EVERY SATURDAY, EXCEPT DURING the harsh winter months, a large flat-bed carriage took the estate servants into Larkin Village where they could shop at the grocery store, post and receive mail, visit friends, or merely get away from the mansion for the day. Many of the men frequented the Amber Whale, a combination tavern and lodging house founded in 1870, three years after the village was settled by John Larkin. An English immigrant, Edward Bisiker, and his wife, Lizbeth, built the Amber Whale. When Edward died five years later, Lizbeth took over and made it a favorite spot for locals and travelers.

    John went into the village, separate from the servants, at least twice a week to check on the progress, health and happiness of the residents. On Saturdays he hitched up his carriage and left at the crack of dawn, usually taking Claude with him. Claude went into the village to buy supplies for the mansion, but he liked to visit the Amber Whale after lunch and catch up on the local gossip before returning home with John.

    It was eight o'clock in the morning when the servants gathered at the back entrance of the mansion, waiting for the driver to bring the carriage around to take them into the village. Colm Sullivan was among them, curious to see the village, and needing to buy food supplies for the cottage. He liked eating meals at the mansion and seeing his co-workers, but he wanted to be able to cook for himself on the days when he did not feel like making the trip to the big house.

    Colm stood with Seamus Flaherty by the back door, waiting for the carriage driver. Several other servants, some maids included, waited with the men, set apart in a different group. The weather was still warm, but it had dawned cloudy and windy, hinting at rain later in the day.

    "Just our luck to be caught in the rain in an open carriage," Flaherty grumbled.

    "But it's warm," Colm pointed out. "Back in Ireland, we'd be freezing our arses off in this kind of weather. At least here, when it's summer, it stays warm when it clouds up and rains."

    "You're right. It's just my way to complain." Flaherty turned to look at him. "How do you like your job at the lighthouse, pretty boy?"

    Colm smiled at the name, knowing it was just Flaherty's way of being friendly.  "The job is a dream. Mr. Larkin has shown me how to run the tower, and it's not as hard as I thought it would be. It's just time consuming, and there is a lot of paperwork. The most tedious task is shining the prisms in the beacon, but it has to be done."

    "I saw the beacon going across the estate last night," Flaherty said, impressed by his friend's complicated job. "It was amazing bright. You were the one who set the light off?"

    Colm nodded. "It's easy. The light operates with kerosene and a wick, and all I have to do is extinguish the light just after dawn. The only hard part is climbing those blasted steps to the tower several times a day, but I think my body is getting used to it."

    "Here comes the carriage," Flaherty interrupted him. "Time to look lively now. I've been waiting for days to get off this estate and take a peek at the Amber Whale." The flat-bed carriage stopped in front of them, and the driver sat with his back to the group. "Bloody stuck-up bastard," Flaherty muttered as they climbed into the flat-bed.  "He's got to be English, all right. God-cursed limeys, noses always in the air. Even though we're all living in America, where everyone is supposed to be equal, the Brits still act like they're better than us."

    Colm grinned. He settled in the corner behind the passenger side of the driver's seat. Flaherty was next to him, and the other servants sat on blankets provided. There were eight servants in all.

    The driver clicked at the horses, and raised the reins as a signal to move. Suddenly, the mansion's back door burst open. Molly rushed to the carriage, her skirts billowing out behind her. "Hold on, Nichols! I'm coming along today."

    Nichols reined in the horses and the carriage lurched to a stop. He jumped down to help Molly into the passenger seat beside him, but she waved him off. "I'm perfectly capable of getting up on my own, thank you." And she did. Nichols returned to his place and took up the reins again.

    Colm noticed that Molly wore a simple, light brown gown, and her black hair was pulled up into a tight bun on top of her head. Since he sat directly behind her, he smelled the flowery scent of her cologne. He heard Molly say to the driver: "My father gave me permission to come along with you today. I need fabric to make a new dress."

    Nichols nodded. "Very well, miss."

    The carriage began to move and picked up speed as it left the estate. Colm wondered if Molly knew he was behind her. She had not looked around, but she hung on as the carriage bounced down the dirt road that led to Larkin Highway.

    "Jaysus, but she is a looker," Flaherty whispered into Colm's ear. "I've noticed her about the place when I'm working. She rides her horse a lot, by herself. She's never spoken a word to me personally, but all of us lads like to look at her when she's out. Imagine her going to the village with the servants, would you! She could just as easily have gone with her father earlier this morning, you know. Maybe she fancies peasants. Do you think?"

    "Shut up," Colm hissed. "You shouldn't be speaking about her like that. She's Larkin's daughter, and don't forget it. Remember what Claude told us."

    "That powder puff!" Flaherty snorted. "I don't think he'd know a lass if she bit him on his French backside."

