‘But we can’t afford it,’ Susannah had said.
‘There are scholarships,’ Mr Samuels had told her. ‘We can help you apply. Do you know where you would like to go?’
She had always known, but it seemed such a far-fetched fantasy she felt embarrassed as she told him.
‘Harvard!’ Mr Samuels raised his eyebrows. ‘I guess no harm in aiming high, but you should apply for other colleges too. You’ll need a tutor.’
That was when Mr Samuels had said he’d ask Mrs Matlock, the only resident woman on the island who’d ever been to college.
Susannah had been worried. She had no means of paying Mrs Matlock for her time, and she didn’t want to tell her mother about her application. What was the point of getting her all stirred up if she didn’t get in anyway?
‘I am sure Mrs Matlock can work out a way you could help her out in the library in payment,’ Mr Samuels had said to Susannah, as if sensing her anxiety.
Mrs Matlock had been a tutor beyond all Susannah’s expectations. She adored history as well, but also was very good at math, one of Susannah’s weaker subjects. The system was that she would set Susannah some tasks while the library was open, and then when it closed she’d go over Susannah’s answers before they both headed home for dinner. In return, Susannah worked in the library on Saturday mornings, refilling the shelves and helping Mrs Matlock organise the catalogue.
‘I’m so proud of you, Susannah,’ Mrs Matlock would often say, hand on her shoulder. ‘Just keep working hard; you’ve got this.’
Her words were bittersweet because Susannah so wished her mother could say the same.
Today, Susannah had set all her study aside at exactly five.
‘I’ve got to meet Kate,’ she explained to Mrs Matlock. ‘We’re going blueberry picking up at Amherst.’
‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Mrs Matlock said, picking up a stack of books left on Susannah’s table. ‘You deserve a break, Susannah. It’s nearly the holidays, and so warm outside.’
‘It’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow and we’re making her blueberry jelly,’ Susannah said, gathering her things.
‘Oh, my favourite,’ Mrs Matlock declared.
‘I’ll bring you a pot,’ Susannah said shyly.
She and Kate had planned to serve the blueberry jelly with pancakes in the morning. Ever since Daddy never came back, their mother struggled with birthdays. Spent the morning on her own in bed, crying, and then a frantic afternoon cleaning up as the Olsen clan – Gramps Olsen, Uncle Karl and Aunt Marjorie – would descend on the house in the evening with fresh lobster. They meant well, but it was a strain for them all. The same stories told about Daddy. From Gramps, about how Ronald had been the best darn baseball player the island had ever known. Fishing tales from Uncle Karl; in particular, the time their father had scooped Karl out of the freezing Atlantic Ocean, saving his younger brother’s life when he fell overboard.
Kate hated the visits as much as Susannah did, although for a different reason.
‘They’ll never let Mom go,’ Kate complained afterwards. ‘How’ll she find a new husband when the Olsens come over all the time?’
‘They’re our family, Kate!’ Susannah admonished her.
‘But remember when Jim Hadley would come over?’ Kate said.
‘Didn’t he just want Mom to make him some fishing nets?’
Kate rolled her eyes. ‘He asked her to marry him!’
Susannah had been stunned. How did Kate know this, and why had she no idea?
‘You’ve always got your head buried in a book,’ Kate explained to Susannah. ‘You never see anything going on. Even if it’s right in front of you.’
Susannah remembered the times Jim Hadley had come over, about a year before. It was true, he’d brought them way too many lobsters, and had seemed to need to talk to their mother about his fishing nets an awful lot.
‘Well, Mom said no, of course,’ Kate said. ‘And thank goodness, he’s not near good enough for her – but with the Olsens always hanging round, no other man on the island wants to come near her.’
Susannah hadn’t even considered their mother might find someone else. What she disliked about the Olsens’ visits was their pity. ‘Poor fatherless girls,’ on the lips of Gramps Olsen all the time. Aunt Marjorie would bring piles of either her ancient very old-fashioned clothes which hung off them, or even worse, cast-off dresses from her own girls, which was mortifying when everybody in school knew they were wearing Lottie and Laura Olsen’s hand-me-downs.
Outside the library now, Susannah stood up. That was it. She’d just have to gather the blueberries herself, although it was Kate who was bringing the containers for collecting them. However, just as she was crossing Atlantic Avenue, she heard her sister call her name. Turning around, she saw Kate running to catch up with her. To Susannah’s annoyance, by Kate’s side was Matthew Young, looking very pleased with himself as he carried the blueberry baskets.
There was no denying Matthew Young had matured into a very good-looking boy. Blue eyes, with tanned skin unmarked by any teenage spots, and fair hair, thick and curly. But Susannah still harboured a deep dislike for him.
‘Sorry, Susie,’ Kate said breathlessly as they caught up with her. ‘I bumped into Matthew and we got talking.’
‘You know I’ve got more study to do tonight,’ Susannah said, giving Matthew a scowl as she took one of the baskets from him.
‘But Matthew said he’d help us collect,’ Kate said as they followed the path into the woods.
Susannah felt even more annoyed now. This was something she and Kate did together every year. She didn’t want this boy being part of it. Kate was different when she was around boys. She could be quite giggly and silly, and it irritated Susannah because she knew Kate was cleverer than that. Why did she pretend to be dumb whenever she liked a boy?
There wasn’t room
