8. Elodie
EIGHT
ELODIE
“Do you think these stitches look crooked?” Kit leaned over, holding a wooden embroidery hoop out to me.
The beige canvas stretched over the small circle.
The historical society was not only the women who kept the lore of the Lady alive, but a social club steeped in local history.
They were responsible for maintaining any records of the Lady and ensuring her memory was kept very much alive.
Every few months, as a social project, they took on learning a new skill, doing all the things women in history might do: quilting, dance lessons, croquet.
Their current project was learning needlepoint.
Kit’s hoop was stretched tight with a series of small X ’s printed on black fabric. If I squinted hard enough, I could make out where the floral border would be and a phrase in the center.
“What will it say?” I whispered.
Kit could barely contain her giggle. “It will read Please don’t do coke in the bathroom .”
A sputtering laugh escaped me as we both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Ribbing her with a poke of my elbow, I gave my sister my most serious look. “That is hideous and totally inappropriate.”
She beamed, dimples flashing. “Thank you!” She gestured toward Selene. “So is hers.”
Selene’s angelic face lifted. Her brows were creased in concentration as her attention focused on us.
“Go on,” Kit prodded. “Show her.”
With a sly smile, Selene flipped her hoop around. From a distance, it was much easier to make out what she was creating.
A wreath of delicate flowers along the bottom cradled the long, beak-nosed mask of a plague doctor with the words Wash Thy Accursed Hands arched over the top.
I had missed this—the silly camaraderie of sisterhood that the Keepers seemed to bring out in everyone.
It felt like slipping into a warm, well-worn sweater—frayed in places, but still cozy.
Or maybe I just wanted it to feel like home.
I wanted to slot back in like I’d never left, like I hadn’t spent years chasing a life that suddenly didn’t fit anymore.
I was already behind in my needlepoint, but Helen assured me that after a few practice hoops, I’d get the hang of it.
I poked my needle through the canvas, stabbing myself in the finger. “Shit!” I sucked the tip of my finger, gently biting down to distract me from the pain. Needlepoint was officially on my enemies list, right next to humidity, Cal Blackwood, and feral raccoons.
Tara Smithton drew my attention. “So, Ellie. How are things going at the farm? We’re all so excited to see what you do with the place.”
With my finger still in my mouth, I abandoned my hopeless needlepoint practice. “It’s good.” I smiled, excited to talk about my new project. “It really is amazing how quickly things get done with a little help and a lot of money.”
Tara was one of my mother’s best friends and the town’s beloved librarian. Mom and Tara had grown up together, and each had created a family in the very town they’d been born in. Her light auburn hair was cropped short in a no-frills bob, her wispy bangs framing a kind face.
“She’s back after all this time,” she clucked. Tara leaned into my mother, bumping her side. “You must be so proud, Angela.”
My eyes flicked to my mother, who smiled at me.
We shared the same green eyes and brown hair, though hers was more wiry and wild, like Kit’s.
Her dimple was deeper on the right side, and I could pull up the memory of sinking a fingertip into it as a little girl, wishing I had inherited just one from her.
“No matter what Ellie does, it’s done with gusto.” Humor and pride swirled together like sweet cream churning into my favorite morning coffee.
Mom was soft and strong. She and Daddy were the roots that kept my family grounded so each of the Darling siblings could find our own wings to fly.
They were the sole reason I was wholly unafraid to jump into anything with both feet.
No matter what, I knew they’d be there to dust me off if everything blew up in my face.
Mom winked at me before returning her attention to the embroidery hoop in her hands.
I had missed her. My parents were the kind of steady, good-hearted people who made you believe anything was possible.
It was probably their fault I kept barreling headfirst into impossible ideas, like rescuing this long-forgotten farm.
When I poked myself a third time, I groaned, dropping the hoop into my lap once again. “I officially give up.”
Helen chuckled from across the circle. Over time, she had become the heart of the Star Harbor Historical Society.
Helen had a knack for fusing our town’s little social club into a historical society that was the backbone of Star Harbor.
I just couldn’t believe she could stand to work with such a cantankerous man as Callum.
I stretched my back as soft conversations folded over me.
The meeting room in the library had been updated since I had last seen it, but it had retained its vintage charm.
