by Ellen Joy
The little girl sat on her knees in the chair. As she chewed, she mumbled out, “You’re pretty, like a fairy godmother.”
Elizabeth blushed at the compliment, and her innocence. “Well, thank you. That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all day.”
The little girl dunked her cookie into the milk and took another bite. “My name’s Lucy.”
Elizabeth smiled. It was a very fitting name. “What a beautiful name for such a beautiful young lady.”
She sat in the chair next to Lucy and watched her eat the rest of the cookie. They sat in silence as the little girl nibbled away. When she finished the cookie and drank the milk, Elizabeth leaned toward Lucy and whispered, “Why don’t we get you back to bed before your daddy sees you eating cookies?”
Lucy covered her mouth with both hands, hiding her smile. “Okay.”
“Do you think you can go up on your own?” Elizabeth felt uncomfortable going upstairs without Mr. Cahill’s permission.
The little girl nodded and jumped from the chair, squeezing her doll into a hug. “Good night, Dr. Elizabeth.”
She skipped toward the back staircase. With watching the little girl and knowing the kind of magic this farm brought to someone her age, came the realization that Mr. Cahill might stick around longer than she originally thought. She looked around the room for signs of a wife. Didn’t Margie say he was single?
Just as the little footsteps reached the top of the steps, the door to the back room opened.
“Who were you talking to?” Mr. Cahill asked.
His harsh tone took her by surprise. She couldn’t find the words before he stared her down, the storm raging in his eyes again.
“Your daughter came down and I—”
“Did you tell her why you were here?” His voice began to rise.
Her mouth dropped by his fierce tone. “I told her I was here to help Max.”
“Why are you still here?” He looked disgusted by her. “Do you want me to pay you now?”
She clenched her teeth closed before she spoke, because she was pretty sure she’d say something Lucy shouldn’t hear. “Excuse me, Mr. Cahill. That is absolutely not the case. I wanted to know what you would like for Max. I’m happy to bring him back to the veterinary offices tonight.”
He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I’m fine. You can leave.”
She didn’t waste a second before snatching her bag off the table and walking right out the door. She slammed the door behind her a bit harder than she should have, but he was lucky she had enough respect for Dr. Johnson and the clinic to hold back from losing it on him. Once she got into her truck, she could see him turn away from the window and walk out of sight.
She had never been happier to be finished with a client.
ADAM RAN UP THE BACK staircase as soon as Dr. Williams left the house. He hoped Lucy hadn’t seen or heard anything. God knew she’d gone through enough over the past years. He didn’t want her to have to deal with losing her dog, too. At least not until tomorrow.
He poked his head in the doorway and saw her tucked under the covers. “Hey, baby girl. You awake?”
She squeezed her doll and nodded. “Is Dr. Elizabeth my fairy godmother?”
He smiled and walked over to her bed. “I don’t think so.” The bed creaked as he sat on the side, next to her. “But I’ve never actually met your fairy godmother.”
She looked up to the ceiling, clasping her hands against her chest. The tears he worked so hard to stop with Max, threatened to release at any moment. “I’m going to pray that she’s Max’s fairy godmother, because she let me have a chocolate chip cookie, and I didn’t have to eat my vegetables.”
“Hmm.” Her words stung, and he suddenly felt guilty with the way he treated Dr. Williams.
He leaned over and kissed Lucy on the forehead as she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, like she always did before sleep. Just like Michelle had taught her. “Well, good night, baby girl.”
She opened one eye at him. “Night, Daddy.”
She closed her eye, puckered her lips, but didn’t move, initiating their bedtime routine. He leaned down, giving his cheek.
“Noses,” she said on cue, and he rubbed his nose with hers. “Butterfly kisses.” And just like every night, he tickled her cheek with his eyelashes which sent her into a fit of giggles.
“I love you, baby girl,” he said, choking up as she closed her eyes again in prayer.
“I love you, too, Daddy.”
