PART 1

The brothers passed the first hour of their journey in silence. Both were deep in thought about their experiences, about the leaving—about the future. The fact that they were still somewhat hung over only added to the pall hanging over the starting leg of the trip.

The words Florida, and then what-? rolled over and over in Sam's mind. The time leading up to their going away bash had been a comforting buffer zone that had kept him from worrying over precisely that question. Now the uncertain future was an open maw in front of them—about to swallow them whole.

And they would face it alone again.

He tried to shake himself out of the funk—thinking instead about their destination, and the people who would greet them.

Bobby had described Sally as the tough one of the two women. An artist—a successful one, apparently. He wondered what style she painted in. It wasn't Bateman or Trish Romance, by Bobby's description. He was interested in seeing her work, he'd google her name later to see if there were any examples.

And then there was the mysterious Emily. So far she'd been described to him as interesting, spooky, odd, and a sweetie. A sixty-plus year old doll with a heart of gold who happened to be blind, and happened to see auras, some of which warned of danger. He was really interested in meeting her. Having his own latent abilities, he had an open and hungry mind regarding this sort of phenomena.

Dean had already written her off an a nut-case. Sam was always puzzled by his need to close his mind to certain possibilities. Like divinity, for instance, or angels. He guessed it frightened him. All Dean knew were examples of dark works. He understood them well; knew how to deal with them. The power of good working in the world, in any form, was too alien. He didn't have a clue how to react to it.

But again he was traveling down that road. He mentally switched gears.

The cottage too, sounded intriguing. For starters, the name—Jezebel. A wicked, or shameless woman. What was that about? Must be an interesting tale behind it.

The cottage itself, fairly tired looking, old, and in need of some overdue maintenance, still had a faded charm. Described as an early Cracker house. He liked the thought of its wrap-around porch and fretted gingerbread trim. That was another thing Bobby had alluded to, some underlying reason that they were offered it in particular.

A little mystery will be good—he thought. He needed some mental stimulation for a change. Being in the safety of David's place was comfort, but he had nothing to divert his mind while he was there.

He knew that Dean, once he was reasonably on the road to recovery, had been bored to distraction as well. And a bored Dean is a very bad thing…..

Dean snorked and stirred beside him. He had drifted off, head at an uncomfortable looking angle, sunglasses askew. He was shifting in discomfort, trying to alleviate the knee-ache that bothered him since last night. Shouldn't have done that last bit of dancing, buddy.

Sam wondered if he even remembered it. He'd be more than happy to remind him, he had it on David's camera. He smiled at the thought of receiving that email soon. Sponge-Boy was gonna be mortified…Lots of extortion possibilities there...

The sleeper groaned and stretched, and looked over at Sam. "Sorry, Sam. Want me to take over for a while?"

Sam couldn't help but snicker at the well defined door lock imprint on Dean's cheek. "No. I'm ok...maybe after we grab some supper. How's the knee? You could stretch out on the bench seat if you need to."

Dean shook his head. As good as that sounded, he knew Sam was tired too, and it wouldn't be fair. "How long have we been on the road?"

"Three hours or so. We're out of state now. Next big town is,-uh...Kansas City, any minute now. Do you want to stop there or wait another three hours to St. Louis?"

"How 'bout just a pitstop and then stop for food in Missouri, but maybe not St. Louis-"

Right...definitely not St. Louis. Sam nodded in agreement.

Ten minutes later they found a coffee shop. By now Sam was fairly in need of a stimulant, and the extra-large coffee went down nicely. They devoured a box of assorted donuts and hit the road again.

Dean shook his head as they returned to the road. "Did you even notice?"

"What?"

"That girl behind the counter. If she batted her eyes any harder at you I'd be worried she was having a seizure."

"Was she?" Sam asked, genuinely surprised and pleased.

"God you're hopeless. You're never gonna get laid. Doesn't matter anyway, she was obviously deranged. She didn't even look at me."

"I think you have discerning and deranged confused."

Dean shot him a look, but smiled anyway. "Hey, does this dive have waterfront?"

"Of some sort. Probably more swampy than sandy—it's on the mainland side, not the ocean side. But we have our pick of beaches right there. Bobby said it was a quieter area, not built up and tacky or nouveau-riche like the rest of the coast."

Dean was a little disappointed. He kinda liked tacky.

"Uh...speaking of beaches, you're gonna look pretty stupid in your big black boots and long pants. Do you even own any shorts?"

