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@@ -49,7 +49,7 @@ She heard her father chuckle. Tamba laughed in a way her father never did, deepl "I do. I promise. But I'm hungry. Do you want rice Tamba?" -He shook his head. A sleep voice from a hammock on the other side of mast piped up, "I do." +He shook his head. A sleepy voice from a hammock on the other side of mast piped up, "I do." She could see her brother's unruly mop of hair sticking out the side of the hammock. She never understood why, but he slept very high up in his hammock, almost as if he were standing up. @@ -389,13 +389,13 @@ Kobayashi grunted. "True." Aunt Māra leaned forward and stirred the fire until a log caught and flame flickered orange light on all their faces. Lulu and Henry were asleep, their heads in Aunt Māra's lap. Birdie yawned. Her father looked over at her. "You got us all serious Birdie, should I pull out the fiddle, lighten up the night?" -She surprised herself by saying no, that she was tired. She gathered up her quilts and walked up the rise of the dune, away from the fire and lay down in the sand, spread layers of quilt over her until she could feel a cocoon of warmth begin to form around her. She laid her head back and looked up. The dusty spray of the milky way spread across the sky. The hunter stood tall and strong, his bow ever at the ready. He must be with us she thought, he must be Alban. Maybe he too is looking for a place to be who he is, a place he can hunt and run free. As her eyelids drooped the stars seemed to gather up, and pull together, to rain down around her and keep her safe and warm, beside their brother the sea, where she was free. +She surprised herself by saying no, that she was tired. She gathered up her quilts and walked up the rise of the dune, away from the fire and lay down in the sand, spread layers of quilt over her until she could feel a cocoon of warmth begin to form around her. She laid her head back and looked up. The dusty spray of the Milky Way spread across the sky. The hunter stood tall and strong, his bow ever at the ready. He must be with us she thought, he must be Alban. Maybe he too is looking for a place to be who he is, a place he can hunt and run free. As her eyelids drooped the stars seemed to gather up, and pull together, to rain down around her and keep her safe and warm, beside their brother the sea, where she was free. ## Chapter 4: Among the Stumps Lulu hopped from stump to stump. Crouching down, her knees bent like coiled springs and then sprong, she exploded toward the next stump, landed, teetered, stopped there. There were plenty of stumps. The whole forest was gone. -"Unbelievable what these people will waste." her father had grumbled earlier as he polled the pirogue through the marsh. Tamba sat in the bow. Lulu in the middle. They were headed inland to inspect stumps. "They probably cut them all down for some waterfront mansion." +"Unbelievable what these people will waste." her father had grumbled earlier as he poled the pirogue through the marsh. Tamba sat in the bow. Lulu in the middle. They were headed inland to inspect stumps. "They probably cut them all down for some waterfront mansion." Tamba turned around carefully, keeping his weight in the center of the boat for balance. He smiled at her. "Rice Lulu. They cut em down for rice. They sell the timber to the city." Tamba smiled again, rolling his eyes toward the sky. They both knew her father, who was standing in the stern of the boat, pushing them through the marsh with a long pine pole, could not see Tamba's rolled eyes beneath his hat. But they both waited and heard him grumble again, "stop rolling your eyes behind my back Tamba." They all laughed. @@ -403,7 +403,7 @@ Tamba turned around carefully, keeping his weight in the center of the boat for Lulu heard her father grunt and mumble something about diggers. Tamba turned around again. -The boat slid silently along the edge of the marsh, where a thin line of trees still stood, offering some shade from the already brutal mid-morning sun. The water ran out right before the line of great oaks started. There were clumps of prickly, fan-leaved palmetto trees growing beneath the oaks. The muddy bank of the marsh quickly gave way to the dark coloured clay, mixed with sand and hundreds of years of leafy hummus. This was the soil, rich in nutrients, that would grow rice. +The boat slid silently along the edge of the marsh, where a thin line of trees still stood, offering some shade from the already brutal mid-morning sun. The water ran out right before the line of great oaks started. There were clumps of prickly, fan-leaved palmetto trees growing beneath the oaks. The muddy bank of the marsh quickly gave way to the dark coloured clay, mixed with sand and hundreds of years of leafy humus. This was the soil, rich in nutrients, that would grow rice. "For a time at least," her father said as he beached them on a small sandy bank. They climbed out and her father tied the boat to an oak. "But you take away the pine and it all goes, nothing will hold this soil." @@ -425,7 +425,7 @@ Her father smiled at Tamba. "I am not bitter." "No, not you." Tamba shook his head slowly, a sly look crossed his eyes, "But you are waxy. Skin like tallow. So white." -Her father laughed. They walked through the oak and palmetto forest toward the bright clearing ahead. Lulu puzzled over why her father and Tamba argued about rice, why they cared at all, since neither of them farmed. Her father hated farming and made no secret of it, though he was happy to live by farmers. The Geechee, the people who farmed inland from here, were good farmers. Lulu and her family made period trips upriver to trade with them and the Waccamaw. +Her father laughed. They walked through the oak and palmetto forest toward the bright clearing ahead. Lulu puzzled over why her father and Tamba argued about rice, why they cared at all, since neither of them farmed. Her father hated farming and made no secret of it, though he was happy to live by farmers. The Geechee, the people who farmed inland from here, were good farmers. Lulu and her family made periodic trips upriver to trade with them and the Waccamaw. Tamba and her father walked out into the field, leaving her at the tree line. They stopped every so often to dig at the roots of the stumps with their sharpened staves, marking choice stumps as they went. She could hear them still arguing about rice as they worked. "Mind