Hermione Pleated the bedspread between her fingers. "I just don't know what's going on with me, Dad. But it's not only here. Things were weird at home, but I thought coming here would help. Looks like it hasn't. "
"Since when have things…been weird at home, honey?" Asked her father. "Since your accident?"
"I'm not so sure it was an accident," she muttered.
"But what kind of weird?"
"Well, you know the bad dream I've always had? It used to come just once in a while, but not anymore. Now I'm having bad dreams all the time. They're making me crazy."
John Granger looked concerned. "What brings on the dreams, Hermione? I know Jenny keeps your nose to the grindstone-"
"No, it isn't really anything to do with Mom." Hermione hated it when her parents criticized each other. "Things started getting worse a few weeks ago, you know- when I got caught laying about passing the swim test, I think." The humiliation still felt fresh. "That night I had the dream again. First time in a long time. And then every night. It was hellish, dad. Swim lessons by day, nightmares by night." She forked up some egg. "Look, lets not talk about it. I'm trying to forget."
Paulette had been sitting quietly, sipping her tea. Now she spoke up. "Recurring dreams come to us for a reason, you know. And I bet there's some connection between the swimming lessons and the dreams. If we were in San Francisco, I could take you to this great therapist who dose dreamwork, Hermione. I don't know about Maine-they might not have that sort of thing here."
Hermione buttered a piece of toast. Dreamwork! Jenny would get a kick out of the word. It was so very Californian.
John saw her expression and put his hand on hers. "Let's drop it." he said. "You're here now and under no stress at all." He tried for a joke. "You just relax and strip wallpaper. What could make for a better summer?" Then he look serious. "You should explore the village. Maybe you'll make some new friends."
"Oh!" Exclaimed Paulette. "Johnny, that reminds me- the phone call!" She turned to Hermione. "I forgot to tell you last night that your friend called."
"My friend? What friend?" Amanda sure didn't give up easily.
"It was a boy. Nice, deep voice. Dean or Duke, or something." Paulette giggled nervously at Hermione's anxious face. "He sounded very nice. Said he was a friend of yours and planned to do some traveling up here this summer. He was hoping we needed somebody to work on the house."
"Oh, my God, was it Draco? Was his name Draco Malfoy?"
"That boy!" exclaimed John.
Paulette hesitated. "I think that was the name…"
"When did he call?" Hermione wailed. "How could he have known I was here?"
Paulette sank into a green armchair, looking drained, as if having Hermione as a guest was proving to more exhausting then she'd anticipated. "Well, lets see." She began, running her hands through her hair. "We were papering the dinning room and the phone rang in the study. I went in to answer, and it was this boy. He sounded…well, nice. He said to say hello to you when you got in."
"You didn't hire him." Said Hermione, fearing the worst.
"Well, no." Paulette assured her. "I said we couldn't afford to hire anyone, and we were doing fine ourselves. And then just as we were hanging up, I heard this awful crash. I ran back to find Johnny had fallen off the ladder-my poor lamb! Then we had to rush to the hospital, and everything else has been happening since." She looked at Hermione anxiously over the rim of her teacup. "I would have told you about your friend's call sooner, but it completely slipped my mind."
"Don't call him my friend, whatever you do," said Hermione. "I came here to get away from him." She closed her eyes, then added in a softer voice. "And to see you Dad, of course." She didn't wan to offend Paulette on top of everything else. But, My God! My life is becoming something right out of the twilight zone.
She fought for calm, invoked her mother's reasonable nature, and opened her eyes. "Draco is the boy who threw me into the pool."
"I didn't know that, Hermione." Paulette set her cup down on the try with a clatter. "Johnny, why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought I had." Answered John. He put his hand on Hermione's arm. "Look, honey, don't worry about it. There's no way I'd let that guy near the place now, knowing how he upsets you." His voice was reassuring. "I don't doubt he's sorry about what happened, but the way to atone is to leave you in pace, not ot pester you."
"Thinking about him makes me feel sick." She drained her juice and set the glass on her tray table.
John shifted his ankle and grimaced. "Well, then, lets move on to a happier subject. Paulette tells me she has already spilled the beans about our big news."
Hermione mustered a grin. "I think its great about the baby, Dad."
Paulette snuggled up next to John and rested her head on his shoulder. John reached up one hand and stroked her face. "I always wanted lots of kids," John beamed. "But your mom didn't think it was practical to have more then one. Just think-now you'll be a big sister. Wont you love helping to take care of a new little Granger?"
"I can't wait!"
Paulette nuzzled John's neck. "You sure made a beautiful baby the first time, Johnny boy. Do you think our little Christmas angel will look like Hermione?"
"I hope so," said John, smiling at both of them. "What's on the agenda today? I'd intended to show you around Hibben, Hermione, but looks like I'm stuck for a while."
"Don't worry, I'll do the honors." said Paulette. "We'll go this morning.
