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The sheep gave birth in late April while the snow was still making a nuisance of itself. Their long, wooly coats, which several of the books recommended should be sheared before they gave birth, were full of a year’s worth of sticks, leaves, dirt, and other debris. Now, childbirth was added to the mess. Still, the sheep were warm, and they kept their lambs warm. The women did worry that the wool was so thick they might smother their lambs. Only one sheep had trouble giving birth, and Marion managed to save it by pulling the rather large lamb from the birth canal, the acids burning her hand. She shuddered for days as she remembered how gross that had been, but they had live lambs and hadn’t lost any of them. The dogs were extra protective of their flock these days.
“Isn’t winter ever going to end?” Richard lamented as he looked at the snow coming down at the beginning of May.
“Must be one of those years,” Marion told him as she joined him at the window, wishing the sun would come out and melt it all. There were some places on the island where the wind had piled the snow up until there were five-foot snowdrifts. She knew that because she had fallen into one drift and it covered her to her ears. All the paths they had painfully stomped out were filled back in, their footsteps long buried.
“Let’s hope it all melts before Memorial Day,” Barbara put in from where she was knitting, having taken up the craft when Marion gave up on it this winter. She found she enjoyed it and was learning more intricate patterns from the books. She was in competition with the boys, who also learned to knit that winter.
“What are we going to do if it doesn’t?” Brian asked, sounding almost intrigued.
“We will be putting our guests up here in your room,” his mother warned him, knowing they couldn’t put anyone in any of the summer cottages with snow on the ground; it was simply too cold for that, and the cabins were far too thin.
The children looked both intrigued and alarmed at the idea, but it was not to be. The second week in May turned almost unseasonably warm, and the snow began to melt quickly. Great rivulets of water formed as the snow melted and ran off the roofs. The great drifts melted as well, causing bogs and swamps to form.
Marion and Barbara dug channels to drain the meadow as it became one great big quagmire, splashing in it to do their chores as they herded the sheep out to forage in the grass that was beginning to show everywhere. Their lambs bleated next to them in protest, their protectors anxious about keeping them in their sight.
They were finally able to work on the cabins, but it would necessitate a trip to town for supplies, and they had a long list going. They checked each of the cabins, noting where they needed to replace roof shingles. The second cabin wasn’t the only one that had lost shingles. The fourth cabin had a large branch come down on one portion of its porch, and they rushed to repair that after cutting off the branch and making firewood of it.
The whole family went into town. The children went to school while the adults checked the mail and went to the hardware store and the lumberyard. They checked in at the butcher and were assured he would take their lambs off their hands whenever they brought them over. Marion also wanted to get rid of one of the older sheep that was looking sickly, and they had decided to keep all the female lambs to replace her as well as expand their little flock.
No one looked at them strangely beyond the normal inquiries about them not being seen in town as often. They saw Mr. Wheeler, who had sold them the island. He nodded at them cordially as they went about their shopping.
“Mrs. Whiting, Mrs. Jenkins,” the officer approached them as they finished up at the diner. They were sharing a large strawberry sundae, which they had no intention of telling the children when they picked them up from school.
“Hello, Officer Blakemore,” they greeted him in unison, looked at each other, and laughed. “Care to join us?” Marion asked, quicker to ask but knowing Barbara would have as well.
“Yes, I would, but I have duties. I heard you were in town, and I thought I’d ask if it was okay if I came over to the island tomorrow, weather permitting?”
“Absolutely. We’ll be there,” Marion assured him, smiling and unaware how her big blue eyes came across.
“You’re going to need to know where and how everything happened?” Barbara asked, keeping her voice low as she knew others were listening. They were always listening, hoping for something to gossip about.
“Yep,” he agreed, smiling reassuringly at her. “I’ll see you then?”
She nodded, and with another smile at Marion, he excused himself.
“I wonder what will happen,” Barbara murmured to Marion, no longer really interested in the sundae but unable to resist the cashews they had sprinkled on top. She picked at it with her spoon.
“He will get a visual of what happened, write his report, and that is that. We have nothing to worry about. You did nothing wrong, and we have more guests to worry about,” she indicated the mail they had gone through. They had a pile of checks to deposit at the bank, a loan to pay back, and they were really on their way. They couldn’t worry about anything but their guests. Right now, they had to fix the two cabins and prepare for a summer of guests.
Barbara agreed with her partner, knowing she was right.
Depositing their checks at the bank, they were pleased that they had paid ahead on their loan since more than once they hadn’t been able to get into town to do any banking. Their accounts were in good order as a result.
The officer arrived promptly the next day, and Marion kept the children out of the way and busy helping to repair the second and fourth cabins while Barbara walked him through what had happened, what she saw, where she was, where the dogs were, and where the man had been when the confrontation happened. Her obvious confidence in retelling it convinced him she was telling the truth. It was exactly as she had said previously, and he believed her. He left the island, certain there was nothing else to worry about in this case, his report reflecting that.