White Horses On The Bay

Force 0: 0 - 1 Knots - Calm

Force 0: 0-1 Knots 

Calm  

Sea like a mirror

"You know Nell, there's nothing better than a plate of your fish and chips after a morning digging graves," Fisher yelled, letting the heavy wooden door close slowly behind him. A rush of cool spring air followed him inside and he had to stop for a moment to adjust to the waft of muddled smells and the darkness of her pub. Salty sea air, stale cigarette smoke and the sweet aroma of hot apple pie wrapped around him like the arms of an old friend and in an instant he felt at home. 

"Lunch is nearly ready, dear. Have a seat," Nell said, peering at Fisher from the kitchen pass-through. "Molly, my love, stop polishing the paint off the bloody bar stools and get our handsome lad there a nice cold beer." She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the end of her apron and continued to stir a pot of chowder on the stove. 

Fisher threw his jacket onto a peg by the door, pleased with himself for the successful toss. "Excuse me, Molly," he said as he squeezed his way past her to a table by the window. He tried not to make eye contact with her, as even a hint of a smile would be a sign of encouragement to Molly Walsh. He had to be careful not to lift her hopes any higher than they already were.  

"That's impressive, Mr. Sullivan. You should be in the major leagues," Molly said, swinging her wide hips as she made her way to the kitchen. She rattled a few bottles in the beer fridge and then yanked the cap off a Labatt's. 

"You enjoying that beautiful day out there, Fisher? It's a gorgeous one, eh?" Nell shouted. 

"It's some nice, for sure. A real change from that gale last night. I could have sworn the fleet would be bashed all to hell this morning, but it looks like they managed to weather the storm." Fisher tried to sound like someone who cared. Everyone in town knew the truth, though; Fisher rarely set foot on a boat of any kind. He had ventured only a handful of times out through Burnt Island Tickle and into the open Atlantic. Puking on the ferry to Fogo in front of the entire graduating class that day still flashes through his mind. Repeating that public performance is something he can easily avoid.  

Fisher sat down, banging his knee on the table-leg for the umpteenth time, and pushed his sleeves up his aching arms. He pulled off his wool cap and placed it on the damp window ledge. "It's nice and peaceful in here right now. Where is everybody?" He asked. 

"Oh, I expect they'll be in here soon enough." Nell shouted from the short order window. "That brother-in-law of yours is down at The Mary Bea with his crew getting her ready for the season. I've been watching them all morning. They'll be hungrier than spring bears and just as ornery when they get here. You better eat quickly if you want to avoid his Royal Highness." 

"Thanks, Molly," Fisher said, taking the beer from her chubby hand. "I'll have the blue-plate special, dear," He added, looking straight into the girl's ample chest. Her waitress uniform was at least two sizes too small pushing her breasts over the neckline like rising dough. They were especially profound when she bent over which she often did. Nell hadn't asked Molly to wear a uniform, but the girl wanted to dress the part as she put it, and since she bought it herself on a visit to St. John's, Nell indulged her. It looked better than anything Molly had in her closet and Nell wanted her only employee to be happy. A good steady worker this far north was worth their weight in gold, and in Molly's case that was a schooner full of the precious metal.  

"You going up to see your Grandmother, today? She seems to be settling in a little better now, don't you think?" Nell asked as she dropped the battered fish into the hot vat. The sizzling oil nearly drowned out her voice.  

"I'll be up after work I guess. Got two plots to dig today. That car accident kid and Mrs. Sheppard. The ground's still a bit frozen so it's a shitload of work. You saw her yesterday, right?"