Secrets of Selkie Bay

by Shelley Moore Thomas

  * * *

  As I sat up in bed, the dream faded slowly. The rumpled letter had fallen from my hand. I reached down to the cold floor and felt around for it. I picked it up and smoothed it flat against my leg, then folded it as tiny as I could. I’d have to hide it in my clothes today so nobody would stumble upon it. By nobody, I meant Ione. She was such a snooper, and this note was between me and Mum.

  The flashlight clattered to the floor, dim and lightless, having gone through the batteries during the night. No one heard the clank but me. Ione was snoring softly in her bed, and one room over, Da was snoring not so softly in his. Neevy gave the occasional slurp as she sucked on her fist in the tiny room just past Da’s. Other than those comforting noises of the night, our small house was quiet, though I knew Da would be getting up for work soon.

  I wouldn’t have much time.

  I crept about in the almost dark, the soft coming of daylight still only a promise, but it was light enough for me. I picked up A Child’s Book of Selkies and gave it a quick scan. There were no telltale notes scrawled up the margins in Mum’s handwriting. No clues whatsoever from this book about where a sugar jar full of money might be. And when had she started keeping money in the sugar jar, anyway?

  When the jar had gone missing a couple of months back, I first thought Ione had broken it and been too afraid to own up to it. When Ione told me angrily that she hadn’t broken the sugar jar, and suggested that maybe the ants had run off with it, I thought perhaps Mum had taken it. Except that didn’t make much sense. Da had been extra-quiet right after Mum disappeared. I didn’t know what to say about anything, let alone a sugar jar that we couldn’t find, so he and I never discussed it.

  I padded through the narrow hallway, past the sitting room, and down the two stone steps to the kitchen. The old slab floor was freezing cold, as usual. It was the only room in the house that wasn’t floored in creaky wood, and even when summer was at its hottest, it stayed cool. Ione and I often lay on our backs, arms stretched wide, soaking in the delicious chill before we went to bed. Mum would laugh, saying she didn’t realize she had starfish for daughters as she gingerly stepped over us to get to the pantry. I, however, had no need for caution this morning, just silence. Tiptoeing, I crept ahead to the pantry and moved cans and jars around, this way and that. I could remember when the two shelves were stocked full. Now, I could easily see within seconds that they held no sugar jar.

  Next, I checked all the cabinets and the refrigerator. As I opened the heavy white door, I wondered why I hadn’t looked in the fridge first off. That was where I would hide money, if I had any. The light from the small bulb nearly blinded me, but after moving the almost-empty milk jug, a carton of eggs, a block of cheese, four small apples, and three nearly scraped-out jars of jam, I realized it wasn’t there, either.

  I crept to the hall, toward the room where Da lay snoring, then stopped. If she had put it in their room, Da would surely have found it by now, wouldn’t he?

  The coat closet in the hall was next.

  I opened the door and it creaked a tiny bit. I found the string that hung from the ceiling and gave it a tug. With a click, everything was illuminated. The top shelf was empty. Leaning against one side of the closet was Neevy’s fold-up pram. On the rack were several of Da’s jackets and some of our sweaters that we hadn’t needed since April. I touched the empty hanger where Mum’s coat used to hang and it swung back and forth. It had been her special coat, sleek, smooth, and silvery black, but it was gone now. Only a bare spot remained.

  The phone rang, making me jump back and bang my head against the closet door. I quickly shut it and ran to the phone, which sat in its usual spot on a blue-painted end table in the sitting room. As I always did, I imagined her voice on the other end and wondered what I’d say to her.

  But Da got there first.

  “Hello? Yes, this is Sullivan. Yes, I know I’m late with the payment. Next week. I’ll pay it next week.” Da hung up without a goodbye.

  “The phone wake you up, too?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “You’d think they’d wait until the sun came up. Greedy creditors.” He went to the kitchen to heat some water for tea. “Well, since I’m already awake, I’m staying up. How about you?”

  I nodded and got some mugs from the same cupboard I’d been searching through only moments ago.

  “Da, have you seen the sugar jar?”

  There was a pause. “I don’t like sugar in my tea, Cordie. You know that.”

