Bodies and Sole by Hilary MacLeod

her hands. She was responding as if someone had died. Perhaps someone had. Her idea of herself.
    â€œYes, Moira, Mi’kmaq. And European. A blend of the cultures that makes Red Island what it is. If you hate that, you hate yourself.”
    Moira looked up. Despair flooded her eyes.
    My God, she does. She hates herself. Mi’kmaq or white. It doesn’t matter.
    It was a revelation to Hy. She’d never liked Moira, but had never given the woman a lot of thought. Moira had always seemed mean-spirited and even a bit vicious to her. Underhanded. Sneaky. Now, looking at her lips trembling and her chin buckling – even though it was for all the wrong reasons – Hy felt sorry for her. Sorry for Moira’s limited scope and imagination, the smallness, in every way, of her world. The newspapers guarding her floor. The fiancé who was marrying her tidy life, not her. The sister who feared her, whose affection was only dutiful.
    Moira slumped, looking at the floor. “What will I tell people? The women of the Institute? This can’t go in the book.”
    Hy was determined that it would go in the book, if there ever were a book, but that would be a battle for another day. If she could only get Moira to reconcile herself in some small way, to begin to embrace a connection, a heritage of which the orphan in Hy was envious.
    That’s it. Envy. Moira understands envy.
    â€œI envy you.”
    A spark of light appeared in Moira’s eyes.
    â€œEnvy? You do? Why?”
    â€œIt makes you more of an islander. A true original. A heritage princess.”
    That was going over the top a bit, Hy thought, but she couldn’t think of another way at the moment to get Moira to accept her very interesting ancestry.
    So she repeated what she’d said, hoping to get through to Moira’s pride.
    â€œMoira, listen. This makes you the oldest family in The Shores, bar none.”
    A glimmer joined the light in Moira’s eyes.
    â€œThe oldest family on this side of the causeway. This part of the island. As old as anyone anywhere else. A founding daughter.”
    Moira straightened. The Toombs had only ever been ordinary. Commonplace. Never the first. The only. And now – the originals? Moira read the letter again. She folded it carefully, stood up and opened the locked china cabinet that contained a few tea cups and saucers, valued because they were Royal Doulton, but chipped or cracked or desperately yellowed with age.
    There was a silver cigarette box in the cabinet, polished to a shine but with a dent in it, and she reverently placed the letter in that, closed it, held her touch on it for a moment and then locked the cabinet again.
    Hy could tell this was going to be a much bigger deal than the grandfather clock.

Chapter Ten
    Marlene was so excited by her idea – in spite of the immediate opposition from Gus and Moira – that she swallowed her pride and her dislike and phoned Hy.
    â€œHy? Marlene.”
    Marlene? Marlene who? thought Hy.
    A long pause.
    â€œMarlene Weeks.”
    Still no lights went on. Hy was on the point of hanging up.
    â€œâ€¦Ministry of Tourism.”
    â€œOh… Hi, Marlene.” No enthusiasm.
    â€œLook, I have a great idea for the bicentenary.”
    â€œDoes it involve marigolds?”
    Now Marlene was on the point of hanging up, but she needed Hy to move her plans forward. She squeezed out a weak laugh as a peace offering.
    Marlene decided it was worth a small piece of her tiny budget to bring Hy on side.
    â€œWhy don’t we meet at that seafood restaurant at Big Bay. My treat. I’d appreciate your suggestions for my overall plan.” Marlene chose her wording carefully to hold onto ownership of her idea.
    â€œOkay. When?”
    â€œNo time like the present.” Marlene’s tone was overly cheerful now that she’d got her way. “Say tomorrow…at noon?”
    â€œSure. Fine.”
    Hy was preoccupied with what