by Sophie Moss
A Harvest Moon.
It was rising over the marshes now, painting the surface of the water a glittering gold.
Maybe he’d needed to see what Izzy had gone through to understand what hiding the truth could do to someone, how much unnecessary pain it could cause. But he’d finally decided to come clean with his father and his sister about the role he’d played—or, at least, the role he thought he’d played—in their mother’s disappearance.
A few weeks ago, he’d sat them both down and told them the story of what had happened when he’d paddled out to Pearl Cove as a ten-year-old boy. He’d told them how he’d heard the clinking seashells and seen the trail of moonlight transform into a string of pearls, just like in the fairy tale. He’d told them how he’d rushed home and woken his mother up, thinking she’d be so excited to find out that the story she’d told them at bedtime every night was true.
Instead, the very next day, she’d left—never to be seen or heard from again.
Ryan had expected his father and his sister to be angry with him. Either that, or tell him he was crazy. Instead, they’d been relieved. Because, for twenty-three years, they’d been blaming themselves, thinking they’d done something wrong. When, maybe, the only thing they’d done wrong was not talk about it.
That next day, Grace had met with her editor at The Washington Tribune and told him she was taking a leave of absence from the paper, effective immediately. She was planning to spend the next three months in Ireland, learning everything she could about the selkie legend—starting with a small island off the West Coast called Seal Island, where she’d traced the legend’s origin.
Apparently, all she’d ever wanted was a clue—just one clue—to launch an investigation of her own.
Ryan had no idea where her research would lead. Personally, he didn’t have much hope that they would actually find their mother after all these years. But if Grace could uncover a connection between her and one of those legends, it might at least help them understand why she’d left.
As far as Ryan was concerned, that would be enough.
In the meantime, he was going to try to find some answers of his own, right here—starting tonight.
When they made it to the mouth of the cove, he pulled the oars in so they could drift upriver, and Izzy came into his arms as naturally as if she’d been doing it forever.
“I hope you’re not planning to put me to work,” she joked as they floated past his oyster lease.
He smiled and lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted like licorice. Her hair smelled faintly of toasted pumpkinseeds. And he didn’t want to let her go for the rest of the night.
“I peeked at the website for Nolan Reyes’ new restaurant this afternoon,” she said, nuzzling against him. “Your oysters are on the menu.”
“Thanks to you,” he murmured, sliding the blanket off one of her shoulders and kissing her there, too.
“Thanks to Annie and Paul,” Izzy corrected, pulling back slightly.
“True,” he conceded, smiling again. It was true that Paul had done most of the legwork. But Izzy was the one who’d set the wheels in motion. When she’d found out that Annie had spent the majority of her twenties working at one of the hottest restaurants on Pennsylvania Avenue, she’d convinced her to invite the chef and his family out to the island to tour Ryan’s farm.
The chef had accepted, and as soon as they’d set a date, Paul and Izzy had come up with a plan to give him and his family an experience they’d never forget. In addition to the farm tour, they’d gotten a trotlining demonstration from Jake, a three-course lunch at the café from Della—who’d charmed them with stories of what Annie and Taylor had been up to since leaving the city—a cocktail cruise on one of the island’s last working skipjacks, and a decadent dinner at the inn with the rest of the veterans, which Izzy had prepared.
By the time they’d left, they’d fallen in love with the island, and the chef’s wife—an editor for one of D.C.’s premier regional magazines—had promised to write a story about their trip. When it came out, it had been enough to catch the attention of several top-tier chefs, including Nolan Reyes—the celebrity chef who owned six restaurants in the city.
Before he knew it, Ryan had more orders coming in than he and his father could possibly fill.
Not that he was thinking much about oysters at the moment since Izzy had begun nibbling on his ear. “If you keep doing that,” he warned, “I’m going to have a hard time saying goodbye to you later.”
“Then don’t,” she said softly.
He pulled back, looked at her. “You want me to stay tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, but her smile had turned shy and she was looking up at him with so much vulnerability and trust in her eyes that if she hadn’t already brought him to his knees a dozen times, he would have quite simply handed over his heart.
It was hers now anyway.
He tipped her mouth up to his, kissing her with the same care and tenderness he planned to devote to her for the rest of the night. When they finally pulled apart again, he poured them each a glass of wine, and they sat there for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing at the moon.
“What’s that?” Izzy asked as a lone structure on the edge of the marshes came into view.
“Just an old house.”
She lifted her head off his shoulder to get a better look and her eyes widened. “Is that the house from the legend you told us about? The one where the fisherman lived?”
Ryan nodded. “What’s left of it.”
It was overgrown now, covered in a thick tangle of vines. The marshes had swallowed up the foundation, causing one side to tilt and crumble. Storms had shattered most of the windows and the torn roof had become a popular nesting spot for birds.
The story itself might have been a legend, but the fisherman had existed. He had lived in that house with his family for years until his wife had vanished. Whether or not she’d left him to return to the sea was still up for debate, but Ryan knew where his beliefs lay.
