August Gale by Barbara Walsh Read Free Book Online

bottled the flakes to rub on tired and sore eyes; potions of kerosene and molasses were blended to soothe a ragged cough. From the graves of pious souls, they gathered pebbles to ease achy teeth; in the woods, they plucked juniper and dogberries for upset stomachs; and from the shores, they picked seashells and seaweed, the makings of a poultice for festering wounds.
    They believed in the old ways, and the Marystown Irish heeded the omens and superstitions that had passed from one generation to the next. A fisherman’s wife dared not conjure bad luck by calling her husband back once he departed out the door on his journey; she did not wave good-bye for fear a wave would sweep her man to his watery grave. And while their husbands fished the sea, wives took care not to overturn a bread or cake pan, lest they overturn or upset their man’s dory or vessel. And never did a whistle pass their lips, for the sound would surely summon a storm at sea. ’Twas understood by all that “a whistling woman and a crowing hen, bring the devil out of his den.”
    Lillian and the ladies of Marystown guarded against a great many misfortunes, and they kept careful watch for omens of death. A picture or calendar falling off the wall, a moaning dog or a banshee wind, a broken clock that suddenly counted the hour portended a sudden passing of family or friend. Women and children quickly crossed themselves when a single crow flew overhead, warding off the blackbird’s bad luck. Few of the young would venture out after dark or into the woods without a bit of bread in their pockets for the fairies or spirits that might cross their path. And how many wives had tokens, dreams of their husbands drowning at sea before they were lost? More than Lillian wanted to count. Her dreams were most vivid when Paddy was at sea. She dreamt of dark shapes, roiling waves, and horses galloping wildly, horses that heralded oncoming storms. When Paddy had shipwrecked Golden Glow on his way back from Prince Edward Island, hadn’t her dreams haunted her? She heard cries among ragged waves, faceless men screaming.
    The storm had blown in suddenly as Golden Glow sailed from Prince Edward Island past Codroy on Newfoundland’s northwest coast. The winds and waves rammed the schooner onto the rocks, and Paddy and his crew scrambled into their dories, rowing safely to shore. Even Paddy’s loyal sea dog floated in on the captain’s sea chest. Days later, Paddy returned to Marystown unharmed with another yarn to share, one more story for the old and young lads on the wharves. There was only laughter in his voice as he bragged about boarding the train that took him and his men from the west to east coast of Newfoundland. As Paddy prepared to step onto the train, the conductor eyed the large black dog by his side. “Sorry, Skipper. No dogs allowed on the train.”
    â€œHe survived the damn shipwreck like the rest of us,” Paddy hollered. “He’s coming on board.” Paddy pushed past the conductor, the dog at his heels.
    Paddy did not share the other details with Lil, the ferocious wind that toppled the boat like a toy, or how quickly the schooner sank beneath the water, the sea rushing through the gaping hole in her side. No, he never shared those stories with her; she was left to imagine them on her own, and she had no trouble coming up with those visions. No trouble a’tall. She had counted him dead many times, dreamt of the telegram, edged in black, that would bear the news of his loss. How many years could he continue? Lillian wondered. He was nearly fifty now, surely it was time to give up the sea as his two brothers who had left Newfoundland had done. Lillian thought of them now, Ambrose and Leo, both of them living in New York. Ambrose had never taken to the fishing. Maybe he was the smartest of them all for it , Lillian thought. Leo had sworn off the sea in 1922 after he and his brother Ernest nearly perished on