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“Well, he doesn’t know just yet. I’m going to
tell him this weekend.”

“What if he doesn’t want to stay? What if he
wants his own house now?” Arianna looked at Claire, her eyes
bewildered as if Claire had spoken in a foreign language she
couldn’t understand.

Ava glanced at the sky again, and a chill ran
through her. Distracted by her visit, she hadn’t noticed how much
the sky had darkened and was suddenly aware that the dry, earthy
smell had grown stronger. She traced the storm with her eyes toward
the general direction of the sea where it was black as night.

“Aryl will get them home in time,” Claire
said, reading her face.

Ava smiled nervously but gratefully. “We’d
better get home soon ourselves.”

“Oh, don’t leave!” Arianna cried. “I’ve
missed visiting with you so much. It’s just not the same now that
we all live so far apart.”

“We’ll come back soon. I promise,” Ava
said.

“Why don’t you gather up your husbands and
come for Sunday dinner?” Ethel stepped onto the porch, wrapping a
shawl around herself with a shiver; the temperature had plummeted
in just the last few minutes.

“That would be lovely. Can we bring
anything?” Claire asked.

“Just your appetites. We’ll have a nice big
Sunday dinner and visit in the parlor afterward.”

“Thank you. That sounds like fun.” Ava’s
reserved smile was for manners; inside she was terribly excited for
a reason to wear a nice dress, look pretty, be sociable, and spend
time with Jonathan. She blushed at the sudden idea of walking with
him after dinner to find a place on the farm where they could be
alone. Her reddened cheeks gave her away, and Claire smiled
knowingly.

After hugging Arianna and promising many
times to come back soon, Claire pulled a penny out of her pocket as
they walked toward the car. “Flip you for the barn.”

Ava laughed loudly and nudged Claire with her
shoulder. “You’re terrible!” she whispered loudly, but quickly
called heads with blushing cheeks.

Arianna laughed as she watched Claire attempt
to turn the car around in the narrow drive, finally resorting to
making a wide circle over the grass. She stuck her arm out the
window and waved as she weaved down the driveway.

Arianna raised one hand and smiled. Her eyes
traveled from the car to the looming, black clouds in the distance,
her smile dropped, and she inhaled deeply, hugging herself above
her bulging stomach. “Hurry home, Caleb,” she whispered.

∞∞∞

“Shouldn’t he be home by now?” she asked
aloud as the clock on the wall chimed five times. Ava paced the
living room floor, glancing out the window every few minutes. She
wrapped herself in a shawl and stood on the front porch to watch
for Jonathan. She glanced down the street and up at the black sky
nervously before vicious gusts of icy rain drove her back
inside.

“You’ll drive yourself mad staring out that
window,” Margaret called from the kitchen. “Come have a cup of tea
with me. It’ll make the time go faster.”

Ava saw her mother-in-law’s hopeful
expression, relented, and sat beside her at the table.

“They’ll be home soon,” Margaret said as she
gave her a steaming cup of tea. “Try not to worry.”

“Have you not seen that storm?”

“Yes, but we get those frequently round here.
Didn’t think these spring-like days would last forever, did you?
Probably wake up to snow in the morning.” Ava looked nervously over
her shoulder toward the door. “Ava, listen to me. As long as Jon is
insistent on living this life, you will have to get used to this.
Storms come up fast around here. Sometimes they beat them home and
sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they just work right through them.
But you’re going to worry yourself to an ulcer–”

“Work right through them?” Ava
interrupted.

“Yes. Some do unless it gets bad enough, then
they head in.”

Ava fidgeted, sighed, and fixed her eyes on a
door that refused to open and produce her husband.

“Jon tells me you’re starting a family,”
Margaret said casually, pulling Ava from her staring contest with
the door.

“He said that?” she asked, not at all
amused.

“He did. He’s extremely excited about it,
actually.”

“Well, I know he wants to because he’s been
hounding me about it for two months, but right now, there’s just no
way–”

“Well, of course, there’s a way. Me and Mr.
Garrett have been meaning to go out. We could go to Boston and see
some friends, which will leave you and Jon the house for the
weekend,” she said and grinned as a pink hue engulfed Ava’s
face.

