Chapter 8: Under the Stars

The dancing was in full swing at the town square when they arrived. Everywhere Abby looked, colors twirled before her eyes, spiraling in step with the band's lively music. All of Cherin Cove seemed to be caught up in the merriment, everyone from elderly couples to mothers holding their babies to children dancing together with the sort of enthusiasm that only unbridled youth could muster, and Abby couldn't help but feel caught up in the exuberant gaiety of it all.

"Hey, Skip, you made it!"

Thad's cheerful voice cut through the music, and he came out from behind the Book Nook's raffle table to give Sherwin a hearty handshake and a clap on the back.

As the two exchanged greetings, Abby took a few steps away, enthralled by the sight of the dancers in their colorful garb. She'd been to a few cotillion balls, but this was a far more rollicking affair than the functions that she'd previously attended. Something about the open air and the casual but festive setting made it seem more like a spontaneous caper than a formal event, and though she wasn't entirely sure what style of dance was being exhibited, everyone seemed to be having such a good time that she couldn't help but want to join the fun.

"There you are, Abby! We were looking all over for you!"

Mabel bounced over, clutching a small satin ribbon which she immediately held up in front of Abby's face.

"Guess what?" she gushed, "My macarons took third place in the baking competition! The judges said they'd never tasted any coconut confection so light and sweet, and I even won two whole dollars*!"

"I'm not surprised," Abby said, smiling politely even as she took a slight step back from the shorter woman. "Your macaroons do have a special twist to them."

"It's the dash of lemon zest that I add to the mixture," Mabel tucked the ribbon back into her handbag. "It keeps the sweetness from being too cloying." Snapping her purse closed, she smoothed her hair, then joined Abby in watching the dancers spin and twirl in the middle of the town square.

"Sally's had a successful evening so far," she remarked, nodding to their former classmate who was currently in the arms of the tall young man she'd been following earlier that evening. "All of the fellows seem to be quite taken with her, and she hasn't sat down for a single dance yet!"

"Have you taken a turn yourself?" Abby asked.

Mabel's smile slipped. "Well…not exactly." She looked down at her shoes, shifting a little as she added, "No one has asked me. Not that I expected them to, of course. I'm not very pretty, and I wouldn't know how to talk to a man, even if he approached me for a chat." She laughed. "I don't know how you do it, working at the Tribune with all of those intimidating fellows day in and day out."

"Workplace relationships are different," Abby consoled her. "It's more straightforward when there are tasks to complete and a clear chain of command. It takes some of the awkwardness out of the equation."

"But you talk to men outside of the workplace just fine."

Abby gave her a small smile. "'Fine' being the operative word. It isn't easy; I just don't care very much whether they like me or not. It's less intimidating when you know that you don't need their approval."

Mabel wrapped her arms around herself. "I sure wish I had your confidence."

Her dejection was palpable, and Abby let the conversation lapse for a moment as she pondered what to say in response.

"You don't have anything to be insecure about," she ventured. "Just because you're not the type of person to naturally assert yourself doesn't mean you don't have good qualities that others - not just men - can appreciate once they get to know you. And there's more to life than impressing men, anyway."

Mabel gave her a curious glance. "Was Sally right in saying that you've never had a beau? You don't seem to care at all about romance."

Abby fought the urge to groan audibly. So much for broadening the discourse beyond the narrow realm of men and their approval.

"As I told Sally, there have been opportunities, but none that I wished to pursue," she replied. "One was a man I met at the grocer's, and the other two were coworkers in different departments. They were all financially stable and nice enough, but none of them took any time to get to know me before asking if I wanted to be their girl. I think they just liked the idea of having a career woman on their arm."

"And you didn't like the idea of being attached to such nice, financially-stable men?"

"Not when I hardly knew them," Abby shook her head. "I'm not opposed to romance in the slightest, I just don't care to get entangled with a stranger who isn't willing to become better acquainted first."

"Even if he's a handsome stranger?" Mabel pressed.

Abby gritted her teeth, reminding herself to be patient.

