by Linda Abbott
Table of Contents
Cover
Authors Note
Dedication
1915
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Author’s Note
Captain Ike Jones is the name used by locals, in song and in folklore, for Captain Isaac Skinner of the Marion.
Dedication
For my sister Joan,
you loved and lived life to the fullest.
For my father, Ronald,
a war veteran who cherished books.
1915
Eight perfectly rounded fish cakes sizzled in the iron pan. The smell filled the air and greeted Harry Myles as he came into the kitchen. He stood behind his wife, Nellie, and watched her flip over a cake and lay it down into the grease carefully. Globs of bacon fat splattered her thumb. She hissed and pulled her hand away, then just as quickly returned it to the handle of the pan.
Harry sniffed, a long, resonate sound. “Smells good,” he said. “I’m starving.”
Nellie said nothing and slapped over another fish cake, causing fat to sprinkle the stove. The crust on each one was just the right shade of brown, reminding Harry of well-done toast.
“It amazes me how you always knows the exact time to flip over the fish cakes,” he said.
Nellie kept her head bent low. “It’s no big deal.”
Harry clapped his hands together. “Where are the youngsters?”
“In the shed,” Nellie said without looking up.
“Playing alleys?”
“S’pose so.”
Nellie seemed tense and Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay, love?”
“Grand,” Nellie said, still refusing to look at her husband.
The late afternoon sun streamed in through the open window. Even though it was early June, the day had been unbearably hot in St. Jacques. At five o’clock the temperature had cooled down to the low seventies. The sun’s rays highlighted the grey streaks just beginning to show in Nellie’s mass of auburn hair she wore in a bun. She shoved away several loose strands from her forehead with the back of her hand.
Harry stared at his wife’s back. “Sure there’s nothing bothering ya?”
“I already said there wasn’t.”
Harry pulled out a chair from the oak kitchen table set he’d built fifteen years ago with the help of his uncle Joe. He looked down at the green canvas, faded from too much scrubbing. His eyes travelled over the white painted walls. Nellie wouldn’t hear tell of wallpaper. “Gets too dirty and dull in no time,” she’d said. Harry’s gaze lingered on the eight South American porcelain dolls his wife had placed with tenderness on two shelves over the sink. It was the only luxury she allowed herself.
Harry drummed his fingers on the table. “Come on, Nellie. Tell me what’s wrong with ya.”
Nellie turned around. “Is Captain Ike gonna stop off at St. Pierre on the way to the Grand Banks?”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Why are you asking?”
“Just wondered. That’s all.”
“I knows you better than that, love. Out with it.”
“Fine,” Nellie said. “You asked, so here it is. Why don’t you talk to that old coot of a captain and make him see there’s no point in going to St. Pierre?”
“Captain Ike does what he wants. The crew’s opinion don’t matter none when he’s made a decision.”
“All he wants is to fight and stir up trouble.” Nellie stood on her toes to reach into the cupboard over the sink and took down five plates. “If he really cared about his men, he’d head straight for the Grand Banks and stay away from St. Pierre.”
“We gotta stop off for a few more supplies.”
“Right,” Nellie snorted. “Booze and fags are what he wants. You men would do anything for a swally and a smoke.”
The sound of faraway laughter filtered in through the window. Harry recognized his daughter’s voice, the only girl and the youngest of their three children.
Nellie sat down facing her husband and leaned closer to him. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Harry pulled a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and smoothed it away. Nellie laid a hand on his knee. After fifteen years together, her touch still sent waves of heat through him.
“Ike Jones is a fool,” she said.
“Can’t argue with that,” Harry said. “He’s stubborn and hotheaded as well, won’t back away from a fight no matter what the odds.”
“The last time a brawl broke out in the Hôtel de France, it was all because of him. You ended up with a black eye as thanks for helping him out.”
“The French captain and his men had Captain Ike surrounded. Me and the boys couldn’t stand by and watch him get pounded.”
“Why don’t you miss this fishing trip?” Nellie said.
Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “You want me to miss this fishing trip?”
Nellie nodded.
“What will we eat when the winter comes? How will we put clothes on the children’s backs? How—”
Nellie stood up. “Forget I said anything,” she said, cutting across in front of him.
Harry gently pulled her back onto the chair and caressed her chin with his fingertips, rough and hardened from salt water and handling burly nets. “You ain’t ever been this concerned before. What’s wrong?”
“I have a bad feeling.” Nellie’s eyes glistened as she held back tears.
Nellie had had a “bad feeling” before Harry’s father died. She’d had a “bad feeling” before Uncle Joe died. And when his mother died. She never used that expression lightly.
A shiver ran down Harry’s spine.
“How long?” he said.
“Awhile now. I was hoping not to tell ya. Please, Harry, don’t go. If not for me, then do it for the youngsters.”