"Nope." Dean said it with a finality that suggested he wasn't likely to own a pair any time soon.

Sam shook his head, and dropped the subject.. Nothing a pair of scissors couldn't remedy… "There is something strange about that cottage, though. Bobby hinted at it but that was all I got from him."

Dean raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Huh…. Strange, like unexplainable? Like haunting-strange?"

"Don't know yet. Guess we'll find out. Have you thought about how long we should stay down there..? One of us may have to sell a kidney if it's more than a couple of weeks…"

"Yeah, well...your turn to be cracked open." Dean's mind was already embracing the idea of some sort of gig. If they cleaned the house, so to speak—maybe they could parlay that into staying there no charge. An exchange of services, bartering. Everybody wins. He voiced as much to Sam.

"Well, don't get ahead of yourself." Sam cautioned. "I don't even know if it is that kind of strange, more likely just crooked floors or weird colours or something.. And you're hardly in any shape yet to go hunting.."

"What ? Why? I'm walking, my arm's ok—nothing else wrong!"

Sam cut him off. "Strength, Dean. You're still short on stamina. Be a little realistic, will you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean growled stubbornly.

"Oh you don't? Every time I've turned around on this drive so far you're snoring away beside me."

"Yeah well ...it's not because of any stamina thing, you're just boring."

"Whatever." Sam sighed. They were both road-weary—he expected they'd end up arguing at some point. They'd feel better with some real food in them. Sam felt like it was rocks he'd eaten, instead of donuts. They were due to stop in about ten or fifteen minutes. "Any preferences for supper?"

"I dunno." Dean grunted. "Except I'm getting sick of pizza."

Sam had to agree with that sentiment. David had fairly lived on the stuff. Maybe Ellen would broaden his culinary range.. Well, she knew how to deep-fry, anyway… "So..you think they'll last?

"Who?"

"David and Ellen. They seem pretty happy. Freaky that they hooked up. Ellen's razor edge melts whenever she's around him. It's sort of, uh...cute?" She would have cuffed him upside his head if she'd heard him refer to her as that.

"Yeah." Dean snorted. "Cute, that's the word I'd use for that hellcat. But it's good for both of them. She was well on her way to becoming a crabby old biddy, and David would've ended up some lonely old fart in the park putting bandaids on pigeons. At least we can take credit for that. And hey-whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Sam saw that some sort of steakhouse was coming into view. "How about here?"

Dean nodded and reached back for his jacket. "I'll buy. You drove so far."

They entered the place. Sam saw that his brother's limp was fairly pronounced. Maybe he should stay on as driver for a while longer. Dean could use some time stretched out.

Dean caught him analyzing him and growled, "I'm fine. You're not driving past here tonight, I am."

They ordered the day's special. Steak of course. Their server was a pleasant looking woman, she had a sing-song Scottish accent. She brought out their draught beer, and hurried away to check on their order. There was a celtic sounding, folky tune playing over the speakers. Dean cocked his head with a frown. It was so very far from his preferred type of music. "What the hell is that?" he said with a grimace.

The server had returned and was standing by their table. "Mind your tongue, you!" she admonished, winking at Sam. "That's proper Scots' music, I'll have you know. 'The Green And The Blue', by the Battlefield Band. But I suppose I should forgive you, being so sadly uneducated as such."

Dean had a retort on the launch-pad, but he realized she was teasing him. Instead he flashed a winning smile and nodded. She set their plates down and left them, chuckling to herself. "Better be a good steak!" he muttered, still wearing the frozen grin.

It was, and predictably their moods were lighter when they returned to the van. Sam had to stay silent as Dean climbed into the driver's side with a grimace. "Do you know how to drive an automatic?" he teased.

Dean gave him a withering look as Sam took his place in the passenger seat. He sat for a minute, flexing his knee and frowning, as Sam waited patiently.. Then he sighed dramatically. "Ok… you drive." He settled into the seat behind and stretched out. "But tell me if you get too tired, I don't want to wake up in the ditch."

Sam moved over, smiling smugly.

"I saw that." Dean said, catching his brother's eye in the rear view mirror. Sam just laughed and drove .

An hour this side of Nashville, Sam's eyes were so tired he was sure the bushes at the side of the road were sprouting legs and running across. It was definitely time to hand over the reins. He pulled over onto the shoulder and woke his brother. "Dean, time to switch or crash. What do you want to do?"

