When an antique shop owner tracks a ghost through the mists of time, the treasure she discovers is worth more than gold.
Madeline knows everyone in the quaint seaside town of Penbrook, and everyone knows her. But she keeps one thing under her vintage hatâher ability to touch an object and connect with its history.
After buying an old box at an estate sale filled with rare items, she started having vivid dreams about Maria, a young headstrong Puritan whose forbidden love for a poor sailor turned notorious pirate, caused a scandal.
Together with Evan, an attractive professor who tempts her to believe in love, she uncovers Mariaâs story, helpless to stop its trajectory toward tragedy. With Evanâs support, maybe she can lay the ghosts of the past to restâincluding her own.
Filled with the magical allure of the sea, endearing characters and a mystical journey, this debut novel explores the depths of love, loss, and transformation.
When an antique shop owner tracks a ghost through the mists of time, the treasure she discovers is worth more than gold.
Madeline knows everyone in the quaint seaside town of Penbrook, and everyone knows her. But she keeps one thing under her vintage hatâher ability to touch an object and connect with its history.
After buying an old box at an estate sale filled with rare items, she started having vivid dreams about Maria, a young headstrong Puritan whose forbidden love for a poor sailor turned notorious pirate, caused a scandal.
Together with Evan, an attractive professor who tempts her to believe in love, she uncovers Mariaâs story, helpless to stop its trajectory toward tragedy. With Evanâs support, maybe she can lay the ghosts of the past to restâincluding her own.
Filled with the magical allure of the sea, endearing characters and a mystical journey, this debut novel explores the depths of love, loss, and transformation.
We piled all our things into Dadâs rickety old van: boxes filled to the brim with household items, suitcases, an antique lamp (my motherâs favorite), an oriental carpet, a few plants, and, of course, lots of books. In the early morning hours, we left our home in Winsted, a small town in the northwestern side of the state. I imagined we were gypsies on a wild adventure. But after an hour on the road, I grew tired and irritable.
By the time we arrived in Penbrook, it was eight thirty in the morning. While my friends at home were in class, Mom drove me to the nearest beach to cheer me up. I flung myself out of the van and ran through the parking lot. At the entrance of the small boardwalk that led to the beach, I took off my sneakers and socks in one fell swoop and pulled off my sweatshirt, letting it land near the dunes. But as I stepped across the wooden planks, my pace slowed and my breath halted. This wasnât the first time Iâd been to the beach, but something felt different. The sights and sounds of the waves tumbling onto the shoreline overwhelmed me. When my bare feet touched the warm sand, I ran straight to the waterâs edge.
By the time Mom caught up with me, I was enjoying the sensation of the water pooling at my feet while the tide rose and receded, only to rise again until my hot temper drifted away, replaced by a peace and calm I hadnât known for many months. I imagined myself sailing beyond that thin line on the horizon. And, in that moment, I understood the raw power of the sea, whose vastness could either swallow me whole or soothe my tired wounds, reminding me of my tiny place in the universe.
A crab scuttled around my foot and dove headfirst into the sand as the water receded, leaving tiny air bubbles in its wake. I took a deep breath and let the sea-salt air wash over me as I tilted my head like a flower toward the sun.
At thirteen years old, I was almost as tall as my mom, who stood by my side with her arm wrapped around my waist. I inhaled her comforting Burberry perfume mingled with the fresh-airy scent of the ocean.
âWeâre home,â I humbly whispered.
She smiled, tucked a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear, and gave me a gentle squeeze. âYes, we are, Madeline. This is our new beginning.â
I closed my eyes and envisioned my dad standing with usâŚthe glassy sheen in his eyes, fingernails blotchy with paint, the smell of smoke mixed with turpentine. I could see him raising his thumbs up as if to frame this scene as a picture in his mindâs eye. He wouldâve said the sky was azure, his favorite color. While I felt him float away, I pushed down the lump in my throat. Silent tears dotted my eyes. His death, just three months ago, had left a deep cavern inside me.
I knew Mom felt the pain of his loss too, but in a different way, one that made her want to escape, leave our home, and put the past behind her for good. Even the slightest mention of Dad would cause her to frown and turn away.
So, thatâs why weâd packed up and headed to the coast. Mom said it was time to be near her side of the family for a change, which was a funny way to phrase it because there wasnât a whole side, just one personâher sister, my Aunt Phoebe, who lived in Penbrook.
This surprised me because my aunt was the exact opposite of my mom, who often complained about her sisterâs ânew ageâ lifestyle. After being married to my dad, an artist who drank alcohol just as much as he painted, Mother had a disdain for creative âhippieâ types and, according to her, my aunt fit that category to a T.
I moved farther out into the water, letting my feet sink deeper into the sand, when out of nowhere a rogue wave hit me hard in the knees. I had the sudden urge to dive in headfirst but stopped short when I spotted something odd just a few feet away. It was the color that caught my eyeâpinkish pearl mingled with turquoise green, a shiny dance of color and light at play under the water.
I looked over at my mom. When she stepped closer and leaned in to get a better look, her eyes grew wide.
