sweating. The day would be hot, and by now the fishermen in town were certain to be on their way. And yet, all of a sudden, it seemed as though nothing had ever existed but this moment. This one chance to do something right.
“Why should I give you anything?” Lucinda certainly wasn’t making her salvation easy. “What’s anyone ever given to me?”
“Two weeks.” He was even more sure of himself now. “That’s all the time I’ll need.”
It was a foolish promise, but one Lucinda Parker agreed to. Larkin stood there watching as she picked up the baby and cleaned the mud off, ignoring his cries. Larkin had to go on to the bog, but he felt paralyzed.
“I told you I wouldn’t do anything,” Lucinda said when she saw the way he was looking at her, as though he didn’t trust her with a bale of hay, let alone a child.
She wrapped the baby back in its shawl. She could hide him in her room for a little while longer. She could hold her hand over his mouth if he hollered at night. She walked quickly, so she could get back before any of the family woke, and as she climbed the grassy hill that led away from the marsh, hurrying, out of breath, the oddest thing happened. She felt the baby’s heart beating against her chest. Two weeks, she thought, and not a minute more. All the same, she remembered the girl she’d been so long ago, the one who’d been hopeful, the one who had expected something from this world.
Larkin was working in the Mortons’ bog, over in Eastham. By the time he had walked there he had decided to speak with old man Morton, who was full of good advice. He waited until noon, when they sat down to the meal that Morton’s wife had made them. In the heat of the day, with their fingers bleeding from the morning’s efforts of replanting, Larkin asked his employer what he would do if he wanted a great deal of money, quickly.
“You’re not thinking of robbing a bank, are you?” Morton laughed. His hands were red all the way up to his elbows.
“I would prefer not to,” Larkin said so easily no one would imagine that, now that the idea had been set before him, he found he was open to considering robbery as an option.
“Marry a rich girl,” Morton suggested.
“None would have me.” Which was true enough.
They were eating biscuits and Mary Morton’s beans,
flavored with onions and lard. Larkin had been a good worker, and Morton one of the best cranberry men he’d worked for.
“Honest truth? There’s only one way for a man like you to make fast money these days. Sell your soul.”
Now it was Larkin’s turn to laugh. Then he thought of the blackfish, already being cut up and divided. He thought of the mud, and of the baby looking up into the pink sky.
“Who would buy it? It’s not worth much.”
“It’s worth three hundred dollars. One of those substitute brokers up in Boston would gladly pay you that. In turn, you go to fight in place of some boy whose family has enough to keep him home and safe.”
“I’ve got the blind eye.” Larkin was thinking about three hundred dollars and how he would never in his lifetime earn that much, how he would still be working other men’s properties when he was as old as Morton.
“They don’t give a damn about blind eyes if you’re willing to go in another man’s place. Hell, you could have hooves and they’d take you and they’d make you pretty welcome, I’d wager, if you were idiot enough to make a trade like that.”
Walking home that day, Larkin felt less tired than he usually did. The air still smelled bad, but he paid no attention. He kept thinking about that three hundred dollars and the baby; it was as though he’d never had a thought before. His head was filling up with ideas, and there was nothing he could do about it, not any more than he could stop the ringing in his ears.
When he neared the dike road, he could hear the
“Why should I give you anything?” Lucinda certainly wasn’t making her salvation easy. “What’s anyone ever given to me?”
“Two weeks.” He was even more sure of himself now. “That’s all the time I’ll need.”
It was a foolish promise, but one Lucinda Parker agreed to. Larkin stood there watching as she picked up the baby and cleaned the mud off, ignoring his cries. Larkin had to go on to the bog, but he felt paralyzed.
“I told you I wouldn’t do anything,” Lucinda said when she saw the way he was looking at her, as though he didn’t trust her with a bale of hay, let alone a child.
She wrapped the baby back in its shawl. She could hide him in her room for a little while longer. She could hold her hand over his mouth if he hollered at night. She walked quickly, so she could get back before any of the family woke, and as she climbed the grassy hill that led away from the marsh, hurrying, out of breath, the oddest thing happened. She felt the baby’s heart beating against her chest. Two weeks, she thought, and not a minute more. All the same, she remembered the girl she’d been so long ago, the one who’d been hopeful, the one who had expected something from this world.
Larkin was working in the Mortons’ bog, over in Eastham. By the time he had walked there he had decided to speak with old man Morton, who was full of good advice. He waited until noon, when they sat down to the meal that Morton’s wife had made them. In the heat of the day, with their fingers bleeding from the morning’s efforts of replanting, Larkin asked his employer what he would do if he wanted a great deal of money, quickly.
“You’re not thinking of robbing a bank, are you?” Morton laughed. His hands were red all the way up to his elbows.
“I would prefer not to,” Larkin said so easily no one would imagine that, now that the idea had been set before him, he found he was open to considering robbery as an option.
“Marry a rich girl,” Morton suggested.
“None would have me.” Which was true enough.
They were eating biscuits and Mary Morton’s beans,
flavored with onions and lard. Larkin had been a good worker, and Morton one of the best cranberry men he’d worked for.
“Honest truth? There’s only one way for a man like you to make fast money these days. Sell your soul.”
Now it was Larkin’s turn to laugh. Then he thought of the blackfish, already being cut up and divided. He thought of the mud, and of the baby looking up into the pink sky.
“Who would buy it? It’s not worth much.”
“It’s worth three hundred dollars. One of those substitute brokers up in Boston would gladly pay you that. In turn, you go to fight in place of some boy whose family has enough to keep him home and safe.”
“I’ve got the blind eye.” Larkin was thinking about three hundred dollars and how he would never in his lifetime earn that much, how he would still be working other men’s properties when he was as old as Morton.
“They don’t give a damn about blind eyes if you’re willing to go in another man’s place. Hell, you could have hooves and they’d take you and they’d make you pretty welcome, I’d wager, if you were idiot enough to make a trade like that.”
Walking home that day, Larkin felt less tired than he usually did. The air still smelled bad, but he paid no attention. He kept thinking about that three hundred dollars and the baby; it was as though he’d never had a thought before. His head was filling up with ideas, and there was nothing he could do about it, not any more than he could stop the ringing in his ears.
When he neared the dike road, he could hear the
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