The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

  Harry spooned soup into his mouth. “I was with Tom all morning.”

  Nellie’s heart flip-flopped. “With the fog and all, I figured it had to be you.” She struggled to keep her voice level.

  “Fog? The sun’s been splitting the rocks all day.”

  Nellie wrapped cold fingers around the hot bowl. “It was there one second, then gone the next. You know how the land chews up the fog,” she said. She continued to grasp the bowl.

  “Aren’t you hungry, love?”

  “I ate with the children,” Nellie lied, and poured the soup back into the pot. “Thought I had room for more. My eyes are bigger than my stomach.” She took a deep breath to slow her heart. “What’s this about Tom?”

  Harry recounted the conversation.

  “I bet Uncle Joe’s singing praises up there,” Nellie said. “Near broke his heart when you and Tom ignored his darn good advice and chose to go fishing.”

  Harry sighed, long and deep. “I wish he was here so we could tell him.”

  Nellie put her arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “He knows,” she whispered.

  There was a tap at the door. “That’s what I like to see,” a strong yet gentle voice said.

  A smile creased the corners of Nellie’s mouth. “Good day to ya,” she said. “Would you like a bite to eat before you check Harry out?” Dr. Conrad Fitzgerald, an Englishman, and a gentleman by her standards, was the only doctor on the Burin Peninsula. At seventy-three, he looked as young and as nimble as a man in his forties.

  The doctor laid his bag on the table. “Thank you for the kind offer, Nellie, but Harry’s my first stop. I want to get to all the men before the day is out.”

  Nellie watched him listen to Harry’s heart and sound out his lungs, free of charge. He made it a point to give all crews the once-over before they embarked on a long fishing trip.

  “Sid Davies still got an awful cough,” Harry said.

  “I told him he mustn’t go fishing for at least another week.” Dr. Fitzgerald shook his head. “You fishermen don’t have the good sense to take care of yourselves.”

  “We don’t fish, we don’t eat,” Harry said.

  The doctor returned the medical instruments to the black bag. “Is that fruitcake I smell?” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “I see you’ve been to the convent,” Nellie said. She’d told Mother Patrick she had baked a cake for Dr. Fitzgerald’s wife.

  “Indeed I have. My wife is pacing the floor in anticipation of my return home.” He leaned in and whispered in Nellie’s ear. “Even with your recipe, Hattie’s attempts to reproduce your exquisite cake are dismal failures.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Of course, the dear lady need never know I said that.”

  “I’m going to the shop once the dishes are done,” Nellie said. “I’ll take the cake to your house on the way.”

  “Right-o, Nellie. That’s very kind of you. I’m on my way to Belleoram and I want to get back before dark.”

  Nellie glanced out the window. “The fog’s hanging outside the harbour like a witch’s cloak. How will you know where to steer that two-masted schooner of yours all alone?”

  “Should have a man to help ya,” Harry said. “It ain’t safe going alone.”

  The doctor chuckled. “Now don’t you two start on me. Mrs. Fitzgerald lectures me about the same thing every day. And I tell her every time, a boat is the fastest and most convenient way to get to all the communities in Fortune Bay. Snowstorms and windy seas haven’t prevented me from attending to my patients.”

  Nellie carried a cloth bag containing only a fruitcake, the wide strap slung over one shoulder. Her shawl hung loosely around her shoulders, as the day had warmed up. She looked toward Burke’s Cove and saw the Marion. The poles sticking up reminded her of a skeleton, naked without their white sails, like bones stripped of skin. A knot twisted in her stomach. Schooners had been a familiar sight all her life, yet she’d never remembered them that way before. The stench of dead fish drifted across the water as the men loaded the ship with capelin. Little fish to catch big fish. The idea seemed ironic to her, yet she couldn’t explain why.

  The jingle of a bell over a door broke Nellie’s concentration. She’d reached Young’s General Store without realizing it.

  “Good day,” Ned Noseworthy said, and sniffed, a habit repeated at the end of every sentence since he’d broken his nose as a boy.

  Dave LaCroix came out behind him. “I’m stocking up on Bull’s Eyes,” he said, sucking on the hard candy made from molasses and brown sugar.

