“What happened to that man?” said Miss Augusta, thinking ofthe plaintive waxy faces that had stared up from underneath the lighthousefloorboards. “What happens to any of them?”
“Quiet now, the child will hear you,” said the widow, andMiss Augusta turned and saw that Lilianne Eisner had parted the curtains justenough to peek out at them. “It isn’t our question to ask. The island settlesall that. It brings them here and does with them what it will.”
“Can’t we bring someone else?” Miss Augusta said helplessly.
The Widow Clary looked very stern then, her lips pursed, hereyes narrowed. “We’ve never had a family before,” she said. “But I knew as soonas they came that Branaugh would take the little girl before her mother orfather. It’s very sad. I’m sure you’ll say it’s unfair. Still—would you ratherit have been the father? Would that make you feel better?”
For a long time, Miss Augusta was silent. Lilianne Eisnerwas still at the window. If only she would close the curtain and retreat. Itwas too much, her dark eyes like stones in her pale malnourished face, herscalp white and pristine beneath her thinning thatch of black hair. She had thelook of a shell nearly emptied.
“What am I to do with them?” Miss Augusta whispered,at last.
“You must send them back to the lighthouse,” said the WidowClary. “And then we all must ask Branaugh for forgiveness.”
◊
All Branaugh danced again at midsummer, the fishermentrampling the black dune grass with their work boots and the children at lastscreaming some new song besides the tiresome February ditty. This time they hadno barefooted stranger among their number.
Miss Augusta did not look to the lighthouse tower at first,afraid that she would see someone there, more afraid she would not. When atlast the urge became irresistible and she lifted her eyes, the beatific glow ofthe lighthouse-eye nearly blinded her, and it was through a field of spots thatshe glimpsed two figures standing on the balcony. For a moment she thought shewas seeing Lilianne, but it was only Mr. and Mrs. Eisner, looking pale andslack, hanging limply on the railing like they would crumple if they let go.
Seized with the desire to speak, Miss Augusta paused, herlips parted, summoning words of apology. But before she could say anything,Mrs. O’Neill grasped her by the arm and flung her back into the fevered motionsof the dance, and Miss Augusta wanted to stop, but she was afraid that if shedid, she would be trampled.
Acknowledgements
First, many thanks toMichael Kelly for taking this collection on and walking me through thepublication process, and thanks to the entire team at Undertow Publications fortheir work on the book: Courtney Kelly provided important edits, and Vince Haigdesigned an absolute dream of a cover with art from Stephen Mackey.
Thanks to all the editors who have provided homes for mystories, especially Andy Cox at Black Static and Sean Wallace at TheDark. Thanks to Sheila Williams and Rick Wilber for starting my career withthe Dell Magazine Award. Thanks also to Diane Turnshek, the Alpha Workshopinstructors and staff of 2013, and the Alpha alumni community for an incredibleworkshop experience as well as ongoing support, feedback, and resources.
Thank you to my parents for their encouragement and theirconfidence in me, and to my mother in particular for all the library books.Thanks to Andrew, Rachel, and Zach for the imagination. And thank you to Joe:for loving me, and for finding the stories scary.
About the Author
Kay Chronister lives in Tucson, Arizona, where she iscompleting a PhD in Literature. Her fiction has appeared in venues such asClarkesworld, Strange Horizons, Shimmer, Black Static, Shadows & Tall Trees,and The Dark. This is her first collection.
Find her online at kaychronister.com.