He let out a deep breath as she continued to whisper about the fairy godmother. He got up from her bed and closed the door behind him. A pang of dread hit him when he realized he would have to deal with Max before morning. Another night without sleep.
He wrapped Max up in a quilt. He didn’t want to put him outside on a cold night like tonight, even if he had prepared for the worst. Digging through the ground proved to be more difficult in April than he thought it would. He had made a wooden casket. He didn’t want to take any chances. Freshly dug-up frozen dirt wasn’t going to stop a hungry animal this time of year.
By the time the sun rose, Adam had cleaned everything up from the spare room. He had stored Max’s things in the barn’s loft with all his other memories.
When he heard the soft pounding of footsteps coming down the stairs, he had already practiced what he was going to tell her, for hours.
“How’s Max?” she asked, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
Tears prickled his own eyes. “Well, baby girl, he’s better now.”
ELIZABETH DROPPED HER keys on the table and fell onto her couch. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning and she had just got home. Four calls in one night—a new record. It would be weeks before she’d have an emergency and then, bam, all the animals in Camden Cove needed her help.
Camden Cove’s clinic was small. Dr. Johnson had been on his own from the time he opened the clinic until Elizabeth asked for a job. They took shifts for emergencies, but she swore Camden Cove only called on her nights, not wanting to bother the senior vet. Most of the time, the calls would be sent to Portland, to the larger facilities. But when the animals couldn’t make the drive to the city, it was up to her to help, and that usually meant the situation was dire. Those kinds of nights took a toll on her.
Joan crawled out from behind the kitchen door, rubbing against the frame. The Maine Coon cat slid to the floor and rolled to her side, her belly protruding past the rest of her body, and discussed her need for food, loudly.
“Just a minute, Joan,” Elizabeth said, not moving. She rested her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. Her mind swirled back to the Sanborn Farm. She loved that house as much as she hated that man.
When Mrs. Sanborn told her she was selling her farm, Elizabeth couldn’t believe it. Ever since she started riding horses at six years old, she wanted to buy the old Sanborn place. Her life plan was to buy the farm, live there and work there. Create a satellite clinic for larger animals the small clinic couldn’t manage. Mrs. Sanborn had promised she’d have first bid.
When she told her, Elizabeth returned with an offer of her own, a high one, too, but Mrs. Sanborn’s face said it all. Her offer didn’t stand a chance. Her dream was crushed when Mrs. Sanborn moved out, and a week later a BMW sat in the driveway with a Massachusetts license plate.
If she had bought the farm, she would’ve started with the porch. The boards were warped and hadn’t seen repairs for as long as she had been alive. Then she’d paint. A buttery yellow, and she’d add white window boxes in front of the kitchen windows. The barn would be painted the classic New England red with white trim where it would be converted into office space. The sign for the clinic would hang above the doors. There’d be plenty of room for animals on the bottom floor, which opened to the back pasture. The second floor opened to the driveway, which worked perfectly for the office space and examination rooms. The rest of the house would be her living space.
Joan’s paws padded against the wood floors
as she sauntered her way over to Elizabeth and meowed her disappointment at having to be home alone throughout the night.
“You know, Joan, I was taking care of your people tonight.” Elizabeth leaned forward, moaning as she got up. As she walked to the kitchen, the cat weaved in and out between her legs.
She hoped she’d never have to see Mr. Cahill again in her life, although, she had heard from someone that he wanted to get horses. Probably for his daughter, who was adorable, but the city boy wouldn’t be able to keep up with the responsibilities of a living and breathing farm. Even without animals, the land alone was a lot of work. Over thirty acres, with at least ten of that being the horse pastures he’d have to maintain with wooden fences that had seen better days. The property hadn’t been properly managed for a good twenty years. The house needed a lot of work, not to mention the fact that the barn would need an overhaul. He’d do much better in a new house, especially with children. He probably wouldn’t even last a year.
Then she’d have the farm that had been rightfully hers all along.