Harry shook himself. “Your bad feeling don’t always come true. Remember young Gilbert Bloom? You warned him about taking the horse and cart to St. John’s last Christmas. He came back fitter than a mountain goat.”
A tear slid down Nellie’s cheek. “I should’ve known you’d bring up the only time I was ever wrong. Why listen to anything I have to say? I’m only your wife and the mother of your youngsters.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat and he reached for her.
Nellie pushed him away. “Your masculine wiles won’t work on me this time, Harry Myles.”
“Don’t be angry with me, love. Fishing is all I knows how to do.”
“It’s never too late to begin something new. You could try your hand at the lobster cannery.”
Harry shuddered. “Them lobsters gives me the twinges.”
“Then how about the herring packing plants?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Nellie interrupted him. “Don’t try and t
ell me herrings gives you the twinges, too. There’s two plants to choose from. Both Mr. Burke and Mr. Young would give you work.”
Harry opened his mouth yet again to say something, but Nellie barrelled on. “Your Uncle Joe was the one with the brains in your family. Stayed off the ocean and worked in a safe, comfy fish plant. He wasn’t a dope. Lived to be eighty. You don’t see many old-timers around here who went to sea.”
Harry ran a hand through his blond curls. “Love, I . . .”
Nellie jumped in before he had a chance to go on. “My heart throbs in my throat every time you go out to sea. I die inside when it’s with Captain Ike.” She heaved a great sigh. “I’m real scared about this trip. More scared than ever before.”
Black smoke billowed up from the frying pan and rolled toward them like a dense wave of fog. Nellie darted to the stove and threw the pan in the dishwater. Water splashed over the sides onto the counter and soaked the front of her white apron. Harry ran to open the kitchen door, and the room began to clear.
“Supper’s gonna be late now,” Nellie said after a brief bout of coughing.
The taste of smoke lingered at the back of Harry’s throat. “That don’t make no mind,” he said, hauling out a sack of potatoes from the pantry.
“Go tell the children,” Nellie said, scraping away the remains of a blackened fish cake with a bread knife. “I don’t want them in here fussing and getting in my way.”
Harry took out two handfuls of potatoes and returned the sack to the pantry. “Nellie,” he said softly, “me and the men will keep Captain Ike away from the French skipper.”
Nellie stood still and stared ahead, thinking over what Harry had said. “Give me your word on that,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
“You have it, love.”
Nellie continued to scour the pan.
Harry walked to the shed, and just as he reached it the door burst open and ten-year-old Bessie ran out. Harry sprang back and splayed his arms like a shirt left on the clothesline in a high wind. “Careful, maid,” he said with a laugh. “You nearly knocked your old man off his feet.”
Bessie giggled. “Go on, Pa. You’re all right.” She looked toward their two-storey house. Pale traces of smoke drifted from the window and door. Her laughter died. “Is something on fire?”
“Na,” Harry said with a flick of his wrist. “Me and your ma were having a grand chat and she forgot about the fish cakes.”
Bessie patted her stomach. “I loves fish cakes and drawn butter. Makes me hungry thinking about it.”
Harry stared into Bessie’s sea-green eyes. His father’s eyes. Eyes he hadn’t seen since he was ten, her age. “Go help your ma peel more potatoes. I’ll keep the boys from getting under your feet.”
With supper over and the children in bed, Harry and Nellie sat by the fireplace in the living room. Their pantry was stocked with wood, but no flames crackled in the hearth since the temperature had remained steady at seventy degrees. The glow of the candles threw dancing shadows on the walls at each end of the mantel. Harry occupied an armchair and puffed on a Camel cigarette, forming circles every time he exhaled. They spun upward, disintegrating into shapeless clouds. Nellie sat in the rocking chair facing him, knitting a pair of wool socks, the needles softly clinking together in the silence. Usually she rocked with slow movements. Tonight she was stiffer than a dried codfish.
“Joe will be thirteen next month,” Harry said. He listened to the steady click of Nellie’s needles. “Old enough to fish on the Grand Banks.”
“That so,” Nellie remarked, her eyes riveted on her task. Click click. Click click.
Harry blew out a circle of smoke and followed its rise to the ceiling. “Captain Ike’s agreed to take him on.”
The clicking stopped. Nellie’s eyes locked on the needles in her lap.
Harry reached up to stub out his cigarette in a saucer on the mantel. “I’ve been thinking real hard about our talk today,” he said.
Nellie’s eyes went to her husband. “What are you telling me?”
“I already signed up with Captain Ike, and when I commits to something I have to see it to the end. Wouldn’t be right to back out at the last minute. You made a heap of sense. This is my last trip. As for Joe, he’s gonna have to find a job ashore.”
The wooden rocker squeaked softly as Nellie relaxed and leaned back. “Thanks be to the Lord,” she said. “While you’re gone, I’ll have a chin wag with Mr. Burke. I like him better than Mr. Young.”
