Free The Ebbing Tide by Elisabeth Ogilvie

Sou-west Point belonged to the Bennetts too. When you thought of all the land in the Island’s three hundred and sixty-five acres, you knew Uncle Nate’s Place wasn’t so big after all.
    The sun lay warmly on her head, and there was a mild, dream-like atmosphere around her. The wind had gone down. The harbor moved against the shores in pale blue peace, the gulls stood in a white row on the boatshop roof. Dick, his coat gleaming with bronze lights, followed Jamie toward the beach. When Jamie grew up, he would walk like Nils, she thought, and the idea brought Nils before her almost as vividly as if he’d been hauling his skiff up over the beach rocks. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left, but he had warned her about that. Ellen had written that he’d come to Pruitt’s Harbor to see her and the rest of the family. Beyond that, she knew nothing of his movements. But she wasn’t disturbed by the blankness. When she could see him as clearly as this, in the soft bright clarity of the silent noon, she could not worry. It would be only when she could no longer summon him up, or recollect exactly the tones of his voice, that she would be afraid.
    â€œJoanna!” The hail rang out in the stillness, shattering her mood of peace. It was Sigurd, standing on the wharf above the lobster car. His blond head gleamed, so did his grin. “Come over and see what I found today!”
    Jamie, his hands full of stones, was almost down to the water’s edge. He gave her a pleading look, and she nodded. “You can throw them, Jamie.” She walked out on the wharf, and Sigurd, looking immensely proud of himself, pointed out at the harbor.
    â€œSee? Found it driftin’ out by the Hogshead, and I towed it in.”
    â€œWhat?” She couldn’t tell where his big scarred forefinger was pointing, and he jabbed it in annoyance.
    â€œThere! On Stevie’s moorin’!”
    She stared, frowning and perplexed, at the big black cylinder, bobbing gently in the tide. Light reflected brightly from its wet rounding surface. Sigurd went on eagerly, his big voice reverberating against her eardrums.
    â€œI tied it up out there, and then I called up the Coast Guard. They’re sendin’ a boat out to see if it’s any good—”
    â€œWell, what is it?” she demanded.
    â€œA mine,” said Sigurd. “Can you figger that?” His voice cracked in ludicrous amazement. “There it was, floatin’ around . . . must of got loose from somewhere. “ Almagstige Gud ,’ I said to myself, “Sig, you’re a lucky kid. Lucky you didn’t run into it.”’ He laughed uproariously, and Joanna smiled, but her impression was that of pure horror.
    â€œDo you think . . . it’s a good one?” she asked quietly, resisting an impulse to run down to the beach and pick up Jamie.
    Sigurd shrugged violently. “How do I know? That’s why I called the Coast Guard.”
    â€œYou’d better watch out none of the others run into it coming in to the car.”
    â€œSure. Be just like Franny to smash to hell into it. Be the biggest noise he ever made, huh?” He threw back his head and laughed again.
    â€œWell, I’ll get on with my walk. You did fine, Sigurd. I’ll expect to see you towing in the Deutschland some day.” She left him standing in the self-satisfied contemplation of his find, and went down to the beach.
    â€œCome on, Jamie,” she said with a sharpness she didn’t mean for him. “You can throw more stones later.” Jamie threw all his stones at once, with a fine tragic air, and climbed the sloping beach laboriously. He would walk with her, but his disapproval was plain.
    They went up toward the homestead, and the sky was as blue, the colors in the marsh as lovely, but the dreamlike feeling was gone, and she felt her nerves tightening. She fought against the increasing tension; she took deep