"I've seen too many couples - handsome or otherwise - pair off quickly and then end up angry or heartbroken when things don't work out," she explained. "It isn't worth it, in my opinion."

Mabel gave her a curious look. "Is that what happened to your sisters?"

"To one of them," Abby admitted. "Her first beau ended up being a complete cad."

Recognition dawned in the other woman's eyes. "Oh! You're talking about –"

"Yes," Abby interrupted bluntly. "But there's no point in speaking of it now. She learned her lesson, became more discerning about her choices, and ended up marrying a good man who would lay down his life for her in a heartbeat."

"So it all turned out beautifully in the end," Mabel beamed.

"Fortunately, yes - they're absolutely besotted with each other now and are a perfect match. But it didn't start out that way. I don't think they even liked each other when they first met. And my sister went through a lot of heartache before things got to a better place. It's not a path I'd choose for myself if I could prevent it."

Mabel looked thoughtful, but before she could say anything in response, Abby sensed someone behind her and turned over her shoulder to see that Skip had finished his conversation with Thad and was respectfully waiting to rejoin her.

"Beg pardon," he said, catching her eye. "I didn't want to interrupt your conversation."

"You aren't," Abby reassured him. "We're at a good stopping point." Glancing over at Mabel, she saw that the other woman was staring at the new arrival with wide, awestruck eyes.

"Skip, this is my friend Mabel," Abby said, stepping back a bit so that the two could see each other more clearly. "We went to school together, along with Samantha, whom you know. Mabel, this is Skip. He works down at the docks."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Mabel," Skip touched his cap, giving the other woman a smile. "I hope you've been enjoyin' the Confetti Countdown so far."

Mabel only blushed by way of an answer, and Abby decided to take things into her own hands.

"Mabel was just telling me that she hasn't had a chance to dance yet," she said, giving Skip a look and hoping that he would take the hint. "It seems that no one's taken the opportunity to ask her."

"Is that right?" he exclaimed. "My apologies, Miss Mabel. Cherin Cove's a more hospitable place than that, and I hope you know that you're welcomed here, even if we fellas have been a little slow to do our part." Giving the still-silent woman a little nod, he added, "I promised Abby a dance, but after I take her for a turn, wouldja be agreeable to me swingin' by to make things right?"

"Oh." Mabel blushed harder. "Oh, I'd like that very much!" She glanced over at Abby, and then up at Skip, beaming. "Thank you!"

"Of course," he touched his cap again. "I ain't the most nimble dancer, so don't get your hopes up to high, but I promise I won't step on your feet."

As though on cue, the dance ended, and a smattering of applause followed as couples hurried to take their places for the next number or meandered away to visit the refreshment table. Mabel saw Samantha getting food for her children and went to join her, while Sally sashayed to the center of the dance floor with her partner in tow, looking pleased as punch when they were stopped by another gentleman who was clearly eager to cut in.

"I forgot what a nuisance a purse is while dancing," Abby muttered, suddenly realizing that she had no place to put her bag. "I should have asked Mabel to hold on to it for me."

Skip eyed the little cloth pouch. "If there's nothin' fragile in there and you don't mind things gettin' kinda scrunched up, I've got pockets," he offered. "Never understood why ladies' dresses didn't come with 'em built-in - June used to grouse about it all the time 'cause she never had a place to put her handkerchief."

"I'm sure it has something to do with aesthetics," Abby answered dryly. "Fashion designers don't seem to consider that women need their clothing to be functional just as much as men."

She handed Skip her bag, which he carefully tucked into his pocket. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," he smiled. "It's light as a feather." The band stuck up a lively tune, and he offered Abby his hand. "I suppose that's our cue, Miss Abby. Shall we dance?"

She took his hand, unable to stop herself from scolding, "There you go, reverting to formality again - and you were doing so well. I think you got through calling me just 'Abby' all of two times."

"Old habits die hard," he joked as they began to move in time to the music. "Or maybe I just like your teasin'."

Abby pretended not to notice the playful wink that he gave her.

"Did you have a newsie handle?" she asked. "I remember some of my brother-in-law's friends went by some odd monikers."