    "He's not like that," Colm defended Claude without knowing why. "All the French talk with their hands, just like the Italians. Claude is only interested in girls, Seamus. He's not a powder puff, or whatever you call it."

    Before Flaherty could respond, Molly turned around. She gazed at Flaherty coldly. Clearly she heard what he said. Then her glance turned to Colm, and became warmer. "Going into the village to visit the Amber Whale, Colm?"

    Colm met her eyes. "No, Miss Larkin. I'm going to the grocery to get supplies."

    "Still determined to do your own cooking?" she teased.

    "Maybe. I like Claude's cooking, but some nights I'd rather stay in the cottage and not have to walk to the mansion to eat."

    "I understand. You should get a good look at the village. I'm sure you'll like it."

    "I will," he said softly, watching her face.  "After I visit the grocery, maybe I'll walk around."

    Molly smiled at him, and then turned to face the front.

    As the carriage turned onto Larkin Highway, and rumbled along another six miles to the village, Colm relaxed. He looked at Molly's hair, her shoulders, and the movement of her body as it adjusted to the bumpy road and shaking carriage. She was a total vision. A pretty colleen, he would call her back in Ireland. She had haunted his dreams since he saw her that first day on the estate. The lunch at the lighthouse two days earlier only fueled his desire for her, but he tried to temper it with the reality that she was a lady, the daughter of his employer, and there could be no changing that, no matter what his fortunes were. He watched her as Maine's countryside flew by.

    But he was not interested in his surroundings, not then, and not for a long time to come.

    LARKIN VILLAGE WAS HOME to just under one thousand people in 1880. Most of them were Irish immigrants, but there was also a scattering of Italians, French, English, and a few Germans. The main street was the hub of activity, with cottages and larger houses spread out on side streets. Nichols slowed the horses at the edge of town.

    Those who saw the village for the first time were startled by the settlement. It was similar to a village in Ireland, which of course was the way John Larkin designed it. In the spring of 1867, John razed an entire section of dense pines to begin building his village. He had small pebbles collected from the beaches and laid the stones into the soil to create a main street that looked similar to cobblestone. The result was what he hoped for. It gave the impression of entering a quaint old village, complete with gas lamps high on poles above the streets. John hired German men to keep the boardwalks and streets clean, sweeping them free of dirt and debris, and washed when it rained. It was a full time job, but John paid them well for it.

    The main part of the village was comprised of Larkin Grocery, Quinn's Forge, the red-bricked city hall, and a small cottage that was the sheriff's office. Larkin City Hall housed the jail, although the small courtroom had yet to be used. John made a sign for the government building, carved into a huge rock and painted green.

LARKIN CITY HALL Founded  1867

    The Amber Whale was a block from the grocery on Main Street, between a haberdashery and the Sea Wharf Café, which specialized in fresh seafood and hearty fare such as beef and potatoes. On warm summer days, wooden tables sheltered from the sun by large parasols were set out on the boardwalk in front of the café so that patrons could dine outside, or "al fresco" as Claude called it. Claude was a frequent diner at the café, before his weekly Saturday visit to the local tavern.

    The flat-bed carriage stopped in front of the grocery, where passengers jumped to the ground gratefully. Molly stepped onto the boardwalk and looked around for Colm, then smiled when she saw him. Her heart began to beat faster, and she felt a warm blush creeping up her neck to her face. She asked him: "Would you like me to show you around the grocery?"

    Colm walked over to her, smiling down into her face. "I'd like that, Molly." With head slightly bent, he spoke low so bystanders could not hear them.

    Her blush deepened. "Rascal," she whispered. "That wasn't fair."

    "Why?"

    "I wasn't expecting you to call me Molly," she said.  "I'd already forgotten I told you to do so when my mother wasn't around."

    "Or other servants."

    "Well, that, too," Molly admitted, embarrassed. "Now, would you care to see the grocery? I wager you haven't seen one like it, not even in Ireland."

    "I'm ready, Molly." Colm took her lightly by the elbow. "Lead this poor Irish peasant on," he teased her, noticing the flush in her cheeks. The feel of her slender arm through the dress sleeve warmed him considerably, and he could sense her pulse beating a little faster. "At least she isn't completely immune to me or my touch," he thought with male satisfaction.

    "You're no peasant to me," Molly said, letting Colm hold her the elbow, pretending not to notice his firm, yet gentle, touch. "We're all supposed to be equal here in America, remember?" She ended her sentence with the same sentiments of Seamus Flaherty, with-out knowing it.

    "We're supposed to be, but we aren't. Are you ready to shop, Mistress Larkin?"

    "Of course! I was raised to spend my father's money."