  “Yes, but I was just wondering—”

  “If we are out of sugar, I can give you a little money to take to the store, but buy only a small amount.” He handed me a few bills before I could say that I didn’t really need the sugar, just the jar.

  “Da—”

  “I’ve got to go in early today, Cordie. Just get what you need in town. But don’t be gone long. And make Ione go with you. It would be good for her to leave the house for a change.”

  The Mermaid’s Tresses

  WHEN DA WAS OFF TO WORK, I searched every nook and cranny in our little house for an hour. The jar was nowhere to be found. We needed that money.

  I know I’m late with the payment … I’ll pay it next week.

  Exasperated, I went to check on Neevy. She had pulled herself up to the railing of her crib and was standing with her arms outstretched to me.

  “Mmmmmuummmaaa,” she cried.

  These were the times my heart broke.

  “No, sweet girl, it’s just Cordie.” Neevy snuggled against me and stuffed her plump thumb into her mouth. “Ione!” I called. “Can you get Neevy ready to go?”

  There was no need to yell, but I did, anyway. Our house was tiny enough that if you stood in the kitchen in just the right place, you could see down the hall into each of the other small rooms of our house. The sitting room, the bathroom, and the bedrooms—mine and Ione’s, Da’s, and little Neevy’s at the end.

  Ione stumbled sleepily down the short hallway and stopped in front of me with a gigantic yawn.

  “We are going to town,” I said.

  “Where in town?”

  “To … um … to the Mermaid’s Tresses.”

  “Why do we need to go there?” Ione put one hand on her hip in her stubborn pose. She used to love going to the salon, hanging out on the swivel chairs, talking to Maura and Mum just like she worked there herself.

  “We just do.”

  “What if Mum comes home while I’m gone?” Ione’s big dark eyes got glassy and it looked like a tear was forming in the left one. If she started crying, then I’d probably start, too. And it wouldn’t take much to get Neevy going as well.

  There was no time for crying today, not if I was going to make us some money.

  “Yeah, well, we are going, Ione. Hurry up and get ready. And get the pram,” I said in my most businesslike voice. If I kept Ione moving and busy, maybe I could avoid a scene. And maybe I could stuff my own worries back inside my heart and keep them there a while longer.

  “You’re not the boss of me. You’re not…” Ione didn’t finish. The unspoken words hung between us, like the only strand left of a broken spiderweb, dangling. I didn’t have time for this. I didn’t have time to mend the threads. I needed to get us to the Mermaid’s Tresses, fast. The sooner Maura gave us jobs sweeping hair off the floors, the sooner we’d have money.

  At this point, every little bit would help.

  “I know, I know,” I said delicately. “I’m not the boss of you. But we’re both the boss of Neevy. So we better get this baby moving before she starts thinking she’s queen of the world or something.” It was like a dance sometimes, stepping carefully on the tips of my toes to keep Ione from starting a rage. I swung Neevy around, and she gave a deep baby chuckle. “See, she already thinks she’s the queen of the world!”

  I could see the emotions waging a battle right across Ione’s face. Her eyes were narrowed, her nose was crinkled, but her mouth could not keep its frown. She wanted to be mad a
nd she wanted to cry, but baby laughter is hard to resist.

  “Queen of the world!” Ione repeated at last, taking Neevy from me and blowing on her belly to make her laugh harder. She swung her around and around, both of them giggling helplessly.

  Moodiness avoided. For now.

  In ten minutes, Ione was dressed and came wheeling around the corner, baby on her hip, having retrieved Neevy’s collapsible pram from the closet. She unceremoniously dumped our sister in and buckled the strap. “Let’s be quick about this.”

  We didn’t lock the door, for Ione’s sake. She liked the idea of leaving the door unlocked for Mum, in case she’d forgotten her keys. Besides, nobody really locked their doors in Selkie Bay. It was a safe town, even during the tourist season. Now, if we lived farther down the coast where the water was clearer, the days warmer, and the sand softer, then we might have worries. But the coldish waters of Selkie Bay didn’t attract the bad element. Da had always said as much.

