Hearts at Home

Hearts at Home by Lori Copeland

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Authors: Lori Copeland
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store by such things.”
    â€œWhere do they get roses in winter?” Winslow asked, his eyes searching his wife’s face. “I’ve always wondered.”
    â€œI think they fly them in from Argentina, or maybe California.” Teetering from side to side, Edith peered at the approaching boat. “If Odell remembered, I do hope he put the roses down in the hold. I don’t want the boxes to get all wet from the sea spray.”
    â€œI think I see flowers.” Winslow slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded at the approaching boat. “Aren’t those roses on the casket?”
    Annie turned toward the ocean, where the wind was sending showers of spray over the Sally . Her mittened hand rose to her lips as she realized that Pastor Winslow spoke the truth—now she could see the casket on the deck, its surface covered by a blanket of roses.
    She held her breath as the boat came closer. Olympia had always said Odell was one brick short of a full load, and today he seemed bent on either proving her point or taking some kind of revenge. Annie could see him grinning as he steered toward the Heavenly Daze dock. The bow dipped in a swell and rose again, sending a cool splash of spray over Olympia’s polished casket. He had just passed the anchored Barbara Jean, Russell Higgs’s lobster boat, when—
    â€œOhmigoodness!” Winslow cried. “Where’d that come from?”
    The assembled crowd gasped in concert as a rogue wave rolled in from the sea. Odell cut the wheel sharply, trying to turn and ride the monster, but his response was too little, too late. Lifting the Sally from the water as easily as if she were a toy, the surge carried the boat for a moment, her mast tilting at a dangerous angle, then crashed over the Sally in a roar that left Annie gasping for breath. The boat rolled onto its side, and everything on the deck—seaman, lobster traps, lines, and casket—went into the sea.
    Edith Wickam screamed, Bea collapsed into Birdie’s arms, and Vernie released a most unladylike exclamation. While Pastor Winslow moved his lips in silent prayer, Salt Gribbon and Russell Higgs raced toward the dory tied to the dock.
    Annie staggered forward. “I should go with you,” she told Russell as he jumped down into the boat.
    â€œYou stay here, Annie.” He settled onto the thwart as Charles Graham cast off the line. “We’ll do what we can.”
    After a moment woven of eternity, Odell surfaced in the foaming water, his fluorescent orange jacket signaling like a beacon. A few feet away, Olympia’s casket trailed in Odell’s wake, still covered by its blanket of roses.
    â€œGodfrey mighty!” Cleta Lansdown shook her finger at Russell and Salt, who were rowing like dervishes. “You gotta get Odell outta that water quick! The old man is liable to freeze clear down to his long-handles!”
    â€œAnd Aunt Olympia!” Annie pointed toward the brown box rocking on the waves. “Get her, too!”
    The sound of creaking wood sent horror snaking down her backbone. Out on the sea, the Sally groaned, her mast tilting starboard until it touched the water. In front of the vessel, floating amid the feather-white water and several painted buoys, Odell bobbed in his orange life preserver . . . only yards from Aunt Olympia’s casket.
    A shocked silence fell over the group on the dock as the dory reached Odell. Russell and Salt hauled the old man into the boat, then the three of them sat in silence as the Sally righted herself, then tipped and slipped beneath the waves, stern first.
    â€œJust like Titanic,” Dana Klackenbush whispered, one hand pressed to her cheek. “That old boat went down just like the ship in the movie.”
    Annie stood transfixed, her eyes trained on the flower-strewn box. Olympia’s casket floated toward the vortex where the ship had disappeared, spun twice, then caught another wave that pushed

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