He rubbed his eyes. " Depends what you mean by crash...what time is it?"

" A little past midnight. I can't see straight anymore…"

Dean yawned and stretched. "Yeah, ok, I'll take over. How's this bus to drive?"

"Really easy. Brakes are a little hard…"

Sam folded himself into human origami on the bench while Dean familiarized himself with the van. He tested his knee, pressing the brake pedal several times. It felt fine—no hindrance. He adjusted the seat forward considerably, and rolled back onto the road.

Despite the vehicle—Dean was elated to again be behind the wheel. Everything was good and right when he was driving. He rummaged in his box, found some suitable tunes and completed the picture. Sam groaned a complaint over the selection, but Dean just smiled and ignored him. But he did relent a little, turning it down a notch.

Thus filled with his particular brand of peace, Dean drove for six hours straight—all the way to Atlanta. He hummed to himself the whole way. The only thing that kept him from going further was the threat of wetting himself if he didn't stop. Sam awoke when the van came to a halt.

"Pee break." Dean said as he hopped out. Sam took the opportunity too. They switched places and Sam yawned, "So where are we?"

"Just outside Atlanta. Look for a coffee shop that's open, will you?"

Atlanta-? "How long were you driving?" Sam asked, incredulous…

"I dunno...around six hours."

" Geez, Dean! Why didn't you wake me up? I would have taken another shift."

"Relax, Sam. I enjoyed it, wasn't a problem."

Sam remembered what driving meant for his brother. Dean radiated contentment, a rare and beautiful thing. He thrived in the netherworld between to and from. "Well, you should change careers, you would make a great bus driver."

They found a twenty four hour place and got their caffeine and sandwiches. Sam took them to Valdosta Florida. It was only 3 hours. It would be another three to Orlando. Since both were fully awake, they drew straws for that shift and Dean won. They figured they'd be in the keys area by morning.

After a few more pit stops they were in the vicinity of their rental. By now the horizon was rose tinged, the indigo of the night sky giving way to morning light. It was so different from their Nebraska experience, where the land was bunking down for winter, colours waning and warmth giving way to the chill of fall. Here, everything was a riot of exuberant growth...not the majestic deciduous and conifers of other states, but frivolous, lacy palms, and ground covers—vines, shrubs, that dominated every spare square yard. There were sandy rises. And flowers, so intensely colourful—almost garish, as if they weren't natural. The life here, the lushness, was almost suffocating. It took some getting used to after the self conscious, proper drabness of the Midwest.

"Some directions, here?" Dean prompted.

Sam pored over his pages and relayed the info. The sun was gaining strength, indigo brightening into azure, when they pulled up in front of Jezebel.

It was indeed a faded little gem. They got out and stretched, scanning the vista in front of the little house. As described, it had frontage on the water that separated the keys from mainland florida. And as Sam had predicted, it was a tangled waterfront of salt marsh and vines, a sandy path parting the growth to a silvered wharf. A small, peeling wooden boat was patiently tied there. Even this early, the sun was starting to warm their skin.

Both turned their attention to the cottage. It had an air of faded quaintness, just as it looked online. Two cats; a big, battered but still majestic, peach striped tom, and a lithe, coffee-brown, smaller one—surely a female, judging by her delicate form, lounged unconcerned on the porch steps. They could see another building behind the house, a few hundred yards away. It was decidedly more modern, with more glass than anything in its construction.

"Is it open? Do we need the key?" Dean asked. He was envisioning a bed and a pillow.

Sam wasn't sure. Some signs posted on stakes directed him to a rental office, which was apparently located in the glassed building. Dean unloaded their things onto the porch while Sam explored that possibility. It was still fairly early. The pale orange bruiser didn't move at the disturbance. He raised his head and regarded the usurpers for a moment, then closed his eyes and reclined. The brown cat was nowhere to be seen.

Dean sat on the steps, waiting for Sam to return. The big cat approached him confidently, and butted his lumpy head against his calf. Dean was a little surprised by its forwardness. Animals usually shied away from him, sensing his awkward, inexperienced manner with them. But this one had self assurance in spades. He obviously ran the place. Dean scratched its head a little. The cat accepted the homage and sauntered off through the tall grass.

Sam knocked hesitantly. It was a bit early to be disturbing people. He needn't have worried, both women were up and busy. The one who greeted him was tall and spare, and sun-browned and dried, like rawhide. Her once reddish hair was faded, shot with white, but still worn in a defiantly youthful pair of braids. Her eyes were a calm grey and they regarded Sam with a quiet strength, neither friendly nor wary. Sam stammered an introduction and stated his purpose.

