path: root/lbh.txt

% Untitled
'''
# Notes

- Need more details of landscape, sea, and marsh esp.
- household is father, Tambo and his wife, plus Kobayashi.

Plots
- The british captain from Charletown is also the landowner of th etrees, McPhail. He comes after the family about the tree stumps, which he sees as his, being used for their profit, and also that they make the pirate ships that raid mcphail's ships more seaworth, insult to injury.  Add moral complexity for the kids, is papa a bad person? Is the McPhail a bad person? Or is it all just wrong and now can own the trees?

I own them fair and square.
She thought this over a for miniute. "No, you don't. You forced out the Ediston and the tk, and the tk. You overwhelmed them with force and marched them out."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose that's quite right, I did." He smiled quizically at her. 
"And that's wrong. Every bit as wrong was what you say papa did."
"No my child it's not."
"Then why is wrong when capitan Ratham overwhelms one of your ships and takes it from you.
"Woah!" He jerked the reins tight, and the horses nearly reared as the wagon can lurching to a stop. He said nothing, but turned and stared at her for a long time. She felt his eyes memorizing her features the way she had studied the pictures hir bool. then smilled aagain, shook the reins loos and resumed their journey, staring off into space and ignoring her the remainder of the way into Charlestown.

They eta waring from Ratham that McPhail is coming for them. 
How does the storm fit in?
No good guys, no bad guys. her father helps both ratham and mcphail. Warns mcphail of the storm, helps bring his ship int to he esuary to shelther, they take the wagon to chareston.


# Overplot:

- Opening at sea. The approach to Edisto through Birdie's eyes.
    - Scenes:
        - Birdie in the hammock, her as skilled sailor, desc of ship
        - introduce Tambo, Kobayashi and rice
        - Story of the storm, rumors about Nassau and the british
        - Backstory of the mother, landing on Edisto

- Pine forest intro: in the stumps
    - Scenes:
        - Camp establishing shot:
        - Lulu and Tambo in the boat, more on rice, father as anarchist
        - Lulu and the alligator part 1
        - Lulu on the stumps, break from the others, relationship with Birdie
        - Backstory of the edistow
        - return trip through the marsh
        - Aunt and the pot for the Arkhangelsk

- Fishing the Bank
    - Scenes:
        - Birdie on her cousins, father's rum speech
        - Cousins as poor sailors, land people
        - Birdie taking charge, Lulu as the sailor
        - Fishing the bank
        - Hint of the Storm

- Tar harvest
    - Scenes
        - making tar for the ships. 
        - autumn cool, swimming and playing at the beach in the wrecked ship.
        - further develop the cousins and Kadi



- Ratham arrives to careen the ship
    - warns of mcphail
- McPhail part one
    arrives to arrest the father, talks his way out of it because the shortm
    - guides Mcphails ship into the estuary they take shelpter
- McPhail part two
    - Still arrests the father, takes him to charlestown.
    - Birdie goes with
    - Lulu and henri hide with the others, they escape by sea. 
        - get to Ratham, they meet up with a third
        - Ships proceed to blockade charlestown.
    - Ratham helps the father escape, family escapes to sea, heads south toward the Caribean.
'''

# Prologue

They were two. Blood covered the bed. Even the midwife was whimpering and pitiful by the end. "A night and day," she said. And they were born, one the night, one the day. 

People remarked on this for a long while afterward, though no one knew which was born in the night, which the day save the midwife. Nor would anyone have been able to tell you what difference it might have made. Still, the story followed them. It followed them like the whispers that had always followed the family. The whispers were a wind, one that blew them sometimes where they wanted, sometimes not. Seafaring people must live with that.

The whispering wind followed them out of the town where they spent their winters, across the sea, running the easterlies to the mouth of a river, the wide open flood plain where they spent their summers on the shore, amongst the great pines. But the whispers came with their neighbors working the cod offshore. It came on shore like the August winds that whistled the pines. A whisper that blew harder every year, as if a storm were gathering. 

Their father spent all summer, a cold summer, sitting in the evenings, outside the tent, stroking his thick black beard and studying the wind and waves. There are storms worse than the sea he said. 

That year, when the last the southerlies blew out and before the northerlies turned fierce and cold, they loaded the small boat and slipped out of the old story.

They kept to the coast, giving wide berth to the places men gathered. When they came upon the marshy lowlands of London, they put in for a time. A brother arrived, his mother too left as he came. Their father grew even quieter for a time, then he disappeared altogether for a while. 

When he returned the winds blew favorably again and they left, hugging the coast until there was no coast left. And they were gone again. 

To a new world where people said the soldiers were fewer, the winds warmer, the possibilities wider. By the time they arrived all the twins had left was a memory of trees. The deep darkness of the forest floor where they would lie as babies, staring up at the trees, the branches reaching like thick fingers to scratch at the light of the sky above.

# Autumn

"""
Opening scene on the boat establishes birdie, always aware of her surroundings, always learning from her papa.

Also needs to to introduce Lulu and Henri, Kobayashi, Tambo and his wife to be. At the end of the chapter, they land on Edisto, set up camp. Papa goes to fetch the cousins.

A flat boat is a fast boat.

"""

## Chapter 1: On The Sea

The smell of wet wood and salt. The scent of the world crept into her hammock before she ever opened her eyes. For the first moment it was the soft sweetness of wood too long at sea and then the bright briny salt smell of the sea itself. She opened her eyes and looked up. A a sliver of purple twilight peaked through the canvas of the hammock, wrapped up around her. She craned her head back to look at the dark brown mast, crusted with salty white patterns that looked like the drawings of snowflakes in Papa's big book, which was wrapped carefully in walrus leather and stored somewhere in the small hold below her. She did not know where. Neither did her sister. Neither did her brother. It was a mystery they worked on nearly every day they were at sea.

The wood creaked. Some of the salt blew loose. The water slapping the hull told her the waves were small. Her hammock, strung between mizzen mast and taffrail, swayed hardly at all. She lay without moving, trying to feel the boat as her father had taught her. She closed her eyes again. The boat was lifting and rolling slightly. They were moving with the current, but not as fast as the light swell rolling past them. At this latitude, this time of year, this close to shore, that would be south, as it had been for days now, although a swell moving south was called a northerly swell, which always mixed her up. 

The sail snapped like a whipped wet towel. That meant the wind was light. She listened again to the sound of the water. It pulsed, rushing by the boat in surges, quiet, then loud. The boat was moving fast enough that the wind probably wasn't light she reasoned. That meant they were running before the wind, otherwise the sail wouldn't have snapped. 

"We're running south, riding a northerly swell, the wind is 6 knots" She announced from the hammock. She heard her sister groan, "show off". Her father chuckled. "You're close Birdie. I'd say dead on with speed and swell. More of a broad reach though. I fell off to snap the sheet so you two'd wake up. Sun will be up soon"

Birdie smiled in her hammock. She stretched, lifting her arm out to feel the air. It was still cool, though wet and heavy. The sodden heat would come even earlier today, as it had every day for the last week. They would make winter camp the next day, maybe the day after, Birdie reasoned. She pulled her head up out of the hammock to scan the deck.

The tk was 42 feet from her bow sprite to aft rail where Birdie's hammock was tied. There were two masts, one just fore of midship and another in the cockpit at the rear, where the other end of her hammock was tied. Her father was vague about her origins, or at least how the tk came to be in her family. As Birdie understood it, she was built in a place called France, sailed into Danish waters where she ran aground. Her cargo was offloaded and she was abandoned to the waves. That was not Poseidon's plan though. The tides had pulled her back out to sea. And her father, who happened to be on watch on another ship had spied her. Sensing his chance, he'd woken two companions, sailed along side her and the three trimmed the sails of their vessel, pointed her in the opposite direction and jumped ship for the new one.

One of those companions, Tamba, a tall, powerfully man with skin so black it was almost blue, was walking toward Birdie. She hopped out of the hammock, her feet landing on the smoothly worn oak planking of the deck with a light thud. 

"Morning Birdie" Tambo was from Gambia, across the ocean. An even hotter place, he had told her, which Birdie found difficult to believe. He had sailed with her father so long neither of them seemed to remember a time when they did not sail together.

"Good morning Tambo." 

He laid his hands on her shoulders and bent down to press his nose against hers. "Yes." he said and then he straightened up and spun her around to face the east where the sky was already fading from red and orange. "See. It comes."

"Yes. The sun is rising. Again"

She heard her father chuckle. Tambo laughed in a way her father never did, deeply, with a kind of rumble like a wagon on a washboard road. He shook her gently by the shoulder. "Appreciate. Always."

"I do. I promise. But I'm hungry. Do you want rice Tambo?"

He shook his head. A sleep 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 because slept very high up the hammock, almost as if he were standing up it seemed to her.

"What about you Lulu?" She swung her sisters hammock gently.

"Yes."

"Papa?"

He nodded to her and then turned back around to watch the sun rise. Birdie ran aft, ducking under booms, and hopping over the coiled lines and small barrels stacked along the gunwales, a name she did not understand since there were no cannon on the tk. Well, none on the gunwale anyway. Below deck in the stern were two small cannon loaded with forks and knives designed to shred an enemies sails. The tk is small, Tambo once told her. We would be blown to bits by a cannon, but we're fast, we can outrun them all. We have just enough fire power to convince any other small, fast ships not to chase us. That's all we need. 

She ducked into the small doorway that led below decks, hands on the rails and flung herself down with a single leap. It was much darker below, it took her eyes a moment to adjust. She could see the glow of the stove and Kobayashi's form bent over, stirring a pot. He never looked up at her thud. He kicked a clay pot by his feet so that it slid slightly toward her. She grabbed a basket hanging from the rafters and scooped rice out of the pot and into it. 

He handed her several strips of dried fish, which she balanced on top of the pile of rice. "Aiiie. You eat everything." Kobayashi smiled. 

"It's for everyone" she said tucking the lid on. 

Make sure your brother eats some, that boy is too skinny.

"You sound like Kadi." Kobayashi frowned at her, but but she hardly noticed, the thought of Kadiatu made her heart flutter like a bird's wings. Only a few more days and they would be at Edisto. Kadiatu and her family would join them, her cousins would be there. They'd have the forest to run through, the dunes, they'd have space again. Birdie loved the sea, the way it held and rocked them, the way the boat glided through it, but she always felt a guest at sea. It was like visiting a distant relatives, you have a connection, but it is an old one that's difficult to put your finger on, like the memory of a smell you can't quite smell again, you try to sniff deeper, but the harder you try the more it receeds. The soul of the sea was too old, to vague to under stand in a human way. Very few could ever feel at home in the sea. Birdie felt at home on the land. It was there at the shore, the edge, the space where the ancient sea met the land today that she felt most herself. 

She managed the trip out of the hold with one hand on the ladder, one carrying the basket of rice and dried fish. The rolling motion of the swells moving beneath them way it difficult to walk evenly. She lurched and stumbled her way to stern where everyone was waiting for the cold rice and dried fish. She'd be happy to eat some meat again. She hoped Papa and Tamba would go hunting as soon as they landed. They'd run out the last of the Pemmican two weeks before when they were held up in the outer islands by a late season storm. They'd spent the better part of two days beached, living under the tipped over hull, huddled out of the wind and rain, spitting the sand out of their mouths and wishing for sunshine.

When they finally floated tk again after the storm had past the rough seas seemed like nothing, anything was better than being wet and cold and chewing sand in the ceaseless wind. 

The wind had born them south, hugging the shoreline, out of the strong northward current that ran further offshore. They saw sails only twice and both times the ships were too far over the horizon to see more than a top sail. They were big her father said. This morning they were using a favorable offshore breeze to ride out further so they would only be a small bit a sail on the horizon to anyone with a spyglass standing on the shore in Charlestown. 

