Cape Grace

by Nathan Lowell

  She stepped into them to let him hug her, but she didn’t hug him back.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Cape Grace: April 5, 2347

  ED COMSTOCK LAID ON a good show every year. Otto stood on a box erected on the end of the main pier for the occasion, staff in hand and a public address microphone on the rail in front of him. All the boats in the fleet rumbled about in the harbor, some decorated with flowers and streamers. Many of the boats carried extra passengers of friends and family, all dressed in their finest. If some of the girls looked chilly in their frilly dresses, they wouldn’t have to be out very long. Everybody not on the boats lined the harbor’s docks to observe the parade.

  At exactly 1000, Ed pulled the lanyard on his ceremonial cannon. The concussive boom felt to Otto like somebody punched him in the chest. A donut of white smoke drifted from the muzzle and was eaten by the wind. The milling boats straightened into a parade, each following the next at a crawl across the chopped-up harbor. Ole man Jenkins had the pride of place by virtue of being the oldest fisherman in the village. Otto saw him smiling through the wheelhouse door as the heavy dragger lumbered toward the podium.

  As the vessel passed, Otto stamped his staff on the box—creating a hollow thump that echoed the earlier cannon shot, if not as loud—and said the traditional “Good hunting and safe return” blessing. The PA picked up his words and lifted them into the wind while the boat gave a single blast of its horn before moving back out into the bay to make room for the next.

  The Harbor Fairy with Bobby Tatum at the wheel and Sarah in the stern ended the long parade of boats. Bobby had run paper streamers from the crabber’s canopy so they trailed out behind in the wind of their passage. Otto raised his staff for the last time, his face nearly frozen from the icy wind off the water, but warmed at seeing Sarah waving as they passed. “Good hunting and safe return.”

  As the Fairy turned out into the harbor all the boats laid on their horns, filling the air with a raucous chorus and sending every sea bird within a kilometer radius into the sky.

  Otto stepped down from the podium and shook Comstock’s hand. Ole man Jenkins was nearly back to the dock and the rest of the fleet wasn’t far behind.

  “Party’s at the Saving Grace,” Comstock said. “You’re welcome to come.”

  Otto shook his head and pulled his coat up around him a little tighter. “Thanks. I’ll leave the partying for the crews. I need a fresh pot of tea and a fire before I do anything.”

  Comstock’s nose and cheeks glowed red from the cold wind. “Don’t blame ya. Just wanted ya to know, you’re welcome there.” He nodded at the Harbor Fairy just pulling into the dock. “That was nicely done.”

  “All I did was get the boat and then step aside.”

  Comstock gave him a knowing smile. “Sure you did. Tatum’s a good lad at heart, I think. Had a rough go of it with his old man. P’rhaps your Sarah is just what he needs.”

  “How’s Barbara doing over at Maggie’s Landing?”

  “I hear she’s doing good. Going out with one of the draggers as crew this season.”

  Otto blinked. “Really?”

  Comstock nodded. “Apparently she’s taken it into her head to be a fisherman. Not exactly sure why. She never even thought about it here, far as I know.”

  “Maybe something in the water.”

  Comstock shot a glance at Otto and grinned.

  “What’s Artie up to?” Otto asked. “Still over at the Inlet?”

  “Yeah. Pirano gave him the choice of drying out and keeping his nose clean or shipping out and keeping his ass off the planet. Last I heard, they’d smartened him up a little. He’s working transport now.”

  “Think it’ll last?”

  “No clue. Guys like that, you can’t tell. Could go either way.” Comstock shrugged. “He’s on his last ticket. Next one is passage upstairs and nobody’s gonna stop it.”

  Otto sighed. “Then he becomes somebody else’s problem.”

  “Probably.”

  “No, definitely. He’ll just move on to somebody else. At some point he’ll take one step too far into the dark.”

  “Maybe he’ll straighten out this time.”

  Otto didn’t say anything.

