Chapter Seven
Patience, like Connie before her, loved spending time in the kitchen with her parents. However, where Connie had revelled in being outside, and had loved the kitchen because it was where her mother was to be found, Patience felt happiest when surrounded by the four walls that she knew so well. There was always something interesting there – whether it was Seal asleep under the table, Starfish begging for scraps, her father excitedly describing the aesthetic beauty of the fish he had caught, or Connie stewing vegetables. Privately, she thought that the vegetables might taste better if Connie left them raw, rather than trying to cook them, but she kept this thought to herself, and asked Connie to teach her how to cook. This could have been like asking Queen Victoria to show her how to sweep floors, but Patience wisely treated her mother the way that Connie treated Peter, and allowed her to think that it was all her own idea to add a pinch of spice to a cake, or a handful of flour to thicken the soup.
Connie, while she could tend her garden with unflagging interest and tenderness, would often forget about the pot bubbling on the stove until a thick black smoke filled the house, so Patience quickly grew to recognise the smell of the edge of burning, and rescued many a pot by dragging it off the heat in the nick of time. Peter was effusively complimentary about Connie’s improved cooking, which would have hurt Patty’s feelings, had he not tipped her the ghost of a wink before telling Connie how incredibly proud he was of her culinary skills.
Peter had predicted truly when he told Connie that their child would look like her; indeed, the two only grew more similar as time went by. The only discernible difference was that instead of Connie’s clear blue eyes, Patty had green eyes. Neither Peter nor Connie could remember any of their family having eyes the colour of trees reflected in the sea, but occasionally, when Patience’s eyes caught the light, Connie was reminded of a dark night long ago, when she had decided that she could go on no longer, and had been pushed to shore by…. what, exactly? She never entertained these thoughts too long, preferring instead to concentrate on admiring her daughter’s distinctive eye colour.
And whilst Connie and her daughter were both down-to-earth in their own fashion, it could not be denied that Patience was far more practical in many ways. It was Patience who noticed when the stove or sink needed cleaning, and cleaned it upon the instant, chuntering happily to herself or Seal. It was Patience that, as she had vowed, trained Starfish, until he was every bit the hunter his father was, with the same propensity for bringing back valuables. “I should have called you Pirate” she said lovingly to him one day, as he dropped an ancient looking gold piece in front of her. And it was Patience who gradually took over the household cooking. Connie barely noticed that she spent less and less time at the stove, as her garden absorbed her – a fact which probably explained the quality of her cooking.
Patience was, above all, an ordinary child. She had ordinary brown hair and freckles. She was domestic by nature, prone to gossiping with her friends in the schoolyard, diligent in her housework, practical in her outlook, and reasonably well-behaved. Patience enjoyed her mother’s tales, but she did not believe in ghosts. When she thought about them, which wasn’t very often, she thought that they were probably the result of not dusting enough, and eating cheese too late in the evening. So, when she woke up one night to find a ghost in her bedroom, she assumed that she was in fact dreaming.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave,” she announced straight away. “I don’t believe in ghosts, and I’m certain that this is a dream, but I’m afraid you’re making the place look dusty.”
The apparition chuckled.
“So like your mam ye look. I’ll wager ye make her and your pa as happy as she made me and Marie.”
Patience was not easily silenced, and she ploughed on, “I do not mean to be impertinent, sir, but you are dripping on the floor, and I will have to mop that up, so please, if you would be so kind, could you move along?”
“I thought this were all a dream?” The phantom chuckled again “Ye won’t have to do no mopping, dearie, dream or no – this is wraith water, and will be gone as soon as I am. Drowned, I did, and I carry the memory still.”
Patience could think of nothing to say to this, so merely responded politely “I am terribly sorry to hear that sir, I do hope you are feeling better now.”
The apparition, who laughed more than Patience thought any ghost would, guffawed at this.
“That’s a good girl. I feel no pain now, so fret not, pretty child. I wanted to tell ye summat. Ye be a good girl, Patty, and ye’ll be a good woman too, I think. Connie needs ‘ee, Patty. She don’t know it yet, she’s half forgotten what I told her years back, but she’ll remember soon enough. She’s all well and good when it comes to the outdoors – there’s not a blade of grass on this island she hasn’t trod. And what she don’t know about gardening ain’t worth knowing. And that father of yourn – he’s all well and good when it comes to fishing and pictures and whatnot. But it needs to come together child, d’ye see?”
“Yes,” Patience lied.
“Nonsense. Ye think I’m speaking blather. Tell me the truth now: d’ye see?”
“No, sir, I do not know what you are talking about, and I think that I have dreamed enough – this is sounding too fantastical.” Patty was losing patience with the ghost.
“Tell the truth and shame the devil! Well done Patty,” the ghost said gently. “But ye will see. Ye will make the dish that preserves life. Yer father and mother, with their fishing and their vegetables, are halfway there, and there’s few enough that could get that far. But ye’ll need to bring it together, Patty. Don’t forget now.”
“I won’t forget,” said Patience fervently. Dream or not, she knew she would remember this visitation.
“Good lass. Oh, and I’ve a message for Connie too. Tell her to remember what I said about the graveyard. Tell her there’s treasure there for them as care to seek it. One treasure for her, and one for yer father. Can you remember that? Will ‘ee tell her?” The ghost was fading, and the voice was sounding more hollow every word.
“I will tell her,” said Patience.
“Good lass. Ye’ll be fine, I know….”
Patience was left alone in the dark room. She was not afraid, for she had felt no hint of malice or ill-will in what she believed to be her dream. She fell asleep, more puzzled than troubled, still wondering what she had seen.
In the bright light of day, Patience decided not to mention her dream to her parents just yet. True, she had promised the wraith she would tell her mother about the graveyard, and she was not given to breaking promises lightly, but as the day wore on, she decided that it had just been a particularly memorable dream, and after all, who could make a promise to a dream? Foolish thoughts were best chased away with practical work, and so she got dressed briskly, and went to scrub the already-gleaming cooking pots.