Running downwind, as they were, meant they were moving at the same speed as the wind. So even though there was wind all around them, it felt still, dead still, and the warm humid Florida air was like sitting inside a wet wool sweater. Birdie sat in the slight shade of the sail, with her back against the mizzen, alternately watching the shoreline for signs of Charlestown, and whittling a whistle she was planning to use to find duck nests when they got the island.

Her father, Tambo, and Kobayashi sat in the stern, taking turns tending the wheel. She did not turn around to see who was at the wheel, she could feel the boat and knew it was her father. The other two were probably smoking their pipes, and scanning the horizon for any sign of sail. They'd all done close to the same every day for the past ten days, but now it felt different. Birdie sensed a tension that had not been there when they were in the north. A tension that had not been there, she stopped whittling for a moment and considered it. Had she ever sensed a tension? She could not recall every feeling the tightness in her chest that she felt now. It felt like something was swelling in the air around them, squeezing them somehow. Her father's voice brought her back to the ship.

"You two should relax."

Tambo grunted. "Easier for you to say."

"Well then at least put your glass more to the north, They'll not cross the stream where we did, they'll stay out longer. They're provisioned better, have more sails. Why would they sail these shallows?"

"Because they people they are hunting sail these shallows."

"They aren't hunting you Tam. They aren't hunting anyone. They're coming to retake Nassau."

"You think they will?" She heard Kobayashi tapping his pipe out on the taffrail with sharp clicks.

"No."

The rumors from early in the summer, up on the cape, were that the British were planning to retake Nassau soon, and would very likely be putting in at Charlestown before they did. 

You don't think they'll come at all or you don't think they take Nassau.

I don't think they'll come at all. Not this year. They'll retake Nassau someday. They can't let Vane have run of the place forever. But they aren't coming this year."

"How can you be so sure"

"Have I ever steered us wrong before?

"Yes" Tambo and Kobayashi spoke in chorus, which made Birdie laughed. She heard her father laugh too 

"Okay. But on this one you'll have to trust me. No British warships coming to take Nassau this year." 

Neither of the other men said anything. The silence stretch out until Henri came running from the bow, careening the length of the ship without ever touching a railing or handhold yet somehow never losing his footing. She watched him shove his hand in the basket, pull out a handful of now dried out rice, and then turn and run back the length of the ship, again without touching anything or seeming to stumble, and then disappear into the hold where he was playing with Lulu. She envied him, those sea legs. Even her father seemed somewhat taken aback by Henri's sea legs. But he usually just shrugged and said, "I guess that's how it is when you're born at sea".

Henri's mother had given birth to Henri and died shortly thereafter on the short passage to London. Birdie had been two and half years old, she had a few fuzzy memories of Henri's mother. Dark hair leaning over her, the sunset in a window behind her. They had lived for a time on shore. Near the Thames. Her father worked on ships. It was here he had first met Tambo. A woman watched Birdie and her sister during the day. Sometimes her father would hire on a ship and be gone for several weeks. The last of these trips was nearly two months. Birdie remembered sitting under the table with Lulu, both of them crying, while the woman who watched them spoke to a harbor master about storms and her father's ship going down.

Two night later, there had been a tap at the window and there he was.

Neither she nor Lulu had any memories of their mother, save the stories she had heard her father tell, memories she inherited and clung too sometimes when she felt the tightness in her chest grow too much to bear.

She was startled out of a midday drowse by Tambo's shout from the bow. "I see the bank." Birdie jumped up and ran the bow (grabbing the mizzen mast, rails, lines and other other holds, as normal people do on a ship), racing past Lulu and Henri coming out of the hold. She nearly slammed into a Tambo, but managed to hit the rail next to him instead. She followed his finger and saw the light green patch that marked the bank. It was high tide, still under water. The bank was a deposit of sand and silt that started a few hundred yards out from the north fork of the Edisto river and stretched between half a mile and mile out to sea, depending on the year. This year it looked to be shorter than usual. The bank was where they did most of the their fishing, and last year they'd even careened a very large ship on it. Birdie had not been allow to come on that ship, but she, her siblings, her cousins and some of the local kids had all sat on the end of the island and watched as three smaller ships careened a new ship, the largest ship Birdie had ever seen, a ship called Queen Anne's Revenge. 

Birdie ran astern to tell her father what they had seen, but he was already standing on the Taffrail, glass to his eye. "Bit smaller this year, eh Birdie?"

"I thought so, but I wasn't sure."

"Must've 'ad some weather this summer." Her father hopped down. "Hope we're done with that," she heard him mutter to himself. He pointed to the wheel. "Bring us out a wee bit." Birdie turned the wheel a quarter to port and tk's nose edged out toward the open ocean, carving a wide berth around the bank. 

Orange-headed gannets and brown pelicans dove at the outer edge of the bank, their sleek wings pulled back until they looked like harpoon tips thrown from some unseen ship sailing in the sky. The sliced through the air and hit the surface of the sea with such a quiet, tiny splash, transformed in an instant from bird to fish. And they surface, the Gannet's always with a fish in their beak. Birdie turned to her father, "Papa can we fish?" 

"Sure, throw in a line, see if you can grab dinner for us."

Birdie dashed forward and down in the hull. She fumbled around in the darkness near the stack of water barrels where she kept her line. She felt the iron hook and pulled it gently until the spool of catgut revealed itself. Next to it her fingers felt for the burlap she used to wrap her hand. Once she had everything, she grabbed a piece of dried fish hanging from a rafter, and climbed back up on deck.

At the stern she baited the hook, tied it off on the rail, and threw it out. It jerked in her hands as skipped and then sank until the slack had all fed out. Before it had, she saw the tkfish coming for it. "Papa!" she squealed. He nodded, but turned back to watch the sea in front of them, hunting for the river mouth they would follow into the marshland, where they would secure the boat for the season. 

Birdie pulled it in, Lulu held it for her while she cut its throat and tossed it in a bucket to let the blood drain out. She baited the hook and gain the tossed it out. This time, just as she was getting ready to bring her second fish on board, a gannet dove hard, the line jerked and her fish was gone. Birdie frantically pulled in the empty line and breathed a sigh of relief when she found the iron hook still there. I was, after the doll K had sewn her, her most prized possession. She took it as a sign, and began to coil up the line. It was far easier to fish from the smaller bateau she and her cousins rowed out to the bank. The slower boat meant their lines went deeper, the birds rarely had a chance to steal their catch.

"Coming about," Her father yelled. Birdie instinctively ducked as the booms creaked and groaned and lines whirled and the ship pitched from starboard to port and pointed her nose at a sharper angle to shore.

The tk was a lateen rigged Caraval with two masts and two triangular sails. She was light, fast and manuverable, but still had a relatively short keep that made it possible to bring her nearly a mile up the Edisto river if they had really wanted to. Their winter home was nowhere near that far, in fact it was on the island, but they kept the boat in the marsh, protected from storms by a massive stand of lobblolly pine that protected the marsh.

The worst part of winter camp was arriving. Every year they had to somehow beat upwind, while fighting the current of the river, while constantly sounding to watch for shallows in the mudding brown river mouth. Even now, still a quarter mile off shore, Kobayashi and Tambo were hauling up the sounding lines while her father shortened the traveler so the tk could take faster and beat closer to the wind. All Birdie wanted was to get ashore and see Kadi, but she went below and stowed her fishing gear. She and Lulu climbed to the crows nest on the main mast and began watching for light patches of water that meant shallows.

The tk tacked back and forth up and down the windward side of the island for most of the day, waiting for the tide to begin streaming in, since this would give them the added momentum the needed to make it into the river mouth where, for a time, it was too narrow to tack. Last year they had to run out the two oars that her father had carved from great thin, nearly perfectly straight tk pines and paddle with the current. This year though the gods smiled on them and the wind shifted to the north enough that they could swing out to see, and ride the wind west right into the mouth of the river where they dropped the main sail and landed just as the sun was disappearing in the trees that tangled up the western horizon. 

Though it was very likely everyone on the island had seen them come in, they were still too deep in the marsh to make it to camp before dark. They made the last meal of the season on the ship with Birdie's fish and hatched plans to get tk unloaded the next morning. Birdie, Lulu, and Henri fell asleep making plans for what they would do when the saw their cousins again the next day.

## Chapter 2 Off The Sea

The feel of sand stuck to her fingers. Lulu flicked her fingers and felt the rough sand fall away and the smooth skin beneath. She was inside a pale white cocoon of sheet. She stretched her arms up over her head, feeling for the edge, for the sand. She found it and pull it down over her head and sat up to look around.

She was named Linnea for her father's friend in the old country, but her mother called her Lulu the only day she saw her. Like her twin sister she'd been easing sheets and tightening lines since she could walk, crossed an ocean before she'd seen five winters, and survived the burning sun and flaming fevers of the Carolina swamps to reach her eighth year. 

Her skin was brown from long days in the sun. She was thin, but strong. Her body all bone and taut ropy muscle. Her hair was brown bleached to blond by the summer sun. She licked her lip, pulling the beads of sweat into her mouth and savoring the salty flavor. *You are the sea, you sweat the sea all day every day.*

She sat on a low rising dune a hundred yards from the shoreline. The eastern sky was already pink and rapidly turning orange. She knew her father would already be awake back at the boat. She hadn't wanted to sleep in the marsh. She preferred the seaside. Near where their camp would be, where she would sleep all winter. She didn't mind the hammocks of the boat, but there was something about the sand that made Lulu sleep easier. It conformed to you, it hugged you. Like the sea, but firmer. 

She wrapped the sheet, which had once been the tk's foresail, around her shoulders and walked down the beach to the Arkhangelsk. She was a 22ft Bermuda sloop that had been taken by the Whydah and put ashore with a small crew to careen and re-tar the hull. Unfortunately for the Ave Marie, as she was known at the time, her hull was too worm eaten and split even for the quality of tar Birdie's family was known for making. This had been the subject of some dispute between her father and the would-be captain of the Ave Marie, but in the end, the boat was abandoned on the beach. A storm two years ago had washed her up and into the dunes, but left her mostly in tact. Then the next year another storm had spun her around, bow to the sea and in doing so torn off much of the stern. But as she settled in the shifting dunes, the top deck leveled out. She still listed a little to port, but not so much that you couldn't raise around the upper deck more or less just like you could on the tk, which was currently back in the marsh, and would soon have to be unloaded.

Lulu walked around the Arkhangelsk, checking and comparing with her memory of it when they'd left last year. If there had been a storm over the summer it didn't seem to have affect the wreck at all. She stuffed her sheet in the hold so it wouldn't blow away and climbed up to the top deck. The wood was dry and brittle but so far it had not broken up as much as she would have expected. She and Birdie had begged their father to tar it, that it might last but he refused, the tar was too valuable.

She jumped off the bow into the soft sand and began walking back to camp. By the time she arrived everyone was up and unloading barrels except her father and Tambo who were looking over the pirogue, which had been stored for months now in the hold of the tk. They seemed satisfied with it and set in the muddy water next to where they'd landed the tk. 

"Lulu, good of you to join us again" Her father smiled, but his tone of voice told her she was late. Papa did not suffer anyone not pulling their weight. She looked around. Henri and Birdie were bringing things up from the hold and stacking them as best they could and the listing deck. The tk was aground now that the tide was out. 

Suddenly arms grabbed her from behind and lifted her into the air, she was squeezed tight against a warm soft chest. "Lulu, I've missed you." Kadiatu put her down and spun her around. Lulu wrapped her arms around her. "Kadi, I missed you." Lulu felt the warm of Kadi's belly against her face, she felt the warmth spreading through her body and all the tighter. 

"Hi Lu." said a shy voice behind her. She slipped slow out of Kadi's embrace and turned to face her cousin Charles. He looked older. She wondered if she did too. His front teeth had finished growing in and he looked somehow like an adult. Lulu wasn't sure she liked this look, but she hugged him anyway. 

"The Arkhangelsk is still in good shape."

"I saw."

"You already went there?" He had a look of disappointment on his face that made her instantly regret saying anything. But it was too late, she nodded, "I slept on the dunes."

