A woman at the counter looked up from her screen as Nora Vance approached. “Next, please.”
Nora placed her neatly organized folder of plans and survey maps on the counter. “Good morning. I’m Nora Vance. I’m here to finalize the permits for the Salt-Spray Cottage restoration on Tern Island.”
“Ah, the Vance property,” the clerk said, her voice dry. She typed for a moment. “Mr. Thorne was expecting you. He asked that you step into his office when you arrived.” She pointed to a closed door down the short hallway. “All your paperwork is in order, but the Mayor wants to speak with you personally.”
“Is he usually so hands-on with permit approvals?” Nora asked.
“Only for properties he takes a personal interest in. His office is just down that hall,” the clerk replied.
Nora collected her folder. “Thank you. I appreciate the direction.” She walked to the indicated door and knocked once. A smooth voice called out, "Come in!"
Mayor Marcus Thorne, a man with a confident smile and an expensive navy suit, stood as Nora entered. He was 58, tanned and impeccably groomed. “Ms. Vance, what a pleasure! Please, sit.” He gestured to a chair opposite his large, polished desk. “Marcus Thorne. Welcome to Port Blossom.”
“Nora Vance,” she corrected gently, taking the seat. “But most people call me Nora.”
“Nora it is,” he said, his smile a practiced, genial expression. “I heard you were down at Cora Jean’s office yesterday. Hope she was helpful.”
“She was... efficient,” Nora answered. “I got the survey maps I needed, so yes, helpful in that regard.”
“Excellent, excellent,” he said. “Did you find everything in order there?”
“Yes, once we sorted through the files,” Nora confirmed. “The maps were precisely what I required.”
He leaned back. “Well, I understand you’re here for your permits. Building, electrical, plumbing. I’ve reviewed them myself. Everything looks perfectly sound. A minor seventy-five dollar fee for the structural review, and you’re all set.” He slid a clipboard across the desk. “Sign here, and the clerk will process the payment.”
“So, the permits are approved then, subject to this payment?” Nora asked.
“Absolutely. Just sign that form, and we'll have them ready promptly,” he assured her.
Nora signed the form, her gaze steady. “Thank you, Mayor Thorne. I appreciate the efficiency. It's quite streamlined.”
“My pleasure.” He paused, steepling his fingers. “Now, Nora, if I may be candid. The Salt-Spray Cottage, Tern Island. It’s a remarkable piece of property, truly. And your plans are ambitious. Very ambitious. Which is why I wanted to speak with you.”
“You mentioned that,” Nora said. “Is it the scale of the work that concerns you?”
He chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. “Partly. You see, the town has a long-term vision. Beautification, public access, that sort of thing. Tern Island has always been a… well, a missing piece in our municipal puzzle.”
“I’m not sure I follow. Are you referring to zoning changes, perhaps?” Nora asked.
“We’re looking to expand our public land holdings. Create more green space. Maybe a conservation area, eventually. A nature trail. Something to draw in more of the discerning tourist crowd, you understand.” He watched her carefully. “And, quite frankly, a private residence in the middle of a future conservation effort presents certain… aesthetic challenges.”
Nora kept her expression neutral. “But the cottage is a single-family home on private land. It's not public property.”
“Indeed it is. For now.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. “Nora, the town would be very interested in acquiring Tern Island from you. We’d be prepared to offer a rather generous sum. Far more than you paid, of course. A significant profit for you, and a major boon for the town’s long-term beautification plans. It would be for the good of the town, truly.”
“You want to buy Tern Island?” Nora asked. “I must admit, Mayor, that’s certainly… unexpected.”
“We believe in planning ahead, Nora. It's prudent,” he said.
“I understand that. But I didn’t purchase Tern Island to simply flip it for a profit,” Nora stated. “I bought it specifically to live there, to restore the cottage. It's a personal project I’ve dedicated myself to, not an investment opportunity.” She looked directly at him. “So, no. I'm afraid I'm not interested in selling. Not at any price.”
His smile remained, though a flicker of something, perhaps surprise, crossed his eyes. “Well, a firm stance. I respect that, Nora. A woman who knows her mind. Very well. The offer stands should you ever… change it. In the meantime, your permits will be ready for pickup at the clerk’s office in the next hour.”
“Thank you, Mayor. I appreciate you clarifying the town's position.” Nora rose. “Good day to you.”
She retrieved her permits, paid the fee, and left the Town Hall. The air outside was cooler than she expected for late May, a typical Maine coast chill clinging to the shadows. She stopped at the Port Blossom Hardware Store and picked up a pair of new, heavy-duty work gloves for ten dollars and a half-dozen large contractor bags for debris.
By noon, Ben Carter’s boat, the *Grace*, was tied up at the small dock on Tern Island. Ben, 55, was already pulling supplies from the boat as Nora walked down the path.
“Afternoon, Nora,” he called out, hoisting a toolbox.
“Good afternoon, Ben. The permits are secured. We can start the interior demolition right away.”
“Reckon so. Did you have any trouble getting them?” Ben asked.
“None, thankfully. Just a conversation with the Mayor,” Nora replied.
“I brought a few extra shovels and buckets. And a pry bar. That plaster is going to fight us.”
“Excellent. I'm glad you anticipated the challenge. We'll need everything we can get,” Nora said.
They walked up to the cottage. The front door groaned open, revealing the dust-filled main room. Light streamed in through the broken windows, illuminating floating particles.
“We’ll start here in the main room,” Nora said, surveying the scene. “Clear everything loose. Plaster, lath, rotted wood. We need to get down to the structure. What do you think is the best approach for the fallen ceiling sections?”
Ben nodded, pulling on thick leather work gloves. “Sound plan. I'll tackle those larger pieces first. We’ll make a pile outside for the hauler.”
They worked steadily, a rhythmic symphony of scraping, prying, and the dull thud of debris falling into contractor bags. Nora focused on the methodical process, the physical exertion a welcome counterpoint to the subtle tension of her meeting with the Mayor. She uncovered intricate patterns of old wallpaper beneath layers of paint, revealing traces of former lives. Ben methodically cleared larger pieces of fallen ceiling and wall sections.
“This is going to be a few days’ work, at least. Are you sure you're up for this much dust, Nora?" Ben commented, wiping dust from his brow.
“Agreed. But every bit we clear reveals the true bones of the house, and I'm certainly up for it. I want to see what we're working with,” Nora responded. She used her pry bar to loosen a section of water-damaged lath near what remained of the fireplace. The fireplace itself was a squat, fieldstone structure dominating one wall, its hearth made of large, irregular slate stones.
By late afternoon, the main room was significantly emptier, a mound of filled contractor bags growing outside the cottage door. They had reached the fireplace, its soot-stained interior a black void.
“This hearthstone here,” Ben said, kicking at a particularly large, dark slab. “It feels a little loose. Do you want me to try and move it?” He bent, grunting with effort, and wedged his fingers under the edge.
“It certainly looks like it's shifted,” Nora said. “Yes, please, see if you can get it up. I want to inspect underneath.” With another strain, Ben levered the heavy stone up, shifting it out of the way.
Nora knelt, brushing away dust from the damp soil beneath. But it wasn’t the soil that caught her eye. On the underside of the massive hearthstone, where it had rested for decades, was a strange, deliberately carved symbol. It looked like a compass rose, but its points were intertwined with a complex, ship’s-knot design.
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