“Mum, we think we’re ready to take a wee walk on the beach. It’s not too far, we will be back soon,” Oliver said. His voice cracked when he said we will be back. In his honesty, he didn’t want Fenella to go. They’d only just met, and their experiences in only three days had brought them so close together.
Fenella looked to the floor as well. It would be terribly difficult to leave a new friend. “You see, our wounds have healed well enough for both of us to walk!” she pleaded with Bridget.
“Oh alright. It seems I can’t win. Oliver, stay safe. And pray, Fenella, don’t lose your shoes this time. I still want to hear the story how you lost them the first time. Oh–and if anything happens to either of you again, you’ll be locked inside unless you are accompanied by an adult, yeah?” Bridget was less than pleased to see them leaving again, but their wounds healed so quickly.
Her husband joined her at the kitchen table where she knitted and looked at her until she met his gaze. “You know,” he said, “Oliver hasn’t been so adventurous until Miss Fenella appeared. Where do you think she comes from?” He paused. “Do you think she will bring them bad omens?”
Bridget bit her lip and tears rolled down her round, flour-dusted cheeks. “I thought I might lose my lad. I can’t do it. We should follow them.” Her husband took her hand and led her to the door. What they expected to see and what would follow were hardly similar.
A wool cape covered Bridget’s aching shoulders as she strode in the cold winds that arose that evening, her protective husband in tow. They could see only the Fenella’s bouncing, red locks from the distance they followed, and they made sure to keep their torch low. Bridget looked back, affirming that they were definitely headed to the shore. Then her heart melted and she couldn’t help but smile. She stopped suddenly and took her husband’s hand again, pointing toward the pair on the beach. Oliver slipped his hand behind Fenella’s as they walked under the moonlight.