Free The Fisher Lass by Margaret Dickinson Page A

time. But you see, hen, I loved George Lawrence. And he,’ she ended simply, ‘was here.’
    ‘But you still call Scotland “home”?’
    The two women exchanged a glance. ‘Aye well,’ Nell said. ‘You never forget your roots, do you, hen?’ She paused a moment and then asked gently, as if already
half-guessing the answer, ‘And your father?’
    Mutely, Jeannie shook her head and then the words came haltingly. ‘He – he didna come back from his last trip. He was with the fleet – the herring fleet. He has . . .’
She hesitated and then deliberately said, ‘Had – his own little steam drifter.’ She bit her lip and fell silent.
    ‘How long since his boat went missing?’ Nell’s soft, lilting voice was a balm to Jeannie’s tormented heart. The sound of home and yet far enough away to lend a remoteness
that in itself was a comfort.
    ‘It’s – it’s been four months now. I know it must sound foolish, but that’s why I came further south. I thought he might have put into another port for a wee while
for repairs and then maybe moved on, following the herring fleet, y’ken . . .? Her voice trailed away. Then Jeannie pulled in a deep breath and with a determined effort, she said, more
strongly, ‘But I know I ought to face the fact that he – he’s gone. If he’d been all right, I’d have heard by now. He wouldna have let me go this long without a word
from him.’
    ‘Aw lassie, I’m sorry.’ Nell had reached out and gripped the girl’s hand, but she probed no further.
    The room was silent for a moment save for the ticking of the clock and the spitting of a log on the fire.
    ‘How long was it before you married Mr Lawrence? After you’d met him, I mean?’
    ‘Och well, I went on with the fisher lasses right down the coast to Yarmouth, but instead of going back home at the end of the season, I came back here and we were married on his next
shore leave.’ She smiled impishly at the memory. ‘There were a few too many local girls with their eye on George Lawrence for my liking.’ A slight shadow crossed her eyes as she
murmured, ‘One in particular . . .’ Then she cleared her throat and was smiling again, ‘And I couldna let him escape
my
net, now could I?’
    As they laughed together, Nell glanced up at the clock and her expression sobered. ‘It’s time Grace was home. Surely she can’t be working as late as this again?’
    ‘Would you like me to go and look for her?’
    ‘No, no, Jeannie. I’ll wait up. You be away to your bed. Tomorrow’s a big day . . .’ Her face was wreathed in a happy smile again. ‘The men will be home
again.’
    As Jeannie rose Nell reached up and patted her cheek affectionately. ‘Sleep well, hen.’
    When George Lawrence stepped into the house, Nell came alive. The big man brought light and laughter into the little terraced house and even the ever-present net lay limply,
half-braided, against the wall whilst Nell bustled about after her husband. It wasn’t that she was miserable when he was at sea, but the moment he came home there was a sparkle in her eyes, a
smile on her lips and an extra spring to her step.
    ‘Get yar bonnets on, girls. I’ve been for me settlings . . .’ He spilled a bundle of notes and coins on to the table. ‘It was a good trip, so I’m taking you into
the town. You too, Jeannie.’ He reached out and gathered most of the notes together. ‘Here’s your housekeeping, Nell. And this . . .’ he picked up the remaining money,
‘is to spend.’
    He took them to Main Street, Nell, Grace and Jeannie.
    ‘It’s lucky there were no herring boats in today, else you’d have missed this,’ Grace said, linking her arm through Jeannie’s, but her new-found friend’s
reply was a heavy sigh.
    ‘The shoals of fish are moving south. The girls will be going too soon.’
    ‘Shall you go?’
    Jeannie shrugged. ‘I dinna ken.’ Then she smiled. ‘Let’s no’ think about it today. Let’s enjoy ourselves.’
    ‘Yes,