Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [43]
“How did you come to own this nice boat?”
Berry’s smile faded to a grimace. “My papa builds—built—builds one every year, to float down to Graymouth. He and my big brother do the timberwork, and I do the caulking and fitting. He’s been taking us kids along ever since my mama died when I was ten.” Her expression softened. “He’d come back upriver working as a hand on a keelboat, he and my big brother, with me and my little brother as cargo, till I learned me how to play the fiddle for the keelers. Then I got paid more than him! He used to complain mightily about that, in a proud sort of way.”
Fawn nodded understanding. “Papas,” she offered. Berry sighed agreement.
Fawn considered the worrisome hesitation in Berry’s description of her papa, and how to tactfully phrase her next question. “Does he, um…not build boats anymore?”
Berry crossed her arms under her breasts and regarded Fawn with a hard-to-figure stare. She drew breath and seemed to come to some decision. “I don’t know. He and my big brother took a boat down last fall and never came back in the spring. Never heard anything about them, though I asked all the keelers I knew to watch out for signs and pass the word back. This here boat, he’d left half-finished. I finished it up and loaded it, and I’m taking it down myself. So’s his work won’t be wasted.” Her voice fell. “If it’s his last work, it’s about all he left to me. I mean to stop a lot along the way and ask after them. See if I can find out anything.”
“I see,” said Fawn. “I think that’s right clever of you.”
There were numerous reasons a man might not come back from a down-river trip, and most of them were dire. A family man, anyway. A young fellow you might picture running off on some new adventure found along the way, selfishly sending no word back to his anxious kin, but not a papa. “How was it you didn’t go along, his last trip?”
A brief silence. Berry said abruptly, “Come see the rest of my boat.” And led the way out the back, twin to the hatch in front.
Fawn stepped, blinking in the light glimmering off the water, onto what she decided was the boat’s back porch. A long, heavy oar mounted on sturdy wooden hinges extended at an angle from the roof above to the water below, and Fawn realized it must be the rudder. Berry or someone had dropped a few fishing lines out over the stern, tied to a cord with a little bell dangling off it.
“Catch much?” said Fawn, nodding to it.
“Now and then. Not much right here—there’s too much competition.” She glanced down the long row of flatboats, most of which also had similar lines sagging out into the water.
“Dag—my husband—is pretty clever at catching fish.”
“Is he?” Berry hesitated. “Does he know boats?”
“A lot more than I do, but that’s not saying much. I’m not sure if he’s ever been on a flatboat, but he can paddle a narrow boat, and sail. And swim. And do most anything he sets his mind to, really.”
“Huh,” said Berry, and rubbed her nose.
Fawn gathered her resolve. “How much would it cost to go on your boat? For two people and a horse?”
“Well, there’s this,” said Berry, and fell silent. Fawn waited anxiously.
Berry looked out over the bright river, absently rolling a fishing line between her fingertips, and went on, “We might find some extra room. But…two of my crew, the strong-arm boys who man my sweeps—those are the big oars on the sides—got themselves in some stupid fight up behind the Landing last night and haven’t come back.” She glanced over to the shore. “It’s beginning to look like they’ve run off permanent. Leaving just me, my brother, and old Bo to run this boat. Me, I can man—woman—the rudder, but I can’t do that all day and be lookout and cook the meals as well, which is what I had been doing. You say you can cook. Now, if this husband of yours is a good