COME HELL OR HIGH WATER, harold lowe

prologue.

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER
prologue

. . . . .

( april 1897 )

TO MAEVE SCOTT, SPRING was the best time of the year.

The Earth was awakening after a long and bleak winter. The birds were beginning to sing and the trees were beginning to bloom. But most importantly, she thought, the weather was finally becoming warm enough for her to play in the pools that gathered on the shore of her seaside home.

The pebbles hurt the soles of her feet, softened from months of being forced to play indoors, but the young girl of nine years just didn't care. She hummed a tune beneath her breath as she skipped through the surf. Occasionally, she would pause long enough to pick up a pebble and toss it into the water.

Sand was trapped between her toes, a familiar feeling that she hardly noticed. Her hair, which was carefully styled by mother before she left the house that morning, was being blown in every direction by the sea breeze. The skirts of her dress were soaked and dirty. It was a new dress, so she was sure to be scolded when she returned home.

Nearby, a small group of girls were busy playing with their dolls that they'd gotten for Christmas. Maeve was encouraged by her parents to join them, but there was plenty of other things the young girl would rather do. She continued to move through the shallow water, nearing a dock where a boy was preparing to bring a little boat out onto the water.

She leaned down to scoop up another rock. Before she had the chance to throw it, she was approached by a group of older boys; she recognized them to be her eldest brother's friends. She frowned. The warmer weather meant that everyone wanted to be outside, including the annoying boys whom her brother hung around.

Henry Scott wasn't with them. He was probably helping his father with some work around the house.

"Why aren't you with the other little girls, Maeve?" asked one of the boys. She recognized him to be Glynn Howell, the ringleader of the group.

"I don't wanna play with them," she responded, shrugging. "Playing dolls is no fun."

"But you're a girl!" teased another one of her brother's friends.

Glynn Howell snickered. "Right, girls aren't supposed to get dirty. They're supposed to play dress-up and have tea parties with dolls!"

Her frown deepening, Maeve defiantly crossed her arms over her chest. "Girls can like other things, too."

"Maybe if they're weird!"

The little girl felt tears welling in the corner of her eyes. She didn't care what these boys thought of her, but their words still hurt! She opened her mouth to argue, but someone else beat her to it.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

Twisting around, she found that the boy she'd seen near his boat had come over. She knew that his name was Harold Lowe; he was another one of her brother's friends, as well as someone whom her eldest sister often mooned over. He was staring at the other boys with an unhappy scowl.

"We're only having a bit of fun," said Glynn with a shrug. He didn't seem the least bit sorry.

"Have you forgotten how to have fun, Harold?" another boy teased.

"I've never found badgering a girl fun," Harold retorted. He grabbed Maeve's hand and began to tug her away from the group of bullies. Once they were far enough away, he looked over at her and noticed that she was fighting back tears. "Now, don't cry over a couple boys who find joy in picking on a girl."

"They were saying awful things!" Maeve said, sniffling.

"Like what?" wondered Harold.

She looked down, embarrassed. Suddenly, she was worried that everyone thought she was weird for enjoying different things. "They were telling me that I was stupid for liking the water and that I should spend my time playing dress up like the other girls."

Harold didn't respond, but he stopped walking. They were nearing his little boat, still tied to the dock where he'd left it. His eyes flickered out over the water, and an idea popped into his head. "Have you ever been out on the bay before, Maeve?" he asked her.

She shook her head.

"Would you like to go for a ride?"

Just a few minutes later, Maeve was sat in his punt as he rowed them out onto the bay. The waves sloshed on the sides of the boat, causing it to rock slightly back and forth. She held onto her seat so tightly that her little knuckles were turning white, but she looked around her with her eyes wide in wonder.

"I like the water," she said, partly to herself and partly to Harold.

"So do I," he agreed. She noticed that a peaceful expression had fallen over him. She was too young to understand the love of the sea that he held in his heart, so this only confused her. "I'd be out here all the time if I could."

"Even if that meant never seeing our home again?" she asked.

"I've always felt more at home here on the water than in Barmouth," he told her.

Maeve pursed her lips thoughtfully. This boy was weird! She just didn't understand him. "I like seeing the water from the beach," she said to him. She stifled a squeal as the boat rocked once more. "Being all the way out here is scary!"

Harold laughed lightly. He began to turn the boat so that they were heading back to shore. "We can go back now," he offered, and she nodded eagerly.

Once they were back on land and the boat was safely tied to the dock, Maeve turned a grateful look onto the boy who'd come to her rescue.

"Thank you. I feel a lot better now."

"I'm glad," said Harold with a smile, kneeling beside his boat. He finished tying the final knot before standing to his feet. "Be yourself, Maeve. Those other boys don't know what they're talking about."

"Maybe, but they never stop!" she grumbled unhappily. Even her own brother wasn't willing to stand up to their teasing.

"Tell you what—" Harold placed a hand on her shoulder. "—I'll be your bodyguard. I won't let them pick on you anymore."

Maeve smiled, and that evening, she returned home feeling better than she had in a long time. If Harold kept his promise, she wouldn't have to worry about those awful boys anymore. She could be herself, and she'd have a new friend to look after her!

But that was the last time she saw Harold Lowe. The next day, he was gone, and he never returned to Barmouth. As the years passed and Maeve grew up, he became nothing more than a faint memory tucked away in the back of her mind. She was certain that their paths would never cross again.

Fate, however, had other plans.

. . . . .