Chapter 15
I spot Katrine, Nora, and Johanna as soon as I walk into the ER waiting room. They sit huddled in a corner, arms crossed, faces somber.
Katrine sees me first. “Maggie,” she calls, waving me over.
“Are you okay?” I ask, embracing each girl.
“Yes, yes, we’re fine,” Nora answers.
“But Brady cut his hand,” Johanna adds. “On the window glass, trying to get us out of the cabin. It’s a pretty deep gash.”
We exchange knowing glances. This kind of injury could really affect Brady’s career. His hands are his livelihood.
“You were trapped inside?” I ask.
“The fire started at the front of the cabin, by the door,” Katrine explains. “So we couldn’t get out that way. That’s why Brady smashed the back window.”
“He saved our lives,” Nora adds.
“Is he okay?” I ask, my breath caught in my chest.
Katrine nods. “But he inhaled a good amount of smoke too.”
“How did this happen?” I ask.
Katrine’s nostrils flare. “It was Allen. He admitted to leaving the stove burner on again. He probably didn’t clean up well and something fell near the flame and just like that . . .” She snaps her fingers to demonstrate the quick action of the fire’s path.
“The kitchen is completely destroyed,” Nora adds, tears filling her eyes. “Our cabin and Brady’s cabin are in bad shape too. We lost all of our stuff. Our clothes, furniture, all of it.”
It’s surreal. Just two days ago, the cabins were both there, perfect. And now, they were gone. Just like Sean. Life changes in an instant.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“What will happen to the program?” Katrine says. “Without a kitchen, without Brady, we’re not sure it can continue. And we still have four weeks left.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Somehow, it will all work out.”
And I know that it will, just not how. After Sean’s death, it seemed impossible that life would go on, and yet it did.
It had to. I missed him every day, but somehow, life continued.
It still does. Here I am, five years later, rushing to the hospital to see Brady.
I’m here because we are new friends. But I am also here because I care about him in a way I didn’t think I could again after losing Sean.
“Is there another cabin for you girls to stay in?” I ask.
The girls shake their heads. “Gerry said he’s going to put some air mattresses in the game room for us, at least for tonight,” Katrine explains.
“Why don’t you come stay with us?” I quickly offer. “My aunt’s farmhouse has plenty of room.” I think about Rose, how she took in all those young women during the war.
“Would your aunt be okay with that?” Nora asks. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”
Though I’m newly reacquainted with Alice, I know her heart is big, open to helping others. And we certainly have the room, considering twelve girls lived there once upon a time.
“It would be our pleasure,” I say, thinking of all the things we’ll need: toothbrushes, pajamas, more food. “I think you’ll be more comfortable with us than on air mattresses in the game room.”
The girls all nod in agreement.
“Okay, then it’s settled,” I say. “Let me take you home.”
“Knock, knock,” I say, even though there is no door to Brady’s ER room. It’s just a space with a curtain on a track attached to the ceiling. “Is it okay I’m here?”
Brady lies in bed, his left hand lost in a mass of gauze. He looks a bit woozy, but manages a smile. “More than okay.” His voice is huskier than usual, probably from inhaling smoke. “But to be honest, I’m surprised to see you.”
“When I heard what happened, there was no other place I wanted to be.” I sit on the edge of his bed and take his unbandaged hand. “I wish we had gone on that picnic,” I start. “If I had just said yes, then . . .”
“Don’t. This would have happened whether we went or not. Allen was a disaster waiting to happen. I should have let him go after the first day, no matter who his father is.”
We sit silent for a beat.
“I have some good news,” I say. “The Scandinavian Trio is all set up at Alice’s for the night. They each have their own room. Gerry was going to make them sleep on air mattresses in the game room.”
He squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”
“They were here, you know. Keeping vigil in the waiting room.” I point toward the lobby.
“They were really worried about you. But the nurses said it would be a while, so I decided to take them back to the farmhouse and get them settled. They’ve had a rough night.
” I pause, look into his eyes. “I was really worried about you too. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I wanted to go on the picnic with you.
But I talked myself out of it. And I shouldn’t have. ” I pause. “I like you.”
He caresses the top of my hand with his thumb. “I like you too.”
We hold each other’s gaze.
“Do you know when you’re getting out of here?” I ask.
“A few hours? My oxygen levels are good, but they still want to do a chest x-ray.”
“You need a place to stay,” I say.
“I need a whole lot more than that. You heard the kitchen is gone, right?”
I nod. “Right now, you need your rest. You can worry about all that tomorrow.”
He narrows his eyes. “It is tomorrow.”
“I meant later today.” I smile. “When they discharge you, I’ll bring you back to Alice’s. We have a room for you too. And a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” he says.
I nod. But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking tonight.
I let my heart call the shots.
By nine the next morning, Alice, Hannah, and I have put together a buffet breakfast for our last-minute overnight guests.
Because they all went to bed late, we figured a relaxed, eat-whenever-you-get-up kind of breakfast seemed appropriate: French toast, scrambled eggs, and sausage links we keep warm in a crockpot, yogurt with granola and berries, biscuits with honey butter and Alice’s vanilla-rhubarb jam, fresh squeezed orange juice, and coffee.
We’ve put everything out on her kitchen island with a stack of plates and a Mason jar filled with utensils.
The coffee and juice sit in carafes on the counter with mugs and glasses nearby.
I went to bed late too. It was past 3:00 a.m. when Brady and I returned to the farmhouse. I fell asleep at some point, but my eyes shot open only a few hours later, my mind energized by the tasks ahead, including finally making French toast out of the challah I baked last night.
“Are they up yet?” Hannah asks, returning from the yard with a handpicked bouquet of clover and dandelions.