  “Ned, how’s Frances doing?” Nellie said.

  “Dr. Fitzgerald says she might not have to go to the sanatorium in St. John’s after all. My missus is some happy she can stay home.”

  “That’s good news. Tell Frances I’ll be ’round to see her in a day or so.”

  “Will do.”

  Dave tipped his hat to Nellie and ambled down the street with Ned.

  Annie Cluett stepped out of Young’s store as Ned said his farewell. “Ned’s a fine man,” she said, “but his constant sniffing drives me nuts. Don’t know how Frances stands it.”

  “Harry says the men don’t mind.”

  “That’s because he’s too busy fishing to talk.” Annie looked toward Burke’s Cove, where the Marion rocked on the gentle waves. A shadow fell across her face.

  “Tommy and Harry leave tomorrow.” Annie seemed to be talking to herself. Her husband, Robert, died in a blizzard at twenty-one years old, trapped on an ice floe while seal hunting. His shipmates found him three days later, frozen stiff, clutching Annie’s picture to his chest. Annie blinked and turned back to Nellie. “Them boys’ll make it back. Don’t you worry none.”

  “That goes for you, too,” Nellie said.

  Annie’s dark eyes watered, yet no tears fell. “I loves your man and Tommy like they were me own.”

  Nellie reached for her hand. “You’re the only mother poor Tommy ever knew.”

  Annie cleared her throat. “You heard the good news about Tommy?” she said.

  Nellie grinned. “Harry said it’s supposed to be a secret.”

  Annie smiled. “I’m tickled down to my toes that Harry’s finally come to his senses, too.”

  Chapter 3

  Nellie watched Harry sleep. She was tempted to wake him, to plead one last time for him to stay home. Her hand caressed his cheek, the contact softer than a feather’s touch. He stirred but didn’t wake. The nights were cold for late spring and Nellie pulled the cotton quilts up to her chin. Harry rolled over onto his back. The lines grooved into his forehead and the toughened, windblown skin, telltale signs that marked every fishermen, were already etched on Harry’s face.

  Something scratched against the window. Nellie got out of bed to check it out. A branch from the hundred-year-old maple tree next to the house swept across the glass. Reflected on the harbour water, the full moon looked like a giant snowball floating on the surface. Nellie shivered. The cold ate its way deep inside her.

  “Love, why aren’t you in bed?” Harry leaned on an elbow.

  “You know I can’t sleep before you head out to sea.”

  Harry lifted the quilts. “You look frozen. Come back to bed.”

  Nellie didn’t move. “Is Ike Jones a rum-runner?”

  “Not as far as I know. Why are you asking?”

  “Maybe he gypped the French captain and that’s why there’s so much bad blood between them.”

  “Captain Ike never smuggled rum or anything else the times I sailed with him. Haven’t heard any rumours of that sort, either.”

  A scream shattered the peaceful night.

  Harry sprang from bed and rushed out of the room.

  Joe and Sam were at the door to their room when their parents ran by. �
�What’s wrong?” Sam asked. “Is Bessie okay?”

  “She’s likely having the Old Hag again,” Nellie said.

  All four hurried to Bessie’s room. She moaned, the sound muffled, like someone was holding a hand over her mouth. Her chest heaved and her nightdress was soaked in sweat. Moonlight splayed across her face, giving her a ghostly pallor.

  “Dr. Fitzgerald said not to startle her awake,” Nellie said.

  Harry quietly approached the bed and gently stroked his daughter’s hand. “Sweetie,” he whispered, so softly no one else heard him. “It’s Pa.” Bessie’s chest continued to heave. Harry sat on the bed. “It’s okay, sweetie. Pa’s here.”

  Bessie’s eyes shot open and she bolted into her father’s arms. “Pa . . . I . . . I was awful scared.” Her breath came in short gasps.

  Harry rocked his daughter like he used to when she had the colic. “You had a bad dream. It’s over now.”

  Bessie sobbed into his chest. “The . . . hooded man . . . again.”

  Harry stroked her thick curls. “He ain’t real, Bessie. He can’t hurt you.”

