Cape Grace

by Nathan Lowell

  It made Otto smile a little, but he tried to hold it in. “Maybe it’ll all be moot,” he said after a few moments.

  “How so?” Her head came up and she glared at him.

  “Maybe Mr. Comstock won’t be able to find anybody and you can go back to working scanning and tagging.”

  Her eyes hardened. “Not. Happening.”

  “Never know.”

  “I can stay until I’m twenty-three.”

  “What are you going to do until then?” Otto asked.

  She stopped glaring at Otto and started staring at her feet. “I don’t know.”

  Otto sighed. “You know there are lots of things you could do that aren’t scan-and-tag. Did you look at any of the education catalog?”

  “Gramma tried to talk me into being a data analyst while I was there.”

  “How’d that look?”

  Sarah all but shuddered in her seat. “Not for me.”

  “What else did you do while you were visiting?”

  She smiled. “She showed me how to bake biscuits.”

  Otto’s stomach rumbled and his mouth watered. “She taught you how to make biscuits? Her biscuits?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes before giving him a hard stare. “I assume they were her biscuits. Does she usually bake somebody else’s?”

  “It’s just. I love her biscuits.”

  “I’ll make a batch for supper. What’ll we have with them?”

  “Chowder?”

  “Make it lamb stew and you’re on.”

  “We don’t have any lamb.”

  “I’ll run over to the chandlery and get some. What else are we out of?”

  “We could just order it and get it delivered.”

  Sarah glanced at the chronometer on the wall. “Not in time to make stew for dinner.”

  Otto grinned. “Grab a couple onions and some carrots, then. If we’re going to make lamb stew we probably should do it right.”

  “I’ll pick up some fresh baking powder, too. That stuff in the cupboard expired last January.”

  “Maybe you could be a cook,” Otto said.

  Sarah smiled at him. “Keep pitching, Papa.” She stood and started wrapping herself in her outdoor clothes against the icy, damp wind coming in off the harbor.

  “What’s wrong with being a cook?”

  She paused and thought about it. “I’d need to know how to bake more than biscuits.”

  “That’s easy enough to fix.”

  She pulled her knit cap down over her ears and headed for the door. “Might not be a bad idea,” she said. “Back in a bit.” She slipped out and pulled the door closed with a snap.

  “Biscuits,” he said. “I’d never have thought of biscuits.”

  He took his tea and went into the shop to carve.

  * * *

  Bobby Tatum stood behind the counter at the chandlery and stared at her. Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Something about him always seemed off but she couldn’t put her finger on it. His lips curved into a smile that stopped just one dimple short of a smirk.

  She’d been staring at him too long and felt the heat rush up the back of her neck. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello, Sarah. How can I help you today?”

  “I didn’t know you were working at the chandlery.”

  He shrugged. “Norman’s off at the Saving Grace for the winter. I can use the extra credits.”

  “Saving for a rainy day?” she asked.

  “Something like that.” He paused. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I need some groceries. A piece of lamb for some stew. Carrots. Onions. Baking powder. Probably some cake flour.”

  He nodded for her to follow him back. “Let’s see what we got. We got some root vegetables from Allied the other day. Carrots, onions, some rutabagas. They’d be good in lamb stew.”

  “Fresh lamb?” she asked.

  “I thought I saw some come in. If it hasn’t got tossed in the freezer yet.”

  It only took them a few minutes to round up the lamb and vegetables. “What else did you say?” Bobby asked.

  “I’m making biscuits. I’ll need some fresh baking powder and some decent cake flour.”

  “Bread flour, too?” he asked.

  Sarah nodded. “I’ll need some yeast. You got some that’s not dead?” she grinned.

  They went through the baking section and Bobby pulled out the ingredients she needed, setting them on the counter with the rest of her goods.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  She eyed the array and shook her head. “That’ll do for now.”

  “Good enough, then,” he said and ran the order down. “I can give you a discount on the root veg. The rutabagas would last a while but not everybody likes them.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  The order came in under their monthly allotment amount so she thumbed the tab as Bobby started bagging her purchases.

  She started to gather the bags when Bobby grabbed a parka from the hook behind the counter. “Lemme give you a hand with those.”

  “I can get it,” she said.

  “No doubt, but it’ll be easier with two and gets me out for a bit. My legs need stretching.” He smiled and took half the bags from her. “Come on. Day’s wasting.”

  * * *

  He’d just finished roughing out an owl he’d found in a knotty bit of driftwood when he heard the door open and voices. One of them was Sarah. He took his mug of cold tea dregs and went to see who the other one belonged to.

  “Thanks, Bobby. You didn’t have to do that,” Sarah said.

  “Hey, it got me out of the shop for a while. This time of year it’s kinda borin’.” The young man stood a few centimeters taller than Sarah. He looked tanned but without the ruddy complexion of a man who spent a lifetime on the water.

  They turned to him as he joined them in the kitchen.

  “Father, this is Bobby Tatum. He’s been running the bait line all summer.”

  Otto held out his hand and Bobby shook it with a nod.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Krugg.”

  “You can call me Otto, Bobby. Nice to meet you, too.”

