From Shards to Sea Glass Read online

  Claire doubted God had anything to do with her move to Maine and scowled. What possible reason could God have in allowing her parents to die? Why had God changed her world to one full of guilt and fear and misery?

  She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Sweat trickled down her neck as anxiety’s familiar hand constricted her breathing. She forced deep breaths into her lungs as she turned at the sign and crept along the tunneled driveway.

  Loneliness, her constant companion, reminded her of its presence. Once again she convinced herself that only because of grief had she been distanced from her friends and her work.

  As the headlights pierced the darkness, Daniel came to mind.

  A shiver slithered up her spine.

  A week before their deaths her parents had expressed their disapproval and advised her to end her relationship with him. She squeezed her quivering lips together as she parked in front of the cottage and turned off the ignition.

  The painful memory of that night at the coffee shop tormented her once again. If she had yielded, she would be married to him right now. It would have been so much easier to have just given in and said “yes”—and yet…

  Unstoppable tears coursed down her cheeks. I need to snap out of this. She licked the salty drops that slid onto her lips.

  The sudden roar of a motor jumped her. She straightened her body and listened. Just as quickly the throaty sound stopped.

  Sniffling, she opened her door. The headlights blinked out, and her dim dome light did little to scatter the surrounding darkness. Oh, why hadn’t she turned on some lights earlier?

  She wiped her eyes on her shaking hand and inhaled the cool, breezeless air before tilting her chin. I will put the past behind me and move on. I must!

  After grabbing a box of food from the back seat, she unlocked and entered the cottage, wishing an outside light hung by the door. With her elbow she flipped on the light switch in the hallway then the one in the living area before setting the box on the table. She returned to the car and carted in the box of important items and an overnight bag.

  On the final trip, she grabbed her purse and jacket and shut the car door. She glanced up at the moonless sky where stars twinkled on their velvety, black blanket. She had never seen so many before!

  With only a faint glow from the back of the cottage cutting through the darkness, her eyes dared fall to the restless deep several hundred feet away where scattered lights winked on its onyx face. Who would be on the ocean at night?

  She glanced up her driveway toward the landlord’s dark house. Her payment! She shuddered. There is no way I’m going up…

  Something swished through the grass behind her. She whipped her body around and strained to listen.

  The grass rustled again.

  She froze. “Who’s there?”

  Only the lilt of the ocean answered her.

  She peered into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

  Nothing.

  Gripping her purse, she rushed into the cottage, slamming the door behind her and clicking the lock. She threw the purse and jacket on the bedroom floor then scurried through the living area to latch the French doors.

  She felt eyes on her through the curtainless windows. Fear prickled up her arms and neck.

  She scrambled through the cottage looking for more lights. Finding only the one in the bathroom, she clicked it on before crossing the hall and grabbing the bedspread. After maneuvering the loveseat to face the wall, she wrapped the bedspread around her and hunched out of view.

  Her senses stood alert.

  Minutes passed.

  Warmed by the bedspread and lulled by the rhythm of the ocean, her body relaxed. Her eyelids fell as exhaustion weighted them.

  Sniff. Was that cigarette smoke?

  “Dad, don’t light that. No, don’t do it.”

  She tried to open her eyelids, but they wouldn’t budge.

  “Dad, don’t you know what it will do?” she slurred.

  Chapter Three

  Claire’s body jerked at the caw of a blackbird outside the window. Her eyes flew open.

  Where am I?

  The sunlight bounced off the light-blue wall in front of her. A motor chugged in the distance. She shivered and ran her hands up and down her cold arms. The bedspread lay crumpled between the wall and the loveseat. Ah, the cottage!

  She rubbed the back of her stiff neck then rotated her shoulders before turning around and kneeling to face the room. She blinked at the bright morning sunshine before noticing one window stood ajar. No wonder she felt so cold!

  She stood and righted the loveseat before slamming the window shut and flicking off the three light switches. While clicking the one in the bathroom, she scolded her reflection. “Scaredy-cat!”

  She found her delicate floral teacup and saucer snuggled at the top of a box and placed the cheerful set on the counter. She had purchased the set shortly after her parents’ deaths and found comfort sipping tea from it.

  She pulled her tea kettle from deeper in the box and rooted around further to find its lid. She had dropped it while packing, breaking the handle and denting the top so that the lid no longer fit. She filled the kettle with water then placed it on the burner, holding her hands close to warm them.

  She looked in the meager box of food she brought from Chicago and scrunched her nose at not having milk to put into her tea. She should have picked up groceries in Hydeport yesterday.

  After preparing her light breakfast, she pulled a chair in front of the French doors to watch a boat as it stopped by a bright orange floating marker. A man in yellow overalls pulled a large rectangular object from the water. Seagulls gathered over it looking for their own breakfast.

  Eager to investigate her surroundings, she placed her teacup on the table before donning her coat and knit hat and stepping into the brisk morning air. She followed another slate path leading from the French doors and through the grassy lawn to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the small beach. She steadied herself as she zigzagged down the steep path.

  Once on the beach, Claire crouched and scooped up a handful of the cold brown-sugar sand mixed with small pebbles. She wiggled her fingers and released the sand while admiring the flecks of mica as they glinted in the morning sun.