  We set out for downtown Selkie Bay, a good twenty-minute walk from home, if you walked fast, which I did. Ione fairly ran next to me. We passed the three pubs in the town square, the Sea Queen’s Treasure, Grania’s Pieces of Eight, and Grace the Bald’s—all named after the legendary pirate Grace O’Malley. Hundreds of years ago, a ship from her fleet sank off the coast of the bay, filled with gold. They found the wreckage, but they never found the treasure. Not ever. Makes you wonder if there ever really was a treasure. That’s the way it is with legends around here. Lots of talk about things, but not much concern for what’s true and what isn’t.

  We sped by the pubs, holding our noses since they reeked of yesterday’s tobacco. And yesterday’s beer as well. The stink was awful.

  We were out of breath when we got to the Mermaid’s Tresses, the front of which was painted aqua with rich chestnut trim. Years ago, someone had carved a giant likeness of a mermaid with flowing hair from golden beech wood. The wooden sculpture now adorned the front of the salon. It gave the shop a magical quality, like you were about to enter a salon for enchanted princesses instead of the regular old hairstyling place that it was.

  The front door was propped open with a brick. Maura saw us right away. She left a customer mid-snip and gathered Ione and me into a big hug. She smelled of the salon’s signature seaweed-and-mint shampoo and her soft arms reminded me for a minute of Mum’s, except Mum’s weren’t wrinkled or floppy.

  “Oh, hello, my luvs,” Maura said. Then, handing me her shears, she unbuckled Neevy and picked her up for a snuggle. “Getting bigger every day. Still no hair.” Maura planted a kiss on Neevy’s cheek and gave her a biscuit from the jar on the counter. “Help yourselves,” she said to Ione and me. Ione grabbed extras and stuffed them in her pockets. She knew Maura wouldn’t mind. We had little money for fine treats like the ones in Maura’s jar.

  “You’ll know Rose Sullivan’s girls, don’t you, Mrs. Gallagher?”

  Mrs. Gallagher sat in the customer chair, with her wet, steel-gray hair dripping about her ears. She nodded, but didn’t look us in the eye. That’s what most folks did when they saw us, looked down or maybe off in another direction like there was something out there real important to see. Poor Rose Sullivan’s girls.

  “Rose was the one with the magic fingers.” Maura winked at us and smiled.

  Mrs. Gallagher’s wet head bobbed again as she continued to study the linoleum.

  “Alas, poor dearie,” she said under her breath.

  “Um, Maura,” I said, playing with the chocolate biscuit. I was too nervous to eat it. “I was thinking maybe you could use some help, you know, sweeping up hair and the like.”

  “Me too. I’ll help, too,” said Ione. “If it’s not for too long. I can’t be gone from my house for too long, you know.”

  Already Ione was getting antsy, shifting her weight from one side to the next like she had to use the bathroom, and we’d just arrived.

  “I’m afraid I’ll be closing up day after tomorrow. My sister is ill and I’ve got to move her down from Oringford before the height of the tourist season. August gets crazy around here, you know—and it’s only two weeks away! So no appointments for the rest of July.”

  My heart fell to my stomach. My whole reason for coming to the salon today was crashing to the ground.

  “The Mermaid’s Tresses won’t be open for the rest of the month? Not at all?” I asked.

  Maura shook her head. “Sorry, dears, but I can’t leave my sister hanging when she needs me.”

  My face felt warm. The money I had imagined flew away, out the window, like lonely birds.

  “I wish I had the money to keep it open while I am gone, but I’m afraid I don’t. Look around, Cordelia. It’s only the locals needing cuts right now, and they can wait a bit if need be. But when folks come in from the cities for their holiday, they’ll want to get spiffed up and I’ll need to be ready. I make enough from August through October to keep myself nice and cozy all winter. Really hoping it’s a strong season this year—with lots of selkie sightings!” Maura laughed and rolled her eyes a little. “But it’s just not like it used to be. Check with me when I get back, luvs. I’ll find something for you girls to do then. Sure and I will.”

  I made my mouth smile, but I didn’t really feel it in the rest of my face. Sweeping floors weeks from now wouldn’t put money in our pockets today.

  “Maybe you could try some of the other places here on the strip. I’m sure someone needs a hand.” Maura turned her attention back to the sheep-like head of Mrs. Gallagher.