the gators Lu," her father called over his shoulder. "And the snakes. Fresh cuts and all." @@ -435,15 +435,15 @@ Her father always said not to fear the alligator, but to respect it. Give it a w Lulu didn't think alligators were scary anyway. She'd once been sitting on a tree trunk that had fallen out over the river. It made a good jumping platform, but this day she was just dangling her feet over, gnawing on a stick of dried fish when a small alligator swam up. It stayed a little ways back and seemed to watch her. -At first her heart leaped into her throat and beat so hard she could feel the blood pounding in her ears. But then some part of her reasoned with the fear, it was in the water, she was on a tree trunk a good five feet above the water. If it was going to try to jump at her, it would not have swum up on the surface. She turned over the situation in her mind for several minutes and eventually her heart slid back down into her chest, her breath began to come again, and she found herself strangely relaxed as the aftermath of fear, and the relief of not being eaten, washed over her. She and the alligator sat like that for some time, eyeing each other. Lulu reasoned they were probably close to the same age. Maybe not in years, but the alligator was probably about the equivalent of a seven year old, which was how old Lulu was at the time. This made her feel closer to it, they had that at least in common. It was not easy being seven. Lulu knew that. The alligator probably knew that to. What did a seven year old alligator have to do? Did it have a moody father? Was its mother alive? Did it have cousins and aunts and uncles? Did it have to stand watch? Probably not she reasoned, alligators don't sail. Then she pictured an alligator trying to sail, an alligator propped up on its hind legs, one hand (or claw?) on the wheel, one holding a spyglass to its eye. +At first her heart leaped into her throat and beat so hard she could feel the blood pounding in her ears. But then some part of her reasoned with the fear, it was in the water, she was on a tree trunk a good five feet above the water. If it was going to try to jump at her, it would not have swum up on the surface. She turned over the situation in her mind for several minutes and eventually her heart slid back down into her chest, her breath began to come again, and she found herself strangely relaxed as the aftermath of fear, and the relief of not being eaten, washed over her. She and the alligator sat like that for some time, eyeing each other. Lulu reasoned they were probably close to the same age. Maybe not in years, but the alligator was probably about the equivalent of a seven year old, which was how old Lulu was at the time. This made her feel closer to it, they had that at least in common. It was not easy being seven. Lulu knew that. The alligator probably knew that too. What did a seven year old alligator have to do? Did it have a moody father? Was its mother alive? Did it have cousins and aunts and uncles? Did it have to stand watch? Probably not, she reasoned, alligators don't sail. Then she pictured an alligator trying to sail, an alligator propped up on its hind legs, one hand (or claw?) on the wheel, one holding a spyglass to its eye. The ridiculousness of this image helped relax her even more and she went back to eating her dried fish. The moment she took a bite though, the alligator's eyes flinched. She couldn't describe it, but she saw something almost like hurt flash through its eyes, the same sort of thing she'd seen in the eyes of her cousins' dogs, the pain of a pack animal whose pack isn't sharing its food with them. Except that alligators weren't pack animals. Or were they? Lulu wasn't sure, but she didn't think so. Still, did one need to be a pack animal to feel hurt when someone doesn't share their food? She momentarily thought of Birdie and how she always took the last bowl of food, letting everyone else have theirs first. She waved the stick of dried fish at the alligator, "you want some of this?" "Of course you do." She bit off a decent sized piece and held it up. "This is all I have, and I have to paddle all the way back to camp." She regarded the dried fish in her hand again. "Still, I know what it's like to want something and not be able to get it. So I want you to have it." Having made up her mind to do it, she tossed the fish in to the water quickly before she could change her mind. The alligator swam quickly toward it and in a movement so deft and fast Lulu barely saw it, it swallowed the stick of dried fish. -Now it was closer to Lulu, nearly at her feat. And once again they stared at each other for a long time. Lulu took another bit of fish and broke off a smaller piece and tossed it to the alligator. This time it knew what it was, and it snapped it up without hesitating. Lulu saw its teeth and for a moment she was afraid again. What if it followed her to the bank when she walked up the log and back down to the pirogue, which was tied just upstream? What if she was a fool to feed an alligator and it wasn't thinking she was nice, but trying to decided why dinner was feeding it dinner? +Now it was closer to Lulu, nearly at her feet. And once again they stared at each other for a long time. Lulu took another bit of fish and broke off a smaller piece and tossed it to the alligator. This time it knew what it was, and it snapped it up without hesitating. Lulu saw its teeth and for a moment she was afraid again. What if it followed her to the bank when she walked up the log and back down to the pirogue, which was tied just upstream? What if she was a fool to feed an alligator and it wasn't thinking she was nice, but trying to decided why dinner was feeding it dinner? -She pushed these thoughts out of her head and decided she liked her original story, the alligator was cute, maybe even cuddly in some strange way, and they were friends. Until something happened to make this seem wrong, this was the story she was sticking with. She took another bite of fish and flung some to the alligator, but this time she threw it behind the creature so it had to turn around and swim the other way. She liked her story, but she also liked to cover herself. As the gator turned around and circled back to get the fish she noticed it's other eye was gone. She'd been so transfixed by the eye it had kept on her she had not noticed that its second eye was gone. Before she had much time to think about it the