Page 104 of The Seven Rings
So damn if it wasn’t a party.
“Into the ice bath. Otherwise, it takes about four hours to cool in the fridge, and I don’t wanna wait. And while that’s happening, I say wine and we sit out front in Owen’s fabulous seats.”
“There’s nothing routine about this.” As content as her girls, Winter sighed as she looked out at the sea while the sky above softened toward dusk.
“Anytime you want to make that your room permanently, Mom, it’s yours. Or the apartment if you’d rather the space.”
“I can’t think of much that fills my heart more than knowing you mean that.”
“Themean that’s from both of us,” Cleo added.
“Your saying it is a gift. I’m a city girl at the core of it. A working city girl. But I sure love coming up here, seeing the two of you, having this time. And I appreciate Trey and Owen giving it to us, though they didn’t have to. You know how fond I am of them.”
She sipped her wine. “To prove it, I’m making breakfast Sunday morning.”
As dusk went to quiet night, they went back in.
“It’s churning time. Takes about a half hour, and the peach solids go in right at the end of that. Anybody want a snack while it’s working?”
“After that dinner, Cleo?” Winter shook her head.
“Look there,” Sonya said as they stepped into the kitchen. “A tea service set up on the table. Molly did that.”
“Yeah.” Winter blew out a breath. “A little jolt.”
So while the ice cream maker did its work, they had tea.
When it was done, Cleo transferred the ice cream to a freezer container.
“It looks like soft-serve,” Winter noted. “And it’s so pretty.”
Sonya got three spoons. “I know it’s not frozen, but we need to sample it.”
“Fingers crossed,” Cleo said, and crossed fingers on her left as she dipped in with the right. “Oh, it’s good!”
“No,” Winter disagreed. “It’s fantastic.”
“We did it! And there’s plenty. I call for a bowl of ice cream for breakfast.” So saying, Cleo put the container in the freezer.
“Who’d argue with that?” Winter slid an arm around each of them. “My girls. What a lovely home you’ve made.”
Sonya woke in the night, listened to the clock strike three. Piano music drifted up, sad and sweet. Weeping added sorrow and grief. She heard, as she sometimes did, murmurs. Voices, sounds that seemed wrapped in cotton.
But she felt no pull, so lay listening awhile before sliding back into sleep.
And dreamed of a storm at sea, a sailing ship rocked by waves as rain lashed down and lightning split the sky. A man stood at the bow, clothes soaked, hair streaming wet, and defiance in his stance.
She heard him speak over the crashing waves.
“I built this boat. Pooles built this boat, and the sea will not take it. No storm will beat it.”
Someone cried out:Sir!And he turned, looked back with eyes of Poole green.
“Stay the course, Captain. We’re going home. We’re going home,” he repeated. “My wife waits.”
And she did. She stood on the widow’s walk in her white dressing gown. The rain hadn’t reached the manor, but the wind blew strong to stream through her hair as she looked out to sea.
“Come home to me, my love.” Laying her hand on her belly, she kept watch. “Come home to us.”
