eyes, of the deep anxiety on the young man’s face. And the other one, Jeannie,
with her feisty spirit and her strength. He could see her so clearly; that glorious red hair flying freely in the breeze, wayward curls framing her face, her cheeks faintly pink from the cold and
the tiny peppering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He sighed as he thought about her. Such a lovely mouth, yet when she looked at him it was tight with disapproval and those wonderful
green eyes held such contempt. Yet even though her look made him cringe in shame, he was sure he had seen sadness deep in those eyes.
He wanted to make it up to Grace Lawrence, but more than anything else, he wanted to see the look in Jeannie’s eyes soften towards him. He wanted to see her smile.
Oh yes, more than anything else he wanted her to smile at him.
In their shared bed that night, Grace snuggled close to Jeannie and whispered, ‘Don’t go away, Jeannie. At least not yet. Not till we know – about
Dad.’
In the darkness, Jeannie sighed thinking over the day’s events.
Returning to work after leaving Tom and Grace standing on the quayside, Jeannie had regretted her sharpness. Her angry retort to them, saying that she intended to return home, had been said in
the heat of the moment. The truth was, Jeannie acknowledged, that she didn’t really want to go home. Who was there, back in Scotland, who really needed her now? Oh yes, kind friends and
neighbours, but no kin. No one who would care for her and whom she could care for.
The brother and sister had looked so young and forlorn standing there on the bustling dockside as she had walked away from them. And lost. They needed someone, she told herself. Someone like
her.
And you should know how that feels, Jeannie Buchanan, she reminded herself, if anyone does. She felt a shudder run through her, imagining the long hours the young brother and sister may stand,
looking out to sea, watching the horizon in vain for the sight of their father’s ship.
As long as she had watched until, at last, all hope was gone.
She had been unable to concentrate properly on her work and had incurred a reprimand from the foreman and now had a tiny cut on her little finger as a result of her own carelessness when
allowing her mind to wander.
Arriving home had been the worst, seeing Nell bustling about her tiny scullery, red faced from a day’s baking and cooking to welcome her man home from the sea.
‘Hello, son,’ had been her greeting to Tom as he had bent to kiss her cheek. Jeannie had watched as Nell had reached up and patted his muscled shoulder. ‘How was your
trip?’
‘Good, Mam,’ Tom replied and Jeannie marvelled that he was able to keep the anxiety from his tone. ‘We had a good catch and there should be a fair pay out.’
‘Aye well, you’ll be needin’ it if you’re away to the Fisherman’s tonight.’ Nell’s eyes twinkled mischievously behind her steel-rimmed spectacles as she
had placed his meal before him. ‘Or are you staying home?’
‘Eh?’ The young man looked up, startled. It was obvious to Jeannie that for one moment he thought his mother must have heard something and expected him to stay with the family until
they heard news instead of joining his mates drinking and making merry. His tone was suddenly high-pitched as he asked, ‘Why? Why, should I stay home?’
‘No reason, son.’ Nell shrugged her shoulders and winked at Jeannie. ‘I just thought you might find something to keep you at home.’
‘Such as?’ he asked brusquely, picking up his knife and fork. He did not begin to eat but kept his questioning gaze upon his mother.
Careful, Jeannie wanted to say, you’re going to give the game away yourself if you’re not careful, and she found she was holding her breath.
‘Well, I just thought . . .’ Nell was saying and then suddenly Jeannie realized what the older woman was thinking. The last time Tom had come home from the sea, instead of going to
with her feisty spirit and her strength. He could see her so clearly; that glorious red hair flying freely in the breeze, wayward curls framing her face, her cheeks faintly pink from the cold and
the tiny peppering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He sighed as he thought about her. Such a lovely mouth, yet when she looked at him it was tight with disapproval and those wonderful
green eyes held such contempt. Yet even though her look made him cringe in shame, he was sure he had seen sadness deep in those eyes.
He wanted to make it up to Grace Lawrence, but more than anything else, he wanted to see the look in Jeannie’s eyes soften towards him. He wanted to see her smile.
Oh yes, more than anything else he wanted her to smile at him.
In their shared bed that night, Grace snuggled close to Jeannie and whispered, ‘Don’t go away, Jeannie. At least not yet. Not till we know – about
Dad.’
In the darkness, Jeannie sighed thinking over the day’s events.
Returning to work after leaving Tom and Grace standing on the quayside, Jeannie had regretted her sharpness. Her angry retort to them, saying that she intended to return home, had been said in
the heat of the moment. The truth was, Jeannie acknowledged, that she didn’t really want to go home. Who was there, back in Scotland, who really needed her now? Oh yes, kind friends and
neighbours, but no kin. No one who would care for her and whom she could care for.
The brother and sister had looked so young and forlorn standing there on the bustling dockside as she had walked away from them. And lost. They needed someone, she told herself. Someone like
her.
And you should know how that feels, Jeannie Buchanan, she reminded herself, if anyone does. She felt a shudder run through her, imagining the long hours the young brother and sister may stand,
looking out to sea, watching the horizon in vain for the sight of their father’s ship.
As long as she had watched until, at last, all hope was gone.
She had been unable to concentrate properly on her work and had incurred a reprimand from the foreman and now had a tiny cut on her little finger as a result of her own carelessness when
allowing her mind to wander.
Arriving home had been the worst, seeing Nell bustling about her tiny scullery, red faced from a day’s baking and cooking to welcome her man home from the sea.
‘Hello, son,’ had been her greeting to Tom as he had bent to kiss her cheek. Jeannie had watched as Nell had reached up and patted his muscled shoulder. ‘How was your
trip?’
‘Good, Mam,’ Tom replied and Jeannie marvelled that he was able to keep the anxiety from his tone. ‘We had a good catch and there should be a fair pay out.’
‘Aye well, you’ll be needin’ it if you’re away to the Fisherman’s tonight.’ Nell’s eyes twinkled mischievously behind her steel-rimmed spectacles as she
had placed his meal before him. ‘Or are you staying home?’
‘Eh?’ The young man looked up, startled. It was obvious to Jeannie that for one moment he thought his mother must have heard something and expected him to stay with the family until
they heard news instead of joining his mates drinking and making merry. His tone was suddenly high-pitched as he asked, ‘Why? Why, should I stay home?’
‘No reason, son.’ Nell shrugged her shoulders and winked at Jeannie. ‘I just thought you might find something to keep you at home.’
‘Such as?’ he asked brusquely, picking up his knife and fork. He did not begin to eat but kept his questioning gaze upon his mother.
Careful, Jeannie wanted to say, you’re going to give the game away yourself if you’re not careful, and she found she was holding her breath.
‘Well, I just thought . . .’ Nell was saying and then suddenly Jeannie realized what the older woman was thinking. The last time Tom had come home from the sea, instead of going to
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