Thunder from the Sea Page 2

  After lunch Enoch took Tom down to the waterfront where he was repairing a small punt. The boat was turned upside down and the bottom had been scraped. Enoch showed Tom how to caulk the seams by rolling hemp oakum until it was a thread, and then stuffing it into the cracks.

  “As soon as that’s done, we’ll put tar on it,” Enoch said. “This old tub’ll be fine, once it’s watertight, see. When we’re sure it’s seaworthy, you can have it for your own.”

  “My own boat?” Tom gasped.

  “Why sure, my boy. You’re goin’ to be a fisherman. With a little punt like this you can fish with hand lines or jiggers, or nets, for that matter. A fisherman needs a boat.” Enoch looked thoughtful. “Maybe we’ll paint it a bright color so it’ll stand out on the water, see.”

  “Bright red would be a real standout,” Tom suggested.

  “Red, eh?” Enoch smiled and clamped Tom on the shoulder. “Let’s see what kind of a job you can do on this. I’m goin’ down to the boat. Got to fill her up with gas for tomorrow.” Enoch left and Tom went immediately to work.

  Tom couldn’t believe his good fortune. His own little punt! Maybe he would be a good fisherman after all! He was so busy with the caulking he was startled when he saw Bert and another boy standing beside him.

  “This here’s my chum Eddie,” Bert said. Eddie nodded and grinned.

  “Why are you botherin’ with that old tub?” Bert asked.

  “It’ll sink soon as it hits the water,” Eddie said.

  Tom kept on working and didn’t answer.

  Bert egged him on. “Don’t you know how to talk?”

  “What are you smouchin’ around me for?” Tom asked without looking up.

  “I ain’t smouchin’.”

  “You are so. You’re prowlin’ around tryin’ to make trouble!”

  “I’m tryin’ to be friendly”—Bert’s voice rose—“since you’re goin’ to be livin’ here.”

  “Sure don’t sound friendly to me,” Tom said. “Sounds more like pickin’ a fight. And what’s the idea of trippin’ me in town today with your big clumsy spaug?”

  “My spaug got in the way, that’s all,” Bert answered.

  A girl came out from under the tall spindly flakes and headed toward them. She had a little redheaded girl in tow, who seemed about five years old.

  “Go on home, Nancy,” Bert yelled.

  “Go home yourself!” the older girl shouted back and came alongside the punt. “Are you Tom Campbell who’s come to live with the Murrays?” she asked. “I’m Nancy, Bert’s sister.”

  Tom immediately saw the resemblance. She had the same raven-colored hair and vibrant blue eyes. Is she as nasty-mouthed as her brother? he wondered. “Yes, I’m Tom Campbell.”

  The little girl tugged at Nancy’s hand. “Stop pullin’ me,” Nancy whispered. “This here’s Rowena Rideout, Eddie’s sister. I take care of her almost every day. Her ma’s the granny here on Back o’ the Moon.”

  Bert interrupted his sister. “Say, Tom. I heard you got sick on the boat yesterday. You better not yuck all over me tomorrow!”

  Tom wondered how Bert heard he’d been sick. Did Enoch complain to the Bosworths? He hoped not. But how else could Bert have known? “What am I doin’ with you tomorrow?” Tom asked.

  “We’re goin’ out to fish,” Bert answered. “My pa and me, with you and Enoch.”

  “Are you comin’ too?” Tom asked Eddie.

  “Naw, the boat’s only big enough for a crew of four,” Eddie said.

  Tom turned back to his work. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, hoping Bert would take the hint and go away.

  Instead, Bert and Eddie sat on a rock and watched Tom caulk the punt while Nancy and Rowena stood nearby.

  “I heared you’re an orphan,” said Bert.

  “Hush!” Nancy warned her brother.

  The Murrays must have told the Bosworths all about him. “Yes, my folks died a long time ago.”

  “How long did you live in the orphanage?” Eddie asked.

  “Most of my life. It’s not just an orphanage. It’s a hospital and school and—”

  “That’s not what I heared,” said Bert.

  “What would you know about it?” Tom asked.

  “A school’s where you learn to read and write and do numbers,” said Bert.

  “That’s right. I learned to read and write and do numbers there,” said Tom.

  “You can read?” Nancy’s eyes were huge.

