“It’lldo,” Lavinny said, as they sat back in the boat and pulled toward the SunnyGreen, which stood further up the bay, awaiting the return of her daughtervessels.
They’dpassed Schoodic Island on their starboard side, and approached Little Moose Island,turning west toward Big Moose Island before rounding it and sailing to the spotwhere the Sunny Green had dropped anchor off Turtle Island. They passedFinch Island, a tiny island named for a tiny bird, little more than a rock thatstood up from the water. They gave the rocks space, in case the current gotfrisky and drove them against it, and had almost come around it, when a cryrose on the wind, desperate yet weary. Probably Jake Gilhooly, who’d run up onthe rocks again, but a fisher in distress was still a brother, no matter howbig of a nuisance he made of himself.
“Teague,you hear that?” she asked.
Teagueglanced over his shoulder at her. “I hear gulls, if that’s what you mean.”
“Awfullyhuman-sounding gulls, if you ask me,” Lavinny said. “And it’s coming from FinchIsland. You see a gull atop of it?” No gulls circled the boat. The smell oftheir catch should have attracted even more but not a one perched on the rock.
Teaguelooked toward it. “No, you’re right.” And a hint of pallor showed in his darkface.
“Bringthe boat around, let’s see who’s there.” Teague plied his port-side oar,turning the boat, as did Lavinny, bringing the boat closer to the rock.
Asthey came around, a figure came into their view, a human form in tatteredoilskins clinging to the rock, pieces of wood and a broken oar floating on thewater around him.
“Hey!Help!” the figure called. Not the voice or face of Jake Gilhooly, but a richervoice and a darker, olive-skinned face. Possibly one of the Portuguesefishermen come down from Nova Scotia or Newfoundland or up from Gloucester.
“Hothere!” Lavinny called. “Hold fast, we’re bringing her close.” The figureraised his face to her, his eyes dark like her own.
Teaguelooked to her, his black eyes narrowed and the pallor still showing in his darkface. “Should we get close? The current’s awful strong today.”
“Thatcould be us someday. I’d want someone to do us the same turn,” she said. “Bringher in.” They rowed in as close as they dared without ramming or riding up onthe rock or scraping it. One way to remove the barnacles, she thoughtwith a wry smirk, but she could also rip the bottom out and they’d end up likethe man on the rock. As they came alongside him, the man slid into the water,as if he’d hung on so long he’d lost his strength.
Findingthe tether line for the dory, she threw it into the water. “Here, catch!” shecalled. The stranded man grabbed at the line, missed, then took hold. Shehauled on the line, drawing the man closer to the boat. Teague braced on theopposite side as she helped the stranded fisherman aboard.
“Youout for a catch?” she asked.
Thestranded man huddled in the bottom. “I was,” he said. Despite the wind on thewater, Lavinny pulled off her oilskin jacket, draping it over the man, to keepthe water’s spray from chilling him any further.
Lavinnyreached for one set of the oars. “Teague, let’s pull back to the ship.” Thesooner they got back, the sooner they could warm the man, whoever he was. Thecold could take your life, if you weren’t careful to get below and into a warmbunk with two people on either side of you, or if you were onshore, in betweentwo cows or two sheep.
Theship’s lanterns had just been lit as they pulled up to the Sunny Green,Malone waiting on the deck for them. “Declare yer cargo, lassie,” Malone said,his rugged face tired after a long day, as two other crewmen took the lines ofthe dory and winched her aboard.
“Gota few haddock and halibut, but I also have a passenger,” she said, and shepulled back the oilskin. Aside from the fish still in the net, the bottom ofthe boat lay empty.
Shelooked to Teague. “Did you see him go over the side?”
“No,‘Vinia. Been watchin’ the boat since we pulled that guy in,” Teague replied,getting out of the dory as quickly as he could.
Malonelooked into the bottom of the dory, then to the darkening sky above, then toLavinny. “Too late in the day for sunstroke. You woolgathering out there?”
“No,sir: we came alongside Big Moose Island and Finch Island, when we found him onFinch. His boat had broke up and he was hanging on. Practically fell in whenTeague and I pulled him aboard,” she said.
Malonesaid nothing for a long moment, looking from Lavinny to Teague, then into theboat. “Which island?” Malone asked, his face blanching under his old sailor’stan.
“Finch,off Big Moose, about a mile from here, why?” Lavinny asked.
Theboys on deck had hauled the net from the bottom of the dory and starteduntangling the haddock from it and dropping them into the fish pots, but theyslowed their work, glancing at Malone and pretending they hadn’t cocked an earapiece to listen.
Malonecrossed himself. “You just saw Constantino Serrano’s ghost.”
Lavinnyleaned in to sniff at Malone’s breath. He might take a wee drop of “thecraychur” from time to time, but never when he was at work. “That wasn’t aghost. He was flesh and blood. Cold flesh and blood, but I felt his weightpulling on the line I threw him. He tipped my boat as well. Would have ended upin the bay, if Teague hadn’t braced hard.”
“Noone’s told you about Constantino Serrano?” Teague asked.
“Firsttime I’ve heard the name,” she said. “Who is he? Was he, I suppose, ifyou’re speaking the truth.”
“Hewas a Portuguese sailor who’d put down roots here, about twenty-some odd yearsago,” Malone said. “Came down from Halifax. Used to fish out of Schoodic withyour grandfather’s