After washing up the breakfast dishes, Hermione and Paulette left the house for the breezy headland. Hermione went straight over to the van, but Paulette shook her head. "We can walk," she said. "It isn't far. Just back down the drive and turn left. Maybe a mile."
They walked side by side, through Paulette had to skip occasionally to keep up with Hermione long stride. Hermione tried politely to adjust to her stepmother's speed but inadvertently took the lead again as the road dipped downhill, and Paulette had to scurry to catch up.
She caught Hermione's hand and swung it. "Isn't it a gorgeous day?" She cried, then sang it to the tune of "twinkle, twinkle, little star."
"Isn't it a gorgeous day, Isn't it a gorgeous day? Now that Hermione's here to stay. And we walking on our way- Isn't it a gorgeous day, now that Hermione's come to play!"
Hermione laughed. Paulette was acting like a little kid. Hermione could imagine Jenny's smirk if she could see John's pregnant wife singing and dancing along the road. Hermione was glad Jenny wasn't there to see. She liked Paulette and knew she wouldn't be making fun of her with Jenny anymore.
The road from the headland wound though the trees and ended at a narrow, paved road. Paulette led them to the left, down a hill to the town. Paulette broke off her song to point to the sign that right: Hibben, Maine, pop.812. "Soon to be 813," Paulette giggled, patting her belly.
Massive chunks of gray granite lined the road on one side. The first building they came to was a picturesque white clapboard church with a graceful steeple. It was surrounded by a low wall built of the gray stone. Behind the church was a cemetery, the old headstones dotting the grass.
"A lot of houses in the town are built of this rock." said Paulette. "See there? Unusual along the coast, where most houses are made of wood. That's the old school house- it's a antique shop now. We'll have a look around on our way home. And that's the post office-it used to be the general store. Isn't it quaint?"
Hermione stood on the narrow sidewalk and looked down the street. A street sign informed her this was Main Street. It led down a hill lined with buildings of gray stone and white clapboard and ended, it seemed, right in the sea. Hermione could just make out the mast of dozens of small fishing vessels and pleasure boats were the street stopped and the water began. That must be the wharf.
There were only a few streets leading off Main Street. Hermione paused at the bottom of one marked Cotton Lane. It led up the cliff sharply to the right and was unpaved. Dust blew across the rutted dirt lane. She blinked the dust out of her eyes- and saw she been mistaken. Cotton Lane was paved, after all.
Then she felt it-the curious sense of recognition. She stood for a long moment, wrapped in thought, trying to remember. Where have I seen this before?
"Look there," Paulette was saying. She pointed to a group of camera-laden men and women carrying shopping bags, who trudged past them up the hill. "Hibben is changing from a little old fishing village, and there's nothing the old-timers can do about it. But that's good news for us. Tourists need a place to say, and what better place then a romantic old Victorian on a cliff? I bet they'll just flock to us once it is open. Hibben's history is full of the stuff tourists love to hear about: ships wrecked in the cove in the fog, huge storms the villagers call 'northeasters' whipping in from the ocean in winter, ancient Indian sacred grounds just over the hills…" Then she paused. "Hermione? What's wrong?"
"This little street," began Hermione. "Where does it go?"
"Cotton Lane? It just goes up the hill. Ends at the cliff. There are a few old cottages left, and some new condos. And the public library, such as it is."
Hermione started up the steep lane without a word.
"Hey, wait up!" cried Paulette. Scrambling alone behind.
As Hermione climbed on, she clenched her fingers into fists. She climbed steadily, all the way to the end of the row of whitewashed cottages, and stopped abruptly at the last cottage. It, unlike the others, was of gray stone, and it had a bright blue gate set into the fence in front of it and a painted blue door to match the wooden addition built onto the side of the house. The sign on the gat announced: Hibben Free Library, est. 1941.
She put her hand on the gate and flung it open, then hurried along the path up to the blue door. The humming began in her head, insistent.
She gripped her hatbox and basket tightly.
Box? Basket? What's going on?
She approached the plump, fair-haired woman sweeping the stoop. "Mrs. Wilkins?" She asked, untying her shawl (Shawl?) and settling it loosely over her shoulders. She put up a hand to check that her braids were still neatly pinned across her head.
"Yes, Dear?" The woman stopped sweeping and leaned on her broom. "Oh, you're one of the Holloway girls! How are you this morning?"
"Clementine Horn," she corrected. "And I'm fine, thank you."
"Hermione! Hermione!" Paulette cried, her small hand gripping Hermione's arm like pincers. "What are you doing? The Library's closed. Nobody's here at all."
Hermione collapsed on the stone step of the house and stared up at Paulette, dazed. Then she glanced down at herself-she wasn't wearing a shawl, wasn't crarrying a wicker basket or a round hatbox. But she had been. She put her hands to her head. Her hair was in a single braid hanging over her shoulder-not in tow braids wrapped around her head like a coronet. But it had been.
"Oh, Paulette," She whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. "What in the world is happening to me?"
A/N: thanks for the reviews for the last chapter and I hope you like this one…Oh the next chapter is going to be interesting. Please review thanks.