    Colm chuckled at her comment as they entered the Larkin Grocery through the open double doors, which were shut only at night or in bad weather. Inside the doors, Colm stopped to stare in amazement at the biggest store he had ever seen, offering a dizzying array of items. To the left was a stationary area, with paper, pens, pencils and candles, and beside that, behind a sign, was a station of the United States Postal Service.

    Molly proudly led Colm to where the shopping aisles began, to show him the breadth of her father's planning. "We sell everything here. Clothing, postage stamps, rifles and hunting and fishing supplies, ladies make-up and perfume, soaps shampoos spices, flour, sugar, beans, coffee, tea, canned milk, vegetables and meat. A butcher has a shop at the back of the store where he sells only fresh meat, fish and poultry. Over there is the area for spirits. They have kegs of ale and beer, bottles of wine, tobacco, whiskey, and fruit drinks, like lemonade and orange juice. They also sell fresh milk, cheese and butter, and freshly baked breads and cakes."

    Colm shook his head "It's a wonder, and I need a little bit of almost everything. I have no soap, or flour, or meat. I need to stock the cottage."

    "What do you plan to cook?" Molly asked as they started down one of the aisles, marveling at how tall and handsome he was. She was delighted to be seen with him, thrilled how he kept physical contact with her by holding her elbow. She noticed other women in the store eyeing him. The townsfolk were used to her forays into town, but they were intrigued by this gorgeous man apparently attached to her.

    "Irish lamb stew," Colm's mind was still on food. "That was the first meal I had when I came here, and Claude's was so good that I wanted to try my own version."

    "You have your own recipe?" How unusual.

    "Yes, my mother's recipe. I think it's similar to Claude's, but I want to try it anyway."

    "Let's go to the butcher, then. He has fresh meat every day, but it sells quickly. Claude also places a weekly order here, and sometimes he cleans the butcher out on Saturday's."

    They walked to the rear of the store, where Colm relaxed his hold on her elbow. As they neared the butcher counter, he saw several people waiting for their meat orders. The smell of fresh sawdust rose from the floor as Molly walked to the meat counter and rapped on the surface with her fingernails. Within moments, a short, heavy man with a large moustache came to the counter, wiping his hands on a white towel. "Ah, Miss Larkin. How are you this fine day?"

    "Very well, Basil. And you?"

    Basil Tunstall had brought his trade from Manchester, England six years earlier. "Right as rain," he said, smoothing his moustache. "If you're here to pick up meat, Claude placed his order hours ago and the lads are loading Mr. Larkin's wagon now."

    "I'm here for material for a dress, but I'm also helping one of my father's new servants. He's looking for lamb to make stew. Do you have any left today?"

    "Yes, quite a bit." He liked Molly. The lass never put on airs, and seemed comfortable amid the common folk. "How much do you need?"

    Molly looked back to where Colm stood patiently. He shrugged. "A pound or two. And I'd also like some bacon and pork side, if that's possible."

    "I have plenty of bacon and pork side," Basil said. "Just give me time to wrap it up. There are a few orders ahead of you. Do you have other shopping to do?"

    "Yes, we do. First, I want to introduce you to Colm Sullivan, the new lighthouse keeper at Banshee Point. He arrived from Ireland barely a week ago. Colm, this is Basil Tunstall."

    Colm reached over the counter and shook Basil's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

    "Likewise," Basil rasped. "The lighthouse out on Banshee Point has created a lot of talk here in the village, all of it good. Most of us have never seen it, but I hear it's very tall. What's it like working up in the tower, lad?"

    Colm liked Basil, even if he was English. "The view is like nothing I've ever seen. Breathtaking. I'm just happy to be here in America and working for Mr. Larkin."

    A line of people had formed behind Colm. "We'd better let the others in and do the rest of our shopping," Molly said.

    "Sure, you go ahead," Basin said with a genial wave. "I'll have your order ready in less than an hour. Nice meeting you, Sullivan."

    As they walked away from the butcher counter, Colm held Molly's elbow again. "Do you know everyone in the village?"

    "Almost," she said, looking up at him. "I was a child when my father settled the village, so one might say I was brought up with these people."

    "That's how I felt about Malahide," Colm admitted as they strolled to the dry goods aisle. "I knew all the people, and it made me feel very comfortable."

    "I like it, too." Molly pointed to sacks of flour and sugar on the shelf in front of them. "Do you want some basic staples for the cottage?"

    "I need just about everything," he grinned. "How much credit does your father allow the new servants?"

    "Twenty dollars, I think. But don't worry about it. You'll pay him back, and the clerks here won't refuse you extended credit because you're here with me. Besides, I think they're all curious about you."

    "Why?"

    "Haven't you noticed people looking at you?" Molly chuckled.

    "No," Colm said slowly, realizing he had been watching Molly and no one else. Had she noticed?

