Free High Tide at Noon by Elisabeth Ogilvie Page B

eyes and Donna’s were the same clear bright gray-blue, crinkling at the corners and full of tiny sparkles when they laughed. Whoever got Philip would be luckiest of all the Bennett wives, Joanna thought. But all Bennett wives would be fortunate women.
    Moving quickly between kitchen and pantry, she thought it would be strange indeed if Life didn’t dip her brothers’ wings. Hers had been clipped almost before she knew how to spread them. But if it had to be women who did it—and she knew the boys were too full of life and blood to live without women—she hoped with all her heart they would choose women of good stock, intelligent, serene, and clear­eyed, like their mother; women who were fit to carry the Bennett name, and bring strong healthy Bennett children into the world.
    There’d been too many compulsory marriages on the Island and on Brigport for her not to realize the risks. There was Marcus Yetton, who’d been studying radio by correspondence, and had been considered a boy of great promise till Susie came into the picture. Susie, daughter of a transient fisherman who’d rented a camp for the summer to go trawling for hake. She’d been slovenly and dullwitted, with a faint gleam of prettiness that died as soon as the baby was on the way. Now all Marcus’ promise was forgotten; it was a baby a year (in a vain effort to keep Susie at home, the Island said), a boat forever on the beach for repairs, and Susie an uncouth little slut who was a byword on the Island. And Marcus dragged down, down, till he was as low as she.
    Jeff Bennett, Joanna’s cousin, had a wife somewhere, living with her people. He sent five dollars a week for the child. And Thordis Sorensen, Nils’ cousin and Thea’s sister, got into trouble with Forest Merrill. They fought terribly, the whole Island knew it; Forest was always swearing she’d tricked him, that somebody else had been there first. . . .
    It was something that could happen so easily, a wretched marriage like this, to anyone who was as fullblooded and vigorous as the Bennett boys. But they’re Bennetts , she thought now, as their laughter and tomfoolery rang in her ears. They weren’t just like anybody else, they weren’t even like Jeff and Hugo. They had a pride in their name. It was that which would keep them straight.
    Her mother gave her a light spank. “Look at all these starving men, and you lallygagging around with your mouth open like little Annie Yetton!”
    â€œWhere’s the food?” Owen struck the dresser with a huge brown fist, and the lamps jumped.
    â€œThere goes that rooster again!” said Philip. They streamed toward the table, toward the fresh-baked hot yeast rolls and yellow butter churned in Nate Bennett’s kitchen, the baked stuffed lobster that was Joanna’s choice for her birthday supper, the potatoes in their crisp, shiny brown jackets, the pickles that held the spicy sweetness of last summer, the kale that might have been freshly picked instead of taken from a jar in the cellarway, the strong, good coffee, and the yellow Jersey cream in the squat pitcher.
    They all talked at once, and to Joanna it was as if they were all warm and safe against the March wind and dusk outside—and against everything else. Nothing could touch them; her love for them all reached out and encompassed them. Though Mark and Stevie were at school on the mainland, they were all one together, so would always be.
    It was while Joanna was cutting the cake that Stephen leaned back in his chair, looking rather pleased with life, and said, “Well, the folks for the Binnacle will be here tonight. Ned Foster called up when I was in the store this afternoon—the mailboat’s moving them out.”
    â€œI’m glad somebody’s going to live in that little house at last,” Donna said, smiling faintly. “It’s such a nice little house, right on the harbor. I hated to leave