The Island Curse

A Familiar Scent

"Leslie, I think yer mother is waiting for you."

I yanked my attention away from the girl- Leslie- and back to Mrs. Rose. She had her fists propped on her generous hips and her lips were turned down. It was the first scowl I'd seen on her face, and I could see why parents would trust her to watch over their children after school. It was quite frightening. Leslie, however, seemed unmoved by it. She grabbed her things while rolling her eyes and skirted around us to exit the store.

"Did she happen to say anything odd to you just now?"

"No," I lied, surprising myself. The girl hadn't made any sense, but something tightened in my gut and warned me to remain silent. "Just hello."

"She's an odd one, just like her mum. Ach, look. What a dreich day. I'd hoped the sun would come out, but it's likely to rain again. Best be getting to the house with you both."

We waved goodbye, and continued the same route as before, working our way to the outer edges of the city. The further we went, the businesses turned to homes. Damp laundry hung on wires, the stiff breeze the only chance the clothes had of drying. A few people were already out in their yards, muttering curses at the sky, while stuffing the wet articles into baskets.

Children shouted in the street. Some rode bikes, while others jumped rope, or tossed a ball. Cats napped on top of fences, their tails flicking as we hurried by. It wasn't so different from home, really. Kids spent their fair share of time running about with bare feet covered in red clay and chasing bugs and birds. Of course, those years of carefree play were shorter now than when I'd been a child, even the smallest lured inside by video games and smartphones. I wasn't ready to admit it now, not outloud, but the atmosphere was soothing to the ragged edges of my soul.

"Dad," I panted, jogging to catch up to him. His long legs were eating away at the pavement, but the black clouds broiling on the horizon explained the urgency. "Just a quick observation."

He flipped the hood of his jacket over his head as he looked over his shoulder. We cut between two houses, the occupants waving at us, not at all concerned by the strangers in their yard. "Yes, pumpkin?"

"Everyone looks a lot alike here. Like, a lot a lot."

The amused grin I expected didn't materialize. He turned away and increased the pace, forcing me to break out into a sprint and praying no one was around to watch. Running made me look like a flailing turtle. In the water, I moved like a fish. On land, the struggle was real.

We reached a place I could only assume was the stables. Rolling pastures spread out around us, and in the center was a grand old building made of the same stone as the cottages in the main part of the city. Windows filled with the soft glow of artificial lighting lined the top floor, while the bottom portion had multiple entrances that reminded me of barn doors. Around the side, was a big, ugly parking lot filled with older model trucks and cars.

Dad raised his hand in the air, pushing the horn button on the keys. A tarp covered vehicle began to honk and flash, and we peeled back the sheet, tossing it in the back of the truck as the first raindrops plopped on the cherry red hood. Our meager luggage went into the backseat. The doors clanged shut, and the heavens delivered.

"Look at us," Dad crowed, pumping his fist before turning the key.  Face flushed, I laughed, bumping my shoulder against his as I drew a shuddering breath into my starved lungs. And another dam burst, this time in the car.

"Isla. Baby, what are you crying?"

Hiccuping, I scrubbed away the tears, but they flew so fast and heavy, the effort was wasted. I could smell Granda. The same tobacco that clung to his clothes when he held me was ingrained in every corner of the truck's cab. When I shifted on the worn cloth seats, it puffed up in a cloud, and just beneath it all was cinnamon.

I let my father pull me across the seat and pressed my chin into his chest while he smoothed my hair. Being so close to him, his own fragrance fighting against Granda's, I calmed. He was sunshine, summer days, and a hint of something I'd never been able to put my finger on. Until today. Sea salt and heather.

"Better?"

"Better," I admitted, buckling my seatbelt with a sniffle.

He shifted the truck into gear, and we pulled out onto a winding road which took us up into the island's highlands. "Care to explain what that was about?"

"The truck still smells like Granda. I didn't expect that." Condensation clouded the window where I pressed my freckled nose to the glass. The rain lashed against the truck, and I could feel its icy bite through the thin barrier.

"It kind of got me too," Dad admitted. He turned the knobs on the dash in an attempt to heat up the cabin, but nothing he did could coax any warmth from the vents. "Looks like the heater is out. Mrs. Rose said she kept up the basics like oil changes and such. Otherwise, it wouldn't even run, and the manor is pretty far out compared. We're only one of a handful of families who live this far away from the town center."

"Joy," I groaned. Not that I had any friends to visit, but the idea of utter isolation was unappealing.

"Sorry about not answering yer question earlier. I was in a hurry to beat that storm. I mean, the answer is pretty obvious. Merrow Island is small. Only about 673 square kilometers- er, 260 ish square miles. Population 3000. Lots of people are related."

"No wonder you moved away. Get some fresh blood."

A strange emotion twisted his features, but it was gone before I could place it. "Legend has it that everyone is descended from two groups. There's the aristocrats who settled the Island."

"Lovely, they were already inbred before they got here."

"Isla..." He drew out the last syllable of my name, but there was no heat in it. "King William III gave the land to Fiona Halloran," he winked when he said our surname, "as a wedding gift. Rumor has it her firstborn wasn't premature, if you know what I mean."

"Gross, Dad. Just no."

"Anyway, he died shortly after the Halloran's settled here with their people, and Fiona's husband, Ian, was not a fan of the monarchy. He declared Merrow Island to be its own nation, and Queen Anne, whether she was simply unaware of the land or didn't care, never sent anyone to say otherwise."

"Isn't that a little odd," I mused, drawing loops in the fog on the window. "What monarch misplaces an entire island?"

"You have to think, back then the island was even more wild than it is now. No one thought it much good for anything, but the Hallorans raised livestock and managed to grow decent crops. But the real wealth of the island came from the port."

"Who came all the way out here to trade? With people who had potatoes and sheep?"

"It wasn't trading so much as hiding."

We turned and began to climb a hill that made the little truck wheeze and shake. The rain had slowed, but the road was mostly mud now. The tires lost purchase a few times, slinging muck behind the vehicle. But Dad was patient and we didn't' get stuck.

"So," I prompted him once we were back on level road and he could afford to split his attention. "They were smugglers."

"Smugglers. Pirates. What's in a name?"

I bounced in my seat. "So is that who the second group is? If you live on the Island, you're either descended from the lords and ladies or pirates."

"Pretty much," he said.

"But wouldn't the lines have crossed eventually. We'd all be connected somehow."

"Oh no," he said. We were driving through a tree tunnel, and I craned my neck to see my new home. "It was an unspoken rule. The Hallorans never married into the families that settled here from that business. It just wasn't done."

"Lovely," I said, giving him the stink eye. "We're a bunch of snobs."

He stopped, cut the engine, and pointed through the windshield. A massive manor filled our view, three stories high and at least eight windows across on each floor. "You think?"