"I did," Skip confirmed. "But there ain't anyone around who calls me by it these days. The folks here started callin' me 'Skip' soon after I arrived, so I kinda went from one nickname to another, and that was just fine by me."

The band's music picked up, and Abby stopped speaking for a moment to concentrate on trying not to bungle her steps as Skip led her into a turn. It was becoming increasingly clear to her that, despite the man's warning to Mabel, he was far from mediocre when it came to footing it - quite the opposite, actually.

"You lied," she couldn't help saying a little grudgingly once she'd managed to complete the turn. "You're an excellent dancer."

"And you're worse than I expected!" Skip winced as she stepped on his foot.

The blunt disclosure made Abby burst out laughing. "So, you have some bite to you after all!"

He had the decency to look embarrassed. "I didn't mean to sound so insulin'."

Abby smiled. "It's all right. I like honesty, and I've always been lead-footed. If you'd told me I was terrible at my job, I would have had some strong words in reply, but I have no objections to you remarking on my athletic incompetence when the criticism is undeniably warranted."

"Well, that's gracious of you," he allowed. They danced in silence for a moment, and she could tell that he was subtly adjusting his steps and his cues to accommodate for her ineptitude. Before she could decide if she was touched or simply embarrassed, he said conversationally, "It seems like you take pride in your work. What do you do, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"I work for the New-York Tribune," Abby answered, thankful to have something else to talk about. "I started as a clerk in the filing room and worked my way up to assistant editor. Right now I'm overseeing the entertainment pages until they hire someone to permanently fill the position. It's a busy, competitive environment, and sometimes it's frustrating to have so few female colleagues, but the pace suits me, and my supervisors are excellent, for the most part."

"Did you always want to work for the papes?"

Abby shook her head. "Growing up, I wanted to be a librarian. The thought of being around books all day, every day, was thrilling. But when I was old enough to look for a job and went to inquire about shadowing a librarian at several of the libraries nearby, there was no one who was willing to take me on, even as a volunteer. I moped about it for days. Then my father found a clerk position at The Tribune for me through a former tenant of ours and suggested that I give it a try. I did, and found that I enjoyed the fast-paced environment. Once I started moving up, I never looked back."

"Seems like you still manage to make time for books," Skip observed. "Sometimes it's nice to keep our hobbies separate from the work we do to make a livin'."

Or in your case, using your hobbies to help someone else make a living, Abby thought, remembering how he had generously offered his handiwork to the financially-struggling Ada. She hadn't forgotten the gratitude in the seamstress' voice that day at the shop.

They twirled together in time with the music, and Abby caught sight of Mabel sitting off to the side with a plate of refreshments. The shorter woman smiled at them as they passed, and Abby felt herself smiling genuinely in return. She'd never been particularly fond of Mabel, always associating her with Sally and others of their ilk, but now she wondered if the other woman really wasn't so bad after all. Perhaps she wasn't the brightest, but she didn't seem to be at all petty or mean-spirited, and if she could manage to avoid picking up those traits after being friends with Sally for so many years, well, that was saying something.

"Thank you for offering to dance with Mabel," Abby said aloud. "She really did want to take a turn, and I don't think she was expecting anyone to ask her. I thought if there was anyone who'd want to make sure she felt at ease at the Countdown, it'd be you."

"You were right," Skip agreed. "I'd hate for anyone to leave here feelin' hurt or lonely if there was somethin' I could do about it, 'specially somethin' as simple as askin' a lady to dance."

"Samantha told me that you make it a point to connect with any visitors you meet," Abby said. "It sounds like you're Cherin Cove's unofficial hospitality committee."

"Well, I do try to make sure newcomers feel welcomed. Several folks like Thad and Lottie did that for me when I'd just arrived in town, and it feels only right to return the favor. Plus, buildin' up Cherin Cove's reputation is good for business."

This piqued Abby's curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you wouldn't know it from lookin' at this place," Skip's voice dropped a bit, "but Cherin Cove's actually a lot less financially stable than it seems. We keep our businesses lookin' sharp for self-respect's sake, but a lot of times we're diggin' into our own pockets to do so. Speakin' frankly, a good month is a month where we break even. It ain't uncommon to take a loss a few months out of the year."