  “Of course I can read! Can’t you?” Tom answered.

  There was a long moment before anyone spoke. Eddie was watching Bert closely. Then Bert said, “Sure I can read.”

  “You cannot!” Nancy said.

  “I can so,” Bert yelled at her.

  “He can read and write his name, but that’s all,” Nancy said to Tom.

  “You shut up, Nan. You’re the one who can’t read.” Bert spit on his finger and wrote on a boulder. The letters disappeared quickly in the sun, but Tom knew he had written his first name.

  “See?” Eddie said. “Bert can read and write.”

  “Write another word,” said Nancy.

  “I’ll write the word fish,” said Bert with a mean look at his sister. He spit on his finger again. COD.

  Tom bent over laughing. “That’s not fish!” he finally managed to say. “That’s cod!”

  “Well, a cod’s a fish, ain’t it?” Bert roared, his face red with anger. He stood up, then raced away toward his house down the shore.

  “Hey!” Eddie called, running after him. “Wait for me!”

  Nancy was still sitting on the rock. “I wants to learn to read real bad. Don’t suppose you could teach me sometime, do ya?”

  “Maybe,” Tom answered. “Isn’t there a school in Chance-Along?”

  “Yeah, but it’s too far to go every day.” Nancy chased after Rowena, who was roaming under the flakes, then pulled her back to a boulder and wagged her finger. “You’ll get lost someday if you wander off like that.” She turned to Tom. “Come on, Tom. We could come over by ’n’ by, and you could show me—”

  “And me, too,” Rowena interrupted.

  “I don’t know, Nancy. Why don’t your folks teach you?”

  She looked down at her feet. “Pa’s too busy. And Ma can’t read, although she pretends she can.” She reached over and grabbed Tom’s sleeve. “Promise you won’t tell anyone that my ma can’t read. And don’t tell anyone that you’re goin’ to teach me. I want to surprise Ma. And Bert would just make fun of me, see?”

  “I didn’t say I’d—”

  “Let me know when we can start,” Nancy interrupted, getting up to leave. “When I’m older, if I can read, I can get a real job somewhere—maybe even in St. John’s.” Nancy took Rowena’s hand and headed down the shore. “Don’t forget!”

  Tom went back to pounding the hemp oakum into the cracks with angry wallops. How did he get himself into this? He’d been at Back o’ the Moon one day and already he had to be a fisherman and a teacher as well! Even worse—Bert was just beggin’ for a fight!

  I’m biting off more than I can chew with those Bosworths, he thought.

  4 Out Of The Storm

  that evening at supper, Tom could tell Fiona had made this first meal together a special event. The table was covered with a beautiful tablecloth. At a closer look Tom could see that it had been made from flour sacks and embroidered with daisies. Fiona lit candles in brass candlesticks. “The kerosene lanterns stink, but these candles smell right nice. They’re made from real expensive beeswax, and we don’t use them much.”

  “Havin’ Tom livin’ with us is a big occasion,” Enoch said.

  Fiona filled dinner plates with pot roast, carrots, and mashed potatoes and placed them on the table.

  After saying grace, Enoch said, “We’ll be gettin’ up at dawn to go fishin’.”

  “Bert said he and his pa would be comin’ with us,” Tom said.

  “Yes, we often go together,” Enoch told him.
“Amos is a snapper—a skilled fisherman—even though he’s somewhat of a bullamarue.”

  “Bert’s a bullamarue too,” said Tom. “He’s a show-off and a bully!”

  “He’s just tryin’ you out.”

  “Well, I’ll show him I’m not goin’ to be bullied,” Tom stated.

  “Ah, good for you!” Fiona applauded. “He needs someone to stand up to him. And I think he’ll back down once he realizes he can’t torment you.”

  Enoch told Tom how his parents had built the house they were living in, and how his father had bought a boat with a real gasoline engine before he died. “He left me a good tight fishin’ boat and a gas engine. Not many fishermen in these parts have their own engine,” Enoch said proudly.

  “We’re very lucky to have that boat,” said Fiona. “Don’t know how we’d manage without it.”

  “Amos pitches in for expenses and gasoline, and we work together most of the time.”

