Lois Bujold - Passage

The blond woman—girl—rocked forward to eye Fawn more closely. “I hadn’t thought to. I’m doing a bit of trading down the river, plan a lot of stops. It’d be a slow ride.”

“That’s all right. We’re not in a hurry. How far down the river are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Can I see inside your boat? I’ve never been on a flatboat.” Fawn smiled up hopefully. Not a request she’d have dared make of the lewd—well, would-be-lewd—Jos; she was in luck to find this woman.

The woman tilted her head, then nodded. She stuck her whittling knife in a sheath at her belt and dismounted from the roof of the cabin by simply jumping down the five feet, ignoring the crude ladder of nailed slats, landing with a thump and a spring of her knees. She grabbed a long board and ran it out to the bank. Fawn eyed the narrowness and flex of it dubiously, but held her breath and picked her way aboard without falling into the mud.

She hopped down onto the deck and straightened in exhilaration. “Hi, I’m Fawn Bluefield.”

The woman bobbed her head. She had wide cheekbones, but a pointed chin, lending an effect like a friendly ferret. She was taller than Fawn—as who was not? — and even a bit taller than Whit, likely. Her fine, fair skin was sunburned. “Berry Clearcreek. I’m boss of this boat.”

A boat boss was captain or owner or sometimes both; Fawn guessed both, and was impressed and heartened. Berry stuck out a welcoming hand, slim but even more work-roughened than Fawn’s. Fawn clasped and released it, smiling. “What lives in the pen?” she asked, nodding toward it, then spotted the droppings in the straw. “Oh, a goat.”

“Our nanny Daisy. My little brother took her ashore to graze.”

“So you have fresh milk. And eggs.” Already this boat seemed homey.

Berry nodded. “Some.”

“I grew up on a farm. Up by West Blue.” And at Berry’s puzzled look, added, “North of Lumpton Market.”

Berry still looked geographically uncertain, so Fawn added, “Lumpton’s way up the same river that comes out to the Grace near Silver Shoals.”

Berry’s face cleared. “Oh, the Stony Fork. Big sand bar, there. You know how to milk a goat, do you?”

“Sure.”

“Hm.” Berry hesitated. “You can cook, too, I guess. Good cook?”

“My husband says so.”

The boat boss regarded Fawn’s shortness, which, Fawn knew, made her look even younger than she was. “How long’ve you two been married?”

Fawn blushed. “About four months.” It seemed longer, with all that had happened.

Berry smiled a little. “Not sure whether to trust his judgment or not, then. Well, come see my boat!”

A small doorway or hatch in the front of the shack led down by a few crude plank steps into a dark interior. Even Fawn had to duck through; Dag would likely have to bend double, and be very careful when he straightened up. The front of the shelter was full of cargo: coils of hemp rope, rolls of woolen and linen cloth, stacks of hides, barrels and kegs. Fawn could smell apples, butter, lard, and what might be bear grease. One barrel was set up on sawhorses and had a spigot in the end. It hissed a little ominously as the apple cider within hardened, fermenting in the unseasonable warmth. There were sacks of nuts, and smoked meats hanging from the rafters. Tucked everywhere were bundles of barrel staves. All the local produce from up some tributary river or creek of the Grace. At one side was an array of what were obviously Tripoint steel and iron tools and metalwork, from shovel and axe heads, coulters, and kegs of nails, to needles and pins.

“Did you come all the way from Tripoint?” asked Fawn in awe, fingering a shiny new plow blade.

“No, only from about halfway. We pick up things in one place, sell them downstream in another, as chance offers.”

The back end of the shack was living quarters, lit by two little glazed windows and another door up to the back deck. Two narrow bunk beds with pallets stacked three-high along the walls had more cargo jammed underneath; one bunk had a curtain. This was one of the boats with a real stone hearth. A few coals glowed under a black iron water-kettle. A cleverly hinged tabletop could be raised up and hooked flat to a wall, its legs folded in tight, to cover and contain a shelf full of metal dishes and cups and cooking supplies.

“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 strapping farm lad with two strong arms who isn’t afraid of the water, Uncle Bo ’n I could likely teach him to man a sweep pretty quick. And we could make a deal for you to work your passage. If you’ve a mind for it,” she added a shade uncertainly.