gator swam off downstream. +She pushed these thoughts out of her head and decided she liked her original story, the alligator was cute, maybe even cuddly in some strange way, and they were friends. Until something happened to make this seem wrong, this was the story she was sticking with. She took another bite of fish and flung some to the alligator, but this time she threw it behind the creature so it had to turn around and swim the other way. She liked her story, but she also liked to cover herself. As the gator turned around and circled back to get the fish she noticed its other eye was gone. She'd been so transfixed by the eye it had kept on her she had not noticed that its second eye was gone. Before she had much time to think about it the gator swam off downstream. Eventually Lulu walked off the log and back to her boat to make her way home. The alligator never showed up again. Apparently it had not seen her as dinner. Or she'd given it enough dried fish that it had changed its mind. @@ -455,7 +455,7 @@ Lulu shielded her eyes from the sun and lifted a gourd of water to her mouth. It Lulu was glad she had her straw hat. It had been a gift from a woman who came with a careening ship the year before. It was too small now though, it perched on her head rather than fitting snugly as it used to. She had tried soaking, stretching and pulling, but nothing worked. It was just too small for her now. "At least your head is growing," her sister had teased her that morning. -Birdie was nearly a head taller than Lulu and whenever she pointed out their difference in size4 Lulu wanted to punch her in the mouth. Instead she took off her hat and hit her sister over the head with it and growled at her like a panther. Then she ran before Birdie could retaliate. Sometimes it was intolerable to have a twin. Usually though these moments were just that, moments. They were gone as quickly as she felt them. Not that she didn't sometimes drawing them out for a while to get at her sister. +Birdie was nearly a head taller than Lulu and whenever she pointed out their difference in size4 Lulu wanted to punch her in the mouth. Instead she took off her hat and hit her sister over the head with it and growled at her like a panther. Then she ran before Birdie could retaliate. Sometimes it was intolerable to have a twin. Usually though these moments were just that, moments. They were gone as quickly as she felt them. Though she wasn't above drawing them out for a while to get at her sister. Sometimes Lulu needed to get away, to be alone. That's why she had come today with her father and Tamba out into the scorching midday sun to find stumps to dry for next winter. Her father made carvings in each stump, a square within a diamond, the beginning of wisdom he told her when she asked what it meant. Whatever that meant. They'd come back here next full moon to work in what light could be had, digging stumps and hauling then back to the beach. They would pile them in to the dunes just beyond camp, where they would lie for a year, drying like great white bones bleaching in the sand until they were so weathered they were gray. Soon Tamba and her father would repair the kilns and start making tar with the stumps they'd gathered last year. @@ -471,7 +471,7 @@ Her father ruffled her hair as he stepped over her into the boat. He pushed them The moon was nearly full so she doubted they'd gather any stumps this moon. There was still too much to do. They hadn't yet been to Charlestown. Although she wasn't sure they'd go this year, with the rumors of the British around her father would probably prefer to save their trip to town for spring, when they were leaving. That was fine with Lulu. She hated town because she had to wear a dress. Most of the year she wore the clothes of the Waccamaw, a deerskin skirt that reached midway down her shins and was fringed with shells. Lulu was extremely proud of it and forever changed shells when new ones washed ashore. Unlike her sister she often wore a cotton shirt if she was going to be in the sun all day, but she had not today. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a single braid that reached nearly to her waist and had shells woven into it. She looked, aside from her slightly lighter skin, like everyone else on the island they called home. -The Waccamaw have lived here for hundreds of years, probably more, her father said. There were few of them left, but enough still that her family traded with them. Her father changed their camp from a canvas tent to one of the circular pole structures he'd seen the Waccamaw use and it was still what they called home. Her father had also taken to wearing a deerskin loincloth for a while. Lulu thought he looked ridiculous with his thick black beard and hairy chest and then the little flap a deerskin which reached right above his knees and looked, no matter how long it might have been, too small on his rather large body. At nearly six feet their father towered over almost everyone on the island. Tamba shook his head and walked away when he'd seen her father in the loin cloth. Later he told Lulu, "You should have seen when he tried the grass skirts." Kobayashi threatened to sign on with the Royal Navy if her father didn't go back to wearing pants. Her father became rather indignant. "They've lived here longer than we have, I expect they know what's best to wear," he said. But after a few days, and a badly sunburned butt, he had returned to wearing pants. +The Waccamaw have lived here for hundreds of years, probably more, her father said. There were few of them left, but enough still that her family traded with them. Her father changed their camp from a canvas tent to one of the circular pole structures he'd seen the Waccamaw use and it was still what they called home. Her father had also taken to wearing a deerskin loincloth for a while. Lulu thought he looked ridiculous with his thick black beard and hairy chest and then the little flap of deerskin which reached right above his knees and looked, no matter how long it might have been, too small on his rather large body. At nearly six feet their father towered over almost everyone on the island. Tamba shook his head and walked away when he'd seen her father in the loin cloth. Later he told Lulu, "You should have seen when he tried the grass skirts." Kobayashi threatened to sign on with the Royal Navy if her father didn't go back to wearing pants. Her father became rather