Thunder from the Sea Read online

  Thunder From The Sea

  Joan Hiatt Harlow

  Margaret K. McElderry Books

  New York London Toronto Sydney

  Shadows on the Sea

  Joshua’s Song

  Star in the Storm

  Margaret K. McElderry Books

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2004 by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Book design by Sammy Yuen Jr.

  Map by Kristan Jean Harlow

  The text for this book is set in LombaBook.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Harlow, Joan Hiatt.

  Thunder from the sea /Joan Hiatt Harlow.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Just when his dreams of being part of a family and having a dog seem to be coming true, Tom wonders if trouble with neighbors on his new island home and the impending birth of a new baby will change everything.

  Set in Newfoundland in 1929.

  ISBN 0-689-86403-5 (hardcover)

  eISBN 978-1-439-10741-6

  ISBN 978-0-689-86403-2

  [1. Orphans—Fiction. 2. Dogs—Fiction. 3. Family life—Newfoundland and Labrador—Fiction. 4. Newfoundland and Labrador—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.H22666Th 2004

  [Fic]—dc22

  2003010687

  To Jordan, Madison, and Jacie, with love and hugs … and a bit of jannie talk from Noanie

  NOWDEESTREEMAIDSIS’BOUTDEELOVEEYEST’NBYFAR DEEPRETTIEST’NBRIGHTESTSWEETARTSI’VEEVER SEENINALLMEBORNDAYS! AN’IJUSTLOVES’EMTOPIECES!

  Thunder From The Sea

  Contents

  Map

  1 Seasick

  2 fioNa

  3 Back o’ tHe MooN

  4 Out of tHe StoRm

  5 tHuNdeR

  6 feaR!

  7 SometHiN’ isN’t RiGHt

  8 MissiNG!

  9 tHe fiGHt

  10 LittLe WaNdeReR

  11 HeaRtBeatS

  12 eaRtHQuake!

  13 tidaL Wave!

  14 MoRe RumBLes

  15 deseRted isLe

  16 a Gift

  17 tHe MummeR’s WaRNiNG

  18 tRouBLe iN CHaNCe-aLoNG

  19 NeWs fRom tHe States

  20 tom’s Heavy CHaiN

  21 HuNGRy MaRCH

  22 UNexpected tRouBle

  23 a Race WitH time

  24 Lost oN tHe ice!

  25 apRiL

  26 at Home With tHe BosWoRtHs

  27 a SecRet

  28 LeGaL issues

  29 tHe RiGHt tHiNG

  30 BeLoNGiNG

  autHoR’s Note

  1 Seasick

  tom Campbell held on to the rail as the Constance rose and fell in the giant swells of the ocean. Tom’s stomach rolled along with the tossing of the waves. A fine fisherman I’ll be if I get seasick like this, he told himself. What will Mr. Murray think? The steamer continued churning through the heavy surf. Tom bent over the side of the ship and yucked up his lunch into the ocean.

  He looked over his shoulder, hoping Mr. Murray hadn’t seen him. After all, the man was taking a big chance on thirteen-year-old Tom by bringing him into his home to live and onto his boat to work.

  He let the roaring wind blow in his face, breathing deeply and praying that they’d soon be at his new home. For the past ten years, home had been the orphanage at the Grenfell Mission in St. Anthony on the Northern Peninsula. It was the only home Tom could remember.

  He was born in Labrador and sometimes when he smelled pine trees or the scent of fish cooking on an open fire, a faint memory would present itself—a fleeting recollection of voices and shadowy faces. He remembered being feverish and his mother rocking him and crooning a lullaby in cheek music—the music Newfoundlanders made up and sang to themselves or their children. Falalalee. Falalaloo. The memory was faint and hazy, like a dream.

  Both his parents became ill when he was three years old and they were all taken on the hospital ship to the mission. When his parents died, Tom stayed on at Grenfell. He lived in the school and learned to farm potatoes, beets, and turnips for the long winters. The good people there were kind, but not a true family.

  Now it was 1929 and at last he’d be living in a real home with fisherman Enoch Murray and his wife, Fiona. Mr. Murray seemed nice enough, but quiet and shy, as if he didn’t know what to say to Tom. Tom wasn’t a bit sure what to say to him, either.

