Thunder from the Sea (4 page)

“Out on the sea,” Enoch said, climbing onto the dock. “Looks like we've got a guest.”

“We'll keep the dog, Enoch,” Amos argued. “We need him more than you.”

“I told you,” Enoch said evenly, “Tom will tend to the dog. He's the one who rescued him, see? If the owner isn't found, the dog will be his.”

“But I want him, Pa,” Bert said, tugging his father's arm. “He's a real Newfoundland.”

Tom crouched silently, clinging to the shivering
dog, and watched the anger rising in Amos's eyes.

“Pa, don't let them take the dog,” Bert whined.

“Listen here, Enoch,” Amos's voice rose. “We need that dog!”

“Let's not fight over a dog, Amos,” Enoch said calmly. “Tom's never had a dog, and this will be a right good experience for him. Bert can come and visit Tom and the dog whenever he wants.”

“All right,” Amos agreed sullenly, “for now.” He climbed from the boat onto the dock.

“Aw, Pa!” Bert pulled himself onto the wharf, glaring at Tom all the while.

“You've got a nice putt of fish in that boat!” Fiona exclaimed, peering into the hold. “Amos, Bert, come up to our house and have a cup of tea to warm up,” Fiona invited. “We'll clean and salt the fish later.”

“No, we're goin' home.” Amos stomped off with Bert at his heels.

Fiona sighed. “Oh, dear. Amos is right mad.”

“He'll get over it,” Enoch assured her.

Tom unfolded himself from the tarp and stood up. The dog staggered to his feet and looked at Tom with questioning eyes. Tom patted his head.
“Come on, boy. It's safe now. You're comin' home with us.” He climbed out of the boat and in a moment the dog clambered out behind him.

The rain was finally stopping and patches of blue were spreading across the sky. Back at the house Enoch found an old belt, measured it to the dog's neck, then cut it to size. “Now you've got a collar, big fella,” he said, fastening it. Tom found a length of rope and they tied the dog to the fence. “This way he can't run away,” Enoch said. “He'll need time to get used to our place.”

Enoch looked the dog over, feeling his muscles and examining his teeth. “He seems healthy enough, and he's probably only a year old. His teeth are new and white.”

“Give this to the dog.” Fiona handed Tom a bone shank. “I made soup with it. It's still warm.”

Tom gave the shank and a bowl of water to the dog. “Here you are, boy,” he whispered. “You must be starvin.”

The dog lapped the water eagerly for a long time. Then he lay down, clamped the bone under his paw, and gnawed on it ravenously.

Enoch and Fiona watched from the porch.
“What will you name him?” Enoch asked.

Tom glanced thoughtfully at the dog, whose coat was as black as the sky had been that morning. “Let's call him Thunder,” Tom said. “We found him in a thunderstorm.”

“That jagged white streak on his chest reminds me of a lightnin' bolt,” said Fiona.

“Aye! Thunder is the perfect name,” Enoch agreed. “It's a puzzlement how the dog was out there in the sea with not another boat in sight. He must have been swimmin' for hours.”

“Thank you for lettin' him stay with me,” Tom said to Enoch.

Enoch's face became serious. “Remember, Tom. We must ask around for someone who's missin' a dog.”

“Do you think we'll find the owner?”

“Hard to say. That dog came from somewhere. Still, the owners may be across the Atlantic by this time.” Enoch came down from the porch and patted the dog's head. “But for now …”

“I know,” Tom answered. “For now he's my very own dog.” Tom hugged the wet animal. “You're my dream dog, Thunder,” he whispered,
“and we're goin' to have lots o' fun. I hopes I can keep you forever, boy!”

That afternoon Tom helped Enoch empty the load of fish from the skiff. Amos and Bert didn't show up until most of the work was done. Tom figured by their grumpy attitude that they both still carried a grudge about the dog.

Later Tom brought Thunder on the rope lead down to the flakes. The dog trotted ahead of him, pausing to sniff at the wind or head up a different path. Thunder would turn now and then, as if to make sure Tom was still there, and then walk briskly on.

When they reached the flakes they walked over wooden planks to the shanty where the women made fish, heading, boning, cleaning, and salting them, then dropping the guts into trunk holes to the water below. It was high tide and gulls screamed and fluttered overhead, diving for the castaway pieces of cod that floated out from under the wharves and stages.