Oil paintings and framed newspaper clippings hung around the room—most related to the town’s families and our infamous ghost story.
I sighed, wondering aloud, “Don’t you think it’s kind of sad?”
A strange chill curled down my spine as I stared at the faded newspaper clipping. It wasn’t just sad—it felt wrong. Like a puzzle missing too many pieces to ever see the full picture.
Selene looked up from her lap. “What?”
I gestured toward one of the faded newspaper articles. “The poor woman’s likeness is plastered all over town, and no one even knows her name.”
My sister hummed. “I never thought about it like that.”
“Well, that is mildly depressing,” Kit quipped.
I had grown up with the legend, same as everyone else, but something about it hit differently now.
Maybe it was the way her face was everywhere, but no one actually knew her .
Or maybe it was because, for the first time, I was looking at the land around me as something I was responsible for—not just as a pretty backdrop to my childhood.
Helen hummed as she continued working on her project with a smile, until curiosity got the best of me. “Ms. Helen, what do we know about the Lady, really ? ”
Helen’s dark-brown eyes crinkled at the edges. Her mother had once been a Keeper, and over time, Helen had assumed the role of matriarch to the tight-knit little club.
“Legends change over time.” Helen’s voice was low, holding an eerie edge as she continued to work on her needlepoint.
“Oftentimes it’s difficult to parse out fact from fiction, but we do know that our Lady would have been young—no more than her early twenties, most likely.
It’s common belief that she was mourning a lost love—perhaps a sailor tragically lost at sea. ”
Beside me, Kit sighed wistfully.
“But who was she?” I pressed.
Helen smiled and set her hoops aside before rising. In the corner of the meeting room, Helen opened a cabinet and pulled out a thick scrapbook. It was old and weathered, with small scraps of paper peeking out at the edges.
“Inside is everything we know.” Helen placed the heavy book on a small table and opened it.
“In 1903, a young woman’s body was found on the dunes.
She wore a locket with the initials A.L.
engraved on it, but there was no mention of the woman’s true identity.
The Keepers have gone through many archives and believe that she was likely Alma Lovell.
” Helen flipped to another page in the book.
“We found an engagement announcement that mentions the pending marriage for a young Alma and William Lovell.”
All eyes were glued to Helen as her soft voice wove a tale of tragic young love.
“Was it William who was lost at sea?” Selene asked, knowing the legend of the Lady often whispered of a lover lost to the tides.
Helen’s bony shoulder lifted. “It’s possible. There are no other records of a William Lovell that we have ever found. It seems he disappeared right alongside his lovesick bride-to-be.”
I frowned, letting the story settle over me. Call me a cynic, but a young girl is found dead and her boyfriend mysteriously disappears? Something dark and uneasy scratched at my brain.
“The Drifted Spirit was once a family home, owned by a rather successful businessman, Louis Barker. He would have been a multimillionaire by today’s standards.
He built what is now the inn as his family home and owned all the land around it.
No one really knows what secrets those walls are keeping, or what’s buried in the land.
” Helen’s gaze settled on me as an unsettling wave of discomfort rolled through me.
The history of Stan’s beloved farm may be more than I bargained for.
My plan had been simple, though maybe not entirely well thought out—fix up the farm, bring people in, prove that Stan and the farm were still worth loving.
Suddenly it felt like I was stepping into something bigger—something with roots tangled deep beneath the soil.
My throat was thick, but I swallowed hard. “I love that,” I lied, unsure why my voice sounded like peanut butter over sandpaper.
My mother reached for my hand and squeezed, offering silent support. “Elodie knows what she’s doing. Working with Stan, bringing a piece of Star Harbor history back to life ... I know I’m not the only one who’s excited to see what she comes up with.”
Mom winked at me and a slow exhale escaped my lips.
My heart pounded. “I think as long as I can get people to take a chance on visiting the farm, they’ll absolutely love it.” I could see every detail perfectly as my uncertainty started to dissolve.
“All I need is time ... and money, but Stan assured me he was on board. Whatever it takes.” I looked around the room, knowing I needed the Keepers to stand behind me. “I won’t forget the Lady, I promise. I’m doing this for Stan, but also for our community.”
“You can lean into the lore. Draw in more curious tourists,” Kit offered.