  He felt another surge of nausea and he leaned over the rail again, upchucking what was left in his belly. He’d never be a fisherman! Right now he positively hated the sea!

  “Are you feelin’ squawmish, lad?” Mr. Murray was suddenly next to him. “You look green in the gills.”

  “Aye, I’m a bit sick to the stomach, sir,” Tom answered.

  “It’s shockin’ rough today. Could be an August gale blowin’ up from the northeast.”

  “I don’t usually get seasick, Mr. Murray.”

  “Call me Enoch. We’ll both feel more t’ease usin’ first names.” Enoch squinted at the horizon. “We should be home by tomorrow mornin’. Maybe it’ll calm down tonight and you can get some sleep. I ordered a cabin for the night. I didn’t have the money for two, but I think you’re the one who needs it most.” He handed Tom a key with the number 21 on it. “It’s down that way.” He pointed toward the back of the boat.

  “Thank you … Enoch,” Tom said. “I promise I won’t always be like this.”

  Enoch nodded, but didn’t smile. Was he regretting that he’d brought Tom back to live with him to help him with his fishing business? Tom felt almost too sick to care.

  But he truly did care. He’d often wished for a real family in a real house. And now that it finally might be happening, he didn’t want to ruin everything.

  He wondered if the Murrays had a dog—one that he could run and play with, one that would be his friend. That would make everything perfect.

  Tom made his way down to the cabin, hanging on to the rail as the boat continued lurching. Once inside cabin 21, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the one treasure he owned—his grandfather’s pocket watch. He opened it. Five o’clock. It was too early to go to bed but he was sick and he just wanted to sleep.

  Tom clicked the watch shut. His fingers traced the Celtic knot that was engraved on the cover. He tucked the watch under the pillow, just as he always did, then sank onto the cot, hearing the comforting muffled ticktock, ticktock, like a heartbeat.

  The Constance continued rocking—rocking—but now he was in his mother’s arms and she was singing the lullaby. Falalalee. Falalaloo.

  2 Fiona

  When Tom awoke he looked out the porthole. The waves had subsided and the August sun sparkled on the water. He had slept here all night! Mr. Murray … Enoch … didn’t have his turn to use the cabin! Tom got up, washed his face in the small sink, put his watch back in his pocket, then went looking for Enoch. He found him standing on the deck.

  “Sleep well?” Enoch asked.

  “Yes, sir. I never woke once. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hog the stateroom.”

  “It’s all right, lad.” Enoch pointed to t
he cliffs. “We’ll be home soon. Just beyond there is a narrow harbor that will take us to Back o’ the Moon Island. It’s a small island with several families that’s just opposite Chance-Along, the nearest town.”

  “How do you get to Chance-Along?”

  “By wagon and boat. There’s a rickety bridge at the end of the island. Sometimes it gets washed out in storms.”

  “You must have a horse, then?”

  “My neighbor, Amos Bosworth, and I bought one together. You’ll meet Amos. He’s a crousty rogue, but not bad once you get to know him.” Enoch looked Tom up and down. “He has a son your age named Bert—a right laddio like his pa. Gets in trouble a lot. And they have a girl, too. Nancy. And then there are the Rideouts. They’ve got a boy, Eddie, and a wee girl, Rowena. Ken’s a fisherman like me, and Margaret, his wife, is the island’s granny—you know, a neighborhood nurse that delivers babies and takes care of sick folk.”

  At the big hospital mission where Tom had lived, he had heard the doctors there talk about “grannies” who treated illnesses with herbs and delivered babies in the outports. He’d also heard about the “charmers” who used magic to heal. Tom also knew stories about charmers who, just by holding their thumbs over an aching tooth, could ease the pain, or stop a nosebleed by tying a green satin ribbon around your neck. The doctors at the mission warned folks about charmers, but they respected the grannies who helped sick people with herbal medicine and common sense.

  “It’ll be right nice to meet new friends,” Tom said. “Enoch, do you have a dog?”

  “Nope. No dog.”