âOh my, it looks luminescent,â she whispered.
I wasnât sure what that meant, but I knew we were seeing something rare and special.
Then a huge tail splashed, causing us to jump back in surprise. When I grabbed Momâs waist for support, I could have sworn a long mane of reddish, wavy hair rushed past me as it glided out to sea.
***
Twenty-two years later: August 2, 2018
I waited at a corner table in front of tall glass windows overlooking the ocean at Fish Tales, my favorite restaurant.
My hand twitched while I tried in vain to resist checking my cell phone again. My friend, Chelsea, was sixteen-plus minutes late, which was typical for her but a lesson in patience for me.
Iâve known Chelsea since we were in high school, and even after all these years, Iâm still not sure what binds us together. Sheâs the exact opposite of me, a lively extrovert who lives to socialize. My head spins when she shows me her calendar because she has events or parties scheduled nearly every night. As a true introvert, Iâve always hated the mindless chatter of cocktail parties, preferring to relax on the couch in my fluffy robe with a good book and my black cat, Poe, snuggled up beside me. But, in a weird way, Chelsea and I balance each other out. Iâm reserved, a perfectionist with a critical eye for detail, while Chelsea is wild, flamboyant, and easily distracted, hence always late.
While I scanned the emails on my cell, I glanced up and spotted an older man sitting at a small table a few feet away. His clothes caught my attention because he wore a burgundy sweater, which was odd for mid-August. With his ruddy, weather-beaten complexion, he looked like a sailor who had spent too many years at sea. He had a stocky build and a reddish beard peppered with gray. He must have been at least seventy, maybe older. I noticed the end of a slim white pipe sticking out from his breast pocket as he sipped his beer and recalled from our local museum that those clay pipes had been used over a century ago. How odd.
I felt drawn to speak to him, so I debated whether to walk over and introduce myself, but just then my stomach growled so loud I could have sworn the people sitting nearby could hear it. Oh dammit, Iâm starving.
Embarrassed, I flagged down Maggie, the server, and asked her to bring a basket of cheese biscuits along with a bottle of chardonnay, Chelseaâs favorite. I used to babysit for Maggie when she was just a kid, and now she was taller than me. This is what I enjoyed about living in a small town, seeing familiar faces like Maggieâs. Even though Penbrook had grown a lot since my mom and I moved here, it was still a close-knit community.
I glanced at a picture of the crab bisque featured on the menu, one of Fish Taleâs signature dishes. The savory cream with a hint of sherry and meaty chunks of fresh crab meat got me every time. I was conjuring up the taste when Chelsea walked up behind me, her sing-song voice breaking my thoughts.
âSo sorry Iâm late, Madeline. The nutty client I told you about insists on having a call every Friday afternoon at four thirty, and tonight he kept rambling on and on. I couldnât get him to quit.â Chelsea worked as an account executive for Bradford & Clarke Public Relations, the largest PR firm in town.
âNo problem,â my voice squeaked, trying to hide my lie.
Holding a Kate Spade purse in one hand and her cell phone in the other, Chelsea sat down across from me just as Maggie walked over with the basket and bottle of chardonnay.
Chelsea started speaking in that rapid-fire way of hers.
I pretended to listen while glancing over to where the old man sat. But he was gone. The table had been cleared, and there was no sign of him. I could have sworn heâd had a full beer just a minute or two ago.
My friend paused midsentence and frowned. âWhatâs up with your hair?â
I put my hands in my messy bun and felt around for a pen, thinking I might have left it there when I was working at the front desk of my store, but my fingers came up empty. âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, for one thing, it looks like a hornetâs nest.â
I pulled out a compact mirror from my purse, wishing I had taken the time to check my reflection before leaving the shop. In a quick motion, I smoothed my fingers through my hair and redid the bun, which was still messy but I no longer looked like Medusa.
Chelsea continued to size me up. âAnd look at your hands?â
My fingers were laced with speckles of paint. âOh, itâs just some leftover residue. I finished renovating that cabinet I told you about, the one thatâs part of my latest collection of beach-style furniture.â
A look of horror spread over her face as she strummed the table with her perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. When she shook her head in indignation, her red-tasseled earrings mesmerized me, swinging back and forth in unison with her movement.
I had always admired my friendâs artful style. With her long blonde hair and pale blue eyes, heads turned everywhere she went, not just because of her fashion sense but her model-like beauty. I gravitated toward the same paletteâgray, black, and navy. I couldnât remember the last time I had gone to the nail salon or even the hairdresser. My business consumed most of my time and energy. I braced myself, waiting for one of Chelseaâs fashion critiques, but, to her credit, she changed the subject.
âDid you get the text I sent you?â she asked.
