Free The Solitude of Thomas Cave by Georgina Harding Page A

her calm again, and yet her fear had communicated itself to him as he silently recalled that her own mother
had not lived beyond her birth.
    There was a woman in the district who knew about these things. He did not feel at ease with her. She had a thin white face
and long teeth, and her hair was all put away in a cap as if she might be bald beneath, and yet her ugliness did not prevent
her from talking good sense. 'No whale my dear but too much cheese you ate. Those bones you feel will be the boy's legs, for
with that shape you have he'll be a boy for sure, and a tall one. Have you not seen how they are, a newborn's legs? They come
out bent from being so long cramped up inside, bent like those of a trussed chicken.'
    Yet she gave her an ale that she had brewed from sage and other herbs, and returned on the following day and felt Johanne's
belly again, and this time she rubbed both her belly and her back with oils of violets and poppies. He saw then that she had
soft white hands like those of a lady and that her fingernails were trim and clean. He had more confidence in her, seeing
that, and chose to walk with her back to her house. A ship had just come in at the quay and the street was packed with its
comings and goings. Their talk was interrupted often as some hasty figure divided them or they must step aside before a trolley
or a cart.
    'She's all right, isn't she?'
    'She's young.'
    'And strong. You've seen her.'
    'She looks strong enough.'
    Again he tried for reassurance.
    'The fear is all in her mind, don't you think? You must see that often, the first time.'
    'See that she drinks that ale I gave her each morning when she wakes. That will make her strong and help her to hold the baby
until her time.'
    'And the baby, the baby's well?'
    A sailor brushed between them and when they came together again he had just a glance from her small brown eyes. 'Keep some
pears in her chamber. Good, big pears. That will stop it from coming too soon.'
    That was the week of Christmas. They spent it warmly, the three of them, Johanne, her father and himself. He had money still
from his Greenland voyage, and he went about the city and bought them gifts, a length of fine russet wool for Johanne and
a piece of fine-tooled Cordovan leather for Hans. He felt sure now that he would be able to settle with them on land, was
impatient even to do so after so many years. Just once more would he go to sea, in the summer that followed, and with good
whaling bring back enough to set them up. Johanne cooked a goose and for those days she too was happy and seemed to lay her
fears aside. He took his fiddle down from the wall and played to them, and if she could not dance in such a lively way as
she had before, then she could get up in her pleasure and stamp her foot or clap her hands and sway from side to side so that
her loosened hair flowed behind her. Without a word Hans took up his sticks and hobbled away to bed, and he played on and
was proud of her, so grand in scale that she might be a figurehead and break the waves and lead men out to sea.
    Christmas Day. In celebration I have cooked the last of my hung store of venison stewed with plums. I have awarded myself
     a flagon of wine and seven inches of tobacco. It has been a mild day, for which God be praised, and I have forsaken my habitual
     chores and eaten generously and sat long at my table like a lord. At noon I left the cooking upon the stove and took a stroll
     outside. For a brief time I saw a faint white glow on the horizon that tells me that the glorious sun shines on the day far
     to the south. I take comfort from knowing that December nears its close and the deepest of this long night is passed.
    Strong, heavy food it was, a hunter's food, the meat a little high but the plums and spices and the long cooking made it tolerable
enough. Sometimes his gut pines if not with hunger then with need of some other thing to eat. The grasses he gathered lasted
well but he has nothing