  “Yeah. I don’t think so either,” Comstock said. “Anyway. Thanks for the blessings. Party’ll run late so you’re welcome to drop in later if you have a mind. Tonya’s laying on a buffet around dinner time for those who haven’t passed out.”

  Otto laughed. “Some traditions don’t change, huh?”

  “Some are worth keeping.” Comstock grinned and shook Otto’s hand. “Stay warm and enjoy the peace and quiet out there on the point.”

  “It’ll be the only quiet place in town,” Otto said.

  “You got that part right.” With a jaunty wave, Comstock headed back down the dock toward the gathering throng of fishermen and families.

  It looked like the whole village converged on the tavern as Otto turned his steps toward the cottage.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Cape Grace: April 7, 2347

  THE MORNING SUN STRUGGLED through the clouds as Sarah made her way along the trail to town. She huddled in her coat, hands thrust into pockets. The unfairness of it all grated on her, leaving tiny flakes of her being adrift on the morning breeze. It had been bad enough working with her father. Bobby Tatum knew nothing about listening to the world. Nothing about the sea or the beach or the land beyond. She sighed and turned her steps to the stone pier.

  Most of the slips lay empty, the draggers long gone out to the fishing grounds. She walked around the utility cart parked beside Tara Li’s Frayed Knot. The sounds of men talking wafted up from the engine room at the stern. Something about the carburetor and a fuel line. It had given them trouble during the blessing of the fleet and they still hadn’t found the problem. She shrugged and kept moving.

  Harbor Fairy waited in her usual spot halfway down the pier, tied up with the other two crabbers and one of the company’s utility boats. Crab pots covered almost every square meter of deck space, rising four and five high, each stack with its own coil of line and buoy. The load seemed incongruously large on the hull but the sturdy boat shouldered the burden without complaint.

  She saw no sign of Bobby. The day would get away from them if he didn’t show up soon. Impatience heaved her chest and she blew out a frustrated breath through her nose as she stepped aboard and stowed her lunch in the cuddy. She leaned out see around the piles of traps to look back down the dock.

  Still no Bobby.

  Out of habit she went through the inspection, ticking off the safety gear knowing it was there without looking but following the routine she’d worked with her father. Life vests. Fire extinguishers. First aid kit. Life ring. It took only a few moments, but her frustration grew with every beat of her heart.

  The small chore complete, she cast around looking for something else to do and finding nothing.

  She stepped off the boat and stared down the dock. Still no Bobby. She checked the time and chewed her lip, feeling the emotional squall building inside.

  The sun broke through and washed the pier in warmth. She turned her face up to it, eyes closed, letting the light bathe her. She listened to the world—the quiet gurgle and squeak of the Fairy being shifted by the small harbor waves, the call of a seabird somewhere over the bay. The solid stone pier under her feet lacked the feel of packed sand but anchored her to the seabed below. She felt for the harbor’s bottom under its few fathoms of water, cupped by the headlands that kept it protected from the wide ocean’s might.

  She stood that way for what felt like only moments before she heard the scuff of footsteps approaching. She looked down the pier and smiled at Marty Grosvenor. “Mornin’, Marty.”

  The older man smiled at her, his face crinkling up in all the corners. “Good morning, Sarah. How’s your father?”

  “He’s well, thanks.”

  Marty stopped beside her and looked out over the bay. “What d’ya think
about the season?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure.” She lifted her face up and inhaled the cool, salty air deep. “Could be a good one.” She looked at him. “You guys gonna lay down in your usual spots?”

  He glanced over at her and then looked back out, his head turning as he scanned the bay. “You and your father did pretty good offshore.” He didn’t quite ask it as a question.

  She nodded. “There’s a shelf about a kilometer wide just outside of the headlands. Little deeper than the harbor but the crabs like it just fine.” She glanced up. “You thinkin’ of coming out?”

  He shrugged and looked at his feet, scuffing his boot on the concrete. “Might do. We picked up another twenty traps for this season. Need someplace to put them.” A slow swell of anxiety wafted off him.