"Oh yes, Bobby's friends! Welcome." she said, offering her hand. She had a strong handshake. Her face transformed with her warm smile. "I'm Sally. You must be looking for your keys."

The other woman raised her head at the mention of the name. She came to the doorway to say hello. She had short salt and pepper hair, in a charmingly unkempt cut. Her glasses were very dark, revealing nothing of her eyes. They looked like vintage Lennon. She too was tanned as brown as coffee, even more so than Sally. "I'm Emily." she said, offering a wet-clay covered hand.

"Sam." he replied. He realized she'd been throwing clay on a wheel, she was a potter.

Her friendly expression froze as her hand held his. She drew in a quick breath, wonderment filled her features. "Sam—such an aura! So green, and blue...so deep...thoughtful...strong… very brilliant."

Frowning, Sally cleared her throat and Emily released Sam's hand. "I'm sorry, Sam, don't think anything of it. Emily is blind, but she has an ability to see energy signatures—auras, from living things. You're not freaked out, are you?" Sally asked matter-of-factly while eyeing him closely.

Most people stammered that it was fine when obviously it was not. But Sam, she noticed—had a look of keen interest at this little exchange, almost reverence. And unlike most others, he hadn't so many pulled his hand away with an expression of unease or distaste. Even with the wet clay.

Emily tsked. "Don't always apologize for me Sal! I can't help what I see."

Sally cut her short, hissing,"Yes—but you don't have to yak about it right off. For heaven's sake, Emmy—do you ever think anything you don't say?"

Sam laughed a little awkwardly. " No, no...I 'm not freaked out. Really, I'm not. Actually Emily, I wouldn't mind talking with you again about your ability. But in the meantime, I have a brother who's gonna turn into a pumpkin any minute if I don't get him a bed…."

"Right—keys." Sally handed him two sets and wished him a happy stay. Emily promised to drop by sometime later, and he left.

He sprinted back to the cottage. Dean was still sitting on the steps, too weary to go exploring. "What took so long?" he growled.

"It wasn't that long, Dean." He opened the door to the cool shadowy interior. The cottage had two bedrooms, and an extra futon on the porch. It was sparely but interestingly furnished, most items were from the twenties—and it had a breezy tropical feel. Simple white bathroom. Utilitarian kitchen. And unlike the exterior, it was pleasantly well maintained.

Dean chose the room closest to the john. Sam chose the back bedroom, by default, and carried his stuff into it. He noticed it had a poem written and framed on the wall. Will the circle.. be unbroken… Actually, each room had the same verses posted. Odd. Somebody's favourite poem. Or song…the words struck him as sort of familiar, like an old hymn or something. Once he had stowed his gear, he hauled in the cooler and unloaded it into the fridge. He grabbed a couple of ice-teas and checked on Dean.

Dean was face-down on the bed, exhausted by the non-stop drive. Sam smiled and left him to snooze, and he headed out to sit on the welcoming porch. Sipping his cold drink, he scanned the view in front of him. It was beautiful. Warm and brilliantly sunny, with a refreshing breeze. His spirits were renewed by the place, he looked forward to exploring the area and hitting the beach, and reading some great books. ..And checking out the cottage—which was an intriguing time capsule.

The peach coloured cat appeared from under the porch and flopped down in front of him on a lower step. He wasn't soliciting any contact, just lying there—staking his claim. Sam reached down and scratched his head anyway. He wondered where the little brown one was.

Sally came down the path and waved. "I see you've met Paddy." she said. "I hope you don't mind him hanging around—he won't come in. He just claims the porch. He gets fed at our house."

"No...no problem. No allergies here. Where's his girlfriend, the brown one?"

"Brown cat?" Sally's face was blank. " As far as I know there's no other one. Just old Paddy here…"

Sam described the scene when they arrived, with the two felines lounging on the steps. Sally shrugged and assured him that she'd never seen it. She handed Sam a packet of pamphlets that showed the area attractions.

Thanking her, he said, "Bobby mentioned you painted. Do you mind showing your work to people outside of galleries?"

She smiled. "No, stop by and have a look anytime. I warn you—it's not Norman Rockwell."

"Good. he said. "I like work that's more loose and modern. I spent some time at Stanford a while ago—saw a lot of nice work in the buildings.."