Tom peered into the shanty. Fiona was inside with another woman. “Here's our Tom,” Fiona
said, wiping her hands on a rag. “Tom, meet Bert's mother, Ruby.”

Ruby was a small, stout woman who looked like an older version of Nancy. “Hello, Tom. I've heard all about you … and that dog.” She smiled ruefully. “So this is the animal that's causin' so much fuss.” She put her hand out to Thunder, who sniffed at her fishy fingers. “Ah, he's lookin' for a bite to eat. Don't take my fingers, you big thing.”

“It's all right, Thunder,” said Fiona, patting the dog's head. “You'll get your share.” She pointed to a pole outside. “Tie him up there, Tom. Then you can take these fish out to dry.”

Tom tied Thunder's leash to the post. The dog lay down, put his head on his paws, and watched Tom spread the split cod in rows, head to tail, tail to head, as he had learned at the mission.

“Tom!” Nancy was standing nearby, her hands on her hips. “I hope you didn't forget. You're still goin' to teach me to read, aren't you?”

“I'll be pretty busy helpin' Enoch,” Tom answered. “And I've got to take care of my dog now too.”

“He's
not
your dog,” Nancy reminded him. “And you promised you'd teach me!”

“I did not promise. Besides, you can't learn to read in one day. It takes time. And I don't have lots of time.”

Nancy looked as if she were about to cry. “I want to read so bad.” She turned to walk away.

“I'm sorry, Nancy,” Tom called after her. “Maybe later … sometime.”

“Never mind!” she yelled. “I don't want you to teach me anyways. You're nothin' but a … a stupid gommel!”

Tom watched her run up the plank to the road, and he knew she was crying.

“What's wrong, Nance?” Ruby called from the shack. But Nancy was already heading home. Ruby hurried after her daughter. “Wait, maid!” she called. “What's Tom done that's got you so upset?”

What
had
he done? There was already enough bad blood between him and Bert. Now Nancy, and probably Ruby, were angry with him too. Perhaps he should ask Enoch or Fiona if they could spare him once in a while to teach Nancy to read.
But how could he? If he told them about Nancy not being able to read, then he would betray his promise to keep Nancy's surprise.

There was more trouble ahead between the two families, and it was all Tom's fault!

O
ver the next few weeks Tom, Fiona, and Thunder headed out to the berry hills several times and filled buckets with blueberries, bakeapples, and partridgeberries. Fiona wore a bright calico skully on her head, with a wide brim that shaded her eyes and neck. Thunder, always by Tom's side, would stretch out in the sun. While Tom and Fiona bent over the shrubs and plucked the luscious fruit, dark-winged pitchy-paw butterflies floated around the bushes.

“Pitchy, pitchy better fly! If you don't, your mother will cry,” Fiona sang.

After an hour or so of berry picking, Tom would stand and stretch and look out at the sapphire sea. It was a good place to be, here on Back o' the Moon Island. He looked forward to each morning and the
caring and laughter he shared with the Murrays. Thunder was the dog he'd always wanted, and all his dreams of having a home were coming true.

He especially loved Saturday nights, when Enoch read from the Bible and the family would discuss the scriptures. Even Thunder was invited to join them. The dog would sit by Tom and rest his big head on Tom's leg while Tom patted him.

One night Fiona said, “Tom, you know a lot about the Bible.”

“We read it every day at the mission,” Tom told them. “And I memorized each of the Ten Commandments.” He recited them off—all ten—without missing one.

They read about Jesus' resurrection of Lazarus. “He was such a dear friend of Jesus that Jesus cried when he heard Lazarus had died,” Enoch noted.

“He'd been dead three days,” Fiona added.

“Do you think Lazarus was in Heaven during that time?” Enoch asked Tom.

Tom thought about this. “I don't think so. If he were, he would have said something about it. If I'd
been there I would have asked Lazarus, ‘What was it like in Heaven?'”

“And if it was as glorious as they say, I would think Lazarus would have preferred to stay there.” Fiona laughed.

“Jesus said that Lazarus was sleeping,” Enoch said.

“So that must be what death is like.” Tom was thoughtful and silent for a few minutes. Then he said, “It's nice to believe that my folks are asleep and will wake up again some day.”

