Read Online The Island of Doves by Kelly O'Connor McNees - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kelly O'Connor McNees
Ads: Link
possible, but the path seemed fraught with dangers at every turn. And yet these people wanted to help her try.
Why?
He nodded his good-bye at her and put his hand on the door.
“Mr. Connolly,” Susannah said, and he paused. “You aren’t supposed to know about me, but might I know something about you?” She felt her voice break open in her throat. “Why would you want to help me?”
He thought for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, to your first question, there’s nothing much to tell. I work in the yard down below, fixing up the boats. At times there’s work loading and unloading the cargo.” At that, he paused for a minute. But he wouldn’t meet her eyes when he continued.
“And as for helping you, well . . . my da was a hard man. A hard man to my ma. I couldn’t help her enough before she died. So it comforts me to help someone like you.” Mr. Connolly stopped short. “I’m under strict orders from the sister to deliver you here. In the morning, the innkeeper’s wife will come to the room and tell you where to go. Don’t open the door for anyone else. Now, let’s try the lock.” He went out into the hallway and waited.
The lock on the door was crude—a simple strip of iron with a slot in the wooden door frame—but the sound it made as Susannah slid it into place was comforting. Mr. Connolly waited to try the door and, once satisfied it would hold, called his muffled good-bye and was gone.
Only then did Susannah notice that the stench of the room was so intense that she could hardly breathe. With her back pressed against the wall, she reached over and pushed open one of the shutters to let in the cold air. She turned to the bed and grasped the blankets, giving them a good shake, and tried not to see the cockroaches that spilled on the floor and scuttled toward the darkness beneath the bed.
Susannah’s body was tired, but her mind hummed like a hive. She lay down on the bed, taking a deep breath to calm it. She wondered what Marjorie was doing—washing dishes? Edward would be home by now from Black Rock, would have found her missing. Where would he start his search for her? It all seemed surreal and dangerous, and she found herself praying for the lock on the door, that God would strengthen it, strengthen her own heart for whatever lay ahead.
Sometime in the early dawn, the rhythm of Susannah’s ruminations must have lulled her to sleep, for she woke with a start to the sound of someone banging on a pot in the hallway.
“Coffee’s on,” a weary woman’s voice croaked out. “Get up, alla’ you, now. Time to settle up payment and get on your way.” The woman made her way down the hall, banging on each door with her spoon.
Susannah sat up in bed, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped the shawl around them. A great commotion began; she heard yawning and mumbles of “good morning,” boots on the bare floorboards, shutters opening. A dog barked viciously in the yard.
At the end of the hallway, the woman banged the pot again. “Ten cents extra for every one of you who’s late getting out,” she called, and the pace of preparations quickened.
A door opened and a woman shrieked with laughter. “Jesus Christ, Michael Carp—your willy’s hanging outta your pants. Wake up, man.”
The men in the hallway hooted and laughed as they passed Susannah’s closed door in one mass and made their way down the narrow staircase toward the smell of fried bread.
It grew quiet on the floor and Susannah sat still, waiting. Her mouth began to water and she realized she hadn’t had a thing to eat in almost a day. She stood and approached the door, listening. Footsteps in the hallway startled her, and she backed toward the bed.
The spoon tapped gently on her door. “It’s all right, girl. You don’t have to be afraid. Gather yourself and come on out. I’m to see that you get on the steamer.”
Susannah hesitated. “I don’t have any money,” she said through
Why?
He nodded his good-bye at her and put his hand on the door.
“Mr. Connolly,” Susannah said, and he paused. “You aren’t supposed to know about me, but might I know something about you?” She felt her voice break open in her throat. “Why would you want to help me?”
He thought for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, to your first question, there’s nothing much to tell. I work in the yard down below, fixing up the boats. At times there’s work loading and unloading the cargo.” At that, he paused for a minute. But he wouldn’t meet her eyes when he continued.
“And as for helping you, well . . . my da was a hard man. A hard man to my ma. I couldn’t help her enough before she died. So it comforts me to help someone like you.” Mr. Connolly stopped short. “I’m under strict orders from the sister to deliver you here. In the morning, the innkeeper’s wife will come to the room and tell you where to go. Don’t open the door for anyone else. Now, let’s try the lock.” He went out into the hallway and waited.
The lock on the door was crude—a simple strip of iron with a slot in the wooden door frame—but the sound it made as Susannah slid it into place was comforting. Mr. Connolly waited to try the door and, once satisfied it would hold, called his muffled good-bye and was gone.
Only then did Susannah notice that the stench of the room was so intense that she could hardly breathe. With her back pressed against the wall, she reached over and pushed open one of the shutters to let in the cold air. She turned to the bed and grasped the blankets, giving them a good shake, and tried not to see the cockroaches that spilled on the floor and scuttled toward the darkness beneath the bed.
Susannah’s body was tired, but her mind hummed like a hive. She lay down on the bed, taking a deep breath to calm it. She wondered what Marjorie was doing—washing dishes? Edward would be home by now from Black Rock, would have found her missing. Where would he start his search for her? It all seemed surreal and dangerous, and she found herself praying for the lock on the door, that God would strengthen it, strengthen her own heart for whatever lay ahead.
Sometime in the early dawn, the rhythm of Susannah’s ruminations must have lulled her to sleep, for she woke with a start to the sound of someone banging on a pot in the hallway.
“Coffee’s on,” a weary woman’s voice croaked out. “Get up, alla’ you, now. Time to settle up payment and get on your way.” The woman made her way down the hall, banging on each door with her spoon.
Susannah sat up in bed, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped the shawl around them. A great commotion began; she heard yawning and mumbles of “good morning,” boots on the bare floorboards, shutters opening. A dog barked viciously in the yard.
At the end of the hallway, the woman banged the pot again. “Ten cents extra for every one of you who’s late getting out,” she called, and the pace of preparations quickened.
A door opened and a woman shrieked with laughter. “Jesus Christ, Michael Carp—your willy’s hanging outta your pants. Wake up, man.”
The men in the hallway hooted and laughed as they passed Susannah’s closed door in one mass and made their way down the narrow staircase toward the smell of fried bread.
It grew quiet on the floor and Susannah sat still, waiting. Her mouth began to water and she realized she hadn’t had a thing to eat in almost a day. She stood and approached the door, listening. Footsteps in the hallway startled her, and she backed toward the bed.
The spoon tapped gently on her door. “It’s all right, girl. You don’t have to be afraid. Gather yourself and come on out. I’m to see that you get on the steamer.”
Susannah hesitated. “I don’t have any money,” she said through
Similar Books