  “Bobby’s working part time in the chandlery this winter,” Sarah said. “He helped lug the groceries back.” She pointed to the bags on the table.

  “Wouldn’ta thought Marty needed extra help in the winter,” Otto said.

  “Norman’s helping out at the Saving Grace for the season. Wants to learn how to brew beer, so Marty needed somebody to fill in. I can always use the extra credits.” Bobby shifted his weight and reached for the door. “Better be getting’ back. Somebody’ll need an extra kilo of sugar or somethin’ for dinner.” He nodded at Otto. “Nice to meet you finally.”

  “You, too, Bobby. Stay warm out there.”

  “Bye, Bobby,” Sarah said.

  He shot her a bashful grin and escaped through the door.

  “What all did you get?” Otto asked, peeking into the bags.

  “A nice piece of lamb and some root vegetables. They just got a shipment from Allied Ag. Bobby gave me a good price on them. Also got some shortening and cake flour to go with the baking powder for biscuits. And some yeast and bread flour.”

  “Bread flour? You gonna bake bread?”

  “Gramma makes delicious bread.”

  “I know very well.”

  “She gave me the recipe, but told me the only way to learn how to do it is practice.”

  “She gave you the recipe? She must like you or something.”

  “She said I’m her very favorite granddaughter.”

  They both laughed and Otto stepped back to let her take care of her purchases.

  “If you’d make the stock, I’ll get going on peeling vegetables,” Sarah said.

  “Deal.” Otto pulled out a heavy pot and set to work. After a few ticks of quiet collaboration, he said, “Bobby seems like a nice enough guy.”

  “He was just helping me. It’s a long walk with ten kilos
of food on a cold day.”

  “Indeed,” Otto said. “I understand completely.”

  “Well, he was.”

  “I know.”

  “Hmmpf,” Sarah said.

  Otto smiled into his stock pot, stirring the onions around in the bottom without looking at his daughter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Cape Grace: February 15, 2347

  COMSTOCK CHEWED ON the inside of his cheek and glowered across his desk at Otto. “One season?”

  “You’re the one who brought it up,” Otto said.

  Comstock scowled. “I thought you’d be able to work around it.”

  “I didn’t consider how it would affect the village. I can’t do my job if people won’t talk to me.”

  “What am I supposed to do with the boat and traps?”

  “Use them. Sarah still needs a job and she’s spent the winter studying up on crabbing.”

  Comstock shifted in his chair and rubbed a hand across his lips. “She any good?”

  “You mean was I carrying her all last season?”

  He shrugged.

  “She’s pretty good. Knows how to bait a trap. How to manage the deck well enough.”

  “She needs a boat handler,” Comstock said.

  “Yep. Somebody who knows the local waters right around the harbor. We never dropped a trap more than a few kilometers off the outer markers.”

  “Huh. Well, maybe we can make this work.”

  Comstock’s answer surprised Otto. “I thought you’d scream louder.”

  “Actually, I got a couple of smaller problems that this might just solve. Lemme work on it and I’ll get back to ya.”

  “Sounds good.” Otto unfolded himself from the chair and started for the door.

  “Say, did you ever visit Barbara Tatum?”

  “Artie’s wife? Yeah. While back. Right around the time we got the boat from the Inlet. Why?”

  “What’d you think?”

  Otto took a deep breath and blew it out his nose. “Can’t be easy.”

  “She’s left Cape Grace.”

  Otto nodded. “I figured she would. Where’d she go?”

  “Your old stomping grounds. Taken an admin job at Maggie’s Landing.”

  “How’s Artie taking it?”

  Comstock scratched his cheek with one fingertip and grimaced. “I’m not sure he’s noticed.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s crawled pretty far into a bottle.”

  “He got a girlfriend or something?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?” Comstock leaned over his desk, his head cocked to one side.

  “How’s Bobby doing?” Otto asked.

  “Seems fine. Working with Marty over at the chandlery.”

  “Then Artie’s noticed.”

  “How do ya figure?” Comstock asked.

  “His punching bag is missing. He’s noticed.”

  Comstock nodded, his eyes looking tired, his lips turned down at the corners.

  “Daniels still the Pirano director over there?” Otto asked.

  “At Maggie’s Landing? Yeah.”

  “Might wanna give him a heads up. Let his constables know to keep an eye out for Artie.”

  Comstock raised an eyebrow. “You think he’ll pull something?”

  “Man won’t let that kinda thing go without a fight. I suspect he’ll crawl at least halfway out of that bottle and hunt her down. Won’t be pretty if he does.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Comstock said, a sour twist to his lips.

  “I figured you already knew and just wanted a second opinion.”

  “Yeah.” Comstock shook his head. “Thanks, Otto. I’ll keep ya posted on the boat.”

  Otto nodded and slipped out of the office, pulling his collar up around his neck to ward off a chill that was only partly due to the wind off the harbor. A waft of something foul drifted under his nose and he scrubbed it away with his hand.

  * * *

  The aroma of freshly baked bread greeted him when he got back to the cottage. “Somebody’s been busy.”

  Sarah grinned at him and finished rubbing a bit of butter on the top of the steaming hot loaves. “I think I’m getting the hang of it. How’d Mr. Comstock take the news?”