  Bessie gulped to catch her breath. Her voice broke into a hiccup. “Marie was with me on the wharf. We were making a French flag for school.”

  “Don’t dwell on it, sweetie,” Harry said.

  “The man touched my shoulder this time and . . .” Bessie tightened her grip on her father. “It made me cold all over. I . . . I saw his eyes . . . They were green in the middle . . . and blood red around the edges,” she said between hiccups.

  Harry looked down at Bessie as tears cascaded down her face, like water over a falls. He kissed her forehead. “Try to put it out of your head.”

  Bessie could not be consoled. “He grabbed Marie and dragged her to the edge of the wharf,” she continued. “I tried to run for help . . . but my feet wouldn’t move.”

  Harry lifted his daughter off the bed. “The Old Hag won’t trouble you any more tonight,” he said. “You’ll sleep with your ma and me.”

  Bessie clung to her father, her arms wound tightly around his neck as he carried her down the hall. Joe and Sam went back to bed.

  Bessie was nestled close to Harry when Nellie got in bed. “Think about Marie’s birthday party next week and all the fun you’ll have,” Harry said.

  Bessie clasped her hands under her cheek. “Mr. Jones said he’s gonna have a clown. Ma’s gonna bake a chocolate cake.”

  “The best one ever,” Nellie said.

  “Pa, do you like catching fish on the Grand Banks?”

  “It’s back-breaking work,” Harry said. “Why?”

  “Joe told Marie it was heaps of fun. I told her that ain’t true.”

  “You’re right about that, sweetie.”

  “He’ll be gone a lot like you are,” she said and hiccupped.

  Nellie saw the sad look in her husband’s eyes. “Bessie, love,” she said, “the silly Old Hag’s got you upset.”

  Bessie nestled between her parents and relaxed.

  “She’s settled back into a quiet sleep,” Harry whispered over his daughter’s head after a while. “Her poor little heart was hammering.”

  Nellie lay awake all night and watched the stars dim as night turned into day. Dressed by sunrise, she checked one more time to make sure Bessie was sleeping soundly and went downstairs.

  She followed her usual morning routine. She brought in wood for the stove, brewed tea, and started breakfast. She whipped up some pancakes, Bessie’s favourite meal. The first batch was browning in the pan when Harry sidled up to the bowl, dipped his finger in, and popped a blob of pancake mix into his mouth.

  Nellie rapped his knuckles with a spoon. “Save some for the rest of us.”

  “I put Bessie back in her own bed,” Harry said. “She didn’t wake. Mother Patrick’s right. Our little girl has a wild imagination that works overtime.”

  The back door opened and Tom walked in. “Howdy, folks,” he said. He held a tiny parcel out to Nellie. “Happy birthday.”

  “At least one of the Myles brothers remembered it,” she said with mock annoyance.

  Harry left the kitchen and was back before Nellie could ask where he was going. “Here you go, love,” he said, and produced a box wrapped in fancy, flowered paper.

  Nellie opened the box, taking special care not to tear the paper. Her eyes feasted on a white lace shawl. Her mouth formed a perfect “O.” “It’s gorgeous.”

  “You didn’t think I saw you admire it in the magazine at the shop, did ya? Mrs. Young helped me with the order.”

  Tom gestured to his gift on the table. Inside, Nellie found a silver angel with glittering white wings and a silver halo. “Annie picked out a brooch to match the shawl,” Tom said.

  “Annie sure has good taste. I love it.”

  “Stay for breakfast,” Harry said. “It’ll give the youngsters a chance to see you before we go.”

  “Can’t. Annie’s cooking a load of eggs and bacon. She’ll think I’m sick if I don’t finish them off.”

  Nellie kissed Tom on the cheek. He blushed and scurried away with a nod to Harry.

  Breakfast was like any other. Bessie, recovered from the ordeal the night before, dived into the pancakes. Sam ate without saying much. Joe complained about school.

  Bessie finished first and grabbed her school books from the chair by the door. “I’ll miss ya, Pa.” She said the same words every time he went fishing. “I loves you with my whole heart.”

