1 Return To Carmody Lake - A Two Part Edwardian Romance

Both Edwardian and highly educated, Anne-Marie Thornton is as stubborn as she is successful. She'd be the first to admit it. But influenza doesn't speak feelings, her sister says, so it's back to the village of Maplehurst to get better, post-haste!
Enough of this city girl nonsense.

There, loyal friend and local publisher Thomas Reid will be waiting. Much to the disgust of Garrett Pemberton. He's a city slicker on a mission. And he'll see hell freeze over before he lets local loyalties get in the way of that.

Written and Performed by Stephanie Poppins - Produced by Neworld Books.

Transcript

Return to Carmody Lake,

A romantic short story,

Set in a Canadian lakeside village,

In the 19th century,

Written and produced by Stephanie Poppins.

The warm afternoon autumn sun seeped through the gaps in the birchwood trees,

In a particular way that made Anne-Marie Thornton think of soft spilled honey.

Maplehurst in October was a symphony of colour no city could ever rival.

The huge maples in Main Street were a blaze of crimson and gold,

Their large leaves falling like flames on the weather plank sidewalk.

The old elms that lined the lane to the Presbyterian church wore crowns of amber,

And the Virginia creeper that climbed the stone walls of the churchyard had turned a purple so deep in colour it was nearly black against the grey granite.

Beyond the village the hills rolled away in waves of scarlet and orange punctuated by dark spires.

These were spruce trees that seemed to anchor the landscape against all the glorious reckless colour.

The air itself tasted of wood smoke and ripe apples,

And the orchards on the Carmichael farm hung heavy with fruit that glowed like lanterns among the thinning branches.

Anne-Marie had been back in Maplehurst for six weeks.

It had been six weeks since the influenza had laid her so low she'd been unable to teach,

Unable even to climb the stairs to her third-floor apartment in town.

It was six weeks since she'd realised the busy important life she'd built had been constructed on foundations as substantial as the cool mountain mist.

She could still see Garrett standing in the doorway of her sick room,

His expression caught somewhere between concern and impatience.

Garrett Pemberton,

The man about town who had brought her flowers,

Expensive hothouse roses that wilted almost immediately in the stuffy air.

I can't take time away from the office just now,

He said,

Turning his hat brim in his hands.

The Riverside developments are at a critical stage,

You understand.

It's the opportunity of a lifetime.

I'll write to you though,

Every week,

I promise.

Anne-Marie had nodded,

Too weak to argue,

Too feverish to properly register the relief in his eyes.

But it was there.

Since returning to Maplehurst,

She had received two letters.

They'd been full of news about the development project he was planning.

Reading them had only made Anne-Marie feel more lonely than she did before.

If it hadn't been for her sister Margaret,

She wouldn't have made it to Maplehurst,

She thought.

She'd taken one look at Anne-Marie's tiny apartment,

With its perpetual gloom and the landlady's indifferent cooking,

And had bundled her up onto the afternoon train,

As carefully as if she were a piece of fragile china.

You're coming home with me,

Margaret had said firmly.

Mother will make you beef tea,

And you'll sleep in your own bed,

And stop pretending being alone and miserable in the city is somehow more sophisticated than being cared for by the people who actually love you.

At that point,

Anne-Marie had been far too weak to protest,

And truthfully,

She hadn't wanted to.

The moment the train pulled away from the station,

Leaving the smoky air and crowded streets behind her,

She'd felt something unknocked deep within her.

Every mile that brought her closer to Maplehurst felt like a gift she hadn't known she was longing for.

And now,

Standing in her mother's garden,

With autumn painting the world in shades of amber and crimson,

Anne-Marie wondered if she'd ever wanted to leave at all.

What was she thinking?

Perhaps she'd just convinced herself happiness was somewhere else,

Somewhere grander,

Beyond that bend in the road.

I'm more than just a girl from a small village with maple trees and one main street,

She'd said all those years ago.

How ridiculous that seemed to her now.

She settled down in the old wooden bench and gazed out at the skyline,

When a voice behind her,

Warm with suppressed amusement,

Said,

You're wall-gathering again?

It was Thomas Reed.

He stood older than she remembered,

But somehow more himself,

If such a thing could be possible.

This was the lanky boy who debated poetry with her under these very birches.

