“The walls are still standing,” said Ramsay, who had wondered if the whole structure might have disappeared. “And more than half of the roof is still in place.”
“It looks like one of the ancient ruins that are scattered all over Thorsay,” Signy said tightly. “Help me down.”
He obeyed, feeling her warrior spirit despite her pain and grief and the damage to her much-loved home. When he’d eased her to the ground, he held her close for a long moment, wishing he could shield her from all physical and emotional pain. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked quietly.
“I have to know.” She took the cane and limped away from him. “In the moments I watched, I saw the waves sweep away my easel and all my paints.”
“A good thing so many of your paintings are in Skellig House,” he said pragmatically. “The easel and paints can be replaced.”
She didn’t reply, just moved in small steps toward the railing where it curved down the bluff to the path. Before she started down, he said, “Let me check how well the railing is holding. It seemed all right last night, but more damage might have happened later.”
She nodded and he moved down the slanting path, testing the railing at every step. At the bottom he called up. “It seems solid as ever. Ready to give it a try?”
She grasped the railing with her left hand and held the cane in her right to help with balance and to spare her injured ankle. Fiona followed, looking concerned. Ramsay stayed alert in case Signy slipped and needed help, but she didn’t. She hung on to the railing with white-knuckled determination.
She was panting and there was pain in her face by the time she reached the level area behind the cottage. He suggested, “This wooden bench survived, so why not sit down and catch your breath while I walk around outside and see if the structure seems solid?”
Seeing that she was about to protest, he said, “At least give Fiona a chance to rest. She had a hard night.”
“She’s a sheepdog and has more endurance than both of us put together.” Signy smiled wryly and settled gingerly on the bench, stretching her right leg out in front of her. Fiona jumped up and settled with her furry chin on Signy’s thigh.
The cottage door was open because Ramsay hadn’t bothered to close it the night before, but the interior was too dark to see anything. Careful of his footing, he worked his way around the cottage. The stones of the walls and the mortar that held them together were solid and undamaged. As Signy had said, there was a medium-sized tree trunk tilted inward on the sill of the large window. Most of the trunk was inside the cottage with the roots sticking up outside. It was an odd sight.
When he’d finished his circuit and reached Signy again, he said, “No catastrophic damage. A couple of stones were loosened when the roof beam went down and where the tree trunk is lying across the windowsill. It’s a fairly sizable tree. Given how few trees are on Thorsay, it might have sailed over from Norway. I’ll go inside now.”
“So the roof can drop on your head instead of mine?” she asked dryly. “Thorsay needs you more than it does me, unless you like the idea of Roald becoming the laird.”
“If the ceiling starts collapsing, I can move faster than you,” he pointed out.
“There is that.” She used the cane to help herself to her feet. “It’s time to see what, if anything, is left.”
Chapter 19
Signy moved past Ramsay and stepped warily into the remains of what had been her warm and welcoming kitchen. There was crunching underfoot. She looked down and saw small shells that had been washed into the cottage. The floor was still wet.
Behind her Ramsay pushed the door wide open to allow more light, and she saw the narrow space between the table and counter, where she’d apparently been trapped the night before. Ramsay was right: If she’d fallen to the floor rather than being caught there, she would have drowned. She had major bruising on both sides, but it was a small price to pay for her life.
Ramsay said, “Your kitchen cupboard seems intact. Maybe some of your dishes survived.”
“Perhaps. I’ll look later.” She turned sideways and inched her way through the narrow passage between table and counter and the cupboard next to the counter. Behind her, the fallen roof beam slanted down toward the front of the cottage.
She stepped into the front room and shuddered at the sight of the tree trunk that had smashed its way into her home. It was large enough to be used as a bench on the beach. Then again, maybe she should turn the blasted thing over to a carpenter so it could be cut into pieces.
The floor was littered with rubble. The only furniture left was the table that she used for her painting materials. It hurt to see the empty space that had held her easel. Also gone was the hooded two-person Orkney chair Ramsay had made for Gisela so they could cuddle by the fire. Her solidly built loom appeared intact, though it had been swept across the front room. Through the broken window she could see the rolling waves she’d always loved, larger than usual in the aftermath of the storm.
A warm arm came around her shoulders. “You’re shivering,” Ramsay said quietly. “There’s a painful amount of damage and loss, but flooding is better than fire because fires consume everything. Sea Cottage can be rebuilt. These stone walls have been standing for centuries and will stand for centuries more if the cottage is cared for.”
She looked at the wet sand and soggy broken objects that littered the floor. The broken, empty frame of the miniature portrait of Signy, Gisela, and their mother when the girls were young and they’d all been happy.... “Where does one even start?”
“The first thing to repair will be the roof,” he replied calmly. “The main roof beams are intact, so when the fallen one is lifted back in place and secured, it’s just a matter of some shingles. You’ll need a new window, of course, and I’d suggest sturdy shutters that can be closed and latched on the outside when big storms blow up.”
She thought of the cleaning that would be needed, the replacement of furniture and kitchenware and linens. “It will be expensive,” she said wearily. “Maybe this is a sign that I should take my savings and move to London permanently.”
“Nonsense!” he said firmly. “The official property transfer hasn’t taken place yet, so the cottage still belongs to the estate, which will pay for the repairs.”
She looked up at him, frowning. “The estate is you and you can’t afford it either. There are better uses for your money than one badly located cottage.”
“The location turned out to be more vulnerable than you thought, but the setting is also what makes the cottage so special,” he said. “Worth repairing. Use your savings for the trip to London and come back when Sea Cottage is ready for you.”
