Read Online Fog Magic by Julia L. Sauer - Free Book Online

reminded herself that time meant nothing in Blue Cove.
    â€œWhy, Greta, you’ve been running,” Mrs. Morrill laughed. “Did you see a bear in the clearing? Ronnie and Edgar saw one a week ago near the Sentinel Rocks, and Guy saw one yesterday when he brought the mail down. But they never do you any harm.”
    â€œI’m just glad to be here, that’s all,” Greta told her. Mrs. Morrill smoothed back her hair with the quick stroke that Greta liked.
    â€œI see,” was all she said but she looked at Greta closely. “You are growing up,” she added as if she had only just noticed it. “When will you be twelve?”
    Greta was troubled. “In the fall,” she answered. “But why did you ask me—just that way, Mrs. Morrill? I mean—you didn’t ask me how old I was—but when I’d be twelve.”
    Mrs. Morrill dropped down into the Loyalist rocker and drew Greta to her. She did not try to explain what lay back in her own childhood that made her so sure Greta was under twelve.
    â€œDon’t you want to be twelve?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Greta said honestly. “I always think of my birthdays as a flight of stairs,” she went on a little shyly. “Up to twelve it’s been fun to look up. But after twelve—the stairs turn. I can’t see around the bend.”
    â€œI know,” Mrs. Morrill said. “Not now, you can’t. But when you get to that twelfth step you will be able to see ‘around the bend,’ as you put it. Seeing ahead, or looking ahead—is something we do with our hearts—it takes nothing but time and courage. The one is given to us; the other we must provide.” It was never so much what Mrs. Morrill said as the quiet, understanding way in which she spoke that Greta found comforting. And now she let all vague dread of the dignity and importance of being twelve slip from her.
    â€œThat’s right,” Mrs. Morrill smiled approvingly as she watched Greta’s face brighten. “And now I have something to tell you. Princess has had some kittens since you were here,” she said. “I’d like you to have one when they are older. They haven’t got their eyes open yet but you can see them next time you come.”
    â€œOh, I’d love a kitten—specially one of Princess’s!” Greta was delighted until a thought came to her. “Could I—could I keep it—do you think?” she asked. The same thought must have crossed Mrs. Morrill’s mind, too, because she said “Oh” and then hesitated. “Well, we’ll think about it,” she added. “But you had better run along now to find Retha. She’s down at the shore. Something must have happened down there, I guess. I heard Burton and Kelsey calling her to come a while back.”
    Down on the beach it was very quiet. Greta passed two ox teams left standing in the middle of the road; the smith had left his forge and the store was empty. She ran out onto the wharf. Here they all were, gathered in groups or pacing slowly up and down—an unusually silent throng of men and children looking out to sea. She found Retha among them.
    â€œRetha,” she whispered, “what’s happened? Has there been an accident?”
    â€œNo,” Retha told her. “But, can you see? There’s a big vessel standing off shore. And we don’t know what she is.”
    Greta could just make out a vague pattern of masts and spars where Retha was pointing. “Yes, I can see,” she said. “But why is everyone so—so kind of—solemn?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Retha whispered back. “It’s funny, isn’t it? But the men seem to think there’s something strange about her. They’ve sent a dory out to see what she is. Old Mr. Morehouse has gone, and two others. They say she’s too big to land at this wharf even if it