Three
Elizabeth only allowed herself a few hours of sleep. Rays of light filtered through her sheer drapes and eased her awake. Birds sung outside her window, birds that had come back from the south, suddenly making her winter blues all but disappear as she lay in bed. It had been a long winter.
Like most of the buildings in Camden Cove, her tiny cape had the brown shingled exterior. She followed the village tradition with a brightly colored door. She picked a sea-glass teal with matching shutters. Last year, she built window boxes to fit the two dormers on her cape. She arranged pansies for the spring, but soon, she’d plant petunias, bright pink, to hang down. Maybe a light green potato vine for some contrast.
She flung the covers off and wrapped her terry cloth robe around her, tying the sash tightly around her waist.
Joan lay in a patch of sunlight on the throw rug next to the bed. She stretched out her front paws in a feigned attempt to grab at Elizabeth’s ankles, but she barely moved. “Oh, Joan, you’ve really let yourself go.”
Elizabeth walked across the wood floors to the bathroom, the smooth surface gentle against her feet. She needed to shower before she headed back to the clinic for the afternoon. Spring brought a lot of vaccinations, and they were flooded with Camden Cove’s pets and farm animals.
She turned the faucet handles of the claw foot tub she so desperately wanted to soak in. The tub was one of the reasons she bought the house. With nights like the previous one, she couldn’t wait to come home, soak in her bath oils and salts and read the newest Nora Roberts.
An image of Adam Cahill in the tub with her, flashed in her head.
What the...?
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing an image of Dan, but all she kept seeing was of him in his usual mechanic shirt with his family’s logo on the front pocket. Not that Dan couldn’t make that sexy. His rugged looks made the rest of the women of Camden Cove swoon. What was wrong with her?
After her shower, she got dressed for the farms in the new boots she had splurged on, rewarding herself for the tortures of calving season. Her hand would be stuck up most of the animals’ bodies at some point through the next few months. She threw on some jeans to combat the ocean breeze and put on a sweatshirt she didn’t mind getting stained with animal fluids.
She climbed down the hundred-year-old staircase and walked into the kitchen, her favorite spot in her house. The cabinets were an antique cream, with butcher block counters. She had refinished the old pine floors and returned them to their golden hue. She picked a wheat-colored paint which was really a deeper shade of yellow than she had wanted, but it ended up making the room bright and cheerful. On a day with hardly three hours of sleep, it annoyed her.
She grabbed the coffee pot and put it under the faucet, looking out at her garden. She really did love her little home. It wouldn’t be hard to wait another few years until Mr. Cahill came to his senses and sold the farm. Plus, the convenience of living in town, a couple blocks away from Main Street, couldn’t be overlooked. On most days, she walked to work and came home for lunch. She stopped by her parents’ house almost every day, or her uncles’ bakery in the village square, which explained the extra pounds she still needed to lose from the winter months.
The best part of her house was the view from her bedroom window. She could just make out a slice of the harbor. If she moved to the farm, she’d also have to face the fact she was nowhere closer to having a family than she was when her dreams started. Dan was ready, that was for sure. She just wasn’t. She wanted that farm, but what she really wanted was her own part of the clinic. Something she created, on her own.
She shut the water off and dumped the pot in the sink. After last night, she deserved something sweet. She grabbed her purse and headed out the door. She’d stop by her uncles’ bakery, La Patisserie, and grab their coffee that was ten times better than the bland stuff she had at home.
As she stepped out her front door, her neighbor, Mr. Palmer, waved to her.
“Morning, Elizabeth!” he sang out his greeting from behind the hedges. He wore a red sailor’s hat as he gardened.
“Morning, Mr. Palmer,” she greeted him as warmly as the morning sun. Her quirky neighbor always had something to talk about.
“Heard your mother’s in charge of the Blessing again this year,” he said, as he adjusted his hat. He snipped some of her hedges that poked over his fence.
