Free The Seary Line by Nicole Lundrigan Page A

slipped and fell, knees crunching against cold stone.
    â€œYou’re a girl, that’s why.”
    â€œSo?” Spite damming up the flow of tears.
    â€œGirls’ll never be as strong as men. No matter how hard they tries.” A mocking tune in his words.
    She lunged at Amos, arms swinging, while Amos danced left and right, easily avoiding her punches.
    â€œYoungsters!” A few strides, boots dragging over the rocks, and he was between them. “Never fight amongst yourselves, you hear me?”
    â€œIt idn’t fair. Boys can shave their heads if they wants, wear whatever they likes, do whatever they likes, and look at me?” She yanked her braids, hauled up the leg of her trousers to display lisle stockings. “Itching the legs right off me.”
    Percy’s voice was firm. “Don’t bemoan what you is, Stella. Some things you can’t change.”
    She growled quietly, but complied. “Yes, Father.”
    â€œGod knows girls is wonderful creatures.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    He squeezed Stella’s skinny upper arm, then knocked her on the head, winked. “Besides, sometimes being strong got nothing to do with muscles. Do you understand me?”
    She shrugged, and he said, “Someday you will, maid. It’s all right in here.” He tapped his chest. “Rolled up tight like a supper bun.”
    â€œYes, Father.”
    â€œNow then,” Percy said, clapping his callused hands together. “How’s about one more load? Shouldn’t take a minute with my two best workers.”
    â€œI’ll fill my bucket first,” Amos cried.
    â€œThat you won’t,” she hollered, and she was right. Fluttering hands scooped the slippery kelp, jammed it into her bucket. Task complete, she leaped up, arms in the air, brazen white belly exposed to the damp salt air.
    Amos sniffed, said, “No fair,” even though it was.
    As Percy carted the buckets up over the hill, he turned to watch them once again, unflinching as the rusty metalhandles cut into his palms. Together, they skittered across the beach, and the ocean seemed to mimic their glee, painting the stones grey-green as its wet fingers darted and poked, watery voice singing quietly.
    For these children, that stretch of land contained a treasure trove of toys. They smashed empty sea-urchin shells, picked at the edges of a withered jellyfish, skimmed slender rocks across the rippling water. Crouching near a miniature salty pool, they discovered secret life tucked among the rocks. Percy watched their small faces, mesmerized expressions. He could not hear them exactly, but knew the words they were chanting as they held the tiny black coils close to their mouths. A childish threat of sorts:
    â€œSnailie, snailie, come out of your hole
Or we’ll beat your mother black as coal.”
    Percy laid the buckets at his feet and placed a hand over his heart. A tender spot had formed beneath his breastbone, likely caused by a perpetual emotion now residing within him. Though the onlooker might not guess, Percy was a man who was filled with joy. Cavernous holes, formed when he was a child, were now brimming. But instead of lifting his soul from his shoes, it stifled him, this unnatural sensation.
    â€œHey, Dad,” Stella cried. She was standing on a wet rock that jutted out into the sea. “Look! The frog is rolling in.”
    He smiled inside, looked out on the horizon and saw the grim clouds creeping forward. When Stella was very young, she mistakenly used the word frog for fog. No one ever corrected her, and even though she now knew the difference, they still continued to use the word amongst themselves.
    â€œYes,” he responded. “It’s going to get froggy.”
    As contentment continued to settle, Percy choked on a silent fear. It was the fear of absence, of loss, and the pain he knew would rise up in its place. He sensed this progression was inevitable, braced himself