"By yourself?"

She looked at him like he had two heads. "Of course." She could see the way he whithered under her looks and it made her feel guilty. She didn't mean to make him feel bad, but he asked such silly things sometimes, and she had no time for questions which seemed to her to have obvious answers. It made her dislike him a little for making her feel like she was a mean person. She was pretty sure she wasn't a mean person. Why did Francis seem like he thought she might be? Henri and Owen saved her from further awkwardness by zooming by at top speed chasing each other with wooden swords. "Hi Lu!" screamed Owen as he dodged around her and dove into the oak shrubs after Henri, who hadn't even acknowledged her existence.

Francis took the opportunity to go back to where he and Birdie were helping unload stores from the ship. Lulu watched him go, feeling that sinking feeling she got every autumn when her brother and sister abandoned her. They didn't mean to. They didn't really, especially Birdie who always went out of her way to make sure everyone was included in everything. Still, Birdie and Francis were like a little team. And Owen in Henri were another little team. Lulu did not have a team. There was just Lulu. In some ways she liked this, it left her free to do the things she wanted without anyone interfering. She could spent her time with Kadi and her daughter Cuffee, and her mother and grandmother at their cottage up the river. She loved to sit and rough pine boards of their porch and listen to them talk about anything and everything. She love to use the vines hanging from the big oak that stretched out over the river to swing out and drop midstream into the delicious cool pool of black water.

Sometimes she would spend the afternoon hunting plants in the thickets with Kadi and her mother. Other days, when Cuffee was in the mood, she would bring her down river to their camp to play in the Arkhangelsk. Cuffee would be thirteen this year though, and from what her grandmother had said last year, she might not be playing on the Arkhangelsk anymore. Lulu wondered why, but did not want to ask because it seemed assumed that she knew why, and she did not want to admit that she didn't know. Birdie did not know either when Lulu asked her. 

Today though, Cuffee came up out of the hold of the Arkhangelsk with a load of pots and pans that would serve the camp kitchen and, when she saw Lulu, she dropped the lot of them on the deck with a clatter, vaulted the side railing into the mud and ran over to hug Lulu.

"I missed you so much."

"I missed you too."

The hugged and laughed and hugged some more. Until that moment Lulu would not have said that she missed Cuffee that much, but then suddenly she realized she had, without knowing she had. And somehow it made her want to cry that she did not know that she had missed her this much and so she squeezed her tighter and buried her face in her shoulder and thick braids of hair and cried for a moment. Cuffee pulled her back and wiped her tears. "It is okay, we are here now. Together. Come on, help me get these pots down to your camp."

Lulu followed her back up onto the ship and helped gather up the pots, taking extra care with Kobayashi's precious rice steamer and basket. 

All morning they hauled gear out of the Arkhangelsk down the island to the cluster of dunes at the south eastern tip. There they found a sheltered area in the middle of the dunes and set about constructing their camp, which consisted of little more than a thatched hut, built to a design the Edistow had taught Tambo, who had taught her father, who had taught his children. It was, as all great shelters are, ingeniously simple. A pole structure made of half oak timbers, which gave it strength, and half pine timbers, which were bent to give it shape, was then covered with thatching made of half woven reed mats. Her father and Tambo had the basic structure done by mid afternoon. For the time being they simply draped the main sheet over the top in case of rain. In the next few weeks Lulu, Birdie, her Aunt Māra, Cuffee, Kadiatu and sometimes her parents would help to make the thatching. 

Her father brought two large flat stones to build a hearth in the middle so the smoke would drift up through the opening. He lit a fire, said a prayer, the threw of some Frankincense resin on the coals. The sweet, light scent of Frankincense filled the hut when Lulu walked in carrying a load of tk and it immediately smelled like home. 

It was still much to hot to have a fire inside though, so she soon retreated to the dunes outside where the long afternoon shadows began to race their way across the clearing they'd be calling home for the next six to eight months.

Her father was just completely the outdoor cooking area, which consisted of a fire ring and an iron tripod that fit over it and from which they could hang their cooking pots. Kobayashi and her father did most of the cooking, though sometime Francis and Owen's mother would bring them something or tend the fire during the day when no one else was around to look after it. 

Lulu turned and looked west. A little back from camp there was a like of oak trees and that then gave way to the marsh where the tk would be anchored for the season. In those oaks they would soon construct great kilns that would be used to make the tar that brought them to the island in the first place. Across the flat reedy world of marsh was another line of oaks and then a no man's land of cypress swamp and brackish water that slowly, as you moved south, resolved itself into the southern fork of the Edistow. Another half mile beyond that was Kadiatu's family's house and farm. Beyond that were the great pine forests of the low country where they would dig stumps and then haul them by barge and horse out here to the beach where they would burn them, slowly extracting the sap and then boiling it down into a sticky resin that sealed wood against the sea.



They unload the boat and set up camp, big bonfire, scene with her uncle being rough with Francis, or being mean to Francis. Partial explanation of the Aunt being around more. Her father turned to Māra, "you can come down here whenever you need to. You're family, not him."

"He's my husband."

Her father shrugged. "Doesn't mean you have to go down with the ship."







Just then her father walked by with a barrel that he set down rather ceremoniously next to Lulu and began to open. "You'll come with us today I think," he said, not bothering to look up from what he was doing. "They cut a whole forest down, so we're going stumping early this year." He pulled what he wanted out of the barrel, small bundle that she new help his tools for marking stumps. "Go get in the boat Lu."

---

###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 paddled Lulu and Tamba upriver in the pirogue. 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 carefully around, not letting his weight move side to side, and smiled knowingly 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 the 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. 

"The rice will give us food. We won't have to buy it."

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. "For a time at least," her father had said as he dragged the small pirogue up onto the muddy clay bank, next to a stand of palmetto and tied the pirogue to a tree. "But you take away the pine and it all goes, nothing will hold this soil."

"Rice will hold the soil." Tamba stood under the shade of an oak, arms crossed, nearly invisible in the darkness of the shade.

"You know this?"

"My people know this."

Her father shrugged. "I'll take your word for it then." He climbed up the bank and reached down to lift Lulu up as well. "I tell you what won't hold it. Potatoes. Turnips. I've seen that."

"Turnips?" Tamba looked quizzically at her father.

"Like a potato, thin skin, waxy, but bitter."

"Ah, like you."

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 were good farmers. But most of them were not free. 

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." 

Cutting trees stirred up the forest. Stirred up the animals of the forest. The plant eaters lost their homes, the insects lost their homes. The animals that ate the insects lost their food. Only the animals at the very top stood any chance. The snake might get the homeless mouse, but eagle got the snake. Nothing got the alligator though. Nothing ever got the alligator. Her father always said not to fear the alligator, but to respect it. Give it a wide berth and do what you can to make sure it doesn't see you as meat. She sat down on stump and wondered what made you look or not look like meat.

Lulu didn't think alligators were scary anyway. She'd once been sitting on a fallen log in the river upstream, dangling her feet over, gnawing on a stick of dried fish when a small alligator swam up beneath her. It stayed 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 log. 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, the relief of not being eaten washed over her. She and 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 an 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 it's 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 ttrying to sail, an alligator propped up on its hind legs, one hand (or claw?) on the wheel, one holding a spyglass to it's 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 it's 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 it's food with them. Except that alligator 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? 

She pushed these thoughts out of her head and decided she like 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 wondered, was feeding an alligator respecting it? Was thinking it was cute respecting it? She wasn't sure. She knew getting it to back away from her was respecting it.

Eventually she'd walked off the log and back to her boat to make her way home. The alligator had gone its way. Apparently it had not seen her as dinner. Or she'd given it enough dried fish that it had changed its mind.

Remembering the alligator made Lulu want to see one. Sort of. A small one again. But it was already mid afternoon and she hadn't seen anything but biting flies and mosquitos. The sun was directly overhead and felt like it had been worked with a bellows. Lulu could just barely see her father on the far side of what had once been a forest of broom pine. Slash pine the sailors called it. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was gone. No more tufts of green above to filter the harsh clean light of day, no more long thin needles to whistle in the wind when the onshore breezes started. It was a dead still afternoon. The world highlighted in a glare that made it difficult to see. It was hot, humid. The air felt like a wet wool blanket wrapped around you. Lulu decided she would not like to be a rice plant or anything else that tried to get along in this place. She liked it better back at camp. By the sea, in the wind. What was life without wind?

She jumped to another stump and looked down. It had her father's mark on it. A square inside a diamond. "Two squares really," he had once told her and her sister, "one is just rotated 90 degrees. It's easier to draw than four interlocking circles, which is what I used before."

Lulu shielded her eyes from the sun and lifted a gourd of water to her mouth. It was bitter and hot, but it coated her throat for a moment and kept her tongue from feeling so swollen. She was hot and bored. She wished she'd stayed with her sister and her aunt, setting up winter camp. She hated staking tents and lugging bundles from the boat though, so when her father, who was worked up about the big cut, asked if she wanted to come along, she'd jumped at the change. Now though, she wished her were setting up with her sister and brother and cousins. Even cleaning and drying fish would better than this stillness and heat. Anything to escape this relentless sun. At least at the beach, at camp, there was a breeze. 

Lulu wore a straw hat that a woman had given her the year before when a ship had come to careen on the beach. Despite repeated soaking, stretching and pulling, the hat was too small for her now. "At least your head is growing," her sister, who was nearly a head taller, teased.

Lulu wanted to punch her in the mouth, but instead she took off her hat, hit her sister over the head with it, bared her teeth and growled at her. Then she ran before Birdie could retaliate. Sometimes it was intolerable to have a twin. Usually though these moments were just that, moments. And then they were gone as quickly as she felt them, though she was not above drawing them out for a while to get at her sister, who rarely seemed to feel this way. 

Sometimes Lulu needed to get away, to be alone, so 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. 

Others would mark their stumps with their own marks and then all of them and their wives and children would come out together every night for a week, maybe two for this field, thought Lulu as she glanced around at the vastness of the clearing. They'd come for a week on either side of the full moon, to work in what light could be had, digging stumps and hauling then back to the beach, to the dunes just beyond camp, where they would be piled in great heaps and lie there for a year, drying like great white bones bleaching in the sand until they were so weathered they were gray. Once camp was set up today, perhaps tomorrow, her father and her uncle would begin repairing and improving the kilns so they could begin to burn the stumps they had gathered last year.  

Lulu and Birdie and Henri and two other families worth of children, their cousins and friends, would gather moss and dry grass to feed the slow heat of the kilns. As the wood burned the dark pitch drained down to the bottom of the kiln and dripped into barrels set below the catch it. This was the Arkhangelsk tar. The way her father's people had made it for generations he said. The archangel tar that kept the ships afloat, the rigging tight, the sailors safe and bought Lulu and Birdie and Henri a place in the world, clothes to wear, food to eat and sometimes even peppermint treats or dolls or new ribbons for her hair. These stumps were the reason Lulu's life was possible.

But that didn't make the day any cooler or her patience any greater.

Lulu hadn't been able to see her father or Tamba for at least an hour. They were resting in the shade on the far side of the clearing she guessed. Which meant another hour before they'd be back.

When they finally did return, both were pouring sweat and no longer bickering about farming rice or anything else. They drank the gourd of water and sat a while in the shade in silence. Lulu sensed that asking anything at that moment would only have earned her grunts. After a few minutes her father motioned with his head and they all set off, back through the trees to the pirogue. 

Her father ruffled her hair as he stepped over her into the boat. He pushed them out again, following the trail through the reeds, back to the deeper waters of the marsh, toward the river, which would lead them back to beach where camp was being set up. Lulu watched the little black snails, which had climbed ever so slowly up the reeds as the tide had come in while they were hunting stumps. It was was nearly time now little snails, nearly time to slide back down, nearly time for the tide to return.

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. Lulu hated town because she had to wear a dress. Most of the year she wore the clothes of the Edistow, a deerskin skirt that reached midway down her shins and was fringed with shells Lulu was extremely proud of and forever changing when new shells 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 Edistow 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 Edistow 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, save her uncle who was about the same height. 

