Free Galore by Michael Crummey Page B

that he was growing wild and strange in his thoughts from spending so much time with Judah. Callum walked the thin line of defending his friend without drawing his wife’s anger squarely down upon himself, repeating generalities about the wonders wrought on the shore in the time since Judah had come among them—the fishery’s unprecedented run of luck, the steadily growing population.
    Almost three hundred souls were settled on the shore by this time and each spring Spurriers’ ships brought planters and their families and young men and women who took positions as servants before striking out on their own. The abundance of Judah’s first year continued, though for most newcomers his talismanic appearance and stench were little more than oddities, the tales of his arrival and influence on the fish an entertainment. It seemed more likely the story of the whale was born from Jude’s strangeness than the other way round. Even people who had witnessed the events began downplaying the evidence of their senses, and each season saw Judah’s status dwindle slightly in the minds of fishermen who preferred to think their success the result of their own cunning and skill and hard work.
    King-me Sellers’ operation expanded to meet the demands of the unexpected prosperity with a cooperage and smithy and a handful of new stores and warehouses, and additional clerks to keep account of the credit given to fishermen in the spring and the quintals of salt cod used to pay off their debt in the fall. A young Englishman named Barnaby Shambler opened a public house where he sold India ale and dark rum from the Jamaica trade. Some of the local planters—Callum among them—had done well enough that they were cutting and milling lumber each winter to build real houses with wooden floors and stone chimneys. A Church of England minister had finally settled in Paradise Deep, a flagpole out front of the new church in the absence of a bell, St. George’s cross raised to call people to Sunday worship morning and evening. All of it thanks to Judah, or so some believed.
    —I don’t know how you can call that Reverend Dodge a good thing, Lizzie said.
    —Now Lizzie, you can’t blame Jude for the preacher.
    —If you can credit him for the fish, why can’t I blame him for the minister?
    There was no talking to the woman, he thought.
    —You aren’t going over there tonight are you, Callum?
    —What, and miss the bishop’s parade?
    Lizzie made a face. —Someone is going to get killed before this is all over, she said. She caught sight of Judah and Lazarus and the dog coming up the path from the Rooms, the tricorn on Jude’s head. —Where did his nibs get that hat? she asked.
    —Lazarus brung it down to him this afternoon, Callum told her. —Said he found it on the ground.
    —Found it on the ground, Lizzie said dismissively. —A little liar you’re raising, Callum Devine.
    Mary Tryphena was just outside the open doorway, carding wool in her lap. She considered telling Lizzie how the hat came to hand but decided it was better to stay clear of the argument. She was planning to take in the celebrations as well and wasn’t willing to risk her mother refusing to let her attend. After the parade there was a garden party planned at Selina’s House and Mary Tryphena had yet to lay eyes on Absalom since he’d sailed home in the spring. Twenty now and a man to look at, is what she heard. She’d hardly thought of him while he was gone though each new proposal forced her to reconsider his letter and the autumn of gifts he’d treated her to. She was nostalgic for the innocence of the exchange, considering herself a worldly woman now. And she was interested to know, in an idle way, if he had thought of her at all in his years away.
    King-me Sellers had lobbied the Church of England to send a minister to Paradise Deep for almost a quarter century. He felt the lack of a church was a mark against the village he’d built from nothing and saw as a