indignant. "They've lived here longer than we have, I expect they know what's best to wear," he said. But after a few days, and a badly sunburned butt, he had returned to wearing pants. This was how he looked in her earliest memories and how she preferred he look all the time. Lulu looked back at him now, pushing them slowly along, still sweating, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Lulu loved her father, but often felt lost around him. He could be stern, or even cross with her or Birdie or Henry, at times, but more often he just seemed to be elsewhere, lost in depths of thought no one, not even Tamba seemed able to plumb. The worst was that he often returned from wherever this far away place was quickly with startling bursts of temper. Just as often though it was laughter. What was hard was figuring out which it would be at any given moment. When they were at sea, it was always laughter. On the land, it was hard to tell. @@ -505,7 +505,7 @@ They slowed when they reached the dunes, they all knew from experience that runn Birdie nodded at Henry, who scowled. "Was not!" -Henry was five, and as their father said, clever as a Lynx and innocent as the doves. Henry had a way of twinkling his eyes when he smiled so that adults were immediately less angry at whatever had attracted their attention in the first place. It did not, naturally, work on Lulu or Birdie, though they both secretly, and not so secretly, admired this ability. In fact Lulu and Birdie had practiced this twinkle for hours, Lulu thought they were pretty good at it. But it never seemed to come off right when they tried it on adults. +Henry was five, and as their father said, clever as a lynx and innocent as the doves. Henry had a way of twinkling his eyes when he smiled so that adults were immediately less angry at whatever had attracted their attention in the first place. It did not, naturally, work on Lulu or Birdie, though they both secretly, and not so secretly, admired this ability. In fact Lulu and Birdie had practiced this twinkle for hours, Lulu thought they were pretty good at it. But it never seemed to come off right when they tried it on adults. Despite his twinkle, Henry never got away with anything. He was too naturally mischievous and yet not sneaky. If something was amiss in camp, some prank played, some calamity caused, everyone always came looking for "the little brown imp." The only other possible culprit was their cousin Owen, but he was a year younger, actually quite sneaky, and lived a mile down the beach with their aunt and uncle, which generally absolved him. @@ -525,7 +525,7 @@ Her father came walking up from the ocean, swinging his arms and stretching his Birdie's people were sea gypsies. Alban, was what her father called himself. Got lost on our way to the old valuta grounds her father would say, laughing. Birdie wasn't quite sure what this meant. He never elaborated. He was a man of few words, comfortable with silence. He expected everyone else to be comfortable with it as well, especially his. -The low landers, as he called anyone who didn't live on the sea (which again made no sense to Birdie: how could people who lived on the sea not be the lowlanders?), "talk to hear themselves, talk about what they don't even know until they're half way through talking about it," he said. "I know I am the only one of our people you have to judge by, but we are not that way. If there is something to say, say it. But mark your words Birdie, pay attention to them, think on them, choose them well. Find the best ones you can and don't speak until you have found them. The low landers think they can learn by talking, by asking questions, but you must listen first. Listen and watch the world around you. If you have a question, ask it first of yourself, see what answers you can come to. Once you have those, ask someone else and see what answers they have. Compare yours with theirs. This is how you learn." +The lowlanders, as he called anyone who didn't live on the sea (which again made no sense to Birdie: how could people who lived on the sea not be the lowlanders?), "talk to hear themselves, talk about what they don't even know until they're half way through talking about it," he said. "I know I am the only one of our people you have to judge by, but we are not that way. If there is something to say, say it. But mark your words Birdie, pay attention to them, think on them, choose them well. Find the best ones you can and don't speak until you have found them. The lowlanders think they can learn by talking, by asking questions, but you must listen first. Listen and watch the world around you. If you have a question, ask it first of yourself, see what answers you can come to. Once you have those, ask someone else and see what answers they have. Compare yours with theirs. This is how you learn." Her father sat silent now beside her. She wondered where he was. Was he here, next to her? Was he on some other shore? As if reading her mind he turned to her and smiled. "It will be a good day." He rose and walked back toward camp. @@ -539,7 +539,7 @@ They followed her though. Memories of cold salt air, fog and pines, a place wher She stopped at the top of the dune and watched the disk of the sun break the horizon. She stood, rooted like a sago, feeling the first warm orange rays, savoring the brief moments when it seemed like perhaps it would not be murderously hot by mid morning. -Then she uprooted herself and walked toward the hut. Inside it was dark, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to reveal the thin slivers of light from the windows, the rafters hung with dried fish and herbs, woven bags of drying roots and tubers that Lulu and Birdie dug the day before. Tamba had learned of them from the Waccamaw. There was plenty to eat in the marshes and pine forests if you knew where to look. Still the hut smelled as it always did, of the sea and fish. There was fishy smell inside that rarely left since most of what the family ate came from the sea, fish, clams, mussels, oysters as big as Birdie's head, seaweed and sea oats, even salt dried from the sea. There was always a bit of the sea in the stew pot. This morning it smelled of dried fish and onions. Her father smiled at her, asked about her dreams while he ladled the leftover stew into Birdie's bowl, a coconut shell sanded and polished smooth, carved with a scene of mermaid rising from a clam shell, something her father had seen in London. It