Tambo just shook his head and walked away when he saw 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 Henri, at times, but more often he just seemed to be elsewhere, lost in depths of thought no one, not even Tambo 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.

Lulu thought about this, and about her mother, about things she barely remembered from the old country, a different river, a different marsh, a different shoreline with the cold smell of wet mud and salt brine, the barnacle crusted rocks that had cut her feet tile they bled. She could still feel them sometimes when she starred into the fire in the evenings or when she watched the stars at night, lying under her sheets in the soft cradle of sand. She did not miss it exactly. She did not remember enough to miss it. But she did think of it sometimes on the edge of sleep, she'd hold it in her thoughts, turn the memories over and around, looking for details she'd missed in all the times before. Though it had been a long time since she'd found a new detail she didn't already hold in her memory, still she did it most every night, letting those old visions usher her into sleep on the hot summer nights when the mosquitoes dove at her all night long, even through the smoke of the smudge fires.

Lulu could feel the water pulling them now, partly the tide of the marsh, partly the current of the river it was drawing them to the sea. The boat rocked slightly as her father laid the pole down and took up the paddle he used to steer. She looked back and he was sitting, smiling now as they drew nearer to home. Stern and distant though he might sometimes be, her father was almost always smiling when his face was turned toward the sea and the wind was on his cheek.

Shadows of moss lengthened across the ground like fingers stretching out of the oak trees by the time the pirogue finally nosed onto the sandy shore of the island. It was a half mile walk to camp. Lulu hopped off the side of the boat and into the water, wading ashore. She glanced back at her father who nodded once. She needed no further encouragement, taking off down the path that led back to camp.

Lulu rounded the corner at full speed, through the tall field of sea oats that formed the southern border of their camp, bursting out of the grass like a lion. She smelled the warm sweetness of fish stew. Her aunt was stirring a kettle over the fire. Her sister and Henri came running from the other side of camp, calling her to come to the dunes, but she was hungry. She ran over and hugged her aunt, who pulled the stray hairs from her face, tucked them back behind her ears and scooped her up a bowl of stew with a piece of cold fried bread. Lulu slurped at the hot stew, earning her a frown from her aunt. "Don't slurp Lu."

"Did you mark stumps?" Birdie watched her eat.

"Papa did." She took another bite of bread. "Squares." Her sister did not seem to care. Birdie had never liked stumping.

"Aunt Māra gave us a pot for the kitchen in the Arkhangelsk."

Lulu stopped chewing. "Really?" A smile came over Birdie's face, all she could do was nod faster than Lulu had ever seen a head move before. "It's the best" blurted Henri.

"I started to carve spoons for it they aren't done yet but do you want to see?" Birdie was already pulling on her arm, dragging her away from the fire.

Birdie was always making things for them to play with, she'd fixed the wheel, carved a pole for the flag, made fish hooks out of deer bone, and was always helping Papa repair the fishing nets. Sometimes Lulu hated the way Birdie was so good at making things, but mostly she loved to use the things when they were finished. She scooped up some sand and wiped her bowl out. She dumped it all at the edge of the fire and handed the bowl back to her Aunt. "Going to the ship," she blurted as the three of them ran out of camp.

They slowed when they reached the dunes, they all knew from experience that running in the dunes was a waste of effort. From the top of the rise they could see the single mast of the Arkhangelsk. 

"How come Māra gave us the pot?" Lulu had been trying to come up with reasons for a gift in her absence ever since Birdie had said it, but she had come up empty.

"She said we could use it if we her left alone." 

"Were you bad?"

Birdie nodded at Henri, who scowled. "Was not!"

Henri was four, and as their father said, clever as a Lynx and innocent as the doves. Henri 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, Henri 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 Charles, but he was a year younger, actually quite sneaky, and lived a quarter mile down the beach with their aunt and uncle, which generally absolved him.

They crested the last dune and from the top the Arkhangelsk came into view, lying as she always did in a gully just beyond the beach, listing slightly to port, her mast pointing nearly due north, marking time nearly as well as the sundial her father kept in his tent. The three ran down the slope of the last dune in great bounding leaps, sinking deep into the soft sand and leaping out again great whooping war cries rising from their lips.

Lulu ducked under the crumbing beam that had once supported the deck, following Birdie down into the hold, where the new pot sat on their makeshift stove. It was a world of black and white, dark shadows punctuated by bleach white light streaming in the occasional holes in the deck. The damp sand under the shadows was a cool luxury after the heat of the swamp. Lulu sat down and Birdie passed her the pot. She felt it cool and smooth in the darkness. She ran her finger along the lip feeling the nicks where metal tongs had banged into it. She passed it back to Birdie who put it on the stove. They all went out to gather crab shells and seaweed for a stew.

It was dark by the time they walked back to camp. The air had turned cold as the sun set. Not cold, but cool enough that Lulu got her blanket out of the pole lodge. They only ever slept indoors in the worst of weather. Lulu brought out her blanket and lay down in the sand, pulling it over her. She lay for along time whispering with Birdie about plans for the next day, watching the thin sliver of moon drag its light across the shifting ripple of the sea.






## Chapter 3: Fishing the Bank

Birdie woke early, before first light. She sat up on the dune where she had slept and looked off toward the sea. She saw the silhouette of her father down by the shore, his back to her. His hand went up and pulled down to his head with a movement so sharp and sudden she felt as if the starlight itself bent down to him. She watched at he turned to each direction, and then back to the center where he stood still, facing east.

She lay back in the sand and stared up at the stars. They began to fade as the pre-dawn blue crept up from the edge of the world, turning the black night sky first to blue, then to pink, to orange and then the stars were gone. A new day. Her father came walking up from the ocean, swinging his arms and stretching his back. He saw that she was awake and plopped down in the sand next to her. His beard was still wet and droplet of salt water sprayed her as he sat down. They did not say anything, the just sat together and watched the dawn paint the sky in front of them. 

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 and 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 good day," he said in a whisper. And then he rose and walked back toward camp. Lulu sat up. "I was dreaming of pine trees." Birdie glanced at her. She too had dreamed of pines. She wondered if they both were thinking of burning stumps or if there was something more. Birdie still remembered the northern forests, or thought she did, or perhaps her father's stories had worked their way into her head until they became her memories and dreams too, lodged there as if she had seen them with her own eyes. And now she dreamed of her imagined memories, layers and layers of story peeling back to reveal at the end... what?

She stood up. "I'm going to get some food." She skipped down the slope, feet squeaking in the dry sand. Memories of cold salt air, oceans crossings, fog and pines, where it was always cool, and soft breezes blew did not help her here, in this land of swelter and storm. What she wouldn't give for a cool dry breeze stirring the pines of some rocky northern shore. 

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 seems like perhaps it would not be murderously hot by mid morning. Then she uprooted herself and walked toward the teepee into which her father had disappeared only moments earlier. 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, roots and tubers she and Lilah had dug the day before. Plants Tamba had shown them that he and his people had learned from the Edisto. 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. 

---

Birdie sat in the shade of a sago palm. It was the last palm, the edge of camp. After the palm was the beach. She watched the ocean from the top ridge of the small, shaded dune, squinting in the bright light of the midday sun. Birdie's real name was Māra, after her mother's sister, who was down at the shoreline, pulling in a fishing net with Henri. Birdie had helped them cast out the net and secure it to the buoys earlier in the morning. Now she was waiting for her cousins to be done with their chores. She glanced up the beach toward their camp but there was no sign of Owen or Francis. She sighed and plucked at a sea oat, slowly breaking up the stem.

Down the beach she would see the single mast of the Arkhangelsk. Most of the time she loved seeing the boat, but sometimes it reminded her of the awful day it arrived. After her father had told the captain of the Ave Marie it could not be saved, the rest of his crew shrugged and went off hunting the wild boar that were forever rooting in the jack pines. The captain sat on the beach and stewed. He drank rum all afternoon until finally he'd strode into camp shouting for her father, who eventually appeared. There was a good bit of quarreling in several languages until at some point Birdie remembered the captain drew his sword and her father had gone very quiet. Aunt Māra pulled all the children inside the teepee, but Birdie had stood by the door and watched as her father walked very slowly forward until he had placed his neck against the captain's sword, a move that had been so unexpected that the captain did not appear to know what to do. He stammered something Birdie could not hear, though she heard her father's voice quite clearly, I know how I will die and it is not by your hand. The captain had dropped his sword, spun on his heel and marched right out of camp in the direction of Charlestown.

A few hours later the crew of six returned from the woods with a wild boar so huge they staggered under the weight of the pole it was slung out on. Birdie's father had informed them of their captains departure, the news of which they barely acknowledged, bent as they were to the task at hand, namely butchering and roasting the boar. There'd been a great feast in camp that night, with music and dancing that didn't stop until long after Birdie was asleep. The crew had stayed on for a quarter of a moon, until the rum ran out and they too headed off down the road in the direction of Charlestown. 

Birdie had been worried that the angry captain might return. For several nights she refused to sleep outside until her father finally coaxed the problem out of her. "My girl, you don't need to worry," her father had said, "he's gone." And indeed no one had ever seen him again.

And so the little ship had been commandeered by Birdie, along with Lulu, Henri, their cousins Owen and Francis, and Kadiatu's boy Cuffee. 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. She had only been voted out 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 Henri 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, with their new pot they should have new adventures, when she noticed a small sail rounding out of the northern river. The boat road the middle of the current. Birdie's heart leaped up. Don't do that Charles. 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 Henri and Māra were laughing as they folded up the net. 

"My sons sail 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. 

Henri sat down beside Birdie. "Did you see them" Henri giggled. "They hit so hard."

"I've told him a dozen times, you have to stay south and use the wind to get out of the current."

"He knows," said Henri matter of factly. "He likes to crash so they go flying."

"What?" 

"It's fun I think?"

"They're going to break the mast one of these days. Or lose the sail. And then how will we fish?"

Henri shrugged, but didn't say anything. Birdie stood up. "I'm going to get my line." 

"Get mine too will you please?"

"Sure." Henri took off down the path to the teepee where both their lines were coiled and hung from a rafter over the door.

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. Birdies's Uncle tk helped run a distillery, spending his days tending the vast vats of boiling sugar, turning it slowly to rum.

No one on the tk drank. Her father didn't forbid it exactly, he simple did not associate with people who drank it. "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. 

"Different things have different spirits Birdie." He dipped a ladle of water and drank it. "The spirit in the rum, it is not a good spirit. To me it seems like not a good spirit anyway. Many people, it takes them and makes them do as it wishes, sends them nowhere but in search of more of itself. Your uncle for instance, it drives him to work all summer making it. Other people it just visits and then leaves with no problems, it all depends." He shrugged and swatted at a mosquito on his shoulder. "Some days it visited me and left, but some days it visited me and wanted to stay even after I no longer wanted it, so I decided one day not to let it in me any more."

"It is not the way of our people I don't think. We did not have it back home. There was Vodka, but that was a drink of the lowlanders. We never drank it. Vodka has a strong spirit, but we did not need it. For us there is the sea, it has the strongest spirit as far as I know. I would rather stand on its shore for one minute and taste its salt air than have a lifetime of rum or vodka. The sea is the spirit I want to spend my time with, the sea is who I serve."

Birdie had decided then and there not to waste her time with rum or vodka or anything with bad spirits. She too would serve the sea. She watched as Francis tried to bring the little boat in through the waves. It was an offshore wind, which mean 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 possible 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, the larger ones with very sharply pointed fins, that she avoided unless there were dolphins around. She walked down to the shoreline with Henri 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. 


**Scene of Francis and Birdie fishing** Make Francis an approachable enough character that there is tragedy when he dies. what makes him approachable, some level of vulnerability, cruel father? Drinking father? No cruel, a drunk. Who's getting worse. But where can I put a scene of that? First cool night, they have a bonfire, he gets drunk. Words with the father, hits Francis. 