    "Well, they have. Especially the ladies. I'm sure they're dying of curiosity. They probably think you're my beau."

    Colm smiled, his eyes laughing. "And that would be a terrible thing, wouldn't it?"

    Caught off guard, but true to her usual candor, she said: "No, Colm, it wouldn't be a terrible thing." She looked up at him. Her breath stilled as she saw his blue eyes become serious. Her skin was tingling again. She felt her face grow hot. She battled confusion for the bearing of dignity that befit her station. "Of course, some might not agree." Her voice trailed off.

    "I'm sure they would," Colm said thoughtfully, fascinated by the montage of expressions that crossed her face within a few seconds. He was aware she had to keep catching her emotional balance when she was with him. It warmed him to know that he was significant to her in some way. To ease her disquiet, he changed the subject. "I need vegetables for my stew."

    "They have a selection here, but it's not great." She was relieved at the escape he offered.  "Most villagers grow their own. We have a big garden at the estate, out behind the house. Why don't you wait until we get back? I'll raid Claude's larder and get you the vegetables you need."

    "Claude won't mind?"

    "I didn't say that, did I?" She grinned. "He won't know. What do you need?"

    "Potatoes, onions, carrots, garlic. Whatever you can get, I'll be glad to have."

    "Ask and it shall be given unto thee," Molly quoted. "Remind me on the ride back and I'll get the vegetables to you somehow."

    They continued to shop. It occurred to Colm that Molly seemed right at home in the grocery. Also, she was being helpful, and not at all ashamed to be seen walking and talking with him in public. In fact, she seemed pleased to be seen with him. And no one else seemed to find it odd that John Larkin's daughter was in the store, shopping with a paid servant. Molly treated everyone the same, and with a great deal of respect. He admired such a personality trait. It pleased him immensely, and he was not sure why. His grip on her elbow tightened as they continued to shop.

    THE SERVANT'S CARRIAGE jounced as they raced the rain. Storm clouds streaked across the sky, trying to beat them home. Nichols pushed the horses harder despite the lather fly­ing from their mouths.

    Molly sat in the flat-bed pressed tight to Colm. The other passengers did not appear to care, if they noticed. Even Seamus kept his mouth shut.

    Molly and Colm's purchases filled several burlap sacks beside them. Molly bought silky blue fabric for a dress, and Colm stocked up on supplies for his cottage, coming in just under the twenty dollar limit. He was excited to get home and put his supplies away and begin making the cottage feel like home. He relished thoughts of his day with Molly in Larkin Village. They had strolled along the boardwalk on Main Street, had eaten lunch at the Sea Wharf Café, then sat at an outdoor table talking and laughing. She asked him about Malahide, so he told her about his village, and how his parents and sister were killed.

    She turned to him and asked over the noise of the race down the road: "Have you ever been married?"

    "No, never!" he laughed. Now what brought that on?

    "Any special lasses back in Ireland?"

    "Nary a one."

    "How old are you? Don't you like girls?"

    "I'm twenty, and, yes, I like girls. I just had a wonderful day with one, didn't I?"

    "Touché," she smiled. She turned to notice they were entering the mile-long road to the estate, and then looked up into his face. "You're the perfect age, you know."

    "The perfect age for what?"

    Molly's merry laugh was carried away on the wind, but she did not answer him.

    As they neared the kitchen door, Molly turned to him, her eyes dancing. "I'll get those vegetables to you tomorrow. Now you'd better run to beat the storm."

    "I'll wait in suspended animation," he teased, knowing his words would amuse her.

    She giggled. As the carriage stopped at the door, she touched his arm and whispered: "It's tea time, and we beat the rain." She paused. "I loved our day together."

    Colm lowered his voice to match hers. "We'll do it again soon."

    "Yes."

    Colm jumped down and held up his hand to Molly, who, instead of making a nimble leap to the ground, gave him her hand and stepped down like a lady, then, with one last glance into his face, hurried indoors with her bag of blue fabric. Colm gathered his purchases and began walking back to the cottage, where he would make a supper for himself of bacon and eggs. He was pleasantly tired, and wanted to be alone to remember every detail of the day.

    As he walked toward the path to his cottage, leaning into the wind, he felt the first few drops of rain. He had to hurry or he would get soaked. A feeling told him to look back. He turned and saw Molly standing in the front doorway, waving. He felt, rather than saw her happy glow, and waved back, then turned and ran into the dark. As the path descended sharply, he slowed. Then the thought came: "I have to draw Molly. I have to paint her. I want to put her image down permanently, so that it will always be alive."

    As he opened the cottage door, the sky pealed rain. He closed the door behind him, glad to be home and filled with an overwhelming sense of happiness.