was in fact the one and only story of London he had ever told her. +Then she uprooted herself and walked toward the hut. Inside it was dark, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to reveal the thin slivers of light from the windows, the rafters hung with dried fish and herbs, woven bags of drying roots and tubers that Lulu and Birdie dug the day before. Tamba had learned of them from the Waccamaw. There was plenty to eat in the marshes and pine forests if you knew where to look. Still the hut smelled as it always did, of the sea and fish. There was a fishy smell inside that rarely left since most of what the family ate came from the sea, fish, clams, mussels, oysters as big as Birdie's head, seaweed and sea oats, even salt dried from the sea. There was always a bit of the sea in the stew pot. This morning it smelled of dried fish and onions. Her father smiled at her, asked about her dreams while he ladled the leftover stew into Birdie's bowl, a coconut shell sanded and polished smooth, carved with a scene of mermaid rising from a clam shell, something her father had seen in London. It was in fact the one and only story of London he had ever told her. --- @@ -555,7 +555,7 @@ Birdie had been worried that the angry captain might return. For several nights And so the little ship had been commandeered by Birdie and her siblings and cousins. That first year they'd spent the autumn in the ship, every free moment they had, sailing the sands of the island, re-christening her the *Arkhangelsk*. Birdie was captain. They had voted, as free sailors did, and she had been elected. As Lulu was always careful to point out the captain only had authority during pursuit and battle, the rest of the time the whole crew was in charge. Birdie did not argue. She had only been voted out of her captain position once, when Lulu called a new vote after Birdie had ordered all the boys over the side to raid an enemy ship for the hundredth time, holding Lulu back. But Lulu's term as captain had lasted only a few days before Henry called a vote that put Birdie back in charge, and set the boys, along with Lulu, over the side to attack the forts and towns of the coasts they sailed. -Birdie was trying to decide what they should do today. A new pot called for new adventures, but she wasn't quite sure what. Perhaps they should sail to the Spanish main and sack Campache. It had been a while since they'd done that. She was deep in contemplation of her battle plan when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a small sail rounding out of the northern river. The boat road the middle of the current. This jarred her out of her reverie. Don't do that Francis. She tried to send this thought to him somehow, but before she could even begin to concentrate she watched as the boat slammed hard into the leeward shore of the bank, hurling two small figures through the air like dolls pitched from a catapult. She winced as they landed. She watched them get up. Down at the shoreline Henry and Māra were laughing as they folded up the net. +Birdie was trying to decide what they should do today. A new pot called for new adventures, but she wasn't quite sure what. Perhaps they should sail to the Spanish main and sack Campache. It had been a while since they'd done that. She was deep in contemplation of her battle plan when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a small sail rounding out of the northern river. The boat rode the middle of the current. This jarred her out of her reverie. Don't do that Francis. She tried to send this thought to him somehow, but before she could even begin to concentrate she watched as the boat slammed hard into the leeward shore of the bank, hurling two small figures through the air like dolls pitched from a catapult. She winced as they landed. She watched them get up. Down at the shoreline Henry and Māra were laughing as they folded up the net. "My son sails like his father," said Auntie Māra as she walked by Birdie carrying the basket of fish on her hip, with the net slung over her shoulder. @@ -575,7 +575,7 @@ Henry shrugged, but didn't say anything. Birdie stood up and started down the dune toward shore. -It took Francis the better part of an hour to get the boat down the beach to their camp. While she loved her cousins, they were not sailors. The did not come with Birdie and her family to Summer camp in the north. The left the island, but only went as far as Charlestown where they lived on Sullivan's Island. Birdie's Uncle Cole helped run a distillery, spending his days tending the vast vats of boiling sugar, turning it slowly to rum. +It took Francis the better part of an hour to get the boat down the beach to their camp. While she loved her cousins, they were not sailors. The did not come with Birdie and her family to summer camp in the north. They left the island, but only went as far as Charlestown where they lived on Sullivan's Island. Birdie's Uncle Cole helped run a distillery, spending his days tending the vast vats of boiling sugar, turning it slowly to rum. No one in Wanderer's crew drank rum. Her father didn't forbid it exactly, he simply did not associate with people who drank alcohol. "When you drink or eat something you do not just drink the liquid or eat the flesh of the thing, you consume its spirit as well," he told her one day when she asked why he never drank rum. @@ -587,7 +587,7 @@ Birdie had decided then and there not to waste her time with rum or vodka or any She watched as Francis tried to bring the little boat in through the waves. It was an offshore wind, which meant the sail luffed whenever he tried to head straight in through the waves, but to take them at an angle meant the little boat pitched and tumbled and threatened to roll with every wave. Francis might enjoy catapulting himself out of it when there was a nice soft sandbar to land on, but rolling in this surf would quickly be the end of the boat, and quite possibly Francis and Owen as well. -Birdie considered swimming out to help them, but beyond the break was where most of the sharks hung out. She did not mind the sharks too much, most of them were harmless enough, but there were a few that seemed to have bad tempers. It was always the larger ones with very sharply pointed fins. She avoided them unless there were dolphins around. She walked down to the shoreline just as Francis finally road a wave through the break, somehow failing to capsize despite forgetting to