Sally nodded. "Emily works in clay. You should see some of her work too. She'd be thrilled. Bring your brother around for some lunch this aft. We can give you some hints on how to enjoy the area. Is Dean an art aficionado as well?"

Sam snorted. "Dean's more of an, uh...illustration and photography buff. Spiderman … Maxim…"

She laughed. "Uh huh…" She rose to head back. "Why don't you drop by around two? We'll make you something more interesting than road-food."

"Sounds good." He watched her go before heading back in.

Dean was still snoring. Sam grabbed an apple and found the wicker porch swing, and dusting off the spiders, he settled into it and snoozed off himself.

Dean woke him at around ten. He spun the hanging chair like a carnival ride. "Hey Sam. Hungry yet?"

Sam, rudely awakened, dug his heel down to put the brakes on—treating his brother to an you're-an-ass look. Dean laughed and sat down beside him. He'd made a sandwich and he tore half off and gave it to him.

"What do you think so far?" Sam asked.

"It's awesome. I wanna check out that boat later. I didn't see any haunting so far. It just looks kinda spooky with the paint so crappy on the outside. Wonder why they don't fix it…?"

Sam shrugged. "Oh yeah, we got an invitation to the cousins' place for lunch-two o'clock.."

Dean groaned. Not half a day into vacation and he was already stuck having tea with a couple of wacky old women.

Sam defended it. "Don't roll your eyes...these two are pretty interesting. And Sally promised a good feed after all the crappy road meals. And we can maybe find out about the place—the name etc."

"Uh huh. I'm gonna wander around a bit, you coming?"

Sam shook his head. He wanted to empty the rest of the stuff out of the van before it got much hotter.

Dean was gone for an hour. He had checked out the boat, it was a tiny flat-bottomed punt, and he paddled it around the shoreline until he had to start bailing, at which point he thought it wise to return. As he approached the dock he saw the brown cat again. It watched him, as still as a statue, its stare unwavering. It had unusual light green eyes. Dean looked away to turn his attention to tying up the punt, and when he glanced up again it was gone. He climbed back up and made his way back to the Jezebel.

Sam looked up at his return. "What'd you do?" he asked. He was immersed in picking out some reading fodder, the place had a well-stocked book shelf.

"Took the boat out. You should try, later. Just don't go out too far—it'll drown you after an hour.."

Dean already had a sunburn on his nose and arms. Sam burnt quickly as a rule, and he'd bought a good sunscreen, but of course his stubborn sibling thought lotion was for chicks. It was nearing two, so Sam and a reluctant Dean followed the sandy path to the house. Sam had warned him that Emily would touch him and probably talk auras—he didn't want Dean to be spooked. Dean grumbled and had to promise not to balk if she did.

Reaching the place, they were welcomed by both women, handed a cold beer each and directed to sit down in the sun-room. Sally went to finish up her lunch prep. and Emily joined them, introducing herself to Dean. As warned—when she shook his hand, she became still for a moment, then released him. But she said nothing.

"Come on, Emily, what did you see?" Sam prodded. "It's really cool that you can sense these. So what is he, angry black? Sour brown? I'm guessing puce-"

She grinned. "Well...since you asked. Dean—you're all reds. I figure you're impulsive, maybe impatient...cocky. Am I right so far?"

Dean was a little shocked, she described him pretty accurately but he covered it up with a quip. "And handsome—you missed the biggest one, Emily. Oh yeah, and brave. And charming. And—"

Sam cut him off as Emily giggled. "And humble. He's really humble."

Sally came in with a tray piled high with shrimp, cut fruit, cheeses and cold cuts, and other goodies. "Dig in, people."

They finished off the generous spread and talked about the area, and about Bobby, and the little house. Sam asked what the significance of the cottage name was and Emily warned him it was a sad story, but she agreed to tell it.

" This property was my Grandmother's. Her name was Adelaide, Ada for short. She was married off to a man that who a real bastard, pardon my language-a violent drinker. He squandered her money and worse. Thank goodness there were no children.. She was bitterly unhappy. Well at one point he took off, and after a year or two, Ada thought he was gone for good. She started to believe in life again. She met a good and kind man, he was Seminole—and he lived with her here at the cottage. Course—people had opinions about it, he was an Indian—and she white, and still legally wed. They shunned her, called her a whore, and a jezebel. But they tried their best to ignore them all—because they were happy. For a while it was their own little paradise. They had a child—they named her Rose, she was my mother." Emily paused then, and after a moment, she continued.