“Oh, that’s not what I mean, that’s not the
problem.” As soon as she said the words, her face burned with what
they had insinuated. “What I mean is,” she continued quickly,
“without a home of our own, savings, furniture, that kind of thing.
I mean, honestly, no one tries to have a baby when they don’t even
have the basic necessities for themselves. Jonathan has this
romantic idea about the whole thing, I think. He’s not thinking
practically.”

Ava flew across the room scarcely before the
knocking on the front door had stopped. She tore it open to see
someone who was clearly not Jonathan standing with a clipboard and
a bouquet of flowers. How silly she scolded herself. Jonathan
wouldn’t knock on his own door.

“Delivery for a Mrs. Ava Garrett.” The man
wore a blue shirt with his coat open despite the freezing rain,
which was coming down heavier now. The name Steve was sewn on the
top left pocket, and he spoke with a heavy, New York accent.

“That’s me.”

“I’ll need you to sign for these,” he said
and held out a clipboard. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said and tipped
his hat, yet something about his smile sent chills up Ava’s spine.
She watched him as he walked away and thought it strange that he
would be making deliveries on foot in such a storm.

“Who sent you those? Maybe Jonathan,”
Margaret suggested, answering her own question. “I know he feels
badly that he can’t spend as much time with you as he’d like.”

Ava looked over the beautiful, long stem, red
roses for a card, but found none. “I wonder?” She walked to the
kitchen as Margaret filled a vase with water. She doubted that
Jonathan had had time to arrange a flower delivery. In addition, it
was highly unlikely that he would spend the money on a frivolity
like this, knowing how badly they both wanted a home of their own.
It isn’t my birthday or our anniversary, but who else could they be
from? she wondered. She pondered on this for several minutes, which
distracted her until she heard Jonathan come through the door.

Ava’s shoulders relaxed in relief and she
sighed. He was soaked through and shivering, but to Ava’s surprise,
he was smiling. She went to him and helped peel off layers of
soaked wool.

“Sorry I’m late. Aryl wanted to show us how
to maneuver in high winds and rain. And his mother was right,” he
paused as a shiver ran through his body, “it does feel like work
when it’s freezing and raining sideways.”

“Why on earth would Aryl intentionally keep
you out in this?” Ava asked angrily, exchanging dripping shirts
with Margaret for a large towel. She wrapped it around his bare
shoulders and turned him toward the stairs before he could
answer.

Inside their room, Ava opened the trunk and
pulled out flannel long johns and a wool shirt while he shed his
sopping pants. She threw the dry clothes on the bed, pulled the
towel from Jonathan’s hands, and rubbed his reddened arms and neck
hard, as if she were trying to scrub off layers of grime.

“Ow!” He recoiled and stared at her. “Did you
have a bad day or something?” He took the towel and finished drying
himself, one eyebrow raised in question. She crossed her arms and
stared at the floor.

“I was trying to warm your arms. And my day
was fine, except for worrying about you. It was foolish and
irresponsible for Aryl to keep you out in this.”

“Ava, we have to learn how to work in this.
I’d rather ride out a small storm with Aryl there to guide us than
learn the hard way when I’m out there alone.”

“I just don’t know about this, Jon? I don’t
know if I am the kind of wife that can deal with this life.
Watching the storms roll in, knowing you’re out there, waiting for
you to come home. I mean what if–” She heard the icy rain chinking
against the glass outside the darkened window.

He toweled his hair quickly, stuck his arms
inside the wool shirt, and took her by the shoulders. “Ava. Nothing
is going to happen. I am extremely careful. Aryl is an excellent
teacher. I wish you could see him out there. He’s a natural. You
can’t worry yourself sick like this. I promise you, everything will
be fine. Okay?” Raising her eyes to meet his, she relented with a
slight nod. “C’mon. Let’s go eat. You can tell me about your
day.”

Downstairs, Jonathan Sr. was preparing two
plates as the storm produced the first flash of lightning and a
distant, low, rumble of thunder. “Your mom and I are going to eat
in our room. You two help yourselves, she made enough to feed an
army. You know how she gets when it storms.”

At that moment, power was lost and the entire
house went black and eerily quiet. “Better eat fast, it won’t stay
warm long now.”

“Jonathan!” Margaret called from upstairs,
sounding slightly panicked.

