“As I said, she’d had the gift since she was a young girl,” Marie continued. “It was forbidden to talk of such things openly—the church had a tight rein on people then, much tighter than it does now, and things like dream interpretation were considered heresy. You could be hanged, or worse, for something like that. She had to be very careful. But she told me that, when she was a child, she herself had a vivid dream that told her she had the gift. It told her that she would use it to help people decipher what their dreams were trying to tell them.
“She believed that dreams were messages from the spirit world,” Marie whispered. “They were a communication from the beyond, or from another time, another place. She believed that people needed to trust what their dreams were telling them—for their own good.
“First, she would ask them to describe what happened in their dreams,” Marie confided. “Then, she would tell them what it all meant. I truly don’t know how she did it, but much of what she said was true. Or came true.”
“What kinds of things?”
“I don’t remember much of that, because she never let me stay in the room when she was talking with people about this,” Marie said, and it wasn’t quite a lie. Young Marie would scoot out of the room, it was true, but she would listen at the doorway, just as her grandmother knew she would. But now, with Addie staring at her, wide eyed, Marie knew she had to tell the whole tale. It was time. For her daughter’s own good.
“On the last day I ever saw my grandmother, I was visiting when a man came to the door, asking grandmother to interpret a dream he’d had the night before. In the dream, he was walking through his own house and came upon a door he had never seen. He opened the door to find a long table filled with all kinds of food. Fruit, breads, soups, meat, cakes. A feast was laid out before him. His wife was there with a group of people, laughing and eating and having a wonderful time, until she caught sight of him. Then everything—the wife and the table, the people, the food—all of it vanished, and he was left standing in a stark, empty room, alone.
“My grandmother was not afraid to talk about the bad along with the good. In fact, she would warn people before they sat down at her table that if she saw bad things that had already happened or especially warnings of future events, she would tell them without hesitation. It might not be pleasant, it might not be palatable information, but she would tell them nonetheless. She warned them to be prepared for the worst, and also for the best. Dreams didn’t just predict harsh events in the future, they also foretold marriages, babies, and bountiful crops.
“On this day, as she did every day, she told the man what she knew to be true. His dream was a warning that his wife was not who she appeared to be. She was living a secret life. He objected to this strenuously, telling my grandmother what a wonderful woman he had married. But again she told him, ‘Go home and watch your wife carefully. Do not let on that you suspect her of anything. She will reveal herself to you by accident, and then you will know.’ I watched in the doorway as the man stormed out of the house in a rage.
“It did not end well. I was just a child, and my parents tried to shield me from much of it, but I learned that the man did indeed find his wife in the arms of another man several days later. In a jealous rage, he killed his wife and her lover, then turned that blistering fury on my grandmother. He ran through the streets, calling her a demon who had bewitched his wife with an evil spell. Soon, a crowd of townspeople gathered and followed him to her home.”
Addie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh no!”
“Yes, child. I’ll spare you the horrible details, but my grandmother did not make it out alive, because they believed she was a witch. That very day, when my father heard the news of what had transpired in the town, he packed up our family’s possessions and we fled, fearing the angry crowd would turn on us, too. When we ended up in Great Bay, my mother declared there would be no more talk of dreams or spirits or enchantment. We would be a good Christian family. Nothing more.”
Marie swallowed hard and continued. “I truly had forgotten about the old family story as the years went by, but when you were born, your affinity for the water . . . and now your dreams . . .”
Addie took a deep breath in. “I’m a daughter of the lake, too?”
Marie nodded. “I want you always to honor your great-grandmother and the lake by listening to the wisdom of your dreams. Promise me, Addie.”
“I will, Mama,” Addie promised.
“Now,” Marie said, “let’s talk about the dream you had last night. I have a feeling that together you and I can unlock what it was trying to tell you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning dawned crisp and bright in Wharton, but Kate’s head was fuzzy from too much wine the night before. What had Simon been thinking, opening bottle after bottle? What had she been thinking, drinking it all? She decided to take a walk along the shoreline with Alaska to clear her head before meeting Simon back at the inn for breakfast.
She recognized a familiar figure on the lakeshore, and the sight of him stopped her short. She thought of turning around and heading back up to the inn before she had to talk to him, but Alaska started barking at a small dog that was now running toward them.
Nick Stone whirled around. “Queenie! No!”
But the dog just kept coming. Kate pulled Alaska in tight. Malamutes were famously wary of, and even aggressive toward, other dogs, and because of their size and strength, they could easily kill with one bite.
Kate positioned herself between the small dog and Alaska as Nick ran toward them. But both of their efforts failed—and to Kate’s astonishment, the two dogs greeted each other like old friends. Sniffing, jumping, playing.
“Wow,” Nick said, eyeing Alaska. “That’s a whole lot of dog. Is she a malamute?”
Kate nodded. “She is indeed. And yours? Corgi?”
“My faithful companion, Queenie.”
“Not named for the most famous corgi-phile in the world . . .”
“Queen Elizabeth,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t name her. She’s a rescue.”
The two of them, their dogs running ahead, began walking down the shoreline together.
“Her original owner was an elderly lady who died a rather suspicious death,” he said, kicking a rock into the water. “Poison, as it turned out.”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah. It was ugly. The son-in-law. Anyway, Queenie ended up homeless. I was investigating the crime and—I don’t know. I took one look at her, sitting vigil so sadly by the body of her dead owner, and I just couldn’t let her go to a shelter. I took her home with me then and there. That was eight years ago. She hasn’t left my side since, through thick and thin.”
Kate smiled at this man, knowing how powerful an animal’s love and loyalty could be. She was glad he felt the same way.
“I’d have thought you were more the police-dog type,” she said.
He laughed. “I tried to convince them to send Queenie through the training, but the powers that be didn’t think that a corgi would instill the same fear in criminals as a German shepherd. I think they’re wrong about that, by the way. She’s small, but she’s a badass.”