maintain it. There had been a lot of work to do, but the couple embraced the challenge and from Elizabeth’s occasional letters, opened it as a bed and breakfast property. Sadly, Keith had passed away not long after, leaving Elizabeth the legacy of their hard work and dreams.
Life was so unfair sometimes.
Martha gazed at the journal. Martha’s Adventures. The fire inside burned a bit brighter and the sadness morphed into a slow sense of purpose. It was time to write. Not to be a world famous author, no, nothing of the sort. But time to revisit her life and cherish the important moments.
15
Memories and Memoirs
2009
Funny how the older one got, the more they think of the past. It was Dorothy’s seventieth birthday. How had this lifetime sped by so fast? Martha’s hand hovered above the phone. She longed to hear her big sister’s voice again, to wish Dorothy many happy returns and pretend, for a while, they were close again.
Their last conversation still hurt Martha, when Dorothy blamed her for their mother’s death. Perhaps if Dorothy had visited over the years, things might be different. They might still be sisters who laughed together and shared secrets.
It was late evening and winter was in full force. Martha walked away from the phone. In the cottage it was cold enough without risking Dorothy’s icy response. She’d sent her a card, as she did every year, and like almost every preceding year, it would have to be enough.
After prodding the fire to ignite some warmth, Martha poured a sherry and returned to the kitchen table where a notebook was open. Elizabeth’s journal was long since filled and this was the most recent in a series of large writing pads. Where she’d once kept her pendant in the box in the cupboard, she now stockpiled her words.
Each notebook represented either a time, or a place. Some crossed over. And she was almost up to date with what she secretly called her memoirs. There were big holes though and tonight reminded her so much of an early part of her life here in this beloved cottage.
One moment the wind was a gale, buffeting the cottage with icy air from the Atlantic Ocean with such power I feared the roof might come away. Then, silence. Abrupt, utter silence. This was my first winter in Ireland and I had serious doubts about my choice of destination. How I missed summer Christmas at Palmerston House, where the days were long and hot, and the house was filled with people. Here I was alone in a tiny cottage overlooking one of the coldest seas on the planet. When the wind didn’t start howling again, I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket I’d been huddling beneath near the fireplace and drew back a curtain. At first, my mind couldn’t comprehend what I saw. Instead of the matching, endless grey of sea and sky, I gazed upon an incredible sight. Soft white flakes fell onto the lawn, and as far as I could see. It was snowing. And it was Christmas Day.
Ah, what a wondrous introduction to winter on the Irish coast! But the snow fell until a thick blanket covered everything in sight. Martha had tried to bring more wood in as the temperatures plummeted, but struggled with depth of snow and wet wood. Thank goodness a thoughtful teacher dropped by with a small package of turkey and Christmas cake, and he helped clear a path and brought in enough logs to get her by.
It was a sharp lesson and one she learned from. Always have enough fuel for the fire, and always keep enough food in the cottage. Which was one of the reasons she’d worked so hard to grow her own produce and turn it into part of her sustainable larder.
How do I share these stories?
“Do I really want to?” she murmured aloud. There were some more…intimate memories in there. Nothing to make a person blush of course, rather it was the heartfelt recollection of the fondness she’d felt for Enrique and Aksel and other sweet men who’d been part of her journey through life.
Yet, nothing at all about the one man who still held her heart and always would. To write about Thomas Blake? Martha put down her pen and closed the notebook. Never. Not even one word, because words didn’t matter. She pushed herself to her feet, more than ready for bed. A memory was at the edge of her mind and it was unwelcome.
Martha checked the front door was locked and turned off the lights. The wind from the Atlantic saturated the cottage with the scent of the sea and it was enough to break through the last of Martha’s resistance. She sat on her bed with her eyes closed.
16
A Promise on the Beach
1968
Warm, humid air surrounded Martha and hot sand burnt her feet. It was midnight in the middle of a fierce summer storm. Her clothes were damp from the sea and Thomas refused to let go of her arm.
She needed to run, to escape this terrible night. Because if she hesitated any longer, she’d stay.
“I’ll wait for you. There,” Thomas pointed to the sea, “at the end of the jetty, I will wait. Every day I will be there to meet the dawn, as we have done so many times. Promise you’ll come back.”
This was really happening. Martha glanced at the jetty which was almost submerged by powerful waves.
“Promise me!” Thomas insisted.
“Alright!” Martha cried out.
“No, Martha. A proper promise or it’s not real. Say it.”
“I promise! I promise I’ll return, Tom! Now let me go!”
He did, and she ran blindly into the storm. Away from the pain, the betrayal, and her own stubbornness. His words followed her through the rain, declaring his love for her, yet still she’d flown across the beach to the stone steps.
17
Memories and Memoirs
2009
With a start, Martha opened her eyes. Her heartbeat thudded and she gripped the pendant so tightly it hurt. Not fair. She’d buried all this long ago.
Bit by bit she repacked the memory. Too far in the past to matter. Behind her. Part of what shaped her into the person she was now, so no regrets.