lean back and counterbalance the roll of the boat. +Birdie considered swimming out to help them, but beyond the break was where most of the sharks hung out. She did not mind the sharks too much, most of them were harmless enough, but there were a few that seemed to have bad tempers. It was always the larger ones with very sharply pointed fins. She avoided them unless there were dolphins around. She walked down to the shoreline just as Francis finally rode a wave through the break, somehow failing to capsize despite forgetting to lean back and counterbalance the roll of the boat. Francis was smiling as the boat rode the last crumbling wave toward the shore. His dimples shadowed into his tanned cheeks and showed off his impossibly white two front teeth that Birdie was very jealous of. She unconsciously traced her tongue across her lone front tooth. She returned his smile, but tried to keep her gap tooth hidden. Owen leaped out the boat and tossed the bowline to Birdie, who helped him drag it onto the beach. @@ -627,7 +627,7 @@ Birdie bit her lip, Henry had wanted to go, but she'd spent all morning with him He seemed to sense the hesitation in her voice and sighed. "Owen probably talked him into going turkey hunting." Owen and Francis had somehow managed to kill a turkey with their homemade bow and arrows and Henry was obsessed with doing the same. Francis was probably right she decided. Lulu had gone up the river with Tamba. There was no one else around except her father and Aunt Māra back in camp. She smiled. "Alright, you push us out." -Francis went to bow and pushed the boat while Birdie pulled on the stern. They dragged her into the water and spun her around. Birdie jumped in as Francis continued to push from the stern. Birdie grabbed the foresail line and sat down on the port gunwale. The little boat was a lateen rig, like Wanderer, but with a single mast, a fore and back stay holding the sail, and a cleated line that could be loosed and tightened to draw in the sail and come closer to the wind. Birdie unwrapped Francis's poorly cleated line and let the sail out to catch the wind. Francis was up to his waist now in the water. Birdie leaned out to look past the sail and saw nothing but water. "Get in," she shouted. +Francis went to the bow and pushed the boat while Birdie pulled on the stern. They dragged her into the water and spun her around. Birdie jumped in as Francis continued to push from the stern. Birdie grabbed the foresail line and sat down on the port gunwale. The little boat was a lateen rig, with a triangular sail held up on a single mast. A cleated line loosened and tightened the sail to catch the wind. Birdie unwrapped Francis's poorly cleated line and let the boom to fill the sail with wind. Francis was up to his waist now in the water. Birdie leaned out to look past the sail and saw nothing but water. "Get in," she shouted. Francis heaved himself up over the side of the boat and rolled down into the bottom, Birdie drew the line in and turned the tiller to put them at an angle up the face of the first wave. Near the top a gust of wind finally hit the sail and the little boat leaped forward, sending them over the wave and rushing out, toward the next. Two more waves and they were beyond the break. Birdie watched the dark shape of a shark cruise slowly under the boat and then the bottom dropped away and there was nothing but dark, blue-green water. She pointed the boat as northerly as she could without luffing the sail. When she was happy she wrapped the line around the wooden cleat, looped it back under itself and sat back, letting her body relax for the first time since she'd hopped in. @@ -638,7 +638,7 @@ This one liked the zip and zig and zag, she like the lean too, which Birdie foug They crossed into a different channel of wind and suddenly the water around them went dark. They were still within sight of the shore, an easy swim to the bank even, but here was where the ocean began in Birdie's mind. That deep blue that speaks of depth, real depth. That was the open sea. That was the point at which land, even if you could see it, became irrelevant to your life. You were out here, in the deep blue beyond. Free. -Birdie closed her eyes and listened, taking in everything, the wind wisping strands of hair in her face, the surge and tilt of Delos as she road gently up the now large swells, the churning froth of water foaming at her bow as she broke the crest and headed down toward the next trough. The mast creaked, the canvas seemed to gently sigh as the wind lulled slightly in the trough and the she felt Delos surge up again, catch that wind and fairly leap forward... +Birdie closed her eyes and listened, taking in everything, the wind wisping strands of hair in her face, the surge and tilt of Delos as she rode gently up the now large swells, the churning froth of water foaming at her bow as she broke the crest and headed down toward the next trough. The mast creaked, the canvas seemed to gently sigh as the wind lulled slightly in the trough and the she felt Delos surge up again, catch that wind and fairly leap forward... "Birdie!" @@ -660,17 +660,23 @@ If you had looked out from the shore you would have seen two children standing o It was warm, but not hot. The wind and water together kept them cool in spite of the afternoon sun and sweltering humidity. Birdie took off her skirt, then her shirt, and dove naked into the water, dragging the net behind her with her foot. She slipped under and tried to kick like a mermaid, legs locked together. She surfaced well beyond the bow of the boat, treading water. "Come on Francis! It's so lovely. Oh, it's perfect really." She dove under as he took off his shirt and dove in. Under water everything was silent save the occasional squeaks and pops of shrimp running in the sand somewhere below her. A school of dark, silver-sided fish she did not recognize through the blur of salt water was swimming just beyond where she could touch. She came up for air. -"I see a school out here. Quick, Francis, tie the net to the stern and we'll drag it out behind us, then circle back. She threw up the anchor and scrambled into the bow. Francis pushed them off the sand and they slipped silently, slowly through the water, Birdie could see the school better from above, she directed him to turn the boat to port, then starboard, and then, when she could tell the net was fully extended she grabbed the boom and pushed it back, against the