  “Me too,” Harry said.

  Sam picked up his books. “So long, Pa.”

  Joe glared at his books. “I wishes I was going fishing with ya.”

  Nellie pointed to the door. “Go,” she said, “or you’ll be late again.”

  Harry piled dishes into the pan. “He’ll come ’round to our way of thinking, don’t worry.”

  Nellie frowned. “I finished knitting four pairs of socks and packed them with your three pairs of long johns.”

  “We’ll only be gone a week or so, love.”

  Nellie added soap to the dishwater. “It’s best to be prepared.” A plate slipped from her hands into the soapy water. She turned to Harry. “I’m relying on you to keep Ike Jones clear of that French captain.”

  Harry looked at her, his blue eyes bright, serious. “Have I ever let you down before?”

  Nellie smiled and washed the last of the dishes.

  The Marion, a black schooner anchored at Burke’s Cove across the harbour from St. Jacques, possessed seven two-man dories. Harry’s dorymate whenever he sailed on the Marion was Fred McEvoy, a seasoned fisherman the same age as Tom. The two men smoked cigarettes while they waited for the rest of the crew. “How’s Dottie?” Harry said.

  “The baby’s not coming for a month or more,” Fred replied.

  “We’ll be back in plenty of time. Women likes their men around for the first one.”

  “Don’t want no trouble on this trip,” Fred said. He swung and twisted his arm back and forth. “It’s a bit stiff yet. A broken arm don’t help a fisherman none.”

  Harry puffed out a cloud of smoke. “We’ll have to keep an eye to old Ike.” The captain had just turned forty.

  Frank Fewer limped toward Harry and Tom, Sid Davies at his side.

  “How’s the cough, Sid?” Harry asked.

  “Dr. Fitzgerald gave me a tongue banging . . .” Sid began. He coughed, his voice raspy . . . “for not staying home.”

  Frank massaged his thigh. “Aches awful today. Bad weather’s on the way.” There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but Harry had never known Frank’s leg to be mistaken. “By the way, Harry, you dropped this in the graveyard yesterday.”

  Frank held out a small, wooden seal sculpture that fit neatly into his hand. Harry’s father had whittled it from the branch of a m
aple tree on his final trip home from fishing. The flippers were outstretched when he first got it, but the right one had cracked off during a soccer game when he was a boy. Uncle Joe had varnished it after that and advised his nephew to leave the fragile sculpture in his room. Harry refused and continued to carry it with him at all times. He rubbed a thumb along the broken edge, now smooth with time. Twenty-five years later, he treasured the object as much as he had as a boy.

  “Thanks,” Harry said. “It must’ve dropped out of my pocket when I pulled my cap out.”

  “Glad I found it for ya.” Every crew member understood the sculpture’s significance for Harry.

  More of the crew began to arrive. The single men had their mothers fretting over them while the married men were accompanied by their wives, some carrying infants and towing toddlers.

  Harry stubbed out a cigarette butt with his heel. He saw Ned Noseworthy saunter over to Clive Pope, his dory partner. “Clive, my son. Been here long?” He sniffed.

  Clive looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You knows darn well my son’s name is Ben.”

  Ned shouted into Clive’s ear. “I asked if you’ve been here long.” Sniff.

  Harry chuckled and lit up another cigarette.

  “Look,” Fred McEvoy said. “Simon Whelan and his new missus are here. She don’t look too happy about his leaving four days after the wedding.”

  Harry looked at the curly-haired youth. “Can’t say as I blames her.”

  “Speak up, will ya?” Clive’s voice carried over the crowd.

  Harry smoked two more cigarettes before Tom showed up with Fred’s wife. He helped her around a stack of lobster crates. She held a hand to the small of her back.

  Fred was glad to see her, but he was concerned. “Dottie, you shouldn’t have walked all the way here. Are you all right?”

  She rubbed her ripening baby bulge. “Everything’s fine. I wanted to see you off.”

  Annie and Nellie came up behind Dottie. “Don’t fret, b’y,” Annie said. “We’ll make sure your missus gets home in one piece.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Cluett. I appreciate that.”