  Tom sighed. He figured a dog was just too much to hope for. He gazed out at the shoreline, which was closer now.

  “That’s Chance-Along.” Enoch pointed to a white church spire and houses that clustered together on the side of the rocky coast. “It’s a right modern town. They’ve even got electricity.” He patted Tom’s arm. “You’ll be on solid ground soon, my boy.”

  “I’ll feel better then,” Tom said. “I don’t usually yuck like I did yesterday.”

  “It was pretty rough on the sea yesterday,” Enoch said.

  As the steamer moved toward shore, Tom could see dozens of fishing boats tied up against the wharves. All along the waterfront, thousands of codfish were drying in the sun on the tall flakes—stages built of tree limbs and branches. Chance-Along is a busy town, he thought.

  The steamer glided neatly to the dock. As men jumped off and tied the ship to the wharf with huge ropes, Enoch and Tom gathered their bags and stood in line on the gangplank. “There’s Fiona!” Enoch pointed to a blond woman waving from a horse-drawn wagon up by the dirt road. She motioned to them and called, “Hello!” as they hurried up the boardwalk to the road.

  A dark-haired boy popped up suddenly from the back of the wagon. “I wonder why Fiona brought Bert Bosworth along,” Enoch said, frowning.

  Bert got out of the wagon. He stood with his hands on his hips and his navy blue eyes narrowed, as if he were sizing Tom up.

  Enoch dumped their bags into the back of the wagon, and then introduced Tom to Bert. “You be civil to him,” Enoch cautioned Bert.

  “’Course I will.” Bert grinned at Tom.

  “Come meet Fiona,” Enoch said, walking to the front of the wagon. As Tom turned to follow him, Bert stuck out his foot, tripping Tom, who fell to his knees. Tom got up and dusted off his pants and his hands without a glance at the boy, who stood by, laughing. Tom was furious and ready to pummel him, but knew this wasn’t the time to take on Bert Bosworth.

  “Hello, Tom.” Fiona was sitting in the driver’s seat. She held out her hand. “I’m glad you’ve come to live with us.”

  She was pretty, and when she smiled, little crow’s-feet appeared at the corners of her gray eyes. She looked about the same age as Enoch—around forty, he reckoned—but Enoch had dark hair, and eyes that were an unusual golden color.

  “Let’s go home,” Fiona urged, moving over for Enoch to take the reins. “I can’t wait to show you your room.” She patted the seat next to her. “Tom, you sit up here with us.” She turned to the other boy. “Get in the back, Bert.”

  Bert grumbled, but climbed into the rear of the wagon. The horse snorted and shook his head, as if ready to move on.

  “What’s the horse’s name?” Tom asked as he climbed aboard. Enoch clicked the reins and the horse trudged down the road.

  “Prince.” Fiona laughed. “Pretty ordinary name, eh? Practically every horse around here is named Prince.”

  “I had the right to name him, ’cause he’s half ours!” Bert said from the back.

  “I would have named him Star,” Fiona whispered to Tom. “He has a pretty star on his forehead.”

  “Star is a nice name,” Tom agreed.

  They moved down a hill and crossed a rickety bridge. A sign read, “Back o’ the Moon Island.” On the other side of the bridge stood a church that needed paint. The grounds around the building were overrun with weeds. “We ain’t had a preacher in Back o’ the Moon for years. Anyone who wants to go to church needs to go to Chance-Along,” Enoch explained.

  “We read our Bible every Saturday night,” Fiona explained. “What more do we need than that?”

  “I love the Bible stories,” Tom told her. “Especially the one about Elijah and the Baals.”

  “You like to read, then?”

  “Aye, I love to read. It’s like goin’ somewhere else.”

  Fiona took a long look at Tom. “My, you’re a right smart lad!”

  Tom flushed and changed the subject. “Enoch says you don’t have a dog.”

  “No, but a good workin’ dog is just what we need.” Fiona nudged Enoch. “Eh?”

  “Maybe someday,” Enoch answered.

  Bert spoke up behind them. “I wants a dog. We needs one more than you do! We got a bigger house and …”

  Fiona shook her head at Bert and winked at Tom.

