Charon's Crossing

"Not always. We get storms sometimes, blowin' in across the sea. In late summer, mostly, but sometimes in the winter, too."

Kathryn spread her fingers and let the breeze carry the flower to the grass.

"I'll have to phone my fiancé and torture him a little," she said, and smiled. "Give him a first-hand weather report, you know? I'd have done it last night, but the phone doesn't work."

Olive nodded. "It is a problem on the island. I will speak with Hiram, see if he can think of a way to improve things."

"Hiram certainly has his work cut out for him.£ When he comes by later... What's the matter?"

"I wouldn't count on seein' Hiram today, I'm afraid. It is Saturday, and the bonefish are runnin' just off Coronado Cay."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow is Sunday. No one on Elizabeth Island works on Sunday."

"Then, he's got to stop by Monday morning, first thing." Kathryn's voice took on a pleasant but firm tone. "I only have a week to devote to getting things sorted out here. That isn't very long."

"Especially not on this island. As I said before, things move at a slower pace than you are accustomed to." Olive dug into her shoulder bag and took out a pen and a small notebook. "Let's write down what we've agreed needs checkin', yes? So far, we've got the plumbin'. The heatin'. The electricity. The roof, maybe. The moldin'. The phone..."

"I think there's probably some wainscoting needs doing, too. Oh, and we'll have to deal with whatever it is that's turning the place into Siberia." Kathryn sighed. "Sounds like a year's salary to me—in which case, I'm up the creek without a paddle."

"Sorry?"

She smiled. "Never mind." Kathryn hesitated. "Olive? Why would Amos have said what he did to me?"

"About what?" Olive said, capping her pen and tucking it away with the pad.

"About the house being haunted."

"Because he's an old fool, just as I told you."

"Yes, but he couldn't have just come up with something like that off the top of his head, could he? I mean, is there some sort of local folklore about Charon's Crossing?"

"Well," Olive said slowly, "I suppose there is. We islanders are a superstitious lot, and Charon's Crossin' is very old. No one has lived in it for a very long time."

"My father did."

"Not really. He had this old sailboat, used to come sailin' in here a couple of times a year, dock at Hawkins Bay harbor, and put in some work on the house—you didn't know that?"

"No. No, I didn't. Did he ever ask you to sell the place?"

"Never."

"Well," Kathryn said decisively, "I certainly want to. Do I need to sign a contract or something?"

"It's not necessary. Amos vouched for you and that's good enough for me."

"You trust his judgment, hmm?" Kathryn said, smiling.

Olive nodded. "I know he didn't make a good first impression, but you can trust him too, Kathryn. He really is a fine lawyer. As for me—I'm goin' to do my best to sell Charon's Crossin' for you. It may need some attention, but the house itself is still sturdy."

"We hope," Kathryn said without conviction.

"Oh, I'm sure it is. These old greathouses were built to last. The English had every intention of stayin' in these islands forever."

"Well, I suppose the house was great, at one time, but—"

"No, no." Olive smiled and patted Kathryn's arm. " 'Great-house' is the name for houses such as this. But time has taken its toll."