They were almost past it when the faintest clinking of seashells filled the air. Izzy looked back at the house, a puzzled expression on her face. “Do you hear something?”
Yes, Ryan thought. He could hear something. He’d been hearing it all his life.
Moonlight tripped over the water, hesitant at first, like a child skipping a stone. The drops of light reached for each other, fusing together, until a single strand of pearls began to form on the surface.
Izzy sat up slowly. “Is that…?”
A voice—a woman’s voice—so far away it seemed like it was coming from the bottom of the ocean, drifted toward them.
Izzy turned, looked at him. “Do you believe in magic?”
Tilting her face up to his, Ryan whispered, “I believe in you.”
* * *
THE END
A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Wind Chime Summer. I grew up in a small town similar to Heron Island on the Eastern Shore of Maryland and I will always consider the Chesapeake Bay to be my home. I feel so fortunate to be able to share the rich culture and traditions of this place through my stories. As with the previous Wind Chime Novels, I’ve included a Chesapeake Bay recipe at the end of this story. On the next page, you’ll find a recipe for Della’s Maryland Crab Cakes. I’d love to hear what you think if you get a chance to make them!
I am currently working on the next book in the series, which is tentatively titled Wind Chime Cottage. Grace Callahan’s story will pick up where Ryan Callahan’s left off, as she travels to Ireland to uncover the truth behind their mother’s mysterious disappearance. If you’re familiar with my Seal Island Trilogy, you’re probably beginning to put two and two together, but for those of you who aren’t…
Prior to writing the Wind Chime Novels, I wrote a series of romances called the Seal Island Trilogy, which were based on the selkie legends of
Ireland. At the end of the third book in that series, I hinted at the possibility of a fourth book by introducing a new character named Aidan O’Malley. I have received many emails from readers over the years asking when I was going to write that story.
I am very excited to announce that Wind Chime Cottage will be a love story between Aidan and Grace! It will take place on both Seal Island and Heron Island, and it will merge the two series together. As soon as I have more details, I’ll share them on my website. In the meantime, I’ve included a special preview of The Selkie Spell, the first story in the Seal Island Trilogy, at the end of this book.
Lastly, I have a small request. If you enjoyed Wind Chime Summer, it would mean so much to me if you would consider leaving a brief review. Reviews are so important. They help a book stand out in the crowd, and they help other readers find authors like me.
Thank you so much for reading Wind Chime Summer!
Sincerely,
Sophie Moss
Maryland Crab Cakes
Ingredients:
½ cup chopped fresh basil
1 slice white bread, crust removed
1 pound crab meat
¾ cup mayonnaise
¾ teaspoon dry mustard
2 teaspoons Old Bay Seasoning
1 egg
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper
* * *
Instructions:
Pinch the slice of bread into tiny pieces, then toss everything in a big bowl and mix together. Form into balls using an ice cream scoop and drop heaping scoops onto a platter. Sprinkle more Old Bay Seasoning on top. Be generous! Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for one hour. This will help keep the cakes together. When you’re ready to cook, heat about ¼ inch of cooking oil in a large pan until it sizzles when you throw a few drops of water into it. Fry the crab cakes on both sides until golden brown. Serve with cocktail sauce and lemon wedges.
* * *
For more Wind Chime Café recipes, visit my website at sophiemossauthor.com.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my mom and dad for your support and for always believing in my dreams. Thank you to my editor, Martha Paley Francescato, for your constant encouragement, for reading every single chapter as I wrote it, and for helping me find my voice again. Thank you to Ann Wilson for, not once, in all our conversations together, suggesting that I give up on writing this book, even though I came close so many times.
Thank you to Patricia Paris and Tracy Hewitt Meyer for helping me reach the breakthrough that got this story back on track during our writing retreat last summer. Thank you to my beta readers—Patricia, Tracy, Juliette Sobanet, and Christine Fitzner-LeBlanc—for reading early drafts and providing valuable feedback.
Thank you to Kelley Cox of Phillips Wharf Environmental Center for answering all my questions about running a nonprofit, helping me understand the overall transition that the Chesapeake Bay seafood industry is going through right now, and sharing your insights on the issues currently affecting the waterman’s community.
Thank you to John Valliant, former president of the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, for answering all my questions about the history of the Chesapeake Bay and setting me straight on what you can, and cannot, catch in a crab pot.
Thank you to Anna Priester of Island Creek Oysters, Jake and Irving Puffer of Wellfleet Oyster and Clam Company, and Anthony Marchetti, Patrick Oliver, and Eli Nichols of Rappahannock Oyster Company for sharing your stories with me and helping me understand the complexities of running an oyster farm.
Thank you to Vera Connolly and Merced Flores for introducing me to the plight of the migrant worker and opening my eyes to that world so many years ago. I was deeply moved by what I learned and I hope I did the subject justice. Thank you to all the men and women who have served in our military. I am so grateful for your sacrifice and for everything you do to keep this country safe.