  “I don’t want to work in one of those dumb stores,” whispered Ione to me as we walked over to the other side of the salon. “They’d probably make me clean the loo.” She plopped herself down in the second chair from the left, Mum’s old chair.

  “I don’t want to, either,” I whispered, picking up Neevy and sitting with her on the floor. She played with my hand as she started to doze in my lap. “But I don’t know if we have much choice. Da could use the money.”

  Ione hadn’t heard the phone call this morning. She hadn’t heard the strain in Da’s voice. But I had.

  “Ione, maybe if we—” I said. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at the empty sink, the one that Mum always used.

  I glanced at the sink, then back at Ione, whose eyes were getting glassier by the second. The note from Mum was burning a hole in my pocket. I really wanted to tell Ione about it—but it said I needed to look after Ione, and that meant not worrying her.

  “We’ll take turns,” I said. “If we get a job, we’ll split it.”

  Ione curled her lips into a snarl as only she could. She picked up one of the magazines on the table next to her. “What kind of a person wants to read about n … nail p-p-polish and bras? What’s bras?” she asked, pronouncing the word like brass. Then she chucked the magazine across the table, where it slid and knocked other magazines off.

  “Nice,” I said. “Real nice, Ione. Pick those up so Maura doesn’t have to.” She was about to get herself all worked up and refuse, I could see it in the way she held her shoulders, but I managed to head it off. “And when you’re done you can read this. It’s not about bras. I promise.”

  Ione blushed and said, “Bras? Ewww.” Then she quickly grabbed the book I held out for her.

  I’d put A Child’s Book of Selkies in Neevy’s diaper bag before we left. I’d been keeping it close by since I found it in my room, though I’m not sure why. Ione gave it a thumb-through. “I remember this book. Mum used to read it to us. It’s got too big of words, though.”

  “Do you want me to read you some of it?” I said, taking the book, holding it over the head of Neevy, who slept in my lap, and opening to a page near the beginning. “Look, there’s a section on how to spot a selkie.”

  The first thing you must learn about Selkies is how to recognize them in the wild. Should you come across one in its Seal form, you will not be able to tell if it is a shape-shifter or not. It is impossible. However, if you see a person and wonder perh
aps if it is really a Selkie in Human form, there are ways to tell, if you are a noticing type of person:

  1. Eyes and hair as black as night.

  2. Slight to moderate webbing between fingers and/or toes. (The flippers never quite completely shift away.)

  3. Possession of a fine gray or silver-black coat or cloak.

  A combination of all three must exist. In addition, do not fear if you happen to meet one of these creatures in your endeavors. They are said to be the most devoted of parents and are known for making good fish pots.

  “Sounds a little like Mum,” Ione said. “Except that this book is boring and Mum was never boring.”

  It did sound a little like Mum.

  “Aw, come on, Ione. Mum loved this kind of thing, didn’t she? Remember when she took us out in the Dreaming Lass looking for the selkies’ isle?”

  Ione was squirmy. I knew what was coming next.

  “We’ve been gone too long.”

  I nodded. “Yes, we should go.” There was still more to do while we were out. “Come on. We have to get some sugar.”

  The Streets of Selkie Bay

  IONE TRIED TO CONVINCE ME we didn’t need sugar.

  “I’ll just take some packets from the tea tray at Maura’s. She won’t care.”

  “We have to buy some, Da said so. And he didn’t mean to just take someone else’s.”

  “It’s not like we use much, anyway. And when did you find the sugar jar? Is it empty? I haven’t seen it in weeks.”

  No one has. No one but Mum.

  We were quick, in and out of Flipper’s Fast-Mart in a matter of minutes with a small bag of sugar.

  “Let’s go home now,” said Ione, jiggling the pram to wake Neevy. “See, Neevy’s awake and she’s going to be hungry. Or she’s going to cry. We should go home.”

  “No, Ione. We are not going home yet. Since we walked all the way here, we are going to see if any of these stores will give us a job.”

  She jiggled the pram more forcefully, but Neevy, bless her, slept through it. “You are not serious,” Ione said.