  “How comes you brought Bert?” Enoch muttered under his breath.

  “He nagged his mother until she finally said yes,” Fiona answered softly.

  “Why didn’t you say no?” Enoch asked.

  “I don’t dare say no to a Bosworth!” Fiona whispered.

  Tom decided that he would stay away from the Bosworth family. He didn’t want trouble, and Bert was trouble for sure.

  3 Back o’ The Moon

  Back o’ the Moon was a small island separated from the mainland by a narrow harbor called Rumble Reach. “It’s called Rumble Reach because of the sound the tides make when they come in and fill the harbor,” Fiona explained to Tom. “We often cross over to the mainland by boat, as it’s more direct.” She pointed to a white house that looked across the water from a rocky cliff. “That’s our place,” she told Tom. “There’s a shed out back where we keep chickens.”

  “And there’s my house. The big green one.” Bert gestured to a boxy dwelling near the shore, close to the flakes and the docks. “And we have a barn over in the back meadow. We keep Prince there so’s he can graze in the pasture.” He pointed to a square yellow house near the top of the hill. “Eddie Rideout lives in that house. He’s my best chum.”

  The wagon rounded a curve and headed up a hill to the white house. Enoch stopped at the gate and tied Prince to the fence. Inside the fence was a garden of larkspur and tiger lilies.

  Tom climbed out and was about to reach for his carpetbag that carried the few belongings he brought with him, when Bert grabbed it. “I’ll take it in,” he offered. Tom shrugged but watched Bert uneasily. He hoped the Bosworth boy wouldn’t open the latch and let everything fall out. But Bert lugged the satchel through the open door and into the living room where he set it on the rug.

  “Thank you, Bert,” Fiona said. “You can go on home now and tell your mother you were right helpful. Tom needs some time to get acquainted with things.”

  Tom’s small room faced the meadow and the ocean to the east. It was a clean room with green and white striped wallpaper and shiny cream-colore
d woodwork. White curtains shifted in the breeze from the open window and a bright quilt covered the bed. The floor was linoleum that looked like hardwood. Tom could tell that the Murrays had recently spruced up the room, as it smelled faintly of fresh paint.

  “It’s a right nice room,” Tom said to Enoch and Fiona who stood by the door. “Thank you.”

  “We hope you’ll be happy here,” Fiona said.

  They left him to put away his clothes and clean up. Tom folded the quilt and put it on the chair, then lay on the crisp sheets. The soft flutter of the curtains sounded like music and he wished he could sleep for a while. But no! He must get downstairs to see what work Enoch expected of him. He didn’t want to seem like an idle slinger. He straightened the bed and then headed down to the kitchen.

  Fiona had tea simmering on the black wood-stove. “I’ve opened the doors and windows to let the breeze in,” she said. “The stove makes the house very hot.”

  “It’s a fine house,” Tom said, looking around. “Where’s Enoch?”

  “Down on the beach.” Fiona motioned to the table, then poured tea into a beaker. “Sit down, Tom. It’ll be pleasant to have three at the table at last.” She set the tea in front of Tom. “We’ve always wanted children,” she said, “but the Lord felt differently, it seems. So we’re glad to share our home with a good boy like you. The people at the mission said you were hardworking and well mannered and that you had a good heart.” She patted Tom’s hand. “Those are praiseworthy words, Tom.”

  Tom smiled at Fiona. But he didn’t know what to say, so he sipped his tea and looked away.

  After tea and molasses buns, Fiona led Tom out to the fenced-in yard. She opened the gate, and the chickens cackled and chattered around them. A red rooster chased Tom, clucking and nipping at his trousers. Fiona shooed the bird away. “That’s Rufus!” she said. “Once he knows you’re part of our family, he’ll leave you alone.”

  Part of the family? Did he dare to hope he’d be part of the family?

  “I hope he didn’t hurt you.” Fiona brushed off Tom’s trousers. “Rufus is a sassy bird. You won’t need to get the eggs for me until he gets to know you better.” She uncovered an egg from one of the nesting places and put it in her apron pocket. She pointed at a lean-to shack. “Over there’s the wood shed. That’s where we keep firewood and root vegetables.”