  • • •

  After a bedtime snack of tea and biscuits with blackberry jam, Tom said good night and went up to bed. He looked out his window and felt a twinge of sadness as he saw the northern lights shifting like windblown red and green curtains across the sky. He suddenly remembered his mother showing him these “merry dancers” when they lived on the Labrador.

  Tom undressed and placed his watch under the pillow. The cool sheets smelled of fresh air, sunshine, and balsam. He could hear Fiona singing cheek music as she tidied up the kitchen. “Tooraloora Lorra Lou. Dally wally wooley moo.”

  Tom felt homesick for the mission. He knew everyone there and what his place was. He recalled Georgie, his best friend. “We’ll never have a ma and pa,” Georgie would say. “We’re too old. We’re not babies. All anyone would want from us is to work us to death.”

  Was Georgie right? Was that all Enoch and his wife wanted from him? Another pair of hands to help around the fishing flakes and wharves? He didn’t mind working, but he’d hoped for more than a house and food. Still, Fiona and Enoch had been kind—fixing up the room for him and making him feel welcome.

  Tom was drifting off when heard his name spoken from the parlor. He sat up and strained to listen. Enoch and Fiona were talking about him.

  “I love havin’ Tom here,” Fiona was saying. “He fills up an empty spot in our home.”

  “I’m wonderin’, though, how he’ll be as a fisherman,” Enoch said. “He was right sick when we were comin’ home on board the Constance.”

  “Stop and think, Enoch,” Fiona scolded. “He’s leavin’ the only home he’s ever known to come to this outlandish place to live with strangers. That’s enough to make anyone nervous and sick. Besides, it was rough. I’d be chuckin’ up my stomach out there myself.”

  “I know,” Enoch admitted. “I’ve felt those waves in my gut many a time. Still, Tom’s a scraggy boy, not too strong. Not like Bert.”

  “If he were our own, we couldn’t choose his build. He could be short and small like my father—who was a strong fisherman and captain, I might add, despite his size.” There was a pause, and then Fiona went on. “Tom’s a good lookin’ boy. In fact, he’s a bit like you with those sunbleached streaks in his coffee-colored hair.”

  “Tom’s a good worker,” Enoch went on. “He had that punt completely caulked in no time today.”

  “I hope he’ll feel at home here,” Fiona said.

  “I just wish he’d open up to us more.”

  “Be patient, m’ dear. He’s only been here one day!” Fiona replied.

  Their voices became muted and Tom wondered what more they might be saying. Maybe it was just as well that he couldn’t hear them. He lay back on the pillow. For so many years he had prayed for a family. Now, would he lose this one because he was too scraggy or too quiet?

  Still, Enoch and Fiona had written to the mission for a boy to live with them. They wanted a lad who was good-hearted and the folks at the mission thought of Tom right away. They sent letters and pictures to the Murrays. That was how Fiona and Enoch chose Tom to come live with them.

  He prayed silently, as he used to in his cot up north. Dear Father in Heaven, please don’t let me disappoint this family. As he fell asleep he could hear the rumbling of the incoming tide—the sound of gurgling waves and deep water—and the tick-tick-ticking of his grandfather’s watch.

  It was still dark when Fiona, carrying an oil lamp, peeked in his room the next morning. “Time to get up, Tom. Breakfast is ready. Put on warm clothes. It can be right cold and stormy on the sea, even in August.” She started to the stairs and came back. “Tom, I sure hopes you don’t think I’m bein’ bossy.”

  “No. Thanks for remindin’ me.” Tom dressed in his warm briggs with the leather patches on the knees, his rubber boots, and flannel shirt. He put his fisherman’s knit sweater and hat in his nunny-bag.

  “Enoch’s already down on the wharves,” Fiona told him as she placed porridge, tea, and biscuits on the table.

  Tom gobbled up his breakfast quickly for fear of keeping Enoch waiting. Then Fiona handed him a paper bag. “Here’s your lunch, Tom. I don’t think you’ll get sick today. It’s calm out there right now. You should have a good fishin’ day.”

  Tom went to the door. “See you tonight, Fiona,” he said. He sure didn’t want her to know that he hadn’t been fishing often, although while he was at the mission he had learned how to clean and dry fish and mend nets.

