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made Lillian sigh. He’s only twenty-three, Lillian wanted to plead, but she knew better than to try and change Paddy’s mind. “James will be fine, Lil,” Paddy had reassured her.
    â€œBy Gad, he’s ready to take the helm on his own. Did I not captain my own schooner at the age of twenty-three from Gloucester to Newfoundland?”
    â€œYes, ye did,” Lil nodded, silently thinking, But the boat ye sailed back from the Boston States ’twas a fine vessel, and double the size of the fifty-foot schooner James will skipper .
    Since the codfish prices had begun falling, nothing made sense anymore Lillian thought. It was daft to risk your life for fish that were all but worthless. There was little else but the sea to earn your living from; still, Paddy’s younger brother Philip had opened a small shop and operated his own fish-drying business. “Why can’t you stay on the blessed land, Paddy, like your brother Philip?” she’d asked him that morning. Paddy shook his head and said nothing, his mind lost on concerns he could not share with his wife. Of Paddy’s four brothers, he and Ernest were the only two left captaining schooners. Stuck in the ways of their father and grandfather before them , Lillian thought. And the two of them as competitive as the day was long. How Paddy hated to hear his younger brother caught more fish than he. Such news would put him in a fierce mood for days. Cursing and muttering like a fiend, he’d be. Dear God, would ye be certain Paddy hauls more than his brother on this journey? We could do with a bit of peace around the home .
    Footsteps from across the hall drew Lillian from her thoughts. In the dining room, the family maid dusted the piano, gently whisking the black and white keys. Lillian turned to the woman, watching her as she moved about, methodically sliding her cloth along the harp, the glass case filled with china, and the imported dining room chairs. Lillian eyed these gifts that Paddy brought home from his fishing trips or freighting dried cod to Portugal and Spain. She knew she was fortunate to have these treasures. Few houses in Marystown had store-bought goods; most of the fishermen’s wives made do with homemade chairs and tables, curtains tied up with a bit of string rather than the thick metal rods that Lillian’s plush drapes hung from.
    But the luxuries mattered little when Paddy was at sea. Fine furnishings were all but invisible to Lillian then. The only things that drew her attention were the windows and the water below. A few days into her husband’s journey, Lillian would set herself by the glass panes, watching, waiting for his return. The longer he was gone, the more she sat, stricken with worry. It seemed she had spent the last twenty-five years of her life looking out one window or another, praying for Paddy’s safe journey. Like the other fishermen’s wives, she fretted from the moment her husband left until the moment his boat breezed back into the harbor. The relief of seeing his sails on the horizon never failed to make her shudder, the pent-up worry releasing itself like a fever.
    Flushed with the warmth of the room, Lillian pushed the parlor window open. A summer breeze carried the smell of fish drying along the shore. For as far as Lillian could see, fish flakes lined the beach. Rows of split and washed cod were laid out on the wooden platforms, waiting to be sold or shipped overseas. On the beach sand, women washed their husbands’ catches in cold saltwater tubs. Their hands were surely numb and raw by now , Lillian thought. A baby wailed from its makeshift cradle, a bucket set near its mother’s side. The infant’s cry stirred sympathy from Lillian. Thanks be the Lord, she and her three daughters had never dipped their hands in a fish barrel . Nor did they have to contend with menial household chores. With two maids, Lillian and her girls did little cooking, cleaning, or