Now he was a man with laugh lines in his eyes and strong,

Capable hands that still bore those trademark traces of printer's ink.

Anne-Marie whirled round.

Thomas Reed had come every week during her recovery,

Bringing books from his shop and news of the village,

Never mentioning the way she looked.

She knew she was pale,

But she was getting better every day.

Thomas hadn't seemed to see that.

He'd simply sat in the wicker chair on the porch and read poetry to her aloud,

Or told her about the editorial he was writing on,

About the proposed railway extension and whether Tennyson was superior to Browning.

Until Anne-Marie forgot all about feeling like an invalid.

I was doing nothing of the sort,

She said,

With as much dignity as she could muster.

Though she felt the tell-tale warmth creeping up her neck,

I was contemplating the transient beauty of an autumn afternoon.

Same thing,

He said,

Opening the gate.

He stepped into the garden as if he'd never left it,

As if seven years hadn't stretched between them like an ocean before she'd returned.

Before she'd been forced to return through sickness.

You always did use ten dollar words for war gathering,

He said amusedly.

Anne-Marie wanted to be offended,

But Thomas's smile was too genuine,

Too full of the easy friendship they'd rekindled in these past weeks.

This friendship had made her wonder in the quiet hours of her recovery,

Whether she had in fact made a terrible mistake.

There had been no grand declaration between them when she'd left for the city.

They'd been nineteen then,

And she'd been full of plans for her future.

Teaching in a proper school,

Attending lectures and concerts,

Living a life of culture and refinement that tiny Mabel Hurst could never provide.

Thomas,

Meanwhile,

Had been staying there to run his father's newspaper.

He'd been keen to step into new responsibilities.

You'll come back,

He said when she got onto the train that day.

Of course I will,

She replied,

Meaning to visit in the holidays.

But I have to see what else is out there,

Thomas.

I have to know if there's something more.

Anne-Marie thought she'd found more at first.

The city had been everything she'd imagined,

Bright and busy and full of possibility.

She'd thrown herself into her teaching position and Miss Hartwell's academy.

She'd made friends with the other teachers,

Attended every lecture and gallery opening she could afford.

And when Garrett Pemberton had started paying attention to her at a municipal reception,

Handsome and successful Garrett Pemberton,

She'd convinced herself this was exactly the sort of life that she was meant for.

But recently the brightness had begun to feel garish.

The busyness had been exhausting rather than exhilarating.

And Garrett,

For all his charm,

Had never once looked at her the way Thomas looked at her on that train platform that day.

Thomas Reed saw not just who she was,

But who she might become.

And it seemed to Anne-Marie that he now respected both versions equally.

I bought something for you,

Tom said,

Pulling a slim volume from his jacket pocket.

It just came into the shop.

New collection by a Canadian writer.

I thought you might like it.

Anne-Marie took the book,

Her fingers brushing his.

Thanks,

Tom.

I just finished the last one.

Well,

Said Tom,

A little too quickly.

There's plenty more where that came from.

The sound of carriage wheels on gravel made them both turn.

A hired trap was coming up the lane at a brisk pace and in it sat a figure Anne-Marie recognised instantly.

Garrett Pemberton,

Impeccably dressed in a grey suit that must have cost more than her mother's entire wardrobe,

Climbed down before the trap had fully stopped.

His smile was fantastic,

Confident,

The smile of a man who had never doubted his welcome.

Anne-Marie!

He strode towards her with arms outstretched,

His polished shoes crunching on the falling leaves.

I've come to take you home.

Dr Whitmore assures me you're quite recovered now.

I've missed you terribly.

The city isn't the same without you.

Anne-Marie felt Thomas go still.

She couldn't look at him.

She couldn't bear to see what might be in his eyes.

Resignation,

Or worse,

The same steady acceptance he'd shown seven years before.

Mr Pemberton,

She managed,

Her voice sounding thin even to her own ears.

I wasn't expecting.

.

.

I know,

I should have telegraphed.

Garrett was next to her now,

Taking her hands in his,

As if the six weeks of absence and silence meant nothing at all.

I wanted to surprise you,

And I've such marvellous news.

My Riverside project's been approved.

It's going to be magnificent.

A lakeside resort like nothing the region's ever seen.

