She was a lost soul.
They would catch her wandering the shores occasionally, her head down as she searched for shells. They thought nothing of the ragamuffin waif who most said was a ghost and nothing more. She only appeared to a few and then only on foggy days. The coast of Maine was not always something you would expect to see a young girl exploring by herself. Especially in the fog and the cold.
Only a few had seen her close enough to describe her. A tattered sweater, rubber boots and the perpetual haversack over her shoulder. Hair pulled back and tossed about by the wind. One minute she was there, then the next she was gone. No one had ever chased after her or felt the need to learn more about her. To them, she was a wraith who only existed to those with overactive imaginations.
Until Genevieve St Claire arrived.
Genevieve unpacked her last sweater and stuffed it into the drawer of the ancient dresser that graced her simple room with its presence. Trying to close the drawer, she grunted as she tried to slam it shut, the overflowing fabric oozing out of the drawer and prohibiting her from her objective.
“The – Stupid – thing -” Each word was punctuated with a jab at the fabric. “Get in there!” She finally got it to shut. “Success!” She squealed and sat heavily on her bed, suddenly feeling uncomfortably hot. “Ugh.”
She took a deep breath and looked at her surroundings. “Not bad, not bad at all. Once my shipment of paintings arrive though, this place shall be transformed!” She waved her hand about like the fairy godmother from cinderella at the bare walls. “Bippity boppity boo!” Her smile slid off her face and she rolled her eyes with a groan, clutching her head with her hands and pulling at the hair that just brushed the top of her shoulders. “Ohhhh, snap! Now that song will torment me for the rest of the day! Oh brain, why dost thou betray me?!?!?”
She grumpily slouched out of the room to fix herself a cup of tea, rubbing her hands together as she waited for the water to boil. Bippity boppity boo cavorted through her brain like a willful child, running from its mother. She rolled her eyes and bit her lip, trying to turn her mind to other things. Leaning against the kitchen sink that sat in front of a window, she looked through the streaming glass and watched the beach. She felt so blessed to have such a view from her kitchen window. She smiled as she took in the beauty of it. The fog, the water, swaying, then crashing against the shore. The rocks that swirled at the tug of the water then fell against each other and rested until another wave crashed upon them, sending them dancing once again. The view soothed her soul. Nothing but the beach could do this to her. The call of the ocean had been with her for years as she slaved away in a studio in a downtown city, saving and scrimping for the day that she could realize her dream and purchase a small cottage on the east coast. She had cared not where, as long as it was on the ocean. Most people would be surprised that such a small, dilapidated cottage with beach front property would be so expensive, but ocean frontage was expensive. She sighed, thinking about her bank account. . . unfortunately.
A movement on the beach caused her eyes to dart to its source. Was that. . . a person? In this cold and weather? That was odd. She leaned over the sink, her feet leaving the floor as she squinted through the glass trying to get a better look and maybe identify the person. Blast the rain cascading down the window, it was prohibiting her vision.
The screeching of the tea kettle caused her to jump and her hand to slip off the counter around the sink and into the metal tub below the faucet. She howled as she caught herself, jolting her shoulder and cutting the palm of her hand on a knife that lay in the bottom. She grabbed a towel to wrap around her hand, thankfully, it wasn’t a bad cut, even if it hurt like the dickens.
“Aw, crud.” She hissed through her teeth, trying to take the tea kettle off the stove with her non-injured hand. Once that was done, she rushed back to the window, peering closely at the beach. The person was nowhere to be seen.
How utterly strange. . .
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By God’s Grace,