Refuge Cove by Lesley Choyce Read Free Book Online Page A

and waves, andeven though the storm raged all around, we were suddenly okay. Harold was in control. We were away from the rocks and in deep water.
    â€œYou can only fight a storm like this for so long,” Harold said as I climbed back down. “Then you have to learn to ride it out. Harrington Cove is up there somewhere. Deep water the whole way.”
    A few minutes ago, everything had seemed like chaos. Now we were going west, with the wind. I could see there was an awesome order to the sea and the storm. A minute ago they were trying to rip us apart. Now we were skidding along at an amazing speed—engine, waves, wind all working for us.
    The sky cut loose with a cold pelting rain. I helped Tamara and her family down into the cabin. Tamara’s father still had a troubled look about him. “It’s okay now,” I told him.
    He took his finger and traced across my arm where he had first sliced me with his knife. “Sorry,” he said.
    â€œForget it,” I told him. “It was an honest mistake.”
    We rounded a low headland and Harold eased the boat into Harrington Cove. Finally we were protected from the worst of the storm. When we got to the wharf, we tied up the battered boat and Harold went looking for his cousin, Russell. Russell took us home, got us some dry clothes, a couple of gallons of tea and chowder, and then drove us around to Deep Cove. He never once asked about Tamara and her family.
    After all that we’d been through, it seemed strange to be home, safe and sound, long before my mother came back from St. John’s.
    Then a strange car pulled up.
    â€œShould we hide?” Tamara asked.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    But when the door opened and my mom walked in with the guy from immigration, I had second thoughts.
    â€œDon’t anyone move,” the man said, dropping his briefcase and holding out his hands, “until I have a chance to explain. My name is Wilkins. I’m with the Department of Immigration.”
    I looked at my mom like she was some kind of traitor. I went and sat down beside Tamara.
    Wilkins took off his coat and sat on a wooden chair. He started to open his briefcase as he began to speak, but my mother stopped him.
    â€œThere have been others,” she said, speaking directly to Tamara. “The government is aware of who you are. No one wants to send you back.”
    She sat silently as Tamara translated to be sure her parents understood.
    Wilkins shuffled some papers in his briefcase. “I can’t officially say that you have refugee status, but if you are who you say you are, we already know your situation. We can do the first step of processing you in St. John’s tomorrow. Then we will put you ona plane to Toronto. There you can join other people from your country who can sponsor you. You need a sponsor to look out for your financial needs.”
    Tamara translated again. But I could tell she didn’t like what she was saying. They seemed to be arguing. Something was still wrong.
    Then Tamara spoke up. She seemed very nervous now. “We want to stay here.”
    â€œIn Deep Cove?” The man seemed flabbergasted.
    â€œIn Deep Cove,” she repeated. Her father nodded.
    â€œWe have standard procedures …” Wilkins began. Before he could get another word out, the door flew open. In walked Harold, who had obviously been listening at the door.
    â€œThe hell with standard procedures,” he told Wilkins. “If they want to stay, let “em stay.”
    Wilkins looked up, a bit startled by this wild-haired old rum smuggler. “Who are you?” he asked.
    â€œIt don’t matter who I am,” he said.
    â€œNo, it certainly doesn’t.” Mr. Immigration turned back to my mother as if she would support him. “What I’m offering these people is a chance to move to a city where there is opportunity. Where they can be with others from their country. And, of course, there is also a