He shook his head. "We try to help each other out whenever we can, but the fact is, we've all been hurtin', and there are folks outside who'd love to take advantage of that. Ever since oil was found on the Larkin Estate just north of here, investors have been snappin' up the land nearby to see if they'll strike it rich, too. From what I understand, Cherin Cove's been passed over by developers mostly because the beach is kinda rocky and because the town is so small, but once there's no more land to be had elsewhere, there's no tellin' what might happen if someone with a big enough pocketbook comes around."**

"So you're figuring that if this place becomes a vacation destination or at least a popular local spot, it might have a better chance of remaining untouched?"

Skip nodded. "Yep. Any sort of extra income or outside interest gives us a little more stability. If we can show that we're the sort of place folks want to come back to again and again, maybe those rich folk'll think twice before levelin' the town just to find out what's underneath it."

"It would be a shame for all of this to disappear," Abby opined. "Cherin Chove certainly is a special place."

Skip grinned as he led her into another turn. "I'm glad you think so."

The music crescendoed, and she fell silent for a moment, lost in her thoughts. She hadn't expected a strategic underpinning to Skip's friendliness when it came to outsiders, and finding out that he'd had an ulterior motive - no matter understandable - was slightly disorienting. It was an unreasonable thing to be bothered by, she had no reason to doubt that his kindness to her had been genuine (if strategic)…but it stung to know that if Cherin Cove's fate hadn't hung in the balance, he might not have approached her at all.

Get over yourself, Abby, she thought irritably. So you were slightly flattered by the attention of a handsome stranger and secretly fancied yourself the heroine of some unfolding, lightly romantic story before finding out he was really only being friendly because he's trying to save his town. It's not as though you can fault him for that. If you were in his position, you'd probably have done the same thing.

It was the first time she'd admitted that she'd let her imagination run too far ahead, and while she grudgingly supposed it was to be expected given the circumstances, she should have known better than to fantasize, even just a little. How could she, in good conscience, look down her nose at Sally and Mabel's silliness when it turned out she was guilty of a similar offense - even if only in her head?

They finished the rest of the dance in silence, Skip seemingly oblivious to her discomfiture, and Abby found herself relieved when the last note of the musicians' accompaniment had faded away. When her partner escorted her to the sidelines, making some polite remarks about their time together, she answered him only with a terse smile and a nod before he gave her a little bow and then excused himself to go collect Mabel for the next dance.

Well, that wasn't the carefree jaunt I'd hoped it would be, Abby thought wryly as she watched him weave his way through the crowd, calling greetings to his friends and even stopping for a moment to do a silly little dance with one of the children. The disappointment galled - but mostly because she was upset at herself for not reigning in her expectations sooner.

Eventually, she made herself turn away and head to the refreshment table. She wasn't hungry in the slightest, but if past experience was anything to go by, the Confetti Countdown's spread would be a feast for the senses, and she wasn't about to miss out on it, melancholy feelings or no.

Her expectations were not disappointed. The long table was laden with a colorful array of food: bright red candy apples and golden-brown french fries and pale pink petit fours that had been decorated with edible flowers from someone's garden. There was crab crostini from the Rudder and Relish, tangy bean salad served in little cups, and freshly-popped caramel corn that infused the air around it with a delectably sweet smell. There were plates heaped with mincemeat pies and fruit-filled pastries and all kinds of cakes, and in the middle of the table, a large cheese ball shaped like a sailboat sailed amongst a grand assortment of crackers.

Abby quickly filled her plate and poured herself a cup of apple spiced punch from the tureen at the end of the spread.

"You'll want to get seconds of the mincemeat pies," came a voice at her shoulder. "They're absolutely to die for."

Abby made herself count to three before turning to face the new arrival. "I thought you were dancing."

"What, can't a girl enjoy some refreshment?" Sally set two pies on her plate. "You've only had one dance, and here you are already eating, but I haven't sat down since the music started, and I've worked up quite an appetite!"