wind to stop them dead in the water. They slowed, and then stopped. Francis pointed them into the wind and they both leaned over as watched and the net slowly sank down, startling the fish as it touched them, they darted and shimmered in confusion. "Bring it round." Francis laid the tiller over and Delos slowly turned, catching a breath, then another, and with a snap the sail filled and the boat leapt forward, back toward the bank. Birdie scrambled to the stern and looked back to see nearly the whole school of fish caught in the net. She let out a whoop. And looked at Francis. She was so excited she jumped up and hugged him. +"I see a school out here. Quick, Francis, tie the net to the stern and we'll drag it out behind us, then circle back. She threw up the anchor and scrambled into the bow. Francis pushed them off the sand and they slipped silently, slowly through the water, Birdie could see the school better from above, she directed him to turn the boat to port, then starboard, and then, when she could tell the net was fully extended she grabbed the boom and pushed it back, against the wind to stop them dead in the water. They slowed, and then stopped. Francis pointed them into the wind and they both leaned over as watched and the net slowly sank down, startling the fish as it touched them, they darted and shimmered in confusion. "Bring it round." Francis laid the tiller over and Delos slowly turned, catching a breath, then another, and with a snap the sail filled and the boat leapt forward, back toward the bank. Birdie scrambled to the stern and looked back to see nearly the whole school of fish caught in the net. She let out a whoop. They landed and pulled the net in, there were easily hundreds of fish. They could not even haul it all the way up out of the water. They waded out to inspect it, Birdie knew there was no way they could get their entire catch to shore in Delos, she would have sunk under the weight. Birdie looked at the writhing mass of fish trying to decide how they could divide it up, let some go without losing them all. That was when she noticed a strange line sticking out of the water. It was a slight thing, thin and gray. She had never seen anything quite like it, which was why it took her so long to realize it was a dorsal fin and it was coming straight for Francis faster than Birdie had ever seen a fin move. "Francis! Get out! Now!" Birdie dropped the net and ran for the bank. Francis was right behind her, but as Birdie scrambled up on the dry sand she noticed the fin was curved, not straight. She started to laugh. At first Francis thought she had played a trick on him, but then teeth closed around his leg and he screamed. -Fortunately for him, they were not shark teeth, but it took a moment of screaming and terror and panic before either Francis or Birdie fully understood this, because seeing a curved fin might have made Birdie feel better, but dolphins don't bite. Except this one did. It bit and Francis fell to the sand and it began to drag him back into the water, Birdie grabbed his hands and pulled and Francis kicked until the Dolphin gave up and darted off to deeper water. +Fortunately for him, they were not shark teeth, but it took a moment of screaming and terror and panic before either Francis or Birdie fully understood this, because seeing a curved fin might have made Birdie feel better, but dolphins don't bite. Except this one did. It bit and Francis fell to the sand and it began to drag him back into the water, Birdie grabbed his hands and pulled and Francis kicked until the dolphin gave up and darted off to deeper water. They sat panting on the sand, watching the fin trace circles around the boat. -"Let me see your leg." Birdie went to the boat and pulled on her skirt again, and pulled her knife from her belt. She cut back his pant leg and surveyed the wounds, there were five punctures, none more than a quarter inch across, and none very deep. But there was still plenty of blood and it looked like it would hurt. Birdie felt a wave a fear come over her and she wanted to run away from the blood and the torn flesh and the pain it must have been causing, but she quickly set that aside and went to work. She cut off Francis's pant leg to the knee, and then cut it into strips. She helped him down the water's edge—which was getting closer as the tide came up—and washed out the wounds with salt water. Then she wetted a few of the strips of torn pantleg and wrapped them gently around his leg. She tied two strips together and wrapped that one over the others, gently tying it to help hold everything in place. +"Let me see your leg." Birdie went to the boat and pulled on her skirt again, and pulled her knife from her belt. She cut back his pant leg and surveyed the wounds. There were five punctures, none more than a quarter inch across, and none very deep, but there was still plenty of blood and it looked like it would hurt. Francis groaned, "how bad it it?" Birdie felt a wave a fear come over her and she wanted to run away from the blood and the torn flesh and the pain it must have been causing, but she quickly set that aside and tried to answer him as calmly as she could. "It's not too bad. We just need to stop the bleeding." + +"Okay. Am I going to lose my leg?" + +She glanced at him. His face was pale and beaded with sweat. She could see the fear in his eyes. "I don't think so. We need to wash it with salt water though, and it might sting." + +He nodded. She cut off his pant leg up to the knee, and then cut the fabric into strips. She helped him down the water's edge—which was getting closer as the tide came up—and washed out the wounds with salt water. Then she wetted a few of the strips of torn pantleg and wrapped them gently around his leg. She tied two strips together and wrapped that one over the others, gently tying it to help hold everything in place. "That's the best I can do. When we get in Tamba will know something to put on it so it won't get infected." She glanced over that Delos. "Let's get you in the boat." @@ -700,15 +706,15 @@ Birdie tried as best she could to keep the net closed while Francis pulled it in After she had helped Francis limp back to their camp, and her father and Tamba had organized a trip upriver to see a medicine man who lived near the Waccamaw trading post. Birdie came back out the beach to sail Delos back to her home at her cousin's camp around the north end of the island. She pushed off, but the wind was