  She nodded again and pointed to the eastern headland. “If you put down your strings just inside the headland like normal, it’s an easy loop around the outside of the harbor there. More than enough room for twenty more traps.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. “You think so?”

  A laugh bubbled up. “Oh, yeah. Probably enough for twenty more boats. There’s a lot of crabs out there.” She lifted her face to the sun and took a whiff of the breeze. “Yeah. Lot of crabs.”

  He nodded. “Didn’t want to step on any toes.”

  She smiled. “Nothing to worry about on my part.”

  “Thanks,” Marty said, giving a little shrug and shifting his weight. “Well, I better get the boat ready. I’m picking up Steve at the bait dock.”

  “Good hunting,” she said.

  He smiled and shuffled down the pier to his boat and disappeared behind the pile of traps.

  “What did he want?”

  Sarah looked over her shoulder to find Bobby scowling at her. “Marty? Nothin’.”

  “You two looked pretty cozy. What did you talk about?” Bobby asked.

  She shrugged. “Traps. Where to put them. Crabs. They’ve got twenty more traps this season.”

  Bobby’s scowl deepened. “Where to put them? He’s not taking any of our territory, I hope.”

  She shook her head. “They’re going into the same corner of the harbor and I suggested they run a few strings just on the outside of the headland.”

  Bobby’s lips tightened to a thin line. “That’s where we put down.”

  Sarah shook her head again. “Not this season. We need to be off the channel to the west and about half a kilometer offshore. The water is better there.”

  “Oh, really?” Bobby sighed. “And who made you the boss of this operation?”

  His anger washed over her like a bucket of hot water. She stared at him, floundering for words.

  “I’m the captain of this boat.” He bit the words off as he spit them at her. “We put down where I say we put down. Is that clear?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, reaching for the seabed through the soles of her boots and the pier below. The cool reassurance settled her, letting the heat of his words chill to calmness in her. “You’re the helm. I’m the crew. I’m also the one with the experience in finding the crabs that pay us. You drive. I’ll tell you where.”

  He threw up his hands and turned away from her. “That’s not how this works.”

  “Tell you what,” she said. “You tell me where you want to put the traps and I’ll tell you where I want to put the traps. We’ll see if we agree.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re the crew. I’m the captain. What I say is what we do. Period.” He crossed his arms over his chest and planted himself in front of her, legs braced as if for a fight.

  “Or what?” she asked, more curious than furious.

  “Or I get one of my guys to take your place and you can go back to your little carvings and get kicked off the planet.”

  Where his anger had been hot, this new turn blew cold as a winter gale. She all but shivered. She looked out at the horizon, weighing her options. The harbor and ledge beyond teemed with crabs. She sighed. “As long as they’re in the water, it probably won’t matter where.” She looked at him and then glanced at the sun. “Daylight’s wasting.”

  He smiled, his frostiness melting. “That’s better.” He stepped onto the boat and waved at the lines. “Single up the lines and let’s get going. I want to be back by midafternoon and you’ve already cost us half the morning.”

  A hot flush of anger singed her ears but she bit down on the retort. It would do no good and just delay them longer. She shook her head and started releasing the lines while Bobby fired up the engines and revved them. The exhaust plume coughed from the stern, shredded by the onshore breeze.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Cape Grace: May 3, 2347

  BOBBY KILLED THE ENGINE as Sarah wrapped the stern line around a cleat. She checked the angles and nodded to herself.

  “What ya gonna do now?” Bobby asked.

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  “We got the crabs delivered. We’re done here, aren’t we?”

  She nodded. “Far as I know. I want to wash down the deck. That last string left a lot of muck and I don’t want to be slipping in it all day tomorrow.” She paused, waiting to see if he’d offer to help.

  “Ah, I see.” He looked around the cockpit as if calculating how much mud lay on the deck.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Just wonderin’.”

