Free Lucy: Daughters of the Sea #3 by Kathryn Lasky

cause a real scandal. But as she thought about the alternative, an afternoon at the Quoddy Club, the decision became clear. “Thank you. I would really like to see the boatyard.”
    “Well, follow me,” he replied.
    She pulled down her straw sun hat a bit farther to shade her face and fell into step beside him. He had long legs and he was walking quickly. She dipped her chin a bit and, keeping her eyes down, smiled to herself as she spotted his sea boots. There was something delicious about walking with someone who’d look so wonderfully out of place in the Ogmonts’ drawing room.
    Lucy loved the Heanssler yard the moment she set foot inside. Phineas took her on an extensive tour, beginning with the shed where the shipwrights worked. She loved the smell of the wood and the varnish, and the sounds of the caulking hammers pressing oakum between the planks to make a craft water-tight. The boatyard was an orderly little universe in which the tasks of building a fine, swift craft assumed the beauty and sanctity that was as holy as any church ritual.
    Phin led her up the stairs to the sail loft, where both men and women cut and sewed the long strips of canvas for the sails. Most fascinating of all, however, was the drafting room, where Phineas and his father worked, drawing the lines of the hulls and the sail plans. It seemed to Lucy that the business of boatbuilding, although mysterious, was one of the most honest endeavors in the world.
    Then he led her into a smaller room where, against the wall, were models of every boat they had ever designed, from coastal fishing boats to steamers to the brilliant New York Yacht Club “one-design” boats and the large sleek yachts like the Bellamys’. She walked up to one that was a deep reddish color. “What kind of wood is it?” she asked.
    Phin glanced at the model. “Pine, mostly. It’s soft and easy to work. That’s an old model. Pine turns red over time.” He turned to face Lucy. “Kind of like your hair color, isn’t it?”
    The sudden intensity of his gaze made her shiver. “I’m not that old,” Lucy said, trying to hide her nervousness. “This was carved in 1870!” She laughed. “So how does the model help you?” It was amazing to Lucy that they were both conversing so easily now. Something about the boatyard seemed to put them both at ease.
    Phin walked over toward her and picked up the model. “First, we make a preliminary sketch, on a small scale, and try to predict all the values, like weight, flotation, center of mass. Then I carve a study model.” He replaced the model on the shelf and patted the holster on his belt. “Though not this one; 1870 is a bit before my time as well.”
    “But where does the shape begin?” Lucy asked, running her hand along another nearby model.
    “Up here.” Phin tapped his head. “It’s like you said. I dream it.” A thrill ran through her. She couldn’t believe he had remembered her words from that day.
    “Just dream? Is that all it takes?” she asked.
    “No. There’s plenty of math. We have to do a lot of calculations after we draw the lines.”
    “It sounds a good deal more complicated than tennis.”
    “It’s just what I do. Born to do, I guess you could say.”
    “Born to do,” Lucy murmured. What exactly was she born to do? For some reason she thought of the cave. “I’d better be on my way. My mother will be worried.” The anxieties she had so willfully dispatched twenty minutes before suddenly rushed through her. What if her mother saw her leaving the boatyard? What excuse could she make up? She twirled the tennis racket in her hand.
    “Come back anytime, Miss Snow,” Phin said, returning to his formal demeanor. “I’ll show you out.”
    Say when. Don’t be so vague! she wanted to scream. She felt utterly stupid standing there, twirling the tennis racket. When it clattered to the floor, she blushed to her roots. “I told you I couldn’t play.”
    “I thought you were just standing there,