âYou mean the one with the link to another dating app? How many dating sites are out there?â
âYouâd be surprised.â She smiled and took a sip of wine. âBut this one is different. Itâs for Mensa-types, bookworms just like you.â
âReally,â I huffed. âThatâs even worse than the previous one you sent me with the cowboys.â
âTheyâre farmers. You know, men who make a good living off the land, not riding horses in a rodeo. There are plenty of farmers in Connecticut.â
âPenbrook may not be a big city, but itâs not exactly farm country either,â I replied, feeling both defensive and self-righteous at the same time. âI donât know why weâre having this conversation, since you know I have no desire to date.â
âIâm worried youâre becoming a hermit,â she declared a bit too loud. âYou need to get out more.â
I rolled my eyes. âOh, come on. Just because I donât like to go out every night doesnât make me a hermit.â
âUh huh?â She picked out a cheese biscuit from the basket, took a bite, and gave me a dubious look, oblivious to the crumbs that scattered across her small plate and onto the table.
I bit back the urge to gather up the crumbs with my napkin.
âWhen was the last time you went to a party or even just a dinner with friends?â she whispered, as if my lack of social life was some big, dark secret.
My spine stiffened. I paused for a moment, searching my memory. Had it really been that long? Dating had been off the table since my last relationship disaster. Other than Chelsea, I hadnât gone out with friends in months. I had even lost touch with my college buddies at Hartford. After an endless minute, I blurted out, âJust last Friday I went to an estate sale with Aunt Phoebe.â My cheeks reddened in embarrassment. I knew this was lame, but it was all I had.
Chelsea pointed her finger at me. âThat was for work, and you know it.â
I struggled to find something to save face. I had gone to a few restaurants but to pick up my usual takeout. Last Tuesday it was Chinese, and the previous Friday, spaghetti and meatballs from a small Italian restaurant around the corner. Maybe Chelsea was right. Maybe I had become too much of a recluse.
âI guess a trip to the library doesnât count?â I murmured.
Chelsea slapped her hands down on the table. âI rest my case.â
âOkay, I get your point.â I waved my hands in the air in mock surrender. âBut Iâm not like you, Ms. Extrovert. I donât need to be the life of the party, and I enjoy being alone. My store is making a profit, so Iâm not stressed for a change. Trust me, Iâm in a good place.â
Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest, leaning forward. âI still think you should start dating agââ
I couldnât stop myself from narrowing my eyes and cocking my head at her.
âOh no, donât give me that look. Itâs been over three years since you jilted Andrew.â
âHe cheated on me!â I blurted out as the heat rose to my face.
Chelseaâs eyebrow quirked. âOh yeah, hmmâŚhe did. And if my memory serves me right, you were planning to break up with him anyway. Even you must admit, his cheating was a convenient excuse. It gave you an easy out.â
âI still felt betrayed. After all, he didnât know what I was planning.â
âOh please, we both know Andrew is not worth all this drama.â Chelsea slapped her napkin over her lap. âYou and I are going out next Saturday night, and I wonât take no for an answer. Iâll pick you up at eight.â
Just the thought of going to a bar while Chelsea tried to fix me up made my stomach churn. I took a long sip of wine and turned to stare out the window. The full moon cast a pale bloom over the sea, reflecting pinpricks of light like tiny stars against an inky cobalt sky. The view had a calming effect on me, which helped drown out Chelseaâs demand. The ocean was even more mysterious at night, making me wonder how many secrets lay beneath those watery depths.Â
Sea Magic by Heidi Mcintyre follows Madeline, a modern woman living in the seaside town of Penbrook. She spends her time running her antique business, working with her Aunt Phoebe, and visiting with her friend Chelsea. But after a mysterious box calls to her at an estate sale, she starts having dreams about a young Puritan woman, Maria.
Maria is young, headstrong, and beautiful. When Samuel Bellamy arrives in her town, the two fall deeply in love. Sam is penniless, however, so Maria's father will not allow them to wed. Sam sets out to seek his fortune, promising to return for Maria.
Madeline watches this tragic love story play out while beginning her own love story with Evan, a handsome and charming history professor who helps her piece together Maria and Sam's story. The love story between Madeline and Evan is a nice contrast to the story of Maria and Sam. From the very beginning, readers know Maria and Sam will not have a happily ever after, but Madeline and Evan might. Of course, Madeline and Evan have some challenges to overcome, but they don't feel contrived, like in so many romance novels. They feel real.
Another huge part of the story is self-acceptance. Madeline has always shut down the part of her that might be magical. Throughout the novel, she learns to embrace that side of herself, and even opens her heart up to new people. Madeline's growth is refreshing to watch. She has very real reasons for denying this part of herself, and her embracing it is a slow process, like in reality.
The other major part of Sea Magic is, of course, the magic. Madeline can sense who should own specific antiques, and certain pieces call to her. Magic is a thread woven throughout the novel, and though using it is crucial to Madeline's journey, it never feels overwhelming.
The two stories are woven together beautifully and the themes don't overpower the story. Having Madeline as our point of view character keeps Maria's story a mystery, which unfolds for the reader aling with Madeline. This, along with Madeline's own emotional journey in the present, make this story compelling and impossible to put down.
If you are a fan of historical fiction, magical realism, and enjoy a sprinkle of steam, Sea Magic is a book that you should check out. Hopefully, we get a sequel soon!