Charon's Crossing

"Miss Russell? Are you okay?"

Kathryn smiled brightly. "I'm just fine," she said, and set off to find Hiram Bonnyeman.

* * *

It was easy, just as Ada had promised it would be.

The house was blue, its door and shutters pale pink. A sign hung out front, neatly lettered.

Hiram Bonnyeman, Plumbing, Heating, Electrical Work, Carpentry, and General Repairs.

It looked as if the era of specialization had not yet reached Elizabeth Island.

The door stood partly open. Kathryn knocked and waited.

"Yes, yes," a voice called. "Come in."

The interior of the shop was shadowy, almost dark compared to the brightness outside. She stood still, letting her eyes adjust, breathing in the pleasant mixture of smells that filled the air: new wood and wax, machine oil and something spicy. Cinnamon, perhaps, or nutmeg.

"Yes? May I help you?"

A man was coming towards her, stepping through a swaying curtain of small wooden beads. He was tall and wiry, with grizzled hair and ebony skin. A pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his aquiline nose, and was smiling so pleasantly that Kathryn immediately smiled back.

"I hope so. Would you be Hiram Bonnyeman, the building contractor?"

He smiled. "I would surely be Hiram Bonnyeman. And you would surely be Miss Kathryn Russell."

"Yes. Yes, I am, Mr. Bonnyeman. I've been hoping to make your acquaintance for some time."

The old man chuckled. "A polite way of askin' me where I've been keepin' myself, hmm?" He stepped forward, scooped a dozing ginger cat from a straight-backed wooded chair, and motioned Kathryn to sit. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll get us somethin' cool to drink."

"Oh, no. That's not necessary."

"It isn't. But it's what I'd like to do—unless you're in a hurry, Miss Russell?"

Kathryn sighed. "There's no sense in being in a hurry in these parts, Mr. Bonnyeman. I've learned that much already."

The old man grinned and ducked behind the curtain. Moments later, he reappeared bearing a round wooden tray on which he'd placed two tall glasses and a pitcher filled with a pale yellow liquid.

"Lemonade," he said, setting the tray down on a small table. "My wife makes it fresh, every mornin'. Best in town, if I do say so myself. She adds a touch of passion fruit. Give it a special sweetness."

Kathryn accepted the glass he held out to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Bonnyeman."

"Hiram."

She smiled. "And I'm Kathryn."

"How's the lemonade, Kathryn? Good?"

Kathryn sighed. When in Rome, she thought, and she took a sip.

"Delicious. Mr. Bonnyeman... Hiram. Look, I don't mean to seem rude, but—"

"But you want to know where I've been and why I haven't shown up and when I'm goin' to come by Charon's Crossin' and get to work. Am I right?"

Kathryn nodded. "I've only got a week, you see, well, not even that anymore. I'm flying back to New York Friday, and... what's the matter?"