Francis was smiling as the boat road the last the crumbling wave toward the shore. His dimples shadowed into his tanned cheeks. 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. 

"Did you see that?" Owen said breathlessly. "We flew Birdie, we flew."

She dropped the bowline back in the boat. "I saw you nearly break the mast on the only fishing boat we have, if that's what you mean." 

His face dropped. He mumbled something about finding Henri and walked off down the beach.

"Lighten up Birdie," said Francis climbing out of the boat.

"Lighten up? What if you'd broken it?"

"Did I?"

She shook her head at him. He rolled his eyes at her and turned around. She wanted to say *I like you less when you act like your father* but she bit her lip and said nothing. She knew he didn't mean any harm, he just didn't think. But she knew Francis didn't have what she had. She could feel him floundering some times, like he was lost in a way that she never would be and so she bit her lip and kept quiet. 

He leaned against the gunwale of the boat. She came and stood next to him, thinking about what she should say, but she could come up with nothing. 

"You always do the right thing Birdie," he started, but she interrupted him by bursting out laughing. 

"My father would disagree."

Francis didn't seem to think it was funny. He looked very serious for once. She was quiet again. "I didn't mean... You did a good job getting her through the surf."

"You think? I forgot to lean out when she pitched down the first time."

Birdie shrugged, "I guess you didn't need to. I mean, you didn't capsize, you made it to the shore." She saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.

"You want to go fish?"

"Yes. Henri did too."

They both glanced down the beach in the direction Owen had gone, but there was no one. "Let's just me and you go."

Birdie bit her lip, Henri had wanted to go, but she'd spent all morning with him and going without him suddenly sounded good, though she knew she would feel guilty about it the whole time she was out. "Okay."

He seemed to sense the hesitation in her voice and sighed. "Owen probably talked him into going turkey bunting." Owen and Francis had somehow managed to kill a turkey with their homemade bow and arrow and Henri was obsessed with doing the same. Francis was probably right she decided. Lulu had gone up the river with Kadiatu and Cuffee. There was no one else around save her father. 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 the tk, 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 offshore 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 wave. Near the top a gust of wind finally hit the sail 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 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.

She glanced at Francis, he was leaning over the side, dragging his hand in the water. Birdie pulled her handline out of her pocket and baited the hook, she dropped it gently into the water, letting the speed of the boat cutting thrugh the waves carry it back away from her.

The spray, the silence of the boat cutting through the water, the creak of the mast, the sound of the wind on canvas. Birdie catches a tuna on the hand line.

The tack and sail up to the bank. They anchor and get out and stand on the sandbar in the middle of the ocean. 

This place is so amazing. Like walking on water. A turtle swims around them. They throw out the net with one end tied to the boat. They use the boat to sail out and then jibe around and drag it back, which is when they pick of the baby dolphin. Then they come back to the bank and get out to haul in the fish. as they're pulling it in the mother dolphin attacks. At first they think it's a shark, but then birdie fingures out what's going on and goes underwater and has the enounter with the dolphin.


They untangle it and help it back to the mother. 

The dolphin rolled slightly and turned its eye toward her.

Then later she's on the beach and ocean comes to her, too sudden, too fast.


Birdie lay in the sun, feeling the warmth against the cool of her skin, the slight chill of the wind as it dried the salty drops. At first she thought perhaps it was just the linger pitch and roll of the boat, but the world seemed suddenly to undulate again, as if she were floating in the water. It came so suddenly it was terrifying, something emmense and unfathomable washed over her, a kind of blackness with a precense. She was afraid to open her eyes. A voice, no, that was the wrong word, something thought words for 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 order of them, not even the meaning. She felt as if something massive and uncontrollably wild had seized her. She became afraid again and forced herself to breathed in slowly and then out slowly. As she did this is was like the thing gave up, she felt it slipping away. She blurted out, No! 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 it was just the shore, looking as it always did. She stared out a the flat horizen of the sea. Come back. But nothing happened. She got up and dressed. She hurried back to camp.


---






They sail in the next day, father tells a story of some kind, a gannet dives at the boat to add some drama. they reach edisto, sam and charlie, the cousins come out from Owen twon. Tamba and tk and cuthie, he gets introduced, they set up camp, play on the dunes, find the arkhangelsk, make tar, go inland to get chicle, hunt and fish and swim. Then north to Owen town, then the storm. The death of Sam and then the family heads north again.

# Winter

## Fire


She took her bowl and stepped out into the shade of the porch her father had built. She sat on a stump and ate. The more she ate the hungrier she felt and before long whe went back inside for anoter bowl. That's my firl said her father, ladeling another bowl for her. Lilah stepped in fater her . Henri still pretended to sleep in the far corner of the hut where he slept with his mother. He was still very much a Mama's boy, probably always would be Birdie figured. 

"Today we start the kilns." Her father glanced that them.

"Yes papa," they mumbled between gulps of stew. The bolted a soon as they were done, walking together down to the shore to wash their bowls in the surf and sand. 

Birdie stopped at the shore. Lulu knlt and let the rushing water of the wave fill her bowl and pull the bit of fish at the bottom back out the sea. Birdie watched but she made no move to wash her own bowl. She stared out at the sea where she though she saw something white on the horizen, someting that might be a topsail coming into view. 

"Lou, what is that?"

Lulu stood up, she was shorter than Birdie by half a head, but she saw it too. "Sail?"

They looked at each other and smiled. A way out of tending the klins. Birdie quickly washed her bowl and they turned and ran back up to camp. Laughing and shouting sail. Her father turned and squinted out at the sea. He hmmmed and went inside, returning with the spyglass. He trained it on the speck still wavering at the horizen. 

"Topsail, moving southeast." He handed Birdie the glass and she climbed up the nearest dune to get a better look. Southeast was no good, that meant it was headed away from them, but that made no sense, they should have spotted it earlier if it was coming out of Owen town. They've have seen it well and clear when she rounded cape and turned north, headed for London or tk or tk. The only boats that ever headed southeast were... she glanced over at her father. He was watching her, closely, she could see him smile, she watched him watch her figure it out. Raiders. It was a coasting ship that had drifted too close and, probably unbeknowst to its captain and crew, had been spotted. Word would spread south. Not from their camp, her father never passed on sea gossip as he called it, it was one of the reasons raiders came to their shore in peace, but this one obviously wasn't, which ruined Birdie's hopes of something to do other than feeding kilns. She walked back over to her father and passed the glass to Lulu.

"We'll wait a bit on the fires. We've nothing to trade. And it seems they don't need to careen. We don't want to send up any smoke, might be taken as a signal and we've nothing to say." 

Birdie nodded. She screwed up her courage inside and said quickly before she lost her nerve, "Papa, can Lulu and I play at the Arkhangelsk until you need us?"

Her father looked at her darkly, but then he smiled. "What gave you the idea that there was ever a time when I did not need you? I always need you Birdie, at my side, we are joined at the hip. He clasped a huge hand on her shoulder and pulled her tight against his left and attempted to take a step forward, swinging her along with him. She laughed and tried to pull away, but his grip was strong, she remained pinned against his leg and he took another, stiff-legged step, swinging her along again. He walked her like that, laughing as they went all the way over to where Lulu stood oblivious to the both of them, watching the sail through the glass. "She's tacking toward us."

Her father stopped and took the glass from her.

"Hey." 

He stared for a while. "Indeed she is. Okay girls, you may play, I will fetch you when it's time."

Lulu and Birdie tore down the slope and through camp, startling the still half asleep Henri, sitting by the fire, groggily spooning fish stew in his mouth. To the Arkhangelsk they cried as they race past him. Henri looked up, but they did not wait. 

Eventually they realized he was not coming, he and samuel and charles and gone off hunting in the woods. They sometimes managed to bring back a rabbit, or a partiage or woodcock, but usually the returned empty handed with hard to believe stories of their nearly amzing feats. Lulu and Birdie usually just nodded and went on with whatever they were doing, though henri was ndid not otherwise tend ot exagerate or make up stories, which always made Birdie wonder if at least the stories he told might actually be true. Especially the stories about Tamba's people living deep in the woods. 

Tamba was about her fathers age she guessed, perhaps a few years older, the hair at his temples was whiter than her father's, thugh he had no beard to it was hard to say what color it miht have been, her fathers tended closer to silver every time she looked closely at it. Tama and his wive lived deeper in the woods, ten minutes further up the river and then a good walk from the shore. We are not water people he told Birdie when she ased him why they did not live near the beach. We come from jungles hotter than this he smiled. His arms were strong under the shite cotton shirt he always wore. This Engilish was stiff around the edges, acquired from many sources, including her father, who had aquired his from many different people. Birdie liked hearing Tamba tell stories though because his voice and the way he pronounced them made English words sound more beautiful, more thoughtful, more important than when other people talked. 

Her father nodded when she told him this once. "Tamba is like us. He is the Alban of his place. Highlanders always speak less. We put more thought into what we are going to say." 

Birdie wasn't so sure any of them would qualify as highlanders, living as they did, so low, near to the sea. Even Tamba, though he claimed not to be water people, lived by and survived mainly from the water that was ever-present around all of them.

Tamba's skin was near black. Light seemed to disappear when it landed on him. She noticed that he used this to his advantage, sometimes to disappear into shadow, sometimes by wearing a white shirt that provided such a contrast he was impossible not to see, a shadow fleshed out into the light. She noticed too that he used clothes in a way that most people did not, they were not simply things that hung over his frame to keep the sun off, they were tools that helped him navigate the world.

And Birdie new that it was harder for Tamba to navigate the world than it was for her. Many Africans were slaves, and those like Tamba who were not, who had arrived here free men aboard ships they helped to sail were always in danger of becoming slaves. "Englishmen are devils, the worst kind of devils, the dumbest devils, so dumb they don't even know they are devils. Dumbest lot of humans I ever had the misfortune to be among," her father had said once in her hearing. Tamba had nodded with a sad smile Birdie still remembered. It was a smile of defeat, a smile one had when everything else has already been tried and still one was defeated, a smile that protects against a hurt too large to look at otherwise. 

"We should burn that lot of them," she'd burst out with it so fast she startled even herself. 

Her father and Tamba had turned to look at her and her face grew red under their gaze, but then Tamba had grunted and glanced at her father. "That's one we haven't tried. Yet." 

Her father smiled at her. "A wonderful idea my darling freeman, but, but, we've other business here this go round. Besides," his eyes twinkled impishly, "they'll get theirs. Satisfying as it would be for us to be the ones to hand it to them," he glanced at Tamba and said softly, "and gods it would be satisfying, that is not our path on this turn." 

She could tell Tamba did not agree, but held his tongue. She wondered if he were afraid to contradict her father. But that was silly, Tamba called out her father whenever he needed to and half his father's grand plans began in these sessions with Tamba. 

Birdie pushed the canoe up onto the shore and used her pole to vault out of the stern of the boat, over the water nd land on the shore. She dragged the boat up and tied it off to a Willow that tk tkt tk more details on willow. She walked the path to Tamba and tk's house. Their house was on stilts of cypress, thatched like hers, but better and more substantially made. Tamba and his family were not travelers, they did not move camps like Birdie's family, though she had once overheard her father trying to convince Tamba to come with them when they went to their winter camp. 

Cuthie was swinging on the vine at the edge of the clearing as Birdie approached. He called out to her as he leaped off the limb and swung out wide over the racks of drying meat and lines of linens hanging in the noonday sun. His white teeth gleamed in the light and made his smile seem like it was a thousand times brighter than her own. She laughed and ran across the compound, jumping at his legs as he passed over her. She scrambled up the tree to the limb he'd leapt from. The branches of the TK were worn smooth from Tamba's hands and hers and Lulu's and Henri's and Francis'; and Charles's and countless other children who'd made the same climb to leap from the rope swing that Tamba had built. The tk nuts around the branch were she stood were gone already. She climbed up one branch higher, where the bark was still rough, fewer hands and feet had tread and she picked a tk nut. Tamba was still swinging, slower now, ever closer to equilibrium. 

