Chapter Thirty-Eight
The old man laughed and sang a song
As they rocked in wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were herring-fish
That live in the beautiful sea;
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish
Never feared are we!”
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken, Blynken and Nod.
—Eugene Field
His brother and the coaster had long since left for Bath, so Eachann had paid a herring boat that was going out that night to take them back to the island. Georgina kept to herself at first, sitting alone in a spot and not talking to anyone. She spent most of her time watching Eachann.
He stood in the aft and his hair was wild in the breeze, as wild as the man himself. He was so tall standing there, looking like some god who lorded over the sea and sky.
She didn’t have to look at him to know he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His features were strong and chiseled. Superbly masculine. He wasn’t bald and short.
He wasn’t rich either.
But he was something to see standing there like that. She rested her chin in her hand and decided it would suit her just fine if she could spend the rest of her life looking at him.
As long as he never opened his mouth.
Georgina remembered back to that party and how she had thought Eachann would look all dressed up in white tie. Watching him here on the sea at night was more striking a scene than white tie and tails, than any clothing could ever make him look.
Eachann MacLachlan was as wild and rough as the island where he lived. They seemed to fit together. All that hard weathered granite that could withstand the strength of the sea and the hardheaded man who didn’t care what she said or did or who she was. He was like that granite island. Immovable.
He spoke easily with the man he hired, an old fellow, the kind of Maine talker who had a saying for everything. He’d assumed they were husband and wife and Eachann hadn’t said anything different.
As they left the harbor the old man had chattered about the storms he’d seen and how “they blowed a fit enough to make rabbit cry.” He busied his two sons with taking the boat out while he looked at Georgina. “You from Boston?”
She nodded.
“Yep.Can always tell you Boston folk. Hits you right between the face and eyes.”
Eachann laughed.
“Did you know them Pilgrims didn’t land at Plymouth?” The old man unwrapped a tangled fishing net as he spoke. “The Pilgrims, they first landed on Monhegan island. Got themselves some good cod, they did. So the story goes, one morning a fisherman’s wife looks out her window and sees theMayflowerhove in for some handlining. She turns to her husband and says, “Who do you suppose that is?” Her husband looks out the window. “It’s got to be the Pilgrims. They’ve come at last!”
It was a silly story, but even Georgina had to laugh. All those women she knew, her so-called friends, prided themselves on being descended from Mayflower dames, and as such, the daughters of the first Americans.
The laughter was cut short when one of the sons caught sight of a school of herring. A moment later they were turning the boat and tossing nets in the water.
“George? Come over here.”
She glanced at Eachann, then got up and joined him at the railing in the aft.