“You couldn’t pull her away if you tried.” The Blessing of the Fleet was Camden Cove’s biggest event and her mother, Sarah, took it upon herself to continue the village’s tradition by running the event, year after year. Four generations of her family had been lobster fisherman. The Blessing of the Fleet represented not only the long fishing history of the village, but also Elizabeth’s family as well.
“You headed to save the animals of Camden Cove?” he asked.
“I’m headed to the bakery.” A cup of coffee in her hand was what she really wanted.
“I like my oatmeal in the morning.” He returned his attention back to the bushes. His shears attacked the new growth with precision.
“Have a lovely day, Mr. Palmer,” she said, as she headed down the sidewalk toward the town.
“You, too, my dear,” he said, as he waved goodbye.
Elizabeth strolled down her street admiring the new spring growth along the way, before crossing onto Main. Camden Cove’s shops along the strip catered mostly to the tourists, but she always loved to look at their displays. Thousands visited Camden Cove every summer, but only a few hundred stayed all year. The weather during the off-season deterred most—hurricanes, nor’easters, snow squalls coming out of nowhere. Maine’s Atlantic coast was not for the weak.
As she peeked in a few shops, she waved to the business owners, familiar faces she had known most of her life. Then she took a left on Harbor Lane, and took a quick walk down to the beach. Only the granite cliffs and sand could be seen for miles. The beach was completely deserted, except for two figures on the walking path.
Elizabeth breathed in the tangy salt air and closed her eyes. Her hair whipped around her face. No matter how hard a day, the rhythm of the ocean centered her busy mind. The troubles with Adam Cahill had disappeared by the time she arrived at her uncles’ bakery.
The morning rush had dwindled and only a few customers remained. The interior made her feel like she had stepped inside a real Parisian patisserie. Large glass displays showcased dozens of beautiful delicacies her uncle David created. Buttery, flaky croissants sat on silver platters. Grand madeleines, pastel macarons and eclairs set meticulously upon linen napkins. Danishes and pastry puffs, oozing with crème, laid upon individual plates garnished with chocolate tendril shavings. Dozens of assorted biscotti filled glass jars, placed on top of the counters were lines next to baskets stuffed with loaves of bread. The sweet aroma of confectioner’s sugar and roasted coffee filled the room.
She loved everything about her uncles’ bakery.
The dark stained wood shelving that highlighted the bright delicacies inside. The walls covered in black and white photographs of Camden Cove residents of past and present, which happened to be mostly of her family. The comfortable chairs and the tables along the large windows facing the village harbor where the lobster boats docked. The fresh flowers sitting in glass vases throughout the room with jazz playing in the background. What she loved most, however, was how her two uncles would fill her in on the local gossip.
As she reached the counter, Uncle Frank greeted her.
“Staying?” he asked, leaning over the counter to kiss her cheek.
“Yes,” she said. “I need something sweet, with a double shot of espresso.”
He opened one of the display doors and handed down a plate with a puff pastry covered in powdered sugar. “David made the filling with dark cherries and chocolate. It’ll hit the spot.”
Elizabeth dipped the tip of her pinky finger in the dark filling and licked it. She closed her eyes as she savored the sweet velvety taste. With her espresso in hand, she took her usual table by the window. Just as she finished her last bite of puff, her uncle brought over another and set it in front of her.
“I’m never going to lose these extra pounds with you two as my uncles,” she said with a mouth full of cherry-chocolate heaven.
“Have you talked to Matt?” Frank asked, sitting with her, as she stuffed another bite of pastry in her mouth.
“No, why?” she mumbled.
“His truck was parked all night at the docks.”
“He probably didn’t want to drive.” She looked out to see. Sure enough, his truck sat in a parking spot across the street. “He was at the tavern last night, maybe he didn’t want to drive.”
“He slept on the boat.” Her uncle’s eyebrows rose.
“He slept there?” She shook her head. Why did that not surprise her? Even with their PDA the night before, they were fire and ice. “I saw them briefly last night, they seemed fine.”