Chain Locker by Bob Chaulk Read Free Book Online Page A

before the wind towards Greenland.
    Then with a wink and a triumphant, “No, no, here it is!” Simeon handed it over.
    Dodging the smirks and feigned mockery, Henry took one of the lamps, went into the parlour, and closed the door to read the coveted letter in private. Away from the warmth of the big range in the kitchen, he could see his breath in the dingy, sombre room with its red Victorian chairs and dark woodwork. It was rarely used except for important company, and hardly ever in winter. He rolled his sleeves down and buttoned them at the wrists.
    He held the letter to his heart and, closing his eyes for a moment, he envisioned Emily writing to him, seated at the kitchen table, most likely late in the evening, probably wearing the white cotton blouse and long blue skirt she had worn to the schoolhouse that day. His heart raced at the thought of her letting down her auburn hair, her delicate fingers pushing it back with long strokes from her forehead, her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling. He longed to hold those graceful hands that had carefully folded his letter and placed it into this envelope.
    It was now over a month since he had seen her, held her in his arms and felt her embrace. Now that he was heading to the seal hunt he had no idea when he would see her again. Certainly it would be months. The words he was about to read would sustain him over the next weeks.
    He opened it and held it close to the dim, yellow lamp, the only source of light or warmth in the room. It was a single sheet of paper, much shorter than her other letters, which were usually filled with heartwarming stories about her pupils, the news of the town, the latest on the Ashbournes, the town’s leading family, what was happening at church, the goings-on at the Women’s Institute, a word or two about Gennie’s health. But it didn’t take much paper to say yes.
    Dear Henry…
    He stopped. Every letter she had ever written him began “Dearest Henry” or ”My Dear Henry.”
    There was none of that. This time Emily got down to business.
    You have been on my mind and in my heart constantly as I have considered how to answer your proposal of marriage. I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting for so long.
    The decision has been difficult, but I’ve decided that I’m not ready for marriage. My decision is in no way a reflection on you. The problem lies with me and not you. I have some things I need to sort out.
    Be careful at the ice. If you want, we can talk some more when you get back.
    With love,
    Emily
    Henry looked up from the letter and stared at the lamp. It was an apt companion, its dim, flat flame bravely trying to overcome the darkness, but unable to. He was numb.
    He read it again but that did not change what the letter said. All the anticipation over the winter, awaiting the good news, had not prepared him for this bitter moment. All his visions of the future had Emily at the centre, and now he could feel his dreams fading into the darkness that crowded in on the little lamp.
    Things to sort out? What things could she possibly have to sort out? he wondered. I’ll bet her fear of marrying a sailor finally got to her. I should have told her I was willing to give up the sea, especially after that fiasco on my last trip. It’s got to be that—or else I’ve been kidding myself and she doesn’t love me at all.
    No, she had told him she loved him. It had to be the sailor thing. But, even though he was ready to give all that up for her, had he actually told her so?
    For some reason he was unable to explain, he had not. Nor had he told her the reason for his sudden return home last fall. He was claiming to have ambitions for a nautical career and yet here he was spending the winter at home. Why wasn’t he gaining experience aboard a ship heading to the Caribbean or the Mediterranean? He was trying to have it both ways and she had probably sensed it in his behaviour. He had not