When his swing had lost it's momentum he lowered himself hand over fist until he reached the end of the line and then he dropped to the forest floor. The line was just long enough, with a heavy knot at the end, that he could throw it up and over the branch where Birdie stood. 

She waited while he climbed back up and joined her on the limb. She handed him a nut and took the rope. She kept her eyes on his as she casually fell backward gripping the rope. Still, she knew her eyes betrayed her as she left the branch, no matter how many times she did it there was a jolt of fear that went shooting up her spine when all her weight settled onto the line, there was a lot ridding on that instant, it was the instant where you found out if the line would hold, if the branch would still bear your weight and then it was gone and you were with it, chasing the arc of an invisible pendulum out over the clearing Cuthie's family called home. 

Birdie looked down on the garden, the corn still only knee-high, not yet supporting the threading tendrils of bean plants. tk look up food crops of coastal carolina pre-contact. 


---

It was mid afternoon by the time Papa rounded them up and set them aout grathering grass and small sticks of oak and walnut. He had a mixture of woods and rasses an sizes that was entirely within his own head, though Lulu and Birdie and even Henri had long since learned which thing they needed more of just by glancing at the pipes, which the kep tseperate. Grass, then oak, then Walnut. Papa claimed to build by heat, but that seemed completely crazy to Lulu since the kilns really had only one temperature -- really, insanely hot. 

They all sweated. Sweated gathering wood in the stagnant air of the hammuckss around the marsh, sweated paddling the boats back to camp in the fierce noonday sun, sweated piling the sticks beside the fire. If they were fast they were allowed to run down to the sea and jump in between runs, but even the ocean was no great relief on such days when the shallows were nearly as warm as the air around them and they had not time to make their way out to the cool depths. It was Lulu's least favorite part of the year, making the Arkhangelsk tar, but she knew it was also the most important part of the year. She often thought the only thing that would make it worse would be having to tan hides while tending the kilns. She never complained about working the kilns or gathering wood though. She did however, complain plenty about tanning hides. Who didn't? It was a smelling boring business rubbing brains all over a hide and scrapping the fur off. She did love the shoes her mother had learned to make though. No one wore shoes in the summer, but come winter it was cold enough to want them and nothing she had ever worn felt as nice as the shoes her mother had learned to sew out of deer skin. Tk had taught her and she had learned from a Edisto woman who'd helped Tamba and tk survive after they had washed up on the island just off the coast. 

The storm had been an early one, Tamba and tk were on captain tk's boat, bound for boston with a prize they'd taken off the coast of Florida when the storm came out of the south. Their captain tried to put in at Owen town, but they did not make it, the wind broke the mast and sent the boat over. Tamba and tk knew how to swim, the rest of the crew did not. Even so, they were lucky. They clung to piece of broken mast and managed to steer themselves in the heavy chop such that they madeit to shore. Tamba told of seeing a shark in the shallows on the way in, even it was so bewildered by the storm it showed no interest in them, merely passing by close enough to touch, though Tamba did not, before settling into their wake where it stayed until the water became too shallow for it.

---



Details on the day of lighting the kilns, games the kids play, treats they eat, the last bit of gum chichle. Then the fishing 


Her Papa was a quiet man, prone to grunts and nods in lieu of the sort of comforting, I heard you type of comments most people make. He was often absorbed in a task to the degree that he seemed utterly unaware of the world around him and yet sometimes Lulu would notice that he was also watching her, watching her sister and not in fact missing anything that was going on around him at all, that he was in fact more aware of what she was doing than she was. She would pause and think about this sometimes and try to focus herself more fully on what she was doing, if she sould not take in the whole world around her like her father she could at least, she reasoned, pay closer attention to what she was doing.

Thsi time of year that meant gathering grasses and helping tend the fires of the kilns. The family had three kilns which burned around the clock for weeks as the stumps slowly burned down and the sap dripped slowly down to fill the buckets below. It was a hot, dangerous time of boil liquids, burning fires and other hazards which Lulu dreaded. No one had ever been burned too badly, though her father had once scalded his hand badly enough that the skin had come off. He made sure that the children did not handle the sap until it had cooled to a less scaulding temperture.

The sago palm fronds clattered in the wind, a clicking ticking sound like the women's shoes on the plank sidewalks of Owen town.

---

The boat was wooden, 12 feet from bow to stern, wood planked and sealed with the arckhanglsk tar, smooth shiny weathered wood with hardly a splinter in the boat. She ws rigged like a doah, triangular sail, mast near the bow, single ling coming back offf the boom and a tiller in the rear. She had a outrigger spar that would be lashed to the port or starboard gunwale via two blocks her father had attached with nails he'dpryed lookse from the arckhaglske. She would be a palfrom so stable their mother often used it to threw nets beyond the surfline, obut shoe could also be rigged for speed that would outrun every boat the had ever tried to match her. Lulyu had raced her in charles town harbor the winer efore winning by two lengths ten lengh over a very nice, but piirly rigged effort the tk governors siun had put together. He was a nice enough boy shed told Birdie, he ust doesnt know how to sail very well. Or build boats. Birdie had smiled. The took their prize opurse of two bit and bought peppermint sticks and licorish  imported from lindon. Hand their got their mother a brush for her hair. Their faother stood outside the store, sittinng on a barrel, carding something in the shade, watching the world pass but has his knofe flicked seeming absently at the thing piece of oak in his hand. He smiled when they came running out to show him the comb. She'll love that. 

Their mother was a stong independent woman who keep their camp with a nearly military sense of neatness. She didn't care a wit what the girls wore, but if they left a diry bowl lying a about she threaten them with a switch. This only very rarely happend to Birdie, the Lou had a defiant strek that foten set her up and kicked her about in whay  she did not really understand. propelling her down paths she did not mean the woalk, great screaming matches with her sister, stomping and growling in theatrical ways that drove her mother to step in and threaten switching. 

The kettle hung ove rhte fire from the trupod her pap had made from iron taken out of the arkhnglsk. Her father was not a smith, but he' watched the man in Chrlestown enough to get ht ebasics. He come back the camp these year and built himself a small forge, and bellows out of sail cloth. So far he;s made two legs of iron for a fire tripod, the their was still a puece of willow, which was stong enough, though eventyually warped from the heard of the cials and had be replaced. 

In the kittle was a bubbling stew full of fish and rice and seasoned with salt and herbs Lulyu hadhelped father from the creak edge the day before. 

The sand was dug out, the six inch deep bit was lined with stone, but left caps on bothe swindward and landward sides so thta the windws would feed the firs enough oxygen even with the in burning almost entirely below the surace oft he sane. Sometime when her father or Tabe brough down a boar their father would dig another put and build a giant fire in it and let it durn down to a huge mountain of cials . Then he'd lay the board meant, wrapped in its down skin on the coals, burry the whole thing over night and then the next wmorning they'd dig it up and featst on meat so sweet and tender you never wanted to eat anythign else ever again. It would last them the better part of weeks, more if the weather was cool enough. They build a tootcellar in the dark shade of the hut, two feath cown in the sand, lined with planks of swap cypress ther papa had split, it kept food cool and fesh for quite some time. At night they banks the fire, but used the coals to keep the previous nights stew hot and in the morning the mother buit up the fire again and boil the stew and that wsas breakfast. 

Sometimes he roasted fish, but mostly lulu loved stews, fish stew, venison stew, boar stew, even rabbit stew wasn't have bad, espcially when the could trade with the Cherokee for ramps, which were lulu's favoir food in the world, at once swwet and sharp;y bitter, they made everything delicsious, When he could her father stuffed the boars with ramps before buring them to cook overnight. The resulting meat was tend an swet and smealed of the earth and tasted, a little bit like heaven Tamba said. 

He father pulled the sail in tight, the boat heaved away from them, but her father leaned back against he gunwale slightly until to reached a balance point that balanced speed and awkwardness, the boat lept across the waves and out beyond the surf line of the sand bar to smoother water. The wind was blowing offshore, a storm from the west would be here tomorrow her father said. 

Her father spun the little boat into the wind, dropped the sail and walked toward the bow to get the net. Birdie sprang up and followed. They heaved the net over the side, letting the drift of the current carry them away from it, spreading it out. Once it was out her father used and oar to bring the boat about to where he wanted it and then he yanked the tk line , shooting the halyard and the sail back up. It caught the wind the minute it was up and tighted the lines of the net, pulling them and the net back toward shore. Birdie leaned over the gunwale and watch as fish swam by and were pulled into the net. 

By the time the neared the surfline again the net was choked with fish. She helped her father pull it in, though it became so heavy that eventually her effort was of little use. Her father wrapped the line around the mast and pulled the net, chock full of writhing fish up against the hull, fell off the wind as the boat came into the break of the sand bar and then, timing it with a wave, surfed the craft expertly over the sand bar and into the more sheltered inner waters where he began to paddle it in the shore.

Hoisting the net, cleanign the fish and drying wonderedthem. more description of their time at sea, her father smoking, talking of the sea, the old country perhaps, some kind of tradition.

---

They had arrived early in the morning, the air still heald the wet chill of night, beads of dew shined on teh gunwales of the boat when Birdie came up to look at the coastline. Her father was on the bowsprit perched precariously, but riding the chop as if on a surfboard, glass to his eye, staring off at a horizon Birdie couldn't see. She came forward to have a look and saw the sail her father wa s studying. He did not look away, but did say, "merchant, heading north. Boston. Maybe Providence. Riding low. Make a prize if anyone gets to her." 

"Will they? "

Her father brought down the glass, and looked down at her. "I don't know. I only know who is where. Last I head Whydah Gally was up that way. Bellamy'd certainly take her, sitting low in the water like that. Not gold, but something out of Owen town." He stared off at the ship, "but you never know. The sea decides."

He jumped down the to the deck and rubbed her head. "It's always cat and mouse. That's why I stay out of it. Who are you rooting for?"

Birdie considered this for a moment, she wasn't sure really. She didn't like the merchant captains she'd met. She was pretty sure she didn't care what happened to them, the way they treated their men they deserved whatever they got. Her father had once told her that there were good captains, he'd never met them but he'd heard stories. He also reminded her that even those ugly mean snorting fat men had wives and children somewhere who end up paupers in debtors prison or some other ill might befall them. Still, she thought of the men and women who sailed with her family, who flew the black flag and, while there were a few she did not like, for the most part they were kind, fair people. They had a code, way of living that was about more than the fortune the merchant men were always chasing. 

Her father dropped bucket over the side and filled it up. He knelt and splashed some water on his face, rubbed his eyes and she walked over the handed him the linen that served as his towel. He washed his face every morning, rain or shine, shivering cold or blistering hear,, it did not mater. He father was a man of unbreakable, unbendable even, habits. Not many. But he always washed his face and he always sat and thought, every monring, nearly without exception. She'd seen him seated near the bow in six foot chop, wind howling down on them and he with his eyes closed, thinking.

He took the towel from her with a thanks and wiped the salt water out of his beard.

"I think I'd like the Whydah to take her," she said. 

He smiled. "I think I would too."

It was well past midday before the glided into the marshes and up the river to Tamba, tk and Cuthie's village. Tamba had waved them down in the marsh, coming out by canoe to guidethem in. Huge storms reshaped the mouth of the river and the marshes every year. Her family knew the river well last year, but that knowledge was dangerously out of date by now. If the wanted to make it to where the tk would be stored, they need someone who had been on the river all winter, knew it well. Tamba was that man. He took the tiller, the only man her father had every let take the tiller in Birdie's time sailing with him, and guided them slowly up the seeming still water. They rode the incoming tide through the marsh, but then the river began to take over, the boat slowed, finally it stilled them completely. The wind was not in their favor so her father locked two sets of oars to each side of the boat and took a middle seat for himself, while Lulu and Birdie and Henri took the other oars. Birdie worked the starboard oar while Henri and Lulu worked the port side. Slowly the boat crept up the river. The deeper water looked black and still but their oars told a different story, battling the steady current of the river that wanted so badly to merge with the sea.