blowing off shore, forcing her farther out than she wanted. She ended up right back at the bank. She took it as a sign. There was only a small spit of sand still above water, wet sand, but she ran aground on it and climbed out. She looked around for a fin, but saw nothing. A turtle swam by in the shallow water. Birdie sat down on the sand and lay back in the sun, feeling its warmth against the cool of her skin. She felt the chill of the wind as it dried the salty drops of water running down her arm. -She lay back on the sand and closed her eyes, and she immediately felt something strange happening in her body, or to the world around her, she couldn't tell. At first she thought perhaps it was the lingering pitch and roll of the boat, which stayed with you even after you got out. But then the whole world seemed to undulate, like a ripple passing through it. +She closed her eyes. She began to feel something strange happening in her body, or to the world around her, she couldn't tell. At first she thought perhaps it was the lingering pitch and roll of the boat, which stayed with you even after you got out. But then the whole world seemed to undulate, like a ripple passing through it. -She felt as if she were floating in the water, but she was laying on solid sand. Then it came so suddenly it was terrifying. Something immense and unfathomable washed over her, a presence that stretched through her, encompassing her and everything she had ever known or done in an instant. She was afraid to open her eyes. A voice, no, that was the wrong word, something thought words for her, inside her. She could not understand them, a jumble of words falling in her mind so fast that she could not catch them, could not find the meaning of them, not even the order. She felt as if something massive and uncontrollably wild had seized her up in its arms and was taking her on some wild, frightening, but exhilarating dance. She became afraid again and forced herself to breathed slowly in and then slowly out. As she did this is was like the thing gave up and set her down again. She felt it slipping away. She blurted out, "No! Wait!" She wanted it to stay, it was just too much, too sudden, she wanted to say, give me a minute, but it was already gone, slipping away, the world settled, she opened her eyes and there was the sea, looking as it always did. +She felt as if she were floating in the water, but she was laying on solid sand. Then it came so suddenly it was terrifying. Something immense and unfathomable washed over her, a presence that stretched through her, encompassing her and everything she had ever known or done in an instant. She was afraid to open her eyes. A voice, no, that was the wrong word, something thought words for her, inside her. She could not understand them, a jumble of words falling in her mind so fast that she could not catch them, could not find the meaning of them, not even the order. She felt as if something massive and uncontrollably wild had seized her up in its arms and was taking her on some wild, frightening, but exhilarating dance. She became afraid again and forced herself to breath slowly in and then slowly out. As she did this is was like the thing gave up and set her down again. She felt it slipping away. She blurted out, "No! Wait!" She wanted it to stay, it was just too much, too sudden, she wanted to say, give me a minute, but it was already gone, slipping away, the world settled, she opened her eyes and there was the sea, looking as it always did. She stared out the flat horizon where the sky bled into the blue of the sea. Come back. But nothing happened. She got up, she pushed off and climbed in Delos. She raised the sail and turned the boat toward the river. ## Chapter 6: Fire -It was mid-afternoon by the time Papa rounded them up and set them about gathering grass and small sticks. He would light the kilns when the sun went down. There was a very precise mixture of grasses and wood required the get the temperature right. The mixture resided entirely in Papa's head, but Lulu and Birdie, and even Henry, had learned to know which thing they needed more of just by glancing at the piles, which they kept separate. Grass, then oak, then walnut. Papa claimed that to get the most tar out of the roots, you needed the right temperature kiln and to get that you need the right combination of each wood, plus there was always some trickery with wind and venting. The secret was to get the wood hot, but control the flow of air so that it burned very slowly and under some pressure that caused it to give up the liquid sap that hid inside of it. This tar or pitch tricked out the base of the kiln into buckets which were then put in barrels and either used by ships that called on camp, or sold to the shipyards in Charlestown. +It was mid-afternoon by the time Papa rounded them up and set them about gathering grass and small sticks. He would light the kilns when the sun went down. There was a very precise mixture of grasses and wood required the get the temperature right. The mixture resided entirely in Papa's head, but Lulu and Birdie, and even Henry, had learned to know which thing they needed more of just by glancing at the piles, which they kept separate. Grass, then oak, then walnut. Papa claimed that to get the most tar out of the roots, you needed the right temperature kiln and to get that you need the right combination of each wood, plus there was always some trickery with wind and venting. The secret was to get the wood hot, but control the flow of air so that it burned very slowly and under some pressure that caused it to give up the liquid sap that hid inside of it. This tar or pitch trickled out the base of the kiln into buckets which were then put in barrels and either used by ships that called on camp, or sold to the shipyards in Charlestown. This year Papa had built three kilns. Each used the side of a dune as its primary structure, reinforced with a layer of split logs, and then packed earth and then packed clay. The other side was built up of logs and earth until a conical shape was formed and then the whole thing was filled with clay. For days Lulu, her father, and Kobayashi had hauled the rich red clay of the banks upriver down to the beach and packed it into the kilns until they were smooth as glass. Then they lit small, smoldering fires inside to dry the clay and bake it hard. This took several days, but when it was done the kiln was ready to make pitch. |