—Anonymous
Amy stood on the deck of the coaster and watched the hills of Portland come into view, large gray humps of the real world that grew larger and clearer the closer they sailed to the mainland. The sea had been fairly calm and blue as they passed five or six other islands heading toward shore. To her it all passed too quickly, for before long the chalky weathered wharf with its busy side docks was standing before them.
Huddled in moorings around the west curve of the bay were fishing smacks and dories, coasters and sloops. Wooden lobster traps were stacked like teetering blocks along the sides of the clapboard wharf shacks, where spouts of steam and smoke drifted up into the blue sky from small rusty pipes that stuck out of the shingled shack roofs like pointing fingers.
Delivery wagons and teams were lined up along the busy street. Some were already loading barrels of fish oil, pine clapboards, and oak staves, all products from the nearby islands. Icemen dragged big blocks of shimmering ice speckled with straw into the wharf shacks where fresh seafood was weighed, cleaned, and sold.
Amy just stood there, a little undone, because she couldn’t believe they were in Portland already. It seemed to her as if they had just left the island.
Georgina stopped her constant pacing of the deck and came to stand next to her. “Well, that certainly took long enough.” She slapped some hair out of her face as if time were all too annoying to her. “I didn’t think we’d ever get here.” She scanned the dockside, her hands tapping impatiently on the rail. After a moment she glanced at Amy. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t speak for a bit, but both just watched the bustling dock, each lost in thoughts of their own.
Amy turned to her. “I wish you good luck in your marriage, Georgina. I hope John Cabot will be everything you want.”
“He is. Have you changed your mind?”
Amy shook her head. “I know what I want.”
Georgina nodded. “Then I hope you get it. Just don’t forget my advice.”
Amy smiled. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll not soon forget.”
Georgina offered her hand and they said goodbye.
Both brothers were busy tying down and she and Georgina had to stand there an awkward moment longer. She felt impotent, numb, and nervous. She didn’t know if she could be like Georgina, who had just marched over to Eachann and was harping at him about taking so long.
Those two were a queer set of rivals. Georgina stood there with her chin as high as someone who had no concept of fear at all. Her hands were planted on her hips and one foot tapped impatiently on the deck.
The more Georgina talked, the slower Eachann worked. She wondered if in her fit Georgina even noticed. Eventually he moseyed over to the side, with Georgina marching on his heels. He jumped onto the dock with long-legged ease and started walking away.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Georgina called out. “MacOaf!”
Amy winced. Georgina was fearless. Or tactless. Or maybe both.
He turned so slowly it was like watching a week pass. He stood there eyeing Georgina from a face that was unreadable.
She stuck out her hand like a queen and said, “I need help down.”
Some of the men alongside the dock were leaning against the shacks, intently watching them. A few lobstermen had frozen in their moored dories, and a group of dock workers stopped talking and turned toward the coaster.
Eachann never said a word, but he walked back and stood there, looking at her hand for the longest time.
You could have cut the air with a knife. His stony gaze flicked from her hand to her face. Amy watched him take Georgina’s hand.
Amy could see it coming. But Georgina didn’t; she appeared too busy trying to look down her nose at him.
In less time than it took to blink, Eachann dipped his wide shoulder and flung Georgina right over it, clamping his arm around the backs of her legs.
She shrieked like mad, but Eachann ignored her and just strode casually down the dock to the cheers and catcalls of the fishermen. He gave them a salute and set Georgina down in the street the same way you would drop a load of rocks.
“It’s like watching two angry mules harnessed together.”
Amy turned at the sound of Calum’s voice.
His black hair was ruffled from the voyage and he had shed his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to work the sails. His forearms were tanned and lined with snake-like muscles; his hands were strong and capable of working the sails. It seemed hard to believe those were the same hands that had touched her cheek so tenderly.
