Kitchen Witch

32 | Tales

The sky was still dark; the day had barely started, and it already held a stagnant heat with no wind in sight to blow it off. Riley started up his truck to head to the wharf, heading out even earlier than usual having been unable to sleep much the night before. It was a combination of worry over the current boat situation and frustration at how he had left things with Charlotte. 

He hadn't meant to be so closed off to have rushed off in such a hurry. This was all new territory for him, navigating a relationship, and he certainly wasn't going to start one asking for a handout. Nor did he need one. He had provided for himself from the time he was 14. 

No, he would figure this out, just like he always did by working hard. He had already talked to Finnegan Doyle, who captained a Tuna Crew out of North Lake, about joining the crew and lending a hand. He hoped to be on board any day now, and if luck was on his side, his share of a tuna would go a long way in solving his cash flow problems. In the meantime, he was headed to the usual wharf to pick up what work he could find. 

That's the thing the younger generation was missing. There was always work if you were willing.

Charlotte rapped on Old Man Murphy's door, taking note of the rather alarming number of crows gathered up in the tree next to his house. The island had a big population of blackbirds; she had never seen so many before moving here. But to see them all gathered like that in one tree, with the sun hidden behind the clouds made her shiver. She shook it off telling herself it was just another island thing as Old Man Murrary opened the door.

"Charlotte, what a pleasant surprise– please come in and I'll fix us a cuppa." He waved her in and shuffled her to the nearby kitchen.

The crows were quickly forgotten when she stepped inside. It was like stepping back in time and straight into an L.M. Montgomery novel. His late wife's touch of nostalgia was seen in the beautiful wallpaper prints, detailed woodworking and even a stained glass window. Charlotte reached out to touch the walls as she followed him into the kitchen. 

"I've brought you a new supply of cream; it should do you for a spell." She said, taking a seat at the kitchen table and admiring the floral oilcloth covering it.

"Just in time, I'm feeling the drop in pressure. These old bones are almost as reliable as my weather stick. A storm is brewing, that's for sure."

The crows outside began a cacophony of cawing in agreement, and Charlotte shivered again. She shook it off and ran her hand over the oilcloth as he passed her a cup of tea. "This tablecloth is beautiful; your whole home is Murray."

"That's all my Margaret's doing. She had a vision for the house the moment we saw it. I haven't changed a thing since her passing. Well, except for adding my recliner, oh how she would have balked at that eye sore."

Charlotte giggled, "You are very lucky to have had such love."

"Oh, I reckon you will soon find it, my dear." His eyes twinkled in mischievousness as he added, "Perhaps in the form of a bulking red-headed fisherman?"

Charlotte choked on her tea and tried to cover it up, pretending it was too hot. She set her cup down. "Have you always been this forward Murray? Plus, I may have fumbled that one up again." 

She went on to explain how he had reacted to her offering help. Murray sat, drinking his tea, letting her get it all out. She was surprised by just how easy it was to talk to him and by how much she had spilled out of her as she rambled on. So much so that her eyes began to well up. 

"It just seems that every time things begin to feel like they are working as I fit, I mess it up."

Murray reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out an old-fashioned handkerchief, and handed it to her. She accepted it but didn't want to ruin it with her tears. But as she choked back a sob and an embarrassing amount of snot from her nose, she quickly dabbed her face.