Part 5 (Final)

Margot caught him, helping to break his fall near the rocks. She hesitated, empty as a blank-slate before an expression of determination was etched onto her face. Not once in all their years since their mother’s departure had the Kesslewoods asked for anything. Tonight, between her likely worried father and the ill stranger, an unspoken pride broke in Margot. Running to the pub, she faced most everyone in the town with furrowed brows, blinking eyes, and more lopsided smiles than she had time to count. Rapt to her entrance, she told the tale of the stranger on the Isle of Sirens, and the plight she faced.

“I know it’s cursed,” she said, not cowering under their stare. “But just this once, I’m asking for a hand. Don’t punish him for what I did.”

At first, the crowds murmured to one another. Eyes winced. A few tongues clicked. Behind the bar, the pub owner cleaned glasses with a towel. He sighed out, and every head in the room turned to him faster than a clothespin snapped shut.

“You work harder than anyone Miss, and we all know it,” the pub owner said, “we can all take that curses burden and share it. Just this once. I’ll bring a pitcher of water, and get some food for the man. “

“Thank you,” Margot said and waited near the door still watched by everyone.

The patrons hemmed and hawed before a woman in an oversized sweater rose up. Margot recalled her the woman owned the knitting shop in the center of the Hamfrill Lane.

“The way those sweet children grew up with you. I can take a little bad luck. I’ll go fetch a nice big blanket for the man.”

Between the superstitious pub owner and conservative older woman, fears broke from the townspeople. People stirred like a pot beginning to boil, each person talking over the other of what they had to give. A couple of men got up, ones usually at the docks casting nets, and said, “let’s carry the man up. Where can he go?”

“With us,” Margot said and wondered if the talking fish might be less alarming to Mr. Kesslewood.

They put the stranger up to stay within one of Kesslewood guest rooms, not far from Margot in case he needed aid. Along with a blanket, meal, and water given that night for the man, the townspeople spoke of what else to give for the Kesslewood home. They tried to whisper, but even to ears hard of hearing, the townspeople lamented the state of Kesslewood’s sparse firewood, tattered books, and bare cupboards.

When the man woke the next day in a warm bed, Margot busied herself not with chores but answering the door. Every few minutes, another person showed up offering their goods. The baker gave bread for a month in the morning. Cut firewood arrived from the lumberjacks at noon. By the evening, the Kesslewoods wanted for nothing with bellies full of food, rooms warm as a summer’s day, and shelves stocked with fresh, printed books.

It was there, reading near his bedside and tending that Margot learned more of the man. His name was Thomas, and far from a pirate or prisoner, he held wits in the merchant trade. Having no roots to anywhere, in particular, he rented a spare room in the Kesslewood home after losing his ship. Mr. Kesslewood told Thomas, after growing attached and trusting him, of how to craft the finest boats to sail the seas that wouldn’t go astray. Together, with a little wit and talents given by each one of them, the newfound family embarked together in a business that flourished for years to come.

And within months, Margot and Thomas fell in love and wanted for nothing else in life. But one day they did sail back to the Isle of Sirens curious of what lay in the treasure chest. But prying it open, they discovered the truth of what the fish meant. For inside the treasure chest nothing lay but wet sand. The treasure was what they found within one another.