When we told her this morning about our guests—Brady and the three Scandinavian girls—she snapped into action to make them feel welcome.
She helped squeeze the juice and set out the plates, cutlery, and cups, then thought some fresh flowers would look nice on the buffet.
“Not yet,” I say.
Alice and Hannah put the flowers in a small white bud vase. When Hannah places it between the biscuits and the yogurt, I can see her natural talent for aesthetics. It’s exactly where I would have put it.
We hear heavy footsteps on the stairs. It must be Brady. My heartbeat quickens. After our talk last night, something changed between us. I feel it before he even enters the room.
“Good morning,” Hannah announces.
Brady smiles. “Good morning to you too.” He throws me a glance before fixing his eyes back on her. “You must be Hannah.” He offers his hand. His other hand is still wrapped in so much gauze it looks like a cast.
Hannah shakes it vigorously, like a bell. “And you must be Brady.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says.
“We made you breakfast.” Hannah gestures to the buffet. “There’s eggs and sausage and yogurt and biscuits.”
“I don’t think I can eat any of that,” Brady says.
Hannah frowns momentarily.
“It looks too good to eat,” he adds.
She smiles, catching on to his joke.
“Hannah, could you do me a favor?” he asks. “Will you grab one of those plates and hold it for me? You hold the plate, and I’ll put the food on it, okay?”
“Okay,” she says.
“Brady, I can fix your plate,” I offer.
“No, no. Hannah and I have it under control. Don’t we, Hannah?”
She bobs her head.
“Besides, I need to practice being one-handed,” he says.
Hannah watches him fill his plate like it’s the culminating sequence of a Rube Goldberg machine demonstration. When the plate is heaping, she takes it to the table, then sits beside him.
“I scrambled the eggs,” she says.
He takes a bite. “Oh, yes, perfectly scrambled.”
“And she also squeezed the juice,” I say, bringing him a glass. Our fingers touch briefly when I hand it off to him. It’s like being snapped by static electricity, except instead of wanting to pull my hand away, I want to reach out for more.
“Aren’t you gals going to eat?” Brady asks when we sit down.
“We sampled while we were cooking,” I say. “This is all for you and the girls. They’re still sleeping.”
“Who’s still sleeping?” Katrine asks as the Scandinavian Trio shuffles into the kitchen. They’re still in the pajamas I bought last night—from a big-box store two towns away, the only place open past midnight.
“Good morning,” I say. “I was hoping you’d sleep late and get your rest.”
Nora and Johanna yawn and head straight for the coffee while Katrine introduces herself to Hannah, who smiles at them with starry eyes, like they’re the big sisters she always wanted.
As they fill their plates with food, Katrine addresses Brady. “Professor Shaw, we were wondering, is the camp over? Should we start booking flights back home?”
Brady sighs. “I hope not. But I just don’t know how we move forward from here. I’m definitely not in top shape for culinary instruction.” He lifts his bandaged hand. “I don’t want to cancel the camp, but we don’t have a working kitchen.”
A solution suddenly dawns on me: Alice’s commercial kitchen. It’s bigger than the camp kitchen, really the perfect space. Are there times when no one is using it? Could the students come to the farmhouse for classes the next few weeks? Could Brady and the girls just stay here during that time?
I’ll need to talk to Alice first.
“Well, whatever happens,” Katrine starts, “we just want to say thank you—Maggie and Alice—for being so kind to us, for taking us in.”
“It was nice having my own room,” Johanna adds. “This house is enormous.”
“It’s like it was meant to be a hotel or a bed-and-breakfast,” Nora notes.
I smile. “Well, actually, it was, once upon a time.”
I tell them quickly about the ledger, the history of the boardinghouse, and my plan to apply for the National Register of Historic Places.
Katrine’s eyes light up. “Could I see the ledger?”
“Of course,” I say. “I’m surprised, though. Not everyone your age is into stuff like that.”
“Katrine loves anything old and musty,” Johanna jokes.
“It’s true.” Katrine laughs. “That’s why I’m studying history next year at the university.”
I cock my head. “Really? I just assumed from our conversation the other day, when you said you wanted to be a pastry chef, that you were going into a culinary-arts program.”
She smiles and shrugs. “Well, that too. I plan to work in a bakery while I attend school.” She throws Brady a look. “I don’t want to give up either. I love them both.”
I admire her confidence. She seems too young to be so self-assured.
“So when did you graduate from high school?” Alice asks.
“Last year,” Nora answers for the group.
“You didn’t want to go to college right away?” I ask.
“That is typical in the US,” Katrine explains.
“To go to university immediately after high school. But for us, it’s different.
Most of us take a gap year, or even two, after secondary school.
In fact, it is encouraged. To take time to travel, explore, figure out what you want to do in life, what you’re passionate about.
Maybe take up a new hobby. This is our gap year. ”
A gap year. I’d heard the term, but never knew it was so popular in Scandinavia.
I wonder how many Americans would take a gap year if offered.
It sounds intriguing, like a quintessential backpacking-through-Europe experience.
And it also sounds lazy and unmotivated and off task.
The ingrained American attitude, I know.
We think taking a break of any kind is a sign of weakness.
Or maybe that’s just my mom’s influence.
“That sounds wonderful,” Alice says.
I nod. “Right now, I’d settle for a gap month or gap summer.”
“But isn’t that what you’re doing here in St. John’s Ferry?” Katrine presses. “Aren’t you here to explore? To find your passion?”
My eyes meet Brady’s briefly. I’m going back to work on Monday, I want to say. This is temporary. Nothing really changes after I leave.
“That wasn’t my intention,” I say instead.