  “Better than I expected.” Otto hung up his coat and hat. “You seen much of Bobby Tatum lately?”

  Color climbed up her ears and she gave a small shrug without looking at Otto. “I’ve seen him a couple of times. At the chandlery.”

  “Uh huh.” He would have grinned if his next question hadn’t troubled him. “He say anything about his mother?”

  “She’s visiting his aunt over at Maggie’s Landing for a while.”

  “He say why?”

  She looked up at him. “Not in so many words. I think his parents had a fight. She went over to cool off. Why?”

  “Heard about it from Ed. Wondered if you’d heard anything more.”

  “You worried about her?” she asked.

  “A bit. Why do you ask?”

  “Just little things I’ve heard from Bobby. Don’t think his parents get along very well. That’s usually something a shaman deals with, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes,” he said.

  Otto crossed the kitchen to smell the bread. “How soon before we can cut one of these open? It smells wonderful.”

  She shrugged. “Give them a few ticks. I’ll start the tea.” She turned to the kettle.

  “So, you talk to Bobby often?” Otto asked.

  She stiffened a little and then gave a shrug. “I’ve seen him a few times. At the chandlery.”

  Otto smiled. “So you said. Winter’s almost over. He planning on going back to bait fishing?”

  She put the kettle on the burner and leaned against the counter. “Unless he can find something else that pays better. Norman’s coming back to the chandlery when the season starts.”

  “He’s not going to stay at the Grace?”

  “I’m not sure how it’s going to work. Just that Bobby needs to get something going for the season.”

  “He eighteen yet?”

  “Yeah. His birthday was in January.”

  “So he has to find something or leave?”

  “Yeah. He’s got big plans, but I think he might be planning too big.”

  “How’s that?”

  “He thinks he’s going to convince Ed Comstock to let him take a crew out to the offshore platforms in a couple of seasons.” She shook her head and sighed. “Company isn’t going to give him a dragger. He doesn’t have the experience for it. At least not right now.”

  “It’ll take him more than that to earn a captain’s certificate.”

  “That’s what I told him. He seems convinced that he’s right.”

  “A little stubborn, is he?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea.”

  Otto grinned. “You didn’t happen to mention that I’m not crabbing this season, did you?”

  She paused, teapot poised. “Not that I remember.” She settled the teapot, tossed in a few pinches of tea and poured the boiling water over the leaves. “I’m pretty sure it never came up. Why?”

  “Something Ed said. Could you work with Bobby on the boat this season?”

  Her jaw hung open as she stared at Otto. “Bobby?”

  Otto shrugged. “Could you?”

  She seemed to gather herself. Her gaze turned inward and her mouth closed, her lips pressing together. “He knows the water. He’s been handling a boat for a while.”

  “He probably doesn’t know crabbing,” Otto said.

  “He knows bait.”

  “Who’ll help Henry with the trawl lines?”

  She shook her head. “There’s a half dozen kids in town who could do it. Older sibs get priority on the boats. Leaves the seconds and thirds waiting for big brother or big sister to move on.”

  “That many?”

  “Yeah. Maybe more. That’s only the ones I know about.” She pou
red tea and handed Otto a mug before taking up a bread knife. “How big a piece you want?”

  “Don’t get too carried away. I can always get a second one.”

  She laughed and sawed off a pair of slabs, steaming and redolent with yeast and flour. She spread butter on each and handed one of them to Otto. “Hot, hot,” she said, juggling the bread in her fingers.

  The rich, chewy bread touched something in Otto that reminded him of home. He closed his eyes to savor the moment. “This is wonderful,” he said around a mouthful.

  “Thanks.” She peered at her slice with a small frown.

  “Something wrong with it?” Otto asked.

  “Just trying to figure out if I could do any better.”

  “It tastes perfect to me.”

  She giggled. “Tastes pretty good to me, too, if I do say so myself.” She chewed another bite and swallowed it. “I’ll have to ask Gramma.”

  “If you decide you want to quit crabbing, you’ve got a career as a bread baker.”

  “Only bakers the company hires are the industrial ones for the plants at the Inlet. There’s another one somewhere off to the west that I can’t remember.”

  He felt his eyebrows shoot up. “You already looked it up?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve got to find something or I’ll have to leave.”

  Her offhand reminder struck Otto in the heart. “I’m glad you’re payin’ attention to this,” he said.

  “You’ve no idea,” she said.

  Looking at the young woman standing there in the kitchen with a slice of fresh bread in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, he felt like he saw her for the first time. She’d shed her childish appearance in favor of an almost svelte frame. She looked at him with a frank and open gaze that displayed a hint of the pain behind her eyes.

  “It’s kind of a raw deal, isn’t it?”

  She laughed and Otto flinched at the bitter edge to it. “That’s one way of putting it. There isn’t a kid in this village that doesn’t feel that sword over their neck. It’s a bit hard to think about what you want to do when the knowledge that you have to do something or be deported is hanging over you.”

  “Most of them find something.”

  “Yeah, but how many of them find something they want?”

  The despair in her voice cut him. He sighed and held out his arms to offer a hug.