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Trevik’s brow rose in surprise, but she hardly noticed, unwanted memories sweeping over her like a rogue wave.

For so long, she’d pushed them aside, unwilling to relive the worst years of her life. Father’s ever-present smile shifting to a constant, stress-filled frown. His attention on his family redirected to various contracts and money orders. He used to tell Morvoren stories every night before bed and walk on the beach with them every morning, but toward the last year of his life, he couldn’t even be bothered to return home before she’d already fallen asleep.

“Bein’ in the trade changed ’im,” Morvoren said softly, “He became obsessed with havin’ better catches and findin’ more ways to make even more money.” She shook her head. “He was told to invest in drifters first, but they’d make fun o’ Father’s lack of wealth and make distasteful comments about Mother and me. Father defended us for a time, but soon enough, he laughed along with ’em and did the same to others.”

She continued looping the knots together, focusing more intently on her actions to not allow her feelings from the past to resurface alongside her memories. “He wasn’t even there when Mother died, though he knew she’d taken ill.”

It had been five years, and still, her grief sat at the edge of the door to her past, ready, waiting for her the moment she opened it just a crack.

“When did your father die?” Trevik asked, his voice soft.

“A few weeks after her. Died o’ the same sickness. The night before, I’d discovered ’im comin’ home, stinkin’ o’ drink and other women’s perfume.”

Bitterness threatened to rush over her as powerful as the sea’s currents, but she swiftly quelled the desire. She’d lost a great deal of respect for her father over the last few years of his life—so had Mother. But Morvoren refused to forget the good times they’d shared, though the wall she’d built around her heart would never be lowered.

“I be sorry,” Trevik said, his voice pushing away the darkness. “That…that shouldn’t be somethin’ a child should e’er ’ave to go through. Any of it.”

She felt his compassion, his understanding in his few simple words, and she nodded with gratitude. “’Twas unfair of me, I know, to blame all me woes on fishermen in general. But I held that belief for years.” She cast him a sidelong gaze. “Trust ye and your family to prove me wrong.”

She reached the end of the row and straightened, arching her already smarting lower back. “Even still, what ’appened to Father just made me realize that I’d ne’er willingly choose to entangle me future with that of a fisherman’s again. That way o’ life…’tisn’t for me.”

Silence followed, and she glanced at Trevik to see his head ducked down as he continued his work in silence.

Her stomach dropped, leaving her with regret that swirled in her chest as she realized the words she’d said aloud. How could she have stated such a thing? “I-I didn’t mean…”

But it was too late. Trevik merely shrugged. “Ye don’t ’ave to explain. I ain’t be ignorant to your opinion o’ we fishermen.”

“’Tain’t fishermen…” Her words trailed off when he raised his hand.

“Like I said, ye needn’t explain further. What ’appened with your father gives ye ample reason to feel such a way.”

He didn’t seem heartbroken at her words, and though she should have been relieved, she couldn’t help but feel…saddened. Did he not wish for her good opinion? Surely, as friends, he ought to.

With a sigh, she shook her head. “Mother always said I had a tongue as sharp as a hake’s teeth, and Uncle said I had very little tact.” She gave a wry smile. “I s’pose he be right about one thing.”

Trevik didn’t deny her words. Why had she expected him to? He’d been on the receiving end of her cruelty one too many times.

Desperate to be rid of the conversation and the turn it had taken, Morvoren motioned to the net. “I finished with that row. How do I get it back ’round the other way?”

Trevik dropped his eyes to her section of the net, and she stepped carefully off to the side as he showed her how to tie the mesh below the other row, continuing on in the opposite direction.

“It really be remarkable,” she said, picking up the hemp and moving on to the next row. “How did ye learn to do it?”

Fortunately, Trevik allowed her to change the conversation. “Me father taught all of ’is crew when ’e hired ’em. But I learned when I was just a boy, spendin’ hours up ’ere with ’im.”

Morvoren eyed him. She didn’t often hear about the elder Mr. Honeysett, but whenever he was mentioned, his memory was almost spoken with a sort of reverence by his wife and children.

“What was your father like?” she asked.

Trevik’s features warmed, and his voice softened. “’E was the best o’ men. Patient with everyone ’e knew. Demanded respect from ’is crew—not with fear, but with loyalty and fairness. ’E taught me everythin’ I know.”

She listened to his words, warmed by his sentiment.

“’E was the one to ’ave named the lugger the Pilferer,” Trevik continued with a half-smile. “’E thought it fitty, as the seiners always called Father a thief of pilchards.”

Morvoren smiled. She would have liked this man, she was certain. Still, something niggled at the back of her mind, the memory of Trevik and his mother speaking, something about his father’s death being related to seining companies?

“Can I ask how he died?” she questioned gingerly.