Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby was inspired by remote island life and Canadian history.
'I would have loved to have learned more about the relationship between Aster and her husband.'
wrote Debra Purdy Kong on Goodreads.
'I could not put it down. Had to read the whole thing immediately. It was gripping.'
-Kathy Barber
Chapter one
After
No sound but the crackle of flames as the fire licked a log in the wood stove in the corner of the living room and the clicking of knitting needles. Purl one, knit one it's an ancient dance her needles knew well. She rocked back and forth as she knits--her shoulder-length, spider-web hair swayed.
Thud! Peace was broken.
She jerked her head back in the direction of the noise and stared at the window. Thud! She saw the glass vibrate. Imagination unnerved her. Fighting it, she grew determined to find the source of the sound. She put her knitting in the tall wicker basket that stood beside her chair. Even in the dim light, she easily located it. She lifted one foot off the horsehair footstool and planted it on the floor in front of her. Then the other. Fingers dug into the fabric armrest, she groaned as she pushed herself up to stand. As if on ice, she navigated the short distance from her chair to the window. Peering out, all she saw was night.
Thud! Inches away from her nose the glass vibrated once again. Balancing herself against the wall, she reached over and grabbed the cord, lowering the blind.
"Plastic armour against the unknown, just like me, it's less than useless." She cursed the night.
Her vision blurred and felt dizzy.
Old brittle bones break easily. Be careful. Dr. Frank had warned during her last examination. Use your cane.
And she did when she remembered. She looked across the room and saw the cane hooked over the headrest of a chair. "Oh, you silly, old woman. It would serve you right if you fell."
Both hands clung to the windowsill. Her knuckles grew white as her fingertips pressed into the wood. She had fallen more times than most knew. Purple, green, and tan bruises were hidden under her clothing.
Thud!
She exhaled, slowly. Ignore it. It's nothing.
Balance restored, she turned first her shoulders, then her feet, and retraced her journey back to the safety of her easy chair. Within her easy reach, a dark oak end table, adorned by a hand-crocheted doily, held a framed photo, a box of tissues, and a large circular candle that dripped wax into a square ceramic base.
Thud!
She picked up the chrome-edged frame and cradles it in her hands. Lost in time, he looked at her with confident, friendly eyes. She spoke to his ghost. In this house, he still lived.
Ah, you. You were always happy. I was happy, once--long ago. But happiness isn't easy at any age--especially not here, in this house, on this island.
When I was a few years younger and capable of walking the distance, I'd journey down the old road to the ferry terminal. I'd stand on the sidewalk, hidden by the parked trucks, and peer down at the dock. Concealed, I'd watch as more trucks and cars stopped at the ticket booth and then continued down to park in the ferry lanes. I'd imagine myself walking down to stand in line under the glass-topped canopy, with the other foot passengers. I'd wait for the ferry, and when it came, Id' leave--never to return. I wouldn't look back at the houses that farmed the bay. I won't look back at all. But, I wondered, would I look ahead? And, if I did, what would I see? Where would I work, live? What would my future be off this island, without you? Would I have a future? These questions buzzed in my head like a hornet. I couldn't escape them. I felt like a starfish marooned on the beach, unable to swim away. And so reluctantly, I'd trudge back here to this house--and wait for you to rescue me.
Her index finger outlined the man's face--trailing over his cheeks and chin.
A lifetime full of waiting but you never came back to me.
Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby
Aster continues to commune with her husband's ghost. She tells him of his sister's "generous" offer.