Fiona put her arm around him. “Ah, my child. In the meanwhile we're happy you're here, with us.”

“I
am
happy here.” Tom bent down to stroke Thunder and the dog lapped his face. Everyone laughed. “Thunder's happy here too,” Tom said.

Tom figured he'd avoid Nancy until she had calmed down about those reading lessons. But Nancy seemed to have disappeared. Once or twice, though, Tom could have sworn he saw her peering out from the birches near the Murrays' house, or playing under the stages with little Rowena. Tom didn't see much of Bert, either, but
when he did, he was usually with Eddie Rideout.

It was the middle of September now, and Fiona had been feeling poorly recently. On those days, Enoch went out to fish with Amos and Bert, while Tom stayed home to help her.

At night Tom tied Thunder to the fence, just until he got used to the place. In the morning the dog would whine and bark until Tom untied him. Then he followed Tom everywhere.

“He tags along after you like your own shadow,” Fiona said from the couch where she was propped up with pillows. “Perhaps
Shadow
should have been his name.”

“I love havin' him with me,” Tom told her.

“I know,” Fiona said. “Enoch has put up signs around Chance-Along to find Thunder's owner. He's tryin' to do what's right. But in my heart I want Thunder to stay with us.”

“I hope we never find his true owner,” Tom admitted.

One night at supper Enoch said, “That Amos is hard to work with. He has to have his own way. Can't seem to get over his grudge.”

“He's still angry about the dog?” Fiona asked.

“Aye!” Enoch nodded. “I told him—I says, ‘Amos, this game ain't worth the candle! Get over it!'”

“Is he still tryin' to find Thunder's owner?” Tom asked.

“That he is,” Enoch said. “Each time he goes to Chance-Along, he makes it a point to ask sailors and fishermen if they're missin' a dog.”

“But you've already done that,” Fiona said. “You've put up signs and no one has responded. Why is Amos takin' this mission on himself?”

“I dunno. He's as hard to tell as the mind of a gull,” Enoch answered.

“Ruby's actin' a bit offish too,” Fiona replied. “She's hinted that someone has hurt Nancy's feelings.”

Nancy's still upset with me about her reading lessons
, Tom thought.

Later Tom sat out on the steps with Thunder and whispered in the dog's ear: “You and I have caused a lot o' bad feelings here in Back o' the Moon. But as long as we've got each other, well be okay, right, boy?” Thunder's tail wagged agreeably as he licked Tom.

Tom laughed and wiped his face. “Oh, you blubbery, wet thing!”

Still, Tom wished that he could make things better with the Bosworths. Since he was staying home with Fiona these days maybe he could find time to teach Nancy to read. Next time he saw her he'd tell her.

Meanwhile, Fiona lay on the couch and didn't eat much at all. During the day Tom would bring her a cup of tea or a biscuit with partridgeberry jam, which often soothed her stomach.

One afternoon Fiona decided to do laundry. “I can't leave this another day,” she told Tom as she appeared with an armload of bedding. She heated water and Tom poured it into the washtub. Fiona began scrubbing with the yellow soap she had made herself from fat and lye.

When she finished, she said, “Tom, hang these out like a good boy.”

Tom carried the heavy tub out to the clothesline which was strung between two crab apple trees. He began untwisting the shirts, socks, and trousers that Fiona had wrung out. He pinned underwear within pillowcases, as he was taught
back at the orphanage. “No one wants to watch their underwear flappin' in the breeze for all to see,” he'd been told.

“Look at the washwoman hangin' the clothes!” Bert stood nearby watching Tom with a sneer. He pointed to a pillowcase where Tom had hung Fiona's lace-trimmed panties. “Are those your pretty drawers under there?”

Tom wanted to haul off and smash Bert. Instead he tried to ignore the taunting words. “I thought you went out fishin' with Enoch and your father.”

“Today I stayed home—not that it's any of your business.”

“The laundry is none of your business either.”

At this moment Thunder pounced around the corner of the house, barking excitedly.

“What is it, Thunder?” Tom asked as the dog leaped up, nearly knocking him over. “Stop it!” Thunder took hold of Tom's pants with his teeth, tugging and drawing Tom toward the front of the house.