"Well didn't her husband finally crawl back out of the woodwork. Their simple little happiness was shattered. He confronted Ada's love, and they fought, and he killed the poor man. And he set himself up as man-of-the house again, as if nothing had ever happened. Ada went mad with grief. She gathered up little Rose in her arms and she walked straight into that water and never came out. Somehow, the baby survived—they found her on the shore, soaking wet and crying. That black-souled husband took whatever valuables were left in the house and fled. Poor little Rose was shipped off to some miserable orphanage, where she stayed until she was sixteen because no one wanted to adopt a half-bred Indian child. Sometime after she left the orphanage she had a baby of her own—me. I like to think she found a bit of love somewhere. She died in the delivery. I never did know who my father was. If it hadn't been for Sal's good family taking me in, god knows where I would have ended up…."

After some quiet, Sam managed a quiet response. "Wow…."

"Huh." Dean added.

Seeing all the saddened faces, Sally jumped in. "Well—thanks for the downer, Emmy. You're quite the wet blanket, aren't you? But you forgot the good part, where it was all fabulous from then on, because you got to live with me and what could be better than that?" she winked at the brothers.

Emily shook off the pall and raised her glass in a mock toast.. " Absolutely. Amen to that. You know, boys—Ada is said to haunt your cottage. That's why we called it the Jezebel. Don't worry, she's a happy, well-adjusted ghost. If she likes you, you won't have any trouble…" she giggled.

Sally interjected, a little more serious. "Now Bobby told us you were hunters—we know all about that sort of thing, don't worry. But Ada is off limits...ok? She's not some tortured soul bent on wreaking havoc. She's in her happy place now. She deserves to stay there."

The brothers were silent after hearing all this. The women were too, until they both burst into laughter and apologized for sharing their sad little tale. Dean and Sam didn't know whether they were serious or not.

After enough was consumed to make everyone half-toasted, the women showed them around the studio. Sam was truly amazed by Sally's talent. She painted luminous pleine-air type landscapes, mostly large scale. Dean didn't get it at all, but he was polite. Emily's pottery was whimsical, colourful and sculptural ...mostly huge bowls and plates. Sam thought it was a shame she couldn't see the vibrant hues in her own work.

Emily held Sam back for a moment. "Sam...I don't mean to pry, but it's odd—I can see your colours as we speak-you're the only aura I've ever been able to see without actually touching you. I usually have to be in contact with a person to see anything. There's something different about you…"

That caught him off guard. For a second he thought he'd just suggest it was a mystery, but he did feel an unusual connection to her. He took the chance and told her of his ability.

"I thought so." she said, quietly. "It's a mixed blessing, isn't it? Besides the auras, I sometimes see flashes when something negative is about to happen. But it's never very clear what the source is, and so I am rarely able to do anything about it. It's frightening sometimes, and very frustrating. Do you find that as well?"

He was thoughtful for a moment. As much as he'd like to talk to someone about everything, he thought it unwise to bring up the demonic connection. "I have been lucky enough to stop or change what I've seen. Not always, so yeah, it is hard sometimes. But I'm glad to be able to discuss it with someone who doesn't think I'm certifiable. I appreciate that, Emily."

She squeezed is arm. "Any time, Sam."

When they returned to the sunroom, Paddy had claimed Dean's spot. "Hey you!" he said, ruffling his head. "Get outa my chair…"

The cat just squinted at him and leaned back, daring anyone to try to move him. Sally unceremoniously stuffed him under her arm and turfed him outside.

Dean didn't see the other cat. "Guess he's off to hang out with his girlfriend." he said.

The women exchanged cryptic glances. "There's only the one old cat…."

"I meant the brown one, she was on the dock this morning."

But still they assured them that Paddy was alone. He dropped it.

Finally the brothers thought they should let the women return to their day, and they thanked them and prepared to leave. Sam remembered to ask about the song.. It was everywhere, printed and framed, there were embroidered copies, a calligraphy one, -every room had a version of it.

"That was a favourite song of hers." Emily said. "We have it everywhere for good luck. Things seem to go well if you sing it, or even just hum it, when you enter the cottage. Makes Ada happy…" she smiled.

Sam asked what the tune was, and Emmy hummed it for him. He recognized it, it was a hymn he'd heard before. He promised they'd have a go at it when they got back.

"Good boy." she laughed. "Now you're guaranteed to have a good vacation."