I'm really touched and honoured at all your kind words... I can't express how much they mean to me. I really hope you continue to enjoy this story. Please be aware that the first chapter is rather upsetting in parts - and please be assured that things get better for her after this
Chapter 1: A Fresh Start
Constance was vexed. She had been woken from an uncomfortable and dream-filled sleep by the bright rays of the sun glaring down on her, warming her even through the sodden material of her dress. The beach was damp and hard beneath her, and as she moved her head, she heard the crunch of sand in her ears. Seaweed was tangled in her clothes and in her hair. Worst of all, she was still alive, and therefore had no choice but to deal with the situation.
After Joseph Cabot was lost at sea, ten years earlier, her mother had wandered around like a lost soul. She had stopped tending her garden, stopped cleaning the house or herself, even stopped cooking. It was alarming to see how quickly that strong, capable woman wilted under the pressure of loss and survival. Jeb and his wife Jeanne had offered help, but eventually stopped trying, as Marie rebuffed all aid, wanting only to be left alone.
Constance had been similarly afflicted. One by one, fearing that their attempts at comfort would do more harm than good, her friends had dropped away. Why should they still want to be friends when she was so dull to be around, she had thought to herself. She stopped going to school, instead wandering endlessly over the headlands and beaches of the Islands, always careful to avoid the part of the coast where her father had drowned. The wreck of the ship was still lying on the rocks there. Connie thought with bitterness of the children her father had rescued. Why should they have survived, where her own father had not?
She went from being a happy, kind child, to slowly fading like a flower in darkness. Her adolescent years passed in a blur of loneliness and confusion. She remembered her father’s phantom visit, but as the years went by, she persuaded herself that it was the fevered imagining of a grieving, exhausted child trying to comfort herself. As if she could live a happy life without her beloved father, and with her mother almost a ghost herself! The very idea was preposterous. Constance was still too young to know how to deal with her bereavement, too absorbed in her own sadness to remember that loss touched every life eventually and that the living must continue on and learn to bear their burden and eventually be happy again. Her mother, without support, and wandering through the shadowlands of bereavement, had been unable to show her the way through the darkness back into the light, although she loved her child as tenderly as ever. It had not helped that, after Joseph’s death, they had had to give up the warm, comfortable cottage, and move into a shack on the edges of town. Instead of waking up to the sun rising over the harbour, they now looked out to a crowded, muddy street. People were kind, if often noisy and occasionally rough, but they eventually left the sad woman and woebegone girl alone in their fog of grief.
As Constance slipped unnoticed into womanhood, her mother passed away quietly and uncomplainingly, glad at last to be with her beloved husband again and to be done with the harsh demands of life. Connie was left completely alone with the world. She had a small amount of money, which her father had saved, and her mother had insisted that they leave alone. “He wanted to give you this to buy a patch of land or for a wedding or summat, and I’ll not cross his wishes,” she had said. However, it was not enough to live on.
After her mother’s funeral, Constance took a long hard look at her life, and she did not like what she saw. She had no skills to speak of, no friendly relatives to turn to. She had little money, no job, and the little education she had was not enough to be of any use in finding work. Soon enough, she had nowhere to live either. Her landlord had made it clear how she could pay the rent, but she fled in shock and disgust at the idea. She ran and ran without caring where she was headed, and only stopped when there was no further to run. Unwittingly, she had headed straight to the point where the Mary Rose had foundered ten years ago. It was still visible on the rocks below. In despair, and hardly thinking, but feeling that she could no longer bear the pain of waking up in the same fog that she had spent the last years, Connie flung herself into the sea. She sank quickly, her skirts filling with water. In her last conscious moments, she glimpsed a flash of green moving through the water, and felt a smooth warm body brush past her, before darkness filled her eyes.
She should be dead. And yet. Here she was on a beach, in the same position as she had been the previous day, except now she was sodden, and could taste nothing but saltwater; objectively, she was even worse off now. She sat up, and seeing no reason to move, stayed where she was. The waves lapped at the shore, a few short feet away from her. Their ceaseless rhythmic washing was strangely soothing. She listened to them until the morning sun was high in the sky, and peace crept slowly over her. The words slipped into her mind, as if spoken into her ear: “This too shall pass.” It sounded vaguely familiar, and comforted her somewhat. Still she sat, deciding what to do next. She no longer felt the deep numbness of despair she had been gripped by. Rather, she felt empty but more tranquil than she had for years. The waves still brushed the shore. The sun would sink, but would rise again. And she was still alive. Suddenly gripped with resolve, she stood. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she remembered the words of Joseph’s ghost.
“You have a gift for life, child, and you must use it.”
She had made a mess of her own life so far, but she was still young, and who knew about the future? After all, life took many forms. And she would start nurturing it. Perhaps she would start with a lettuce, or a tomato. They were alive, although only plants. She could do little harm, even if they failed to grow. And as it was summer, some time spent living outdoors would scarcely harm her. She would decide what to do about winter when it came. Worrying about the future was futile, she decided; it would arrive whether she bade it or no, and the more she worried, the more vexed she would be and all to no real purpose.
Her eye caught a small creature, trotting determinedly towards her over the sand, as if in answer to her new resolution. As it got closer, she realised it was a puppy; nearing her, it tripped and tumbled over its own over-large paws. She was startled by the noise that followed, until she realised it was her own laughter. She barely recognised the sound, it had been so long since she had heard it. Well, and why not laugh? What were puppies for, if not to laugh over and be enjoyed? The little scrap was painfully thin, she saw, but it was obviously hardy and full of energy. Its fur was matted with salt water, like her own dress, and she guessed that a farmhand had been ordered to drown an unwanted litter. This little mite had survived the sea, as she had, and had sought her out, and she would not refuse it. Connie picked the puppy up and held it close, and was startled by the sudden rush of warmth and affection that came with the acceptance of responsibility for another’s well-being. She stood up straight, and headed towards the shore. She would use her bit of money to buy that patch of land ahead of her. And they would stay there. And she would live.