"If you're so hungry, perhaps we should forgo conversation," Abby said coolly, but Sally refused to take the hint.

"Actually, I'm not here for snacks." She took a delicate bite of pie, then leaned in close with a conspiratorial smile. "I want you to introduce me to Sherwin. Sammie was going to do the honors, but one of her little ones took a spill just now, so she's got her hands full drying his tears."

Abby took a sip of her punch, refusing to answer.

"He is handsome…" Sally continued, watching Skip and Mabel twirl their way across the dance floor. "I'd prefer a bit more height and heft, but he's a wonderful dancer and seems to be quite charming. I'm sure he'll be quite pleasant company for the evening – "

"I thought you'd already found several partners," Abby cut in. "If you've really gone this long without leaving the dance floor, there must be plenty of men who would happily take you for another turn. You ought to let Mabel enjoy herself and have a chance to enjoy Sherwin's company; he may be the only partner she gets tonight, and you've no need of him when there are so many other gentlemen vying for your attention."

Sally tittered a laugh. "Why, Abby, dear, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous! Look at you, trying to use poor Mabel as an excuse to keep me away from your dock hand because you're afraid I might steal him out from under your nose!"

Abby's patience, never particularly robust when it came to Sally, snapped.

"Will you never grow up?" she chided. "You act like we're still school girls watching the boys play in the yard at recess!"

Sally shrugged her shoulders. "Well, the setting may have changed over the years, but the game sure hasn't. We're all competing for the same thing, and there's only so much of it to go around - if anything, the stakes get higher the older we get."

"I thought Mabel was your friend," Abby insisted. "She certainly treats you like one. She's loyal to you and never tries to undermine your decisions, yet when she finally has a chance to enjoy herself, all you can think about is swooping in for your own selfish purposes!"

The last few words of her rebuke were a bit too loud, and several partygoers glanced over in concern.

Abby forced herself to take a deep breath and lower her voice.

"I'm not introducing you to Sherwin, or anyone," she said stiffly. "Talk to him yourself if you'd like. But for the love of all that is decent and good, at least wait until Mabel's gotten a dance or two before butting in. You owe her that much."

And before Sally could say anything, she turned and strode away, forgetting in the heat of the moment that her cup of punch was nearly full and holding back a cry of dismay as it sloshed onto the fabric of her dress, staining it deep red.

Just what I need, she thought angrily. But she wasn't about to slow her pace and let Sally get the last word, so she kept walking, brushing past bystanders until she came to the powder room of the nearest shop, which had been made available for the Countdown guests. She set her refreshments down on a table outside, then entered the room, locking the door behind her and surveying the damage in the mirror.

"That's not good," she muttered, splashing some water on the bright red blot and futilely trying to scrub it away. "I wonder if Lottie has any chalk cakes back at the Lookout."

Half an hour ago, leaving the Countdown early would have disappointed her, but now she found herself easily resigned to the prospect. Her festive mood had all but evaporated - at least she could have some peace and quiet back at the bed and breakfast, since everyone would be away at the celebration.

Having made up her mind, Abby dried her dress as best as she could, then left the powder room, thankful that the dim lighting made the unsightly stain on her dress less obvious. She finished her refreshments and punch, then went to the holds table to pick up the items that she'd purchased at the craft exhibition.

As luck would have it, Lottie was the one manning the table.

"Leaving so soon, dear?" she asked as she handed Abby her basket of goods.

Abby nodded. "I'm afraid I've reached my limit early."

"Well, the key to the lobby is under the mat," Lottie told her. "Feel free to let yourself in; just make sure to put it back where you found it so it's there for any other guests who choose to retire early. I do wish you would stay until midnight, as it's the highlight of the Countdown, but I hope you'll have a peaceful evening at least."

"Thank you," Abby forced a smile. "Goodnight, Lottie."

"Goodnight, dear."

Abby made her way slowly up the hill, away from the music and colors and movement at the town square. The temperature seemed to drop almost immediately once she was alone, and when she looked up, she saw that the clouds had rolled in, completely obscuring the stars.