  A wave surged onto the shore, startling her into standing.

  The beach extended to her right for a few yards before turning into flat rocks that rose above her head, tapering as they jutted out and down into the surf. To her left the beach stretched for many yards to a similar area of flat rocks, though this rocky area did not reach as far into the water.

  Claire thrust her hands into her pockets and sauntered to the end of the beach where several tall, thick, wooden poles protruded from the ground in ugly contrast to the otherwise attractive beach. With stringy seaweed and crusty-looking growths clinging to them, she wondered about their purpose as they marched in formation into the water.

  A white boat with a wide orange stripe rumbled deeply as it rounded the bend, slowed, and propelled in front of her. A man sat behind a steering wheel while another man holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes stood beside him, facing the shore.

  Without thinking, Claire waved her arm in wide swoops. The man lowered the binoculars, brought them to his eyes again, then lowered them a second time before waving to her and motioning to the driver to move on.

  As she neared the far end of the beach, the cliff graduated high above her head. Hidden from view until she stood in front of it, a narrow path led straight from the beach to the top of the cliff. Shoeprints marked the path and the sand below it.

  Claire kicked at some cigarette butts. “Ugh!” Maybe there had been someone lurking about last night. No, exhaustion had toyed with her nerves, and the darkness had supercharged her imagination.

  No doubt someone in the family in the main house strolled on this beach and smoked.

  She turned about. From her new vantage point, the cottage had disappeared from sight, but she could se
e the entire top level of both the side and front of the main house.

  She ambled along and picked up small pieces of granite, agate, and quartz delighting in their colors and textures, and planning on their use in future mosaic projects. She placed them in her coat pocket.

  An outgoing wave washed over a flat, egg-shaped rock made of pink granite and flecked with green minerals. She just had to have it!

  She waited for the water to draw back again before bending and reaching over as far as she could to grab it. As her fingertips curled around the rock—whoosh! The water raced in faster and higher than she had expected toppling her backward and soaking her pants and shoes.

  She scrambled to her feet. “Yikes!”

  She backed onto the security of the dry sand before the icy fingers of another wave slid up to grab her. The beach had narrowed since she first stepped foot on it. That’s right! Unlike Lake Michigan, tides ruled the ocean.

  Clutching her hard-won prize, she dripped her way up the path toward the cottage.

  Chapter Four

  With his small body ensconced in an imposing chair across the desk, Mr. Gibbons, the bank manager, looked over reading glasses perched precariously close to the end of his nose. “Would you like a savings account as well, Miss?” His bushy mustache twitched in sync with his ears when he spoke.

  Claire stifled a giggle. “Yes, I would like both, thank you.”

  He lifted one eyebrow as he checked a box on the form with his pen.

  “Slowly spell your first and last names,” he said in a monotone.

  “C-l-a-i-r-e. W-y-c-o-f-f.”

  He stopped mid-scribble and narrowed his eyes. “Are you related to the Wycoffs north of the Cove?”

  Claire snapped her head back. She knew her father’s only sibling lived somewhere along the coast of Maine but had never been told where. “I—I couldn’t tell you.” She shifted in her chair.

  He frowned. “Humph. I hope not.” He looked back at the paper. “Telephone number?”

  “I don’t have a telephone.”

  “You don’t have a telephone? When you get one, make sure you supply us the number.”

  “I won’t be getting a phone.”

  “Who doesn’t have a telephone?”

  “I won’t be making any calls, and I don’t want to receive any.” She couldn’t tell him she feared her old boyfriend would find her and try to contact her. “If you need me, you can send me a letter.”

  He heaved a loud sigh. “Where do you live then?”

  “I don’t have a post office box yet, but when I get one I’ll bring in the number. I live at…” She pulled a piece of paper from an envelope on her lap. “…747 Route 1, here in Lone Spruce Cove.”

  Mr. Gibbons’ eyebrows shot up as he scratched down the address. “So, you live at The English Rose estate then.”

  “Well—I live in a cottage there.”

  He examined her face and hair. “Uh—huh.”

  Claire’s face flushed. “I’ve rented the little yellow cottage on the estate through a respectable property management company out of Hydeport.”

  “Oh, of course…of course. Yes, it would be nice to live in a cottage there. Beautiful property.” He twiddled his pen. “You won’t find a better landlord in the entire area.”

  Claire scowled before glancing down at the paper in front of him then back at him hoping he would get the point she wanted to move on.

  “Now with what amount of money do you want to open your accounts, Miss Wycoff? You must deposit a minimum of one-hundred dollars in each account.”

  She handed him a white envelope. “These checks are for the savings account, and this cash,” she passed him a larger envelope, “is for the checking account.”

  He opened the envelope of cash and stiffened in his chair. His eyes grew large as he fingered through the checks in the other envelope.

  “Well, now, Miss Wycoff.” He cleared his throat. “Please sign these.” His hands shook as he gave her his pen and pointed to where she needed to sign. “I’ll get these accounts set up for you immediately, Miss Wycoff.” He gathered the forms and money and hastened from the office.

  Claire rolled her eyes.