  Enoch, Bert, and another man, whom Tom realized must be Amos, were packing the gear on a gray skiff. “Here he is!” Bert yelled when he saw Tom.

  Tom jumped on board. No one seemed to notice or care that he was late.

  “This here’s my pa,” Bert said, jerking his thumb toward the robust, red-faced man who was putting oil into the engine through a funnel. He looked up and nodded at Tom.

  Enoch and Bert were untangling nets. “Can I help?” Tom asked Enoch.

  “We got ’em straightened out,” Enoch said. He climbed onto the wharf and untied the bow line. “Start ’er up, Amos,” he called to Bert’s father. The engine coughed a few times, then rattled and stopped. Amos tried again, and this time the engine started.

  “I’ll do the stern line,” Tom offered. He had hardly finished untying the knots when Amos put the boat’s gear into reverse and began backing into the harbor. Then Amos navigated around the tall white-and-red markers that indicated shoal water. Soon they were heading east.

  Bert pointed beyond the narrows and the scarlet sunrise. “Red in the mornin’, sailors take warnin’,” he recited.

  “Yep, could be a storm today,” Amos yelled.

  The waves began to pick up as they passed through the narrows. Hundreds of black-and-white puffins were nesting on the rocky cliffs of Eastern Head. Gulls dove around them looking for fish. “There’s some seals brewin’,” Enoch said, pointing to a reef where playful dotards rolled about and splashed their flippers. As the ocean spray tingled on his face, Tom had the same sense of freedom and excitement as the seals. In the distance, two giant icebergs glistened like blue jewels in the sun.

  They spent the morning with nets and grapples, and by noon they had a decent catch in the hold. Bert hadn’t caused Tom any trouble so far. They pulled in the nets and settled down to eat their lunch. Fiona had made bologna and cheese sandwiches, and Tom felt so well that he ate every bite.

  “Great cod! Take a look at that venomous sky,” Enoch said, pointing to black clouds that seemed to have suddenly gathered overhead. “There’s a shockin’ big squall headin’ this way!”

  Tom watched nervously as a line of black sea moved toward them. Heavy swells began to lift and drop their boat. White surf broke over the bow, splashing around their feet. Enoch began bailing water with the dory piggin. “Got to get the water out. We could swamp in these waves!” Tom found a pan and helped Enoch bail.

  Hailstones the size of peas spattered the deck. Lightning streaked across the sky, followed by claps of thunder.

  Amos started the motor and turned the boat toward
shore. Enoch tossed rolls of canvas to Tom and Bert, who pulled the tarps over themselves. The hail soon stopped, but rain was pouring down in sheets. Enoch continued bailing and Tom, the canvas over his head, kept filling, then emptying his pan overboard as well.

  As Tom peered from under the tarp he saw something bobbing in the fearsome swells, something black. A seal? He squinted and called out to Amos. “There’s somethin’ in the water off the starboard side!”

  Amos turned the wheel to the left, while Tom and Enoch scanned the surging waters in front of them.

  “I see it!” Tom yelled. “Go slow!”

  Amos cut the engine down while trying to keep the boat on an even keel. “What is it?”

  Bert came out from under the tarp. “Why are we stoppin’?”

  “Probably just a porpoise or a pothead whale,” Enoch said. “Anyway, it’s gone.”

  “No, there it is,” Tom shouted. “It’s a dog!”

  “Nonsense,” Amos said with a snort. “How could a dog be out here in the middle of the sea?”

  Tom, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the water, could now see a slick black head, with shining eyes aimed directly at him. The dog’s huge paws paddled madly in the wild surf.

  “It is a dog. We’ve got to save him!” Tom stood up untangling his feet from the tarp. “Come on! Help me!” He reached over and slapped the side of the boat. “Here, boy. Here!”

  Enoch yelled to Amos. “We’ve got to pull ’im on board broadside.”

  Amos cut the gas down to idling. “It’s too dangerous! We could swamp!”

  “We can’t even see in this rain,” Bert yelled. “Let him go! He ain’t worth it!”

  “Come on, Tom. You too, Bert!” Enoch pulled a net without grapples out from under the bow. “We’ll try netting him.”

  Tom and Enoch each took a side of the net. Muttering, Bert stayed as far from the starboard side as he could. “I’m not riskin’ my life for a dumb dog!”