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She fought another smile. “I wouldn’t wish to disturb your work.”
“Ye ain’t. ’Tis ’elpful to pass the time ’avin’ someone to speak to.” He waved her forward. “Ye can finish this smaller section while I mend the other. Then I’ll be done for the day.”
He motioned her closer again, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep her growing smile at bay, though she was thrilled at his desire to have her stay.
Cautiously, she walked toward him. “Ye be sure ye want me help after what I did to them pasties?”
She was delivered with the smile she’d been hoping for. “Ye can’t add more salt than what already be coverin’ this net, I assure ye.”
He winked, and Morvoren’s heart jumped like a pilchard attempting to escape the gurries.
Trevik reached for the torn section, creating another opening with his third finger, then looping the loose strand of hemp around the existing netting and securing it tightly. He released the string and motioned for her turn to begin.
On her first successful try, after a number of failed attempts and instructions from Trevik, he nodded with approval.
“Excellent. I’ll make ye a fisherman yet.”
Morvoren blanched, the mesh falling from her fingertips as the words jarred her. What was she doing? Working in the cellars with fishermen’s wives, living with a fisherman’s family, now she tied a net with a fisherman? Was this not the very thing she was trying to prevent—becoming so used to a fisherman’s ways that they were second nature, that she didn’t care to leave them?
Trevik must not have noticed her hands stilling as the worry filled her, for he continued speaking. “Now do that all the way across the torn section, then I’ll show ye ’ow to go back along the bottom.”
He took a step to the right, getting straight to work on the larger tear in the net.
Morvoren looked away from the y-shape of his braces and willed her nerves to settle. Just because she was tying a net didn’t mean she was fully embracing the life of a fisherman. She was merely earning her keep before she could leave and find the life she wanted.
Slowly, she moved on with the knotting, paying close attention to where she lifted and lowered the hemp—instead of dwelling on the rock forming in her stomach.
“Are ye out o’ questions, then?” Trevik asked.
“Just focusin’,” she lied. Then she cast him a sly glance. “Was this your plan all along, to get me to quit speakin’?”
He laughed, the deep rich sound filling the space between them. Perhaps tying the net wasn’t so bad with Trevik’s laughter for company. After all, they were friends. Friends were always good to have.
More silence followed, and though Morvoren did her best to focus on mending the hole she’d created herself, she couldn’t help but become distracted with her proximity to Trevik, the section of his net close to her own as he worked back along another row.
She needed something else to focus on instead of the fact that he stood a mere foot from her now. “So, if ye fish at night, carry in the catch in the mornin’, mend nets in the afternoon, then head out to sea at dusk…when do ye ever sleep?”
“I find a few hours ’ere an’ there,” he answered simply. “Durin’ the pilchard months, I sleep less with the amount o’ work that needs doin’. But we take shifts at times on the lugger, and I always manage a few hours in the early afternoon.”
“I can’t imagine how ye still be standin’.”
“I could say the same for ye. Processing ’em fish ain’t easy. ’Specially when ye ain’t be used to doin’ it.” He paused. “Can I ask ye somethin’?”
Morvoren’s stomach tightened. When a person requested permission to ask a question, one could always expect a less than pleasant conversation to follow.
Still, she responded with a polite, “Of course.”
He didn’t look up from the netting as he continued. “I know your feelin’s ’bout fishermen be less than favorable, but…what made ’em so?”
A thousand answers poured into Morvoren’s mind, nearly escaping her lips, but she clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t burst the perfect atmosphere she’d created with the Honeysetts by letting them know she came from a seining family. She just wasn’t ready—nor, she believed, were they.
She didn’t think they would despise her or throw her out, but she was almost certain there would be some small degree of mistrust that would arise for her having two seiners in her family. And what would happen if the Cardys learned the truth? Would they treat her more poorly as a seiner’s niece or a sea-maid?
If only Morvoren could leave Tristwick without ever having to tell them at all.
She wouldn’t allow herself to lie again, but perhaps she could share just enough to satisfy his curiosity.
With a hard swallow, she began. “There be many reasons, but most of all, it was me Father. He was convinced to invest in the trade and little by little, he let it take over his life.”
