The Mermaid's Sister(24)

“Very changed, I am afraid.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Truly sorry.” Is that a tear in his eye or a trick of the light? He turns away from me and takes a few slow steps.

“She liked your Christmas gift,” I say. “The pretty stone you sent. She keeps it in her locket, so it is always with her.” I do not know if it was proper or kind for me to say so, but he looks back at me for a moment and almost smiles.

“Good-bye,” he says. He leaves the store quickly, without purchasing a thing. I think he loves Maren still. I feel sorry for his wife.

“Your order is ready,” Mr. Peterman announces. “I’ll carry it out for you. All that salt makes for a heavy load. It’s an odd time of year to be pickling and preserving, isn’t it?”

I hold the door for him. “You know Auntie and her strange concoctions,” I say.

I am glad we will leave Llanfair Mountain soon. Hiding a mermaid is proving more difficult than hiding a hundred-pound pet wyvern.



We reveal our plans to Scarff and Auntie during our habitual evening gathering in front of the fireplace.

“You must let me come,” Scarff says. “I insist upon it.”

“No, dear,” Auntie says. “The children are right. You are not well enough for such a journey. Besides, I have not been left alone in over seventeen years. It is your spousal duty to stay with me.” She pats his arm. “This is their journey to take. They are young and strong, and clever, as well. They are fit for travel and adventure, unlike us. Although it pains me to think I will not see Maren enter her new home.”

Scarff grumbles under his breath, but argues no more.

“We will leave in two days,” O’Neill says. “I will make sure the caravan is in good repair. Clara has been gathering supplies, and Maren is quite ready to go.”

In fact, Maren’s face is radiant with expectation. She wriggles her tail and slides down into the water, submerging herself completely. Smiling, she blows a string of tiny bubbles and watches them pop above her.

From head to tail fin, I doubt she measures more than four feet now.

“We bought a washtub to carry Maren,” I say. “It should be quite comfortable.”

“You must avoid the trains at all cost,” Scarff says. “I do not trust the iron beasts.”

“We would not risk taking a train,” O’Neill says. “Can you imagine us not being noticed transporting a mermaid in a tub of water?”

Scarff grunts and folds his arms across his chest.

Auntie shakes her head sadly. “How I hate to lose my seashell girl,” she says. “But if anyone in the world is happy, it is Maren as a mermaid.”

Tears stick in Scarff’s beard like drops of dew on tangled grass. Auntie grips his shoulder and says, “Come to bed, dearest. It’s time to put our cares to rest for the day.”

Auntie and Scarff lean over the tub and Maren comes out from beneath the water, offering her sparkling cheek for good night kisses. As the couple disappears into their bedroom, Maren beckons to O’Neill. She gestures that she wants to hold his hand, and that she wants him to sing for her.

He pulls a chair in close to the tub and does as the mermaid demands.

Discomfited by the intimacy between them, I collect teacups and saucers and take them to the basin of sudsy water Auntie left heating on the side of the stove. Even with my back to them, I feel like an intruder.

O’Neill sings softly:



On the wings of the wind, o’er the dark rolling deep,

Angels are coming to watch o’er thy sleep.

Angels are coming to watch over thee

So list to the wind coming over the sea.



Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow.

Lean your head over and hear the wind blow.



Oh, winds of the night, may your fury be crossed;

May no one who’s dear to our island be lost.

Blow the winds gently, calm be the foam,

Shine the light brightly and guide them back home



Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow.

Lean your head over and hear the wind blow.



My hands forget their task. Never has his voice sounded so beautiful. Every note carries unconstrained love up from the depths of his soul.

Something catches my eye and I turn. There, at the window, is the unmistakable face of Simon Shumsky. He stares at Maren and O’Neill, not noticing me at all. He sees what I now see: the clasped hands of lovers, O’Neill’s blond head resting against the top of Maren’s coppery hair. And the swishing of Maren’s mermaid tail above the water’s surface.

“O’Neill,” I cry, knowing it is too late.

A second later, Simon is gone.

If wishing could get me anything, I would wish that I had remembered to close the curtains after I’d hung them, freshly laundered, that morning. I would wish that Osbert—lying by the cellar door, dead to the world due to the strong medicine Auntie has prescribed for his spring cold—had alerted us to the unwelcome guest.

And as much as I like Simon Shumsky, I would wish him to the moon.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN





The sun is rising, an orange ball of flame peeking over the next mountain. We have not slept a wink, O’Neill and I. Instead, we spent the night frantically packing and arranging, gathering maps and clothes and food. For we must leave the mountain immediately, before Simon has a chance to spread the news of Maren’s change.