Lastly, thank you to Elizabeth Moorshead Benefiel and Megan Trovato Jensen for being there for me when I really needed you these past two years. Your friendship means the world to me.
About the Author
Sophie Moss is a USA Today bestselling and multi-award winning author. She is known for her captivating Irish fantasy romances and heartwarming contemporary romances with realistic characters and unique island settings. As a former journalist, Sophie has been writing professionally for over ten years. She lives in Maryland, where she’s working on her next novel. When she’s not writing, she’s testing out a new dessert recipe, exploring the Chesapeake Bay, or fiddling in her garden. Sophie loves to hear from readers. Email her at [email protected] or visit her website sophiemossauthor.com to sign up for her newsletter.
Books by Sophie Moss
Wind Chime Novels
Wind Chime Café
Wind Chime Wedding
Wind Chime Summer
* * *
Seal Island Trilogy
The Selkie Spell
The Selkie Enchantress
The Selkie Sorceress
* * *
Read on for a special preview of The Selkie Spell!
The Selkie Spell
Prologue
* * *
Ireland, Two Hundred Years Earlier
Ian Quigley crept toward the woman on the beach. He’d seen her from the cliffs, bathed in the moonlight of Midsummer’s Eve, shedding her seal-skin and tucking it under a rock. He’d heard tales of the creatures, selkies—seals who could take the shape of a woman on land—but he’d never seen one. He’d heard accounts of their beauty, of their ability to bewitch grown men, but he’d never felt their spell.
Ian’s heart beat faster as he made his way closer, for he knew that the most sensible fisherman, at a mere sighting, would abandon his curragh in the roughest of seas to get a better look. The most faithful of men would desert their wives to follow a selkie into the sea, gulping the salty waves into their lungs, forgetting they could not breathe underwater as they reached for the woman’s long black hair with the tips of their fingers in their last sane breath. Others would lose their ability to speak or to eat, their need for the woman driving them mad as they wandered the beaches, waiting for her to return, their fingers rubbed raw as they dug in the sand, searching, always searching for her pelt.
For the man who captures the pelt of a selkie claims mastery over her.
Ian lowered himself from the cliff path, onto the sand. He crept toward the rock, where her seal-skin lay hidden. But at the sound of her low, throaty voice, he froze. The first notes of the siren’s song twisted into the night.
Ian fisted his hands to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight it, but her voice threaded into his mind and he turned, gazing at the glorious face tilted up to the star-studded sky.
The hair that rained down her back was the color of crow feathers. Her skin, as pale as the sand at her feet, seemed to glow. The pelt lay forgotten as Ian started on shaky legs toward the selkie.
Toward the voice of the woman of the sea.
He tried to fight the force that pulled him to her, the hands that seemed to push him from behind. But the song seduced his soul, intoxicated his mind, and the words in his head only moments ago—follow her, capture her, claim her—vanished and there was only that woman.
That voice.
He was almost to her. A few more steps and he’d be able to reach her, to touch her. To claim her for his own. His selkie. His seal woman. His own. Ian’s hands shook. He reached for her.
A gull cawed, swooped low over the ocean, and the selkie stopped singing. Released from the trance, Ian stumbled backwards and fought off the ropes that were trapping him, tugging him to her as his feet dug into the sand.
He scrambled for the rock, tearing at the tangles of seaweed, fumbling for the seal-skin. And when his fingers found it, his palms wrapping around the oily pelt as he pulled it to his chest, he sank to his knees, gulping for air.
In the village, dogs began to howl. In their
beds, women woke, gasping, clutching at their throats, unable to breathe. Children dreamed of drowning, calling out for their mothers in their sleep. And on the beach, in the moonlight, the selkie turned and saw what Ian held.
An anguished cry cut through the night.
Ian lifted his eyes to the woman’s and a slow smile spread across his lips. Mine, he thought, as he pulled himself to his feet. You are mine. You belong to me. He held out his hand. “Come to me.”
She went to him. But her dark eyes were void of passion, void of life as she stared at the bundle crushed to his chest. Her pelt, her freedom, her link to the sea; he had stolen it. He had shackled her to him.
And with every breath, every step closer to the man, she hated him.
When he reached out, threading his fingers into her hair, she closed her eyes and listened for the ocean. For the heart, for the beat of the only world she had ever known.
But there was only silence.
And him.
The Selkie Spell
Chapter One
* * *
Ireland, Present Day
Tara Moore crossed the thin wooden plank leading to the ferry. She spied the nets in the back, the wide wooden coolers and yellow rain slickers draped over the crates.
The captain eyed her curiously. “What do you think you’re going to find on Seal Island this time of year?”
“Peace,” Tara answered. “Quiet.”
“You’ll get plenty of that,” the captain assured her, locking the gate behind her. “But are you sure you’re not wanting to go to Inishmore, or one of the larger islands? Not many tourists on the island in April.”