Why do you want it so badly river? Lulu wondered. What do you get out of it? You become salty. You become just another bit of water in the endlessness of the ocean, a drop, every drop once it's own, not joined with others into something more, the sea. The sea. You want to be part of the sea. You are part of the sea, it's a coming home after the long journey down the mountains to here. 

The sea had personality, the sort of thing a single drop of water might lack. The sea was something more, a home, a joining together, but greater than the sum of it parts, it was greater than just about everything. Like the rest of her family, and any one who spent any length of time around it, Lulu prayed to sea every morning, greeted it palms out. Some welcome the sun as a god, others welcome the sun so they can once again see the sea.

arriving by ship
    meeting with Cuthie
    playing on the tree
    discovering the arkhanglsk



## Sails

Lulu woke from a dream where she was gliding over the water, slow and smooth like a pelican, alone, her wing tips skimming the waves and watching the schools the fish dart from her shadow. And then she was in her usual body, lying on on a calico quilt on the sand, the sun already steaming the air around her, like a hidden kettle just coming to boil. She sat up and stretched and shook Birdie, who swatted at her. 

"Come on, Birdie, lets play what we were playing last night."

Birdie sat up groggy, rubbing her eyes gently as they had all learned to do in a world where you never knew when there might by a grain of sand on your hand. "What game again?"

"Remember?" Lulu held up the braided sweetgrass doll she'd slept with. Lulu like to curl in a ball under the blankets, no matter how hot it might be, and tuck her doll, no matter how scratchy or hard it might be, up against her chest. Her mother said she was a born cuddler. 

"Oh right," Birdie turned away and scanned the sand. Birdie had a habit of flinging her dolls away from her just before she fell asleep. She was not a doll cuddler like Lulu. 

It was Lulu who saw the doll and scrambled out of bed to grab it for her sister. She looked up from the doll and saw her mother coming out of the hut to stir the fire. She was wearing the blue dress with impossibly tiny white and yellow flowers on it that Lulu loved. Her mother was always making what Lulu thought were the most fabulous dresses, but this one she'd made last winter and Lulu had helped sew some of the seams. This morning her long hair was braid twisted up into a coil at the top of her head. Lulu always noticed the whiteness of her neck when she wore her hair up.


## Notes
She has dark hair, an easy smile. She laughs and dances when Papa plays the fiddle. Some string instrument. Sound, the book needs more sound. At night they need to play music and dance around the fire. 

 A solid green dress that is Birdie's favorite and white linen dress that their Papa liked. He grabs her and pulls her into his lap.

How what of the cousins They live further up hte river with Cuthie I think, they come around sometimes, but there is a trail that that the kids take through the woods, or do they need the boat? I don't know, let's say they need the boat fthrough the marsh and then the trail? No the trail, no boat, the boat is Papa;s thing. So there's a trail that leads back through the woods, firstone to cuthie's how and one to their cousin's house.


# Spring

## Campfire Talk

After dinner the grownups sat afround the fire, Birdie pretended to be asleep, the san was cool on her the skin of her arm, the warmth of the fire . That would not make sense, it's summer. That even a thunderstorm rolls in, cools off the land, the sunsets throught he clouds, the sound of the thunder was like drmming, a marshall, marching ound that advanced across the waves toward them. It was early, far to early for a big storm, those came later, at the end of summer, the first on was the sign it was time to move south, time to head to St Augustine for the winter. This was a thunderstorm from the south. A tk, Tamba called them. It brought a strange drop in temeprature as iff the storm were sucking something out of summer, giving it a viseral punch in the gut. No, as if summer were grathering herself up, taking a deeep breath, a momentary pause from her usual swelter to give them some reprieve. 

Birdie noticed at adults felt it too. After a dinner of fish stew mopped up with bannock, her father pulled out his fiddle and Tamba joined in with some driftwood rasps he'd been working on. The Fiddle and percussion dueled and danced with each other in Birdie's head, first her father leading then Tamba stepping to the front, stomping with his foot to add bass to his scratch and clack percussion.Mama stood up and began to slowly sway her hips, as if the music were pulling her about like a puppet. Auntie Māra came back up from the beach and swung immediately into the dance, taking up her sister's arm. Mama danced tk, her braid twisting back and forth, her feet light on the sand. The music found a patterm and the dancers hooked arms like the instruments and began to turn each other. Her uncle attempted to joun in, but neither would make room for him and he sat down again to smoke. 

It wasn't until Henri came rushing in that the sisters broke apart their dance and both reached down to each take one of Henri's arms and they began to turn in the circle, Henri pushing them ever faster. Papa picked up on it, bringing his playing in line with the increasing speed of the dance until all of them were frantically spinning and finally spin apart, spilling into the sand. Papa pulled mama into his lap wrapped his arms around her and began to play again, gesturing to Lulu, your turn. Lulu and Birdie and Henri began their own dance. 

It was late by the time fire died down and Papa traded his fiddle for his pipe. Henri was curled up against Mama, already asleep. Birdie lay next to Lulu, feeling the cool sand againster her arm, the head the fire on her back. She closed her eyes and began to drift toward sleep. In the background her parents and aunt and uncle and Tamba continued to talk in lower tones. Birdie drifted off to sleep but woke up at some point to hear her uncle still talking. 

She drifted in and out of sleep still until she heard her uncle say with conviction in his voice, "I want to come with you this year when you leave." 

She woke up completely. She could almost picture the surprised on Papa's face. It probably matched her own she thought.

"What about your wife and children?" 

"I've built a boat." Birdie's eyes sprung open, he has? 

"I want to sail up to Owen town, trade the furs I've been stockpiling and then use that money to get some supplies and take the boat south."

"That boat of yours won't make it. We'll have to tar her this summer, re-mast her if we can.

"She's my boat, I'll see to it."

Birdie tried to think of what her father would say, but he said nothing. She could hear the soft sigh of his exhale as he puffed on his pipe in silence. 

"You think it's a bad idea."

Her father still said nothing.

"You're worse than my wife," her uncle said.

Her father snorted. "You could learn something from your wife..."

She heard tk stand up. "Maybe you could learn something from me. Maybe you could make some plans with someone else for once instead of keeping all your secrets to yourself."

"Secrets?"

Birdie pretended to roll over in her sleep. Careful to neither open her eyes, nor squeeze them shut, she turned toward the fire so she could see them. Her uncle and her father hand never been the best of friends, but now it sounded very much like they were about to come to some kind of a head and Birdie planned to stop them. She could feel their eyes on her. She tried to relax her body and keep her breathing slow and even.

"I know you don't want me to come south, I know you don't want me to be part of your winter camp because that's where you meet with all your sailing people." 

Her father laughed now. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know." Your wife talks to mine. 

Her father said nothing. 

"You don't deny it?"

"No. I don't deny that there are people I know in St Augustine who sail. You have that much right."

Birdie thought of her winter camp. It was much like their summer camp, though there were hardly any trees near the coast. No pines anyway. There were alligators. She spent her time fishing. Her father often worked on ships and did other jobs around town. She loved winter camp, but there was no one to play with and the idea that Francis and Owen might come to it nearly made her jump up and cry out, yes, yes please come. 

I'm not even sure we're going this year.

What? Why not?

Her father shrugged, took another drag off his pipe. "Things are changing."

"What things?"

"All things."

Birdie risked a peek through the veil of eyelashes. She could see her father, he sat on his stump, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the fire. 

"The British are coming."

"The British are already here."

"True. But more of them are coming. Many more. They're headed for Nassau. They need to bring it in line or they'll lose it forever. But they'll get around to Owen town eventually. We'll need to be gone before that."

You're just going to leave? You can't just leave.

Sure I can.

But you're known here, you have a life here, people need you here.

for once Birdie agreed with her Uncle, though the thought of the birish made her angry. She did not like the British. Their soldiers were always drunk, their sailors cruel and unwashed, dirty med who briught nothing but pain and misery to anwhere they went it seemed to here, as far as she had ever seen anyway. Once in Owen town the soldiers in the market had pokd the slave in the market with sticks, did the slave market exist yet?

Let the british come, do you really thing they can control everything, be everywhere?

They aren't going to other with us, we're not big enough to interest them.

They're not going to bother with us beause they are not going to find us here. But do you really thing they would ignore the people who make it possible for their worst enemies to contineu sailing? Continue robbing their merchantmen? Stealing from her? Do you really thingk the Biritish crown is going to ignore that forever?

You're a coward.

Birdie could hear the fire over the silence. She watched her father contemplate his reponse, she could see him staining to hold back whatever impulse his tmemper as sending him. He exhaled slowly. You have never been to see. Her father said quiely. Do not make the mistake of thinking that because you can walk proud on the land, that you hvae anyidea what the sea is capable of doing to you. Do not presume to understand courage when you have never been out of site of land. And do not return to my fire for a while. I do not wish to see you again. I will send one of the children for you when my anger has passed. 

Her father walked off toaward the ocean. Birdie saw him in the moon light take off his deerskin skirt and run into the waves. Her father often swam at night she new. It was something he had doon since he was a small boy. It helps me sleep he had said to her once. The cold helps you sleep. Of course, the cold is not so strong here. 

Her uncle sat on the log, looking around awkwardly. She could hear him muttering something to himself, but could not make out was it was. She rolled over and stared up at the sky.

The British. Coming to Owen town. She watched shooting stars and started to count them, but her eyes kept sliding shut. When she opened them again the sun was just cresting the sea.


## Storm

It was late in the afternoon when she felt it. Lulu sat stright up in the hull of the Arkhangelsk and hit her head on a cross spar. Ow, she exclained and quickly followed it with, Birdie, do you smell that? 

What? Birdie paused and sniffed. What?

The wind is different. 

Birdie sniffed again, she put her nose to a crack and sniffed deeply.

What are you doing sister? asked Henri.

Lu says the wind smell different. 

Henri too sniffed. He cocked his head to the side and studied Birdie or a minute, then turned and studied Lulu. He shrugged. I think it smells like the sea.

"Yes," said Lulu, "but it smells like more like the sea."

Henri stared. "What did you say?"

While her brother and sister did not notice it, at nearly the same moment that Lulu had hit her head, her father had also jerked upright out of a sound sleep in a hammock slug between to pieces of drfitwood. Mother, he shout leaping out of the hammock. "It's time. Everything in the boat."

Tk came running out of the hut and looked up at the sky. "Now? Are you sure?"

Papa stopped to sniff again when Lulu came around the corner at full speed and skidded to a halt in front of her father, "Papa, the air smells different, I think there's a storm coming."

He smiled at her and turned to their mother. "Yes, mama, I am sure."

What about tk uncle?

Her father glanced out at sea. "I'm sure he'll stay in Owen town."

"You're sure."

Her father looked at the ground. "No, I am not sure. I am sure the docks will tell him to stay. Whether he will listen..."

"Greer, the boy is with him."

"There's nothing we can do."

I am going to tell tk sister's name"

"There isn't time."

Lulu's mother glared at him. 

"What good would it do Arabella? She'd worry and make herself sick and still not be able to do anything."

Lulu's mother continued to glared at him, but did not argue. Finally she sighed. Lulu get your brother and sister and then all of you come back here and start helping me pack while your father gets tk boat name."

"Yes mama."

details of breaking camp, packing everything up. Then moving up the river, past the marshes to the sheltered higher ground. Meeting up with the indians. Playing wiht the kids. The storm hits. The terror.

They had stipped the hug and broken it down completely before the wind ever increased in speek, long before the hoizen turned black. 

It wasn't until the sun was setting that they say the line of clouds, so dark and far off they nearly blended with the sea below them. Her father ran up the dunes wiht the spyglass and studied the horizon.