“Coming!” he yelled back and fumbled around
for the counter to set the plates down on. He felt for the cabinet
he wanted and opened it to get a box of matches. He struck one and
the light allowed him to find two oil lamps and set them
alight.

“Jonathan!” the faltering voice called
again.

He gave his son a helpless look. “You know
how she gets . . . .” He set the plates and the oil lamp on the
breakfast tray and said goodnight as he hurried upstairs.

Ava made their plates, and they sat down to
eat with the oil lamp in the center of the table.

“Well, this is nice,” Jonathan said softly.
“Romantic dinner by lamplight. It should storm more often,” he said
with a teasing grin.

“No, it shouldn’t,” Ava said firmly. “What
did your father mean when he said you know how she gets? She was
fine earlier and trying to console me, actually.”

“My mother doesn’t do well when it storms. At
night, especially.”

“Well, this is the wrong place to live then.
She said they happen often around here. If she hates storms so
much, why didn’t they ever move?”

Jonathan sat searching for the right words.
Finally, he relented to tell her the truth, although it wouldn’t
ease her worries one bit. “Remember that I told you both my
grandfathers have passed?” Ava watched his face intently, which was
serious, somewhat in conflict and utterly beautiful in the amber
glow. “My mother’s father was a fisherman, as his father was and
his father before him. Her mother didn’t love the life, but she did
love my grandfather and accepted everything that came with him. My
mother was sixteen when her father was lost at sea. It was a
beautiful, spring morning when he set out, but a nasty storm swept
up out of nowhere by afternoon, and . . . he never came home,” he
finished grimly and checked Ava’s horrified face. When she spoke,
she was clearly angry.

“That is the single worst thing you could
possibly tell me, after what I went through this afternoon,
Jonathan!”

“Not a little storm like this, Ava, it was
much worse. But the caliber of the storm doesn’t matter to my
mother. She still gets nervous and scared. It’s all my father can
do to keep her calm and distracted.”

“How does he do that?” Ava asked.

“He talks to her, sings, and tells her
stories. As well as other things that, as their son, I prefer not
to think about.” He laughed gently.

“I’m surprised at how well she took the news
of you deciding to fish for a living, under the circumstances. Your
father was the one who made all the fuss.”

“Who says she took it well?” He took another
bite. “She’s come to me three times begging me to change my mind.
She puts up a tough exterior, but it worries her greatly. I don’t
suppose she’ll ever stop pestering me to quit. And my father has
his own reasons for hating this.”

“He wants you to make back the money he
lost,” she assumed, cynicism in her voice.

“Yes, he does, but it's not only that. His
father was lost at sea, too. Not in the traditional way, mind you,
but he died on the ocean none the less.”

Ava threw her napkin on the table and crossed
her arms. “I don’t believe this!” She looked at him in
astonishment. “You mean to tell me that you lost both your
grandfathers at sea, yet you expect me to. . . to . . . just–”

“It wasn’t a storm with him, Ava, not in the
beginning. He slipped on some bait and hit his head. He was alone
and must have floated adrift for hours, and then a storm pushed his
boat to shore. My father was on the dock waiting for him to return,
pacing in the rain, and worried sick. He finally saw the boat,
pushed by waves toward the shore. He found his father on the
deck.”

“How awful!” Ava gasped. “To be the one to
find him.” Gruesome images of her own parents dying of the flu
flashed through her mind. She quickly pushed them away, refusing to
revisit them.

“That’s how my parents met, you know. At his
father’s funeral.”

“How romantic,” Ava said flatly.

“It was, in a way. The tragedy they had in
common created a bond, and they comforted each other through the
ordeal. Comforted each other to the point where wedding plans were
hastily thrown together the following spring. Before my mother
started showing with me,” he admitted.

“No!” Ava gasped.

“Yes. It was just as well, they were perfect
for each other. She swore she would never marry a sailor or
fisherman, and he swore he would never become one.” He smiled. “And
they lived happily ever after.” He paused to butter a roll, noticed
her unsettled expression, and decided to change the subject. His
eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and just as he took a breath to
ask about her day, he caught sight of the roses across the room. He
thought perhaps his father brought them for his mother as a sweet
romantic diversion from the storm.