“I won’t hear a word of that, young man,” said Mrs. Bartlett, a short, round woman who had been friends with his aunt for decades. “There’s always room at the table for one more, and we haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Well, I…” He caught Winnie’s hopeful expression, and the dismal notion of dining alone was tossed aside. “I would enjoy that, thank you.”
Mrs. Bartlett led them into a cozy sitting room filled with an assortment of mismatched wooden chairs and doily-covered end tables. Dozens of small oil paintings depicting island life hung on the floral wallpapered walls, just as it had since Mack was a boy. Several of his aunt’s friends and other locals occupied the chairs near the gray stone fireplace, pouring over what looked like a suffrage pamphlet.
“Have a seat anywhere you’d like, and I’ll be right back with a cup of cider,” Mrs. Bartlett said.
“I’ll help you,” Jenny said.
They had just left the room when a voice croaked loudly, “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Mack’s head whipped around to find the little old lady from the steamer a foot away, leaning on her cane and glaring at him. Winnie clutched his forearm, and they exchanged a dumbfounded look.
“You don’t remember me, do you sonny?”
“Of course I do, ma’am. We were on the steamer together.” He added in a dry voice, “You were the one telling tales of doom.”
She thudded her gnarled cane on the striped carpet. “I mean before that.”
A smile hovered on his lips. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“I’mthe one that found you kissing my sixteen-year-old granddaughter in the barn, you swine.”
His laughter died in his throat at the accusation, and dread filled his stomach. Winnie snatched her hand away like he was burning trash.
“Mrs. Davis, I didn’t recognize you,” he said hoarsely. “But your granddaughter—"
“For pity’s sake, Grandmother.” A slender, blonde woman broke from the circle by the fireplace and leveled a frown at the old woman. “I swear your version of the story becomes more salacious every year. Hello, Mack.”
“Caroline.”
She sent him an apologetic grimace and then leaned toward Winnie. “The real story is far more innocent. When I was sixteen, I was determined to act inRomeo and Juliet. I cajoled my fourteen-year-old neighbor, Mack Donnelly, to perform the balcony scene. We had barely touched lips when Grandmother found us. She sent Mack running home and took me straight to church.” She leaned toward Winnie and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I believe I was his first kiss.”
“What’s that you said?” Mrs. Davis demanded.
“Nothing, Grandmother. Let’s get you some more cider, shall we?” She directed the old woman to the large settee on the far side of the room, waggling her fingers over her shoulder.
The lump in Mack’s throat was slow to dissolve. He met Winnie’s gaze warily. “You heard that and immediately thought you were another of my conquests.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I did, but I feel foolish now for jumping to conclusions.”
“It kills me to know you regretted, even for one instant, what we shared today,” he said. “Because Ineverwill.”
“I have trouble trusting men, but I should have had more faith in you,” she whispered.
He shook his head, unease twisting his guts. He hadn’t expected his newfound resolution to be kicked in the teeth so soon, so now he would have to double his efforts. “I shouldinspiremore faith.”
Aunt Jenny arrived with glasses of cider in hand, and Winnie was soon surrounded by suffragists. Mack leaned against the wall and sipped his drink, grateful for a moment to settle his nerves and watch Winnie weave her spell around everyone as she recounted her hardships arriving to the island.
“Tell us, Mrs. West,” Mrs. Bartlett asked. “Did you enjoy your first canoe ride? If you can believe it, canoes were the preferred form of transport on the island until the steamers arrived. They’re still used for short distances.”
“It was thrilling. Old Dan was so kind to help us out, and his grandchildren were precious. They would make fine journalists with the way they peppered us with questions.”
“If only that could be.” Aunt Jenny’s expression darkened. “But I doubt it will be on Whidbey Island. Unfortunately, most of the local Indians have been pushed to the reserve in La Connor. Old Dan’s family is one of the few remaining ones in Oak Harbor.”
“That’s a real shame,” Winnie said, and several of the attendees voiced their agreement.
“You’ll meet his wife, Katy, at the convention tomorrow,” Mrs. Bartlett said.