It came ashore as if angry, but no angy, what we see as rage is just the sea god reshaping. Ittakes tremndous foce to reshape the coastline Think what effort it would take to move this sandbar ten feet to the left. And the horricane is the seas way of moving entire islands, making cures in barrier islands to get into mangoves that haven't had a flushing of the sea in years. It reshapes, it blows hard because it has much work to do and wants to do it in little time. There are two faces to the world, one is so slow and patient it's tough to see it work. Tricle a stream down a bank of sand and it will soly cust deeper and deeper as it comes to rejoung the sea. Deerp and deeper until is reaches th sea. And everyone thinks that's the end of the sory but it's now. there are rivers in theoceans, the anmials rid them, the first follow tthem, water is always in motiion, that is it's fundamental quality it is never at rest. It is still the echo of the collision that formed the moon. 

Hwo does the father have all these wide ranging views, because he has sailed, met people from around the world, ben eposed to believes beyond those he grew up with, shapped new ones, from those he started with, abandoned those that made no sense, kept those that ddid, tweaked them to fit whatever new information he might have gained.

The slow process happen around us so subtly we hardly notice them. We see the meium process, the ones that move at our speed. We see the tides change every day, twice a day. Once a day, ti depends, but it is regular, cyuling, like the moon, we see things at out seep. 

The storm came on so strong it seemed to suck everything toward it. The wind blow out to see for a a while, then sudden it switched and began to come back like the storm had inhaled what the land had to offer and was no ready to speak. It spoke in rythm and rymme. Rising like music Lulu had heard once coming from a big house in London twon, It grew beating wvaves across the mrsh in front of them like drum tolling throught the night, it played the strees like a strong, beating its bowacrost the fronds of palms, between the neeldes of hjack pine, it rasped the reeds with a blast that nocked them flat, pinned them down to a single note that was washed over and drown out by the oncoming waves. And then everything seems to screch and wail in some kind of climax as the storm began its work of rearranging. Lulu, Birdie and Henri unddled with the mother under the shelter of the boat, but it tocked and began to move too. Her father ducked outside and added more line and went to check on Tamba and tk in their boat.when he returned they were with him. That's the last time anyone of foign to be able to walk out there without a line her father said ad the moved over to leave more room for Tabe and his family.

Tk sister names was in the stern huddled up, her arms wrapped around Charles, rocking back and forth, sobby queitly and Lulu guessed, praying. Lulyu knew if she went outside the wind would blow her away. Literally move her across the ground with more power and she had to resist it. It would shape her, i would put her wherever she wanted, she knew it and yet a part of her still watned to duck out under the gunwale and Feel it, feel her own helplessness in the face of the storm, measure herself agains this great rearranging force, to feel physically as insignificant as she sometimes felt in her head. This thing was big. she was so small in the face of it, and she could outwit it, could dodge it, could surviv it using only what she had about here. It was a feeling at once of power and fear mingled together.

Even her father could not step out into it now. Even he would sue a line of for somereason her had to go out and then suddenly, when it seemed it could get no worse, it stopped. And eery quiet calm descended upon them. The wind dropped to noting more than a windy day at the beach. Her father was out in and instant securing lines, moving branches and debris that was washing ashore.

An aligaror appoaches the boat. The ancient eye starred at them her father picked up his gun and pointed it at the create, but did not fire. For gd sakes shoot it tk sister name. 

No. If I have too I will, biut righ now I don't have too. 

The single eye regarded them. Lulu felt the fear wash over her like a storm sopped wave and she realized that though she was shivering from the wind and water that soaked, here, she felt a fot flash of fear was over her and she was swetting. She tapped her father's leg but could not find words. He stroked her hed and looked at her kindly, as if she were scared of the storm. Still she could not find the make her mouth form the words. finally in a whisper she said, "aligator" 

Her father had his postol out and pointing in the darkness so fast everyone jumped. What is Tamba screamed ove rthe whining howl of the saves. Her father pointed. The gator eased itself further in and but kept irs eye on all of them.

As scared as she was Lulu could not help thinking that that it looked every bit as scared as she did. Excpe it had giant teeth. Then again she thought, her father had a cun. A bunch of creatures thrown together, all afraind of the wind and sea and water. Maybe this was how the storm wanted to mover her, maybe id di not want to blow her thourhg the pines so much as put her under a boat with a scared aligaotr. It contineued to stare as her, and it seemed to her, only her. She stared right back, the fear faded some. One can only be truly terrified for so long, one adjusts, terriffied becomes normal. Until more terror comes to up the ante somehow and it didn't

She thought she might be losing her mind until she heard Tamba say, "It's watching her."

Her father answered just load enough to be heard over the storm, "She's edible size."

"Maybe" said Tamba. "Maybe it's just scared and curious."

"You're feeling charitable."

"You're the one who hasn't shot it."

"If I shoot it we'll all be deaf. We need our ears for the storm."

Tamba nodded, lulu could see the dglint of Tambas eye in the darkness as he nodded. They were all only eyes. The storm had sucked the light out of the evening. It was dark as early night and yet it could not have even been sunsut. it was impossible to know. 

--- 

The afternoon sun was gone. The Wind began to roll ashore in gusts ar first, spitting cand off  the tops of the dunes, whiping it into the aire and then letting it ettle again, some kind of dance between wind and done, one that ducked the dunes dipped the dunes, back, away from the sea, and then lifted them again in some kind of dance, light and bluri at the edges, stingin the skin of any create that might cut between them might be so bold as to cut between then. Very quickly though the dance became to fast to follow, the wind no longer let the sand dip, prefering the whirl it endlessly across the sandy shore dance floor. the sea because to instrde, waves moved higher as if draw by a tide, but it was not a tide it was wind, moved water over thousands of miles, piling it up here in th sahllows of the coastal water where it rose and surge forward., washing the frontal dunes first, then rising high enough to whipe out their camp, what was left, that the had not backed up was list, nothing more then the stones for the limns, though Birdie was sad to see them gone, pished out over the marsh. her father said perhaps they would find them, bu again, but Lyuly could not see how, the dunes were moving like soldier marching befor ethe wind, further bck buring reeds and sloughs and certainly and stones that folled down below them. 

The sy was dark, there was not trace of sun and it was impossible to tell the time, though Lulu thought it must be lat evening, her stomach gnaed at her sides , the water had made it all the way across the marsh, They'd see fish through helplessly across the reeds, left floudering when the storm surge pulled back, btu then it came again, more and more surging until it did not teceed anymore, but was simply the new leven of the sea.

The island they had chosen to make their stand was ten, perhaps twelve feet above the water line and now the water was threatening to rise hight enough to wash them off it. It was too late to move, the turned their boats over and her father started a small fire under one of them using the cials he had brought from came/ He kept it low, letting each twig burn to coals before allding more. 

Just enough to light toches later, if we need them he said to Birdie, who helped him stack twigs near the stern of the over turned boat. The wind was starting to blow sand up on the windward side of the overturned boat. Her father and Taba used their shuvels to pile up more and seal off the bow and windward side, making a reasonable windtight, perhaps even water tight barrier. They would know more about that when the rain began i. 

The all climed in, her father placed the stove pip in trought the sand to vent the fire. It was still smokey and hot under the boat, but it was bette rthan being out in the spitting sand and rain. Lulu sat down byt hte interance and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her omother and sister sat on the other side of the entrance tunnel, Birdie in tk's lap. Her aunt and charles were back toward the stern with tk Tamba's wife. H, Henri crawled in and paused on hands and knees loock around. He laced at lulyu but went to his mama, taking a seat on her other leg, opposite Birdie. You cant sit like this all night she said, but we can fuddle for a little while.

Her father and Tamba were still outside, she could hear them shouting to each other, trying to be heard as the wind increased aroun the. She coud hear the his of wind blown sand hittin ght full above her head. TLight flickered at the tunnel crawlspace and seconds later the sky clapped in the thunderous roat that shock the cround so hard the little mountain Lulu had been idling shaping wiht ther hands of dry sand, flattened out noticably. It was only as it sank down again that Lyuluy realized she'd been sooping up sand and letting it run out of her hand like her mother's prize timer that always hung high in the rathers, out of reach even of Birdie and Lulu. No one used the glass timer but Papa and Mama. he used it to navigate some times, though her had not in a long time. I know these waters well enough.

Then segue to the aligator at the door. First her father and Tamba come in, then the sad and curious aligator, then the brunt of the store the flashing sky, the calm of the key, the other side of the brunt, and the end of the night. Waking the next day, their hime cone, the whole cur of the shoreline different. And then the piece of tthe boat that they dind fishing the next day.

They bury him on land. The little boy, puffy and white, down. Chunks of flesh missing. Crabs eating them. They brun them in pyre, the sparks reach up like mingling wiht the stars, the after life, the next time around, etc. 

---

Scene of lulu and Bridie sailing with their father. The boat is a small coastal cruiser, junk rigged perhaps, or liek a dhak from the aftrican, Tamba and her father build the boat, cata maran single outrigger, oah rigged, triangular inverted sail, fast, stable, next to no draw, can handle some open water, but good at navigating inlet and marshes and rivers. Big enough to hold a descent catch, but also fast and capable to runnig good in from a ship to shore under the cover of sarkness. Her father helps unload ships that sail that come in the beginning. The firls see their father take the boat out at night. Meet the sail. He helps bring treasue and men ashore. Load it into wagons and smuggle it into Owen twon. guns and run. Lulu and Birdie get to help , this is their fist time. perhaps, something similar to ricing camp disaster? does that fir or do they simply see it happen and her father tells the story abroudn the fire. 

Need to get wise old Tamba in camp and telling stories. Not necessaryly all african stories. He;s sailed widely, all around the world and knows stories from nearly every culture. He becomes a way to get out of the rut of any one point of view. He tells tails I can borrow from the myths of many cultures. Thwich means I can't be accursed the approation, or at least not any one appropriation. If you steal from everyone everyon will be mad. Might as well I suupose. What's the harm. If you're going to go, go all the way.

so Tamba comes to the fire and starts to tell stories, her father tries to get him to stop but the fgirls, and the reader begin eto put things together, the swimming at night, the sailing at night, the sails on the horizen, Tabna's stories of beinging goods into the harbor. Then her father asks for a story aout tk, something to get the kids away from being curious about whta all he does besides making tar.

What does he do, he helpos get the goods ashore and brings water out to the boats when the need it. dried fish, he's paid in whatever the boat has, somethimes rich fabrics their mother makes into fine dresses f, sometimes rum, which her father sells to the taverns in charlestown. Perhaps there's  ascene where they all go to charles town to trade the rum for money and the kids get to go to the traders, scene at the slave market. That could be a rough one. need to find out when slavery reeally took off, when the slave market opened. woiuld it have been their in 1705? If not then some seen of blacks being treated poorly and the family's rage. Maybe her father buys someone, a child perhaps, a man and a child. Her father hauls them back out to camp and sets them free. They help out and then they go to join a crew. 

Tamba asks them their names, asks if they can sail. They buy someone that can and set them free.

# Glossary

**Bow**: The front of a boat
**Stern**: The back of a boat
**Port**: The left side of a boat
**Starboard**: The right side of a boat
**Taffrail**: Rail round the stern of a ship 
**Northerly swell**: a swell moving from north to south
**Southerly swell**: a swell moving from south to north
**Southerly wind**: a wind blowing from the south to the north
**Northerly wind**: a wind blowing from the north to the south.
**Lateen rigged**: One of the earliest triangular sail designs, this rig allows the tk to sail much closer to the wind (35 degrees to the wind with a skilled captain) than a square rigged ship of the line, which could only manage something like 50.
**Caravel**: The ship that, for better or worse, brought Europe to the rest of the world. The Portuguese developed the Caravel off a fishing boat design in roughly 1451. It proved so successful that it dominated the spice trade for nearly 100 years, though it had a good bit of competition from the Carrack, which was square rigged in the fore and main, but still Lateen rigged on the Mizzen. The Carrack was somewhat stabler in heavy seas and could carry larger loads.