Hotels,

Summer cottages,

A grand pavilion.

It'll put our firm on the map.

Sounds interesting,

Said Thomas quietly.

And where would this be?

Yes,

Garrett,

Where's it going to be?

Garrett barely glanced at Thomas.

He had already dismissed him as just another village lad.

Carmody Lake.

He was very good at dismissing people he didn't consider a threat.

It's a stunning location,

Anne,

He continued,

Till he wasted on a handful of fishermen and farmers.

We will transform it into something worthy of its setting.

Prime waterfront property,

Less than two hours from the city by rail.

The investors are already clamouring for cottage lots.

Carmody Lake is our home,

Said Thomas.

Anne-Marie went cold.

What was Garrett thinking?

We grew up on that lake.

Thomas's father's cottage is there.

The Reid family's fished those waters for four generations.

She pictured the cottage,

A weathered grey building with green shutters,

Sitting in the heart of a craggy cove where the water was clear as glass and the looms called twilight.

Thomas's mother had painted watercolours,

Capturing the play of light on water.

His father had taught both of them to fish.

And this was the place where they had spent countless summers together,

Weeding under the willow trees,

Where they'd skipped stones and argued about poetry and watched the stars come out over the water.

The place where,

The summer she was 18,

Thomas had almost kissed her under those willows before she'd pulled away,

Frightened by the intensity of her feelings,

Especially considering her plans to escape to the city and all its sophistication.

You'll understand when you see the plans,

Garrett continued,

Is going to be the crown jewel of the region.

Now we need to discuss your return.

I've taken the liberty of updating your headmistress and she's expecting you.

Taken the liberty?

Anne was seeing with horrible clarity what Garrett's magnificent project would mean and at that moment she wasn't sure she wanted to return.

Perhaps she wasn't well enough after all.

Anne-Marie.

Garrett stared at her with the first hint of uncertainty she'd ever seen on his handsome face.

You are coming back,

Aren't you?

Anne-Marie turned to Thomas,

But to her surprise he had already begun to walk away.

How could he walk away?

Yes,

She said slowly,

Something crystallizing inside her.

I suppose I am.

How had she not seen it before?

This was what business looked like.

This was what successful city people did.

They brushed themselves down and they got on with it.

They developed,

They grew,

They planned,

They conquered.

She was struggling now.

Left alone,

She was struggling.

Where had Thomas gone?

It was time to make a decision.

One way or another,

This was down to her.

Garrett.

I think I've decided.

I won't be returning to the city.

Not now.

I'm not well enough.

Perhaps I won't be returning at all.

She watched as the handsome man's expression cycled through disbelief,

Anger and finally a cold dignity.

His jaw tightened and for a moment there was something ugly flashing in his eyes.

This was not heartbreak,

But wounded pride.

I see,

He said at last,

His voice clipped and formal.

I had thought better of your judgment,

Miss Thornton,

But I suppose village life suits some people.

Do give my regards to your mother.

Then he was back in the trap and gone before Anne-Marie could summon a response.

She sat there for some time alone.

The garden seemed very quiet.

Somewhere in the distance,

A chickadee called and the wind wandered through the birch trees,

Whispering its secrets.

The dust was settling on the lane now and she shuddered with a sudden rush of cold.

Then all at once,

There was a blanket.

Thomas was back.

Anne,

He said at last,

His voice gentle.

You didn't have to stay.

If you wanted to return,

You should have returned.

Where did you go,

Thomas?

She said in frustration.

If you're about to tell me you wouldn't want to stand in my way,

I'll have to throw something at you.

I needed you just then.

It's not my job to come between you and your latest love interest.

Thomas Reed,

I do believe you're jealous.

Anne-Marie smiled in spite of Garrett's departure,

Her racing heart and the weight of the decision she'd just made.

She was back.

She was back in Maplehurst to stay.

She took a deep breath,

Feeling as if she was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying,

And yet something she was meant to do all along.

What Garrett's proposing is not right and I know I'm going to have to stay here and fight it,

Along with you.

This is my home.

I'm done throwing away my life on dreams that don't fit.

The city,

The whole busy,

Important existence,

That was just another form of war gathering,

Wasn't it?

Wanting things I couldn't quite name because I was too stubborn to say exactly what I did want.