“I like who I am!”
Promises were broken all the time.
Martha undressed and slipped into bed. She pulled the blankets up around her face, shivering a little. Being alone wasn’t so bad.
18
A Call Home
2017
Martha hobbled from the kitchen, cup of tea in one hand and cane in the other. Her ankle was heavily bandaged. Finally, she’d followed her doctor’s advice and had the ankle operated upon. It would never be quite as good as the other, but now the nagging pain she’d been accustomed to was all but gone.
Every day was an improvement, which was just as well with winter about to make its appearance in force, and her lack of mobility wasn’t getting the wood in or the last of the vegetables bottled. If not for the help from neighbours these past weeks, she’d be in deep trouble.
She lowered herself onto the sofa and rested the cane at her side. As she sipped her tea, she stared at the envelope propped against a small vase of late flowers. Dorothy’s handwriting was a little different, not the firm strokes Martha knew, but her sister’s writing nonetheless.
It wasn’t her birthday. So why, after all these years, had Dorothy written a letter? With a small sigh, Martha put her teacup onto the table and opened the envelope.
Inside was one sheet of delicate paper.
Martha read it once, then stared into the distance. None of it made sense. Her hand holding t
he letter shook until she drew in a long, deep breath, and raised it again.
Dear Martha,
I have battled with myself over the wisdom of this letter. After all these years—this lifetime we have been apart—I ask myself if it is right to tell you what really happened that night…and in the days and months afterward. Will knowledge give you peace and let you put this to rest? Perhaps your absence from my life for almost half a century has been to protect yourself from finding out.
I am a coward to have waited until now when my life is so close to its end, but I cannot go to my grave with this burden. You see, I know the truth.
What truth? Martha already knew the truth. It was between her and Thomas, so why would Dorothy say there was more to it? And, as for absence! Who refused to come to their own parents’ funerals?
You need to understand, I acted out of a desire to protect you from yourself. Mother and I had grown concerned by your poor choices, not only with the girls you called friends but the danger you insisted on placing yourself in with Thomas Blake. As if a man like him could ever be suitable for you! Yet you ignored our concerns and turned your back on our pleas, spending all your time with him. Mother was beside herself. Did you ever think for one moment of anyone other than yourself back then?
Mother feared for your future and often wrote; asking me to speak with you, reason with you about the boy. Of course, I knew that would be not only a waste of my time but quite likely hasten you into an unsuitable marriage. Thomas, after all, could not have been anything other than a rebellious fling, and Mother should have left things alone from the beginning.
What they should have done was both stayed out of it!
I should have stayed in the city, or left the country, anything other than come home for your engagement party. Mother refused to host the party or even attend, and I was terribly worried for her state of mind. All she ever wanted, Martha, was for you to finish your education and marry well. You need to understand she had nothing at all to do with the events we speak of now.
Martha creased her forehead. She’d never understood Mother’s strange comments after Father died. Something about making a mistake about Thomas, that he was a good boy. And that things were never as they seem.
You were surprised I was there for your big night in the local hall. It was as though you did not know what to do with me, so you sent one of your friends to keep me company. She was quite the chatterbox about her feelings around your engagement and I found myself in the position to set the wheels in motion. To nudge you in the right direction.
None of this made sense. Martha knew exactly who Dorothy meant, but what did their conversation at Martha and Thomas’ engagement party have to do with later events on the beach?
Please come to River’s End, dear. Please come home and let us speak one more time. I would come to you, but my heart is not strong and travel is out of the question.
As always,
Dorothy
“Why now?” Martha ran a hand through her hair. Was Dorothy’s health so bad she couldn’t pick up a phone to discuss this? And why River’s End? What possible reason was there to go now?
Rain pattered on the roof, then became a deluge. Always all or nothing here. It was November, and River’s End would be warm. Long days and pleasant evenings. And Elizabeth to visit at Palmerston House.
Please come home and let us speak one more time.
Martha cupped the pendant in her hand.
“Of course I will, sister.”
Afterword
Martha’s story continues in The Stationmaster’s Cottage. Find out what happened to make her leave River’s End in 1968. Discover a small seaside town filled with mysteries and answer the question: does true love last forever?
About the Author
Phillipa lives just outside a beautiful town in country Victoria, Australia. She also lives in the many worlds of her imagination and stockpiles stories beside her laptop.
Apart from her family, Phillipa’s great loves include music, reading, growing veggies, and animals of all kinds.
She loves hearing from readers and sends out a monthly email with news, competitions, author recommendations, and lots of other goodies.
Phillipa’s Website
Also by Phillipa Nefri Clark
Christie Ryan Romantic Mysteries series
The Stationmaster’s Cottage
Jasmine Sea
The Secrets of Palmerston House
The Christmas Key
Christie Ryan Romantic Mystery Boxed Set
Doctor Grok’s Peculiar Shop (Paranormal Suspense shorts)
Colony
Table for Two
Wishing Well
Coming Soon
Last Known Contact
Martha Page 4