“No you won’t. I can get a job without a woman butting in on my account. Anyway, time enough for that when I return.”
Nellie resumed her knitting. She hummed “All Around the Circle” and rocked to the beat, smiling inwardly. She’d pay him no heed and would visit the plant owners as soon as the fishing schooner pulled out of the harbour.
His mother’s horse-shaped clock struck nine. Harry yawned and stretched his arms high overhead. “Time for bed.”
“You go on,” Nellie said. “I want to finish the band on this sock.”
Harry scratched the light stubble on his face. “Joe ain’t gonna be too happy. He’s some excited about fishing alongside his pa. Let’s keep this between ourselves for the time being.”
Nellie gently squeezed his arm as he passed her. “Thank you.” Her boy would stay ashore.
Chapter 1
Nellie went outside to the five-foot pile of junks stacked against the side of the house. A small group of pigeons pecked at the stale bread crumbs she’d thrown out to them through the window. A line of smoke drifted up from the chimneys around the harbour. Even though the sun peeked over the horizon, the morning was chilly. The temperature had dipped to zero overnight. Nellie shivered as she gathered an armful of wood and hurried inside. She scrunched up some old sheets of newspapers from under the sink, lifted off the damper, and stuffed them into the stove. She pulled a box of matches out of her apron pocket and scraped one along the stove. The match flared and she quickly ignited the papers. Flames sprouted up and she threw in a handful of splits.
The back door opened and a young girl Bessie’s age swooped in. “Mrs. Myles. I—”
“Marie!”
A man’s voice called from outside, cutting off the child. “You don’t barge into someone else’s house without even knocking.”
Marie stopped in her tracks and grinned at Nellie.
Nellie winked at her. “Never you mind,” she said, filling the brass kettle from the water bucket Joe had replenished the night before. “You’re as good as family.” Nellie put the frying pan on the stove as the man came through the door. Wish I could say the same for you, she thought, sparing Captain Ike a fleeting glance. Tall and brawny, with a bushy, black beard, Ike Jones reminded her of a mad pirate perched for an attack. Heavy, black eyebrows all but concealed his eyes, and Nellie often wondered what he was hiding.
“Sorry to stop by so early,” Ike said.
Nellie sliced a bun of homemade bread. “Never mind that. I’m out of bed before the birds wake up.” She cracked a few eggs, added Carnation milk and chunks of ham, and whipped the mixture with a fork.
Ike towered over his daughter, his big hands on her shoulders. “Marie couldn’t wait to show you and Bessie her new purchase.”
For the first time, Nellie saw the brown paper package tied up with white string that Marie hugged to her chest. She continued preparing breakfast. “Bessie’s still in bed,” she said, and put a dab of bacon fat in the frying pan. “Sit down. I’ll fix you both a cuppa tea and something to eat.” The melted fat bubbled and Nellie poured in the beaten eggs. The batter wobbled and popped as it transformed into an oversized omelette. Not many people made omelettes, but Nellie had learned about them from someone who cooked for a merchant family in St. John’s. As a treat for Harry and the youngsters in the days before he shipped out, s
he always charged a bit of bacon and ham to her account at the shop.
“That’s good of you,” Captain Ike said. “Never had time to eat, with Marie rushing out of the house like it was ablaze.”
Marie laid the package on the table and pulled out a chair next to her father. “Mrs. Myles, do you think Bessie will be out of bed soon?” Her fingers played with the knot in the twine.
“She had the Old Hag about a hooded man and was afraid to go back to sleep for hours,” Nellie said. “She’s good for a while yet.”
Marie’s forehead crinkled. “Old Hag?”
“The Old Hag is what we call an awful, horrible, waking nightmare,” Nellie explained, “where someone or something is after you and you can’t move. In her dream, Bessie was with you on the wharf when dark clouds turned the day as dark as night. A black-hooded figure appeared and walked toward you. Bessie went numb all over. She couldn’t even cry out for help.”
Marie quivered and rubbed her bare arms. “I hope I never have one of those.”
“Angel,” Ike said to his daughter, “since Bessie’s asleep, show Mrs. Myles what’s in the package.”
Nellie scooped up the omelette, cut out two portions, and put the rest in the oven to keep warm. She set two plates on the table while Marie untied the knot and opened the paper, one fold at a time.
Marie lifted out the most exquisite porcelain doll Nellie had ever seen. Straight black hair fell to its waist and a straw skirt went just past the knees. The feet were bare. A wreath of white, red, and purple flowers she couldn’t name encircled the head. A larger wreath hung around the neck and down the front. Nellie gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “What a beautiful creature,” she said.
Marie ran her hand the length of the doll’s dark hair. “Her name’s Leila and she comes from a place called Hawaii. Pa said that’s in the Pacific Ocean. This is how the women dress when they dance. I ordered her for you.”
Nellie’s eyes opened wide. “For me!”