And what do you want?

Said Thomas,

Trying his best not to look her in the eye.

I guess I want someone who's not going to walk away when the going gets tough.

Someone to tell me when I'm making the wrong decisions.

Someone to tell me when I'm being foolish and stubborn.

Thomas smarted at this.

He'd always believed giving someone the space to be who they were meant that if they came back,

It was because they wanted to,

Not because they had to.

You're talking nonsense again,

He said in frustration.

No,

I'm not.

Well,

Tell me what you really want then and stop blaming it on someone else.

I want Carmody Lake to stay exactly as it is,

Said Anne-Marie.

I want children to learn to skip stones there 50 years from now.

I want to fight Garrett's development with every tool we have.

Editorials in your newspaper,

Petitions,

Whatever it takes.

I want.

.

.

Then her voice called.

I want to stop running away from home,

From Maplehurst,

From.

.

.

She didn't finish the last part,

But Thomas understood.

He had always understood.

Let's take a walk to the brook,

He said softly.

I'd like that,

Said Anne-Marie,

Discovering that she was smiling through her sudden tears.

I'd like that very much.

Thomas and Anne-Marie walked in companionable silence at first,

Following the familiar path that wound through the orchard and down toward the brook.

The air was getting cooler now,

And the light that held that particular golden quality of late October had lost its radiant warmth.

Anne-Marie was suddenly aware of Thomas beside her,

The way their footsteps fell into natural rhythm,

The way he shortened his stride to match hers,

Without even seeming to think about it.

She pulled her blanket in closer.

These small kindnesses she'd been too busy to value.

These quiet considerations,

As opposed to grand gestures.

It was these things she'd forgotten to value in the busyness of it all.

I've been writing about this lake,

Said Thomas,

As they reached the edge of the orchard.

Not for the paper,

Just for myself.

And that's all the more reason to save it,

Said Anne-Marie fiercely.

If Pemberton's development goes through,

Everything will change.

Garrett's father is a stickler for getting what he wants.

Then we'll have to make sure he doesn't,

Said Thomas,

With more confidence.

He felt.

I'll speak to my father.

The newspaper will help.

I can document the history of the lake settlements.

I can interview the families who've lived there for generations.

Got us,

The Reeds,

The Johnsons,

Mackenzies.

These are the stories that matter,

Anne-Marie.

Yes,

Thomas,

She agreed.

These are real lives.

And the land around Carmody Lake is not just empty land waiting to be developed.

It's real stories,

Real livelihoods.

But I don't know if stories will be enough against Pemberton's money and political collections,

Added Thomas.

Well,

It's our job to make sure they are,

Said Anne-Marie resolutely.

And Thomas was glad to see the colour returning to her cheeks.

Stories are never just stories,

She said firmly.

You should know better than anyone about that,

Thomas.

He looked at her with something like wonder in his eyes.

When did you get so fierce?

I've always been fierce,

She said,

Smiling.

I was just pointing it in the wrong direction.

And I guess city livings helped.

She kicked at a fallen apple and watched it roll down the path.

I've spent seven years chasing after the idea of importance,

Thinking it mattered more than people and connections and place.

She took a long breath in and sighed.

I'm sorry,

Thomas.

For leaving the way I did,

I mean.

For making you think Maplehurst wasn't enough,

When really it was me who wasn't seeing clearly.

You don't have to apologise for wanting more from life,

Said Thomas gently.

I suppose I didn't want more,

I just wanted different and I convinced myself that different meant better.

And as for Garrett,

He seemed so sophisticated and successful.

I thought being friends with him would mean I'd finally become the person I was supposed to be.

But the person I was supposed to be was never meant to fit into his world.

The person I'm supposed to be is meant to fight for this one.

Thomas picked up a flat stone and sent it skipping across a still pool.

Three,

Four,

Five skips before it sank.

Then he said,

I never stopped hoping you'd come back.

Even when you wrote about how exciting the city was and about your new friend Garrett Pemberton.

Well,

That's all over with now,

Said Anne-Marie.

Let's not waste any more time talking about the past.

You and me,

We've got work to do.

Reviews

What a delightful story already! Looking forward to the next chapter!

Tall order, stopping rapacious developers… but a lovely reunión!
Thank you ✨🙏🏼✨