  By the end of the visit, she had been introduced to all the employees. Mr. Gibbons led her to the door and opened it for her. “Welcome to Lone Spruce Cove and to our bank. If there is anything I can do for you in any way at any time, do not hesitate to let me know.”

  Claire walked the short distance from the bank to the post office and entered the small, free-standing, brick building. A heavyset woman in her mid-60s sat behind the counter. Framing her heavily freckled face, faded natural-red hair stuck out in different directions. Her nametag read “Lorna.”

  “I’d like a post office box, please,” Claire said.

  “You must be new to town. Don’t recognize you.”

  “I am.”

  “Needing a box. Let’s see here.” She opened a drawer beside her and licked her fingers before thumbing through several papers. She selected one and slid it toward Claire before slamming the drawer shut.

  “So you’re new here, huh? It’s a nice little town. A lot goes on here for being so small. You’d be surprised how busy it gets here in the summertime.”

  Claire picked up a pen chained to the counter and worked her way down the form.

  Lorna planted her elbows on the counter. “You’re here right before the two big summer events we have. One’s in June, and the other’s in August. They’re pretty popular. I have to make sure we have plenty of stamps available for all the postcards people send from here. You wouldn’t believe how many postcards we mail out during the summer.”

  “Is that so?”

  “How long have you been living here?”

  “I moved here yesterday.” Claire signed her name at the bottom of the form.

  “Why have you come? Not many people actually move here.”

  “Well, why not move here?” Claire smiled as she slid the form back to Lorna and rummaged in her purse for her cash and identification.

  Lorna’s forefinger skimmed down the form. It stopped and tapped the address of the cottage. Her finger glided down the rest of the way until it reached her signature. She slid her finger under Claire’s last name several times.

  Lorna raised her head and squinted one of her dark-brown eyes. “You related to the Wycoffs north of town?”

  Here we go again. “There are Wycoffs close to town? Do they spell their name as I do?”

  “Exactly the same. In all my years at this post office, I have never seen or heard of anyone else with the name of Wycoff other than those in that family—which is fine with me. No offense, though, if you’re related to them.

  “I…”

  “Yup, they’re quite a family, those Wycoffs. Since Garry died in that accident—what a horrible accident it was with that machinery crushing him. Terrible! I’m still not so sure about those boys, though.” She frowned. “Something’s fishy about it. Then again, you must know all about it.”

  Claire shook her head.

  “When was that now?” She studied the ceiling as if the answer were written there. “Around a year and a half ago, I think. Maybe it’s been two years now. Let’s see.” She picked up a pen and counted on her fingers with it. “May…June…July…Yes, it will be two years this coming July. Since Garry died—Garry, the father, you know—that granite quarry has been doing poorly. It was actually doing poorly before he died. At least that’s what was being said around town.”

  Claire stared at her.

  “Anyway, the place just isn’t the same now. Not anything like it was. It’s a shame, all run down like it is. Of course I think the showroom is still open a few days a week, but not that many people go there anymore. It’s not as respectable as it used to be.”

  Lorna’s chair groaned as she spun around and reached for a set of keys dangling beside several others on a pegboard. She swung back again and handed them to Claire before snatching the receipt and
pushing it on the counter toward her.

  “When my husband and I needed to retile our bathroom—the main one, not the one upstairs by the guest room—we drove by the Wycoff place, but the showroom wasn’t open. So, we just decided to go to Jensen’s in Hydeport. We could have gone up to Augusta, but Hydeport is closer. Really Jensen’s selection is not much different than what you’ll find anywhere in Augusta.”

  After placing the keys in her purse, Claire scooped up the receipt, baffled at how Lorna’s thoughts could tumble from one subject to the next. How could this woman say so much in such a short period of time while still processing transactions?

  Two people carrying stacks of packages came in, distracting Lorna when they set them on the counter. Relieved, Claire saw this as her chance to get away.

  “Thank you, Lorna, for setting up my post office box,” she said as she turned and exited the building.

  She returned to her car and slid behind the steering wheel but did not turn on the ignition. Could these Wycoffs north of town be her relatives? Mr. Gibbons acted strangely when he spoke of them, and Lorna did not speak well of them.

  As suddenly as the wave crept up the beach earlier and had left her sodden in its wake, uneasiness swept over her leaving her mind saturated with apprehension.

  Chapter Five

  Claire eyed the convenience store across from the post office but decided to check out the town first before returning to choose from their undoubtedly expensive and limited selection of groceries.

  She pulled away from the curb and swung left down a wide curve. A narrow road veered to the right and dropped down a short steep hill to a small parking lot situated beside docks. Boats bobbed in a postcard-perfect harbor.

  For two blocks Route 1 changed into lantern-lined Main Street. Brick sidewalks led to shops housed in the lower portions of abutting two- to four-story brick buildings. With colorful awnings, window boxes, and ornate signs, each shop enticed with its own unique character.

  At the end of Main Street on the harbor side, she passed a small white church with a tall steeple and stained-glass windows. A sheriff’s deputy had parked his cruiser in front of it and stood with two men at the top of the steep flight of stairs. Two arched doors had been propped open.