  She stepped into the boat and pulled a bucket and swab out from the storage. “Well, make yourself useful while you’re wondering and grab a bucket of water.” She thrust the pail into his hands.

  He leaned over the outboard side of the boat and scooped a half-pail of water from the harbor while she dunked the head of the mop in the bay before using the salty water to loosen up and scrape the mud toward the scuppers in the back. After a few swipes with the swab she stepped back and he sloshed the water toward the stern. She pumped the swab in the bay and squeezed the excess water out before using it to push the excess seawater out through the scuppers. They repeated the effort a couple of times until she felt satisfied with the deck.

  “That’ll do,” she said. “We’ll make a mess of it again tomorrow.”

  He grinned. “We make a pretty good team, don’t ya think?”

  She glanced at him as she stowed the bucket and swab. “Well, it’s only been a few weeks, but yeah. Seems like it’s going pretty good.” She straightened and flexed her back. “I’d be happier if you could show up on time, but I just add half a stan to whatever time you say you’ll be here.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “You’re always late. You say you’ll be here at nine and it’s half past before you show up.” She shrugged. “I just mentally add half an hour and I usually have time to single up the lines and get the boat ready before you show up.”

  “That’s bull.” His fists balled and he braced as if he might take a swing at her. “I’m always here right on time. I can’t help it if you’re always early.”

  She shook her head. “If you say so. All I know is I’ve been coming in half an hour late and I’m still waiting for you to drag your ass down here so we can get to work.”

  “All right,” he said. “What time tomorrow?”

  She glanced up at the sun and over at the level of the tide on the pier. “Let’s try for 1000. That’ll let me get a walk in before we get underway.”

  “A walk?”

  “Yeah. A walk. On the beach.” She jerked a thumb at the long headland.

  He blinked a few times, his face almost blank. “Why?”

  “Why what? Why a beach or why a walk?”

  He gave a little shake. “Either. Both.”

  “I like it,” she said. “It calms me. I find wood to carve. Whelk shells.” She shrugged.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Bobby said. “Shaman stuff.”

  Sarah nodded. “Shaman stuff.”

  A sly smile eased onto his face. “You know you can’t be a shaman, right?”

/>   She took a deep breath and squelched the anger rising in her chest. “We’re working on it.”

  He smirked and glanced around the tidy boat. “At least you got a skill to fall back on.” With that he clambered over the side and onto the pier. “See ya at ten,” he said, turning to stride along the pier toward town.

  She sighed and shook her head, pulling her gear from the cuddy in the steering pylon. “As if,” she said.

  * * *

  “At least I got a walk in,” she muttered and settled down on the edge of the pier with her knife and a piece of driftwood. She eased the blade along the grain, freeing the shape of a fish hawk from the wood. The work went slowly but centered her. As the small shavings fell into the water, she tuned into the world around her. The small lapping sounds of the wavelets against the stone formed a counterpoint to the working of the blade. The warm sun played hide-and-seek in the small, puffy clouds, alternately shining full on her and then giving her a respite from the heat as a cloud blocked the direct rays. Part of her mind extended to the bay and the life it held. A school of bait fish found its way into the harbor’s mouth and the sea birds held a raucous feast, diving into the stippled water and rising with their silvery prizes.

  The calm morning soothed her jagged edges and the fish hawk took shape. She held it up to the light. She hadn’t put in any detail yet, but the overall shape of the bird perched on a branch appeared in the grain. She traced the hunched intensity of its body with tip of her finger.

  She heard footsteps coming up the pier and glanced over to see Bobby approaching. She folded her knife and tucked her work away in a pocket. A check of the time showed 1030. She shook her head and clambered to her feet.

  “Ready to go?” Bobby asked when he got up to the boat. He stepped aboard and tossed his gear into the cuddy.

  “Been ready since ten.”

  He shot her a sour look. “Don’t be a pain in the ass. I don’t have time for your attitude today.” He punched the starter and the engine coughed a couple of times before it fired up and the low rumble drowned out anything short of a shout.