Chapter 7
Ella fumed as Leif steered his boat into the channel.
She wasn’t a tourist! And did he really think she cared about her nails?
She was perfectly capable of taking the dinghy out on her own, if she wanted to.
She almost spluttered as she thought about teaching herself to play guitar like Patti Smith, making her own distinctive clothes, and performing on Pearl Street Mall.
People even threw money into her guitar case.
If she could do all that as a teenager, she could certainly master a dinghy now!
She channeled her anger by grabbing a broom and vigorously sweeping the patio as she aimed skeptical looks at the ocean. Taking a dinghy out in the channel went against everything she’d been taught and come to fear about the water. Mormor had always said that water swallowed people.
She looked at the dock again, then over the side, directly into the water.
Her stomach felt woozy. Good thing she’d learned breathing techniques and other ways to control her fear.
Plus, she assured herself, people swam and paddled on the sea every day.
Besides, she came from a long line of seafaring Vikings, didn’t she?
She wondered if Sara had rowed from Ringpynten to G?sholmen on the day the picture was taken.
Perhaps Sara’s sketchbook could give her some ideas about her mom’s life.
She took the book from her pocket and tears of joy welled in her eyes as she flipped through the pages, entranced with the playful designs: seabirds on flowy skirts, and a tea dress with a slipper orchid pattern.
Ella couldn’t believe the coincidence; she had photographed that same flower while hiking in the subalpine forest in the Rocky Mountains, falling in love with its delicate shape and reddish-brown petals.
Not many would believe that this tropical flower could thrive in both Colorado and Norway, but it did.
She brushed her hands over her tear-streaked face.
It seemed that nature inspired Sara, just as it did Ella. Seeing Sara’s sketches brought Ella closer to her mother than she’d ever been, yet it also made her miss her even more. She felt herself growing angrier with Hilda.
She had to muster the courage to get in that dinghy.
If she did, she could explore Lyng?r, visit G?sholmen, and go to the Lyng?r Hotel bar.
Maybe, by chance, she would meet an employee or guest who had spent time with her family.
What else did she have to do while she worked on selling the cottage?
And when would she get another opportunity to get answers to her questions about her family?
She looked at the red dinghy again. Go sit in it, she told herself. She thought it might be time to take a first step toward facing her fear. Plus Leif had gotten under her skin. She would love to prove him wrong.
Ella cinched the straps on her life vest before sitting down on the edge of the dock.
The granite felt cold, and the damp seeped through her skirt.
She breathed in the briny air and grasped the long strand of beads looped around her neck.
Aquamarine was associated spiritually with courage, trusting, and letting go, and she leaned into that.
She touched the dinghy with one of her bare feet.
Leif’s words taunted her. She pressed her foot harder against the dinghy.
She told herself that she should at least sit in it, as a tribute to her ancestors.
But she made no move to board the boat and instead reached for a snail shell that lay next to her.
Tossing the shell into the water, she watched it sink, her stomach sinking with it.
To distract herself, she trained her camera lens on a goose and four goslings as they paddled slowly through the cold waves.
She studied the algae-coated waterline on the bank as the sea slapped against it.
It reminded her of the layer of green slime that had lined the granite fountain in the neighborhood where she grew up.
As a teenager Ella had tossed pennies there, wishing for answers to her questions about her mom.
How old was she when she got pregnant with Ella, and did she love Ella’s father?
Did she want Ella? Did music play a part in her life? Was she kind?
G?sholmen. If only that island could talk! Ella knew she couldn’t leave Lyng?r without finding out if Sara really died while giving birth to her.
Caressing her necklace one final time, and with careful, measured movements, she lowered herself into the boat and settled on the bench.
The natural tipping with the waves made her pulse go wild, so she focused on the teal water and the minnows darting through the seaweed.
She stared at the oars. This felt like enough for today, but maybe tomorrow she would try them out.