The short walk back to the Lookout was a less than happy one.

Once Abby arrived, she located the key under the mat and let herself into the lobby, then spent the next few minutes wandering listlessly around the deserted foyer. She knew that she ought to head upstairs, attend to the stain on her dress, and settle in for the evening, but despite these practical considerations, something in her was deeply reluctant to close the curtain on a night that had held so much promise.

Sinking down into the window seat, Abby pulled a large knitted blanket across her lap and leaned against the cool glass of the bay window. She could see the lights of the town square as she looked out into the night as well as the soft glow of the dock in the distance, and a sense of wistfulness stole over her like the marine layer rolling in off the sound.

None of this turned out the way I expected it to, she thought. I came here trying to get away from missing Papa - away from feeling sad and regretful. But here are those same feelings staring me in the face, albeit for different reasons.

Pulling the blanket closer around her, she let out a little sigh.

I wish I had never left, came the realization. I wish I was home right now instead of here, alone, without anyone to –

A gentle mewing suddenly interrupted her sinking thoughts.

The sound had come from behind a wicker basket sitting on the other end of the window seat some ten feet away, and as Abby peered into the shadows, she saw a gray and white cat peek out, eyes shining softly in the dim light. Unlike the other felines that hung around Lottie's, this one's ears drooped slightly down, giving it a doleful appearance, and Abby felt an almost-instant connection to this creature who seemed to be doing its own quiet brooding by the window.

"What have you got in that basket of yours?" Abby asked, scooting closer to the droopy-eared cat. She half-expected it to run away, but it stayed where it was, regarding her solemnly as she drew near and lifted the lid of the wicker bin.

To her surprise, the basket was full of books, perhaps left there by Lottie for her guests to enjoy. There were several familiar titles as well as a few that Abby had never read before, and she reached over to gently pet the cat as she perused the selection with her free hand.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you knew that I needed some cheering up, and decided to get my attention just for that purpose," she said half-jokingly. "There's nothing like a good book to drive the blues away."

She pulled a volume from the basket and sat back, finding a comfortable position and pulling the knitted blanket back over her lap. A sense of sorrow lingered, but it didn't feel quite so heavy as before now that she had a book in hand.

"You're welcome to join me," Abby informed the cat, who looked just as doleful as ever. "If you'd rather not have company, I certainly respect that, but if you're not opposed to some Mark Twain by moonlight, we can ring in the new year together. It's better than being alone, right?"

The cat hesitated for a moment, but in the end, it must have understood the invitation, for it padded over, glancing up one last time as though for permission before curling up nearby.

Abby stroked the feline's soft head and droopy ears, letting the comforting warmth soothe away her loneliness…

Then she cracked open The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn*** and began to read.

A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter; please leave a review and let me know what you thought of it!

Chapter Notes:

*Mabel's two dollar prize would have been worth about $60 of today's (2024) currency.

**If we were truly going all-out for the Hallmark tropes, a Big City Businessman (villain) would soon arrive at Cherin Cove to provide some narrative tension in the form of threatening to level the town in search of oil, but this is another facet of the story that's going to be getting the Realism Treatment (sorry, I know. I'm determined to answer the technical aspects of the prompt, but from a stylistic bent, I guess I'm only half-capable of committing to the Hallmark bit).

I actually came up with this part of the plot while I was doing some research on Long Island's history in preparation for this story, so the plight of Cherin Cove isn't being mentioned for its cliche potential, but as a nod to the area's actual development over time (and as a sort of realistic/in-universe explanation for while you won't find this particular town on any maps of Long Island today). That said, the bit about finding oil in the vicinity isn't historically substantiated in the slightest…but it is a direct nod to a particular lyric from "That's Rich." Props to you if you caught that. :).

***The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a book that holds some significance for Abby (if you've read Something Worth Winning, you'll know what that significance is; if you haven't read SWW, I won't spoil anything here). The implication is that, in this moment, she's gravitating towards what's familiar and comforting in the form of a book that she associates with someone back home who cares about her.