The Lobster Pound – Part 1: The Inheritance

"It's a boat," said Joan.

"It's a lobster boat," said the lawyer. "Your brother left it to you."

She stood on the grey wharf at Peggy's Cove, fifty-nine, a retired schoolteacher from Halifax, in a good wool coat and city shoes. The boat was white and blue and very small, with its name painted on the bow: Sally Ann. A flock of gulls squabbled on the pier. The Atlantic heaved.

"I don't know anything about boats."

"Then you'll need a captain," said a voice.

A man was leaning against a stack of lobster traps, arms folded. He was sixty-four, huge and weathered, in oilskins and a cap, with a grizzled white beard and bright blue eyes full of mischief. "Angus MacLeod," he said. "Your brother's neighbour for thirty years. He was a good man."

"Thank you."

"He never would take my advice though."

"What was your advice?"

"Never turn your back on a wave." He grinned. "He turned his back on a lot of waves."

She laughed. It was the first time in three weeks, and it took her by surprise.

"I can teach you," said Angus. "If you'll tolerate me."

"I will not tolerate being laughed at."

"Then I'll laugh quietly."

At five the next morning, she stood in borrowed rubber boots at the helm of the Sally Ann, gripping the wheel. The harbour slid past, cold and silver. Angus stood at her shoulder, calling instructions in his slow, rolling voice. A seal watched from a rock.

"Throttle. Gently. Gently, Joan."

"I am being gentle."

"You're strangling it."

She loosened her fingers. The boat surged forward, riding the swell. The sea opened, wide and pale, and the sun lifted out of it in a blaze of gold.

"Oh," she breathed.

"Yes," said Angus, quietly. "She does that."

By the end of the week, she could pilot the boat out of the cove. By the end of the second, she could haul a trap. Her hands blistered. She slept like a child. In the evenings they ate chowder at his kitchen table, watching the harbour lights.

"Can I ask you something?" said Joan.

"Yes."

"Why are you so patient with me?"

"Because you ask what to do," said Angus. "And then you do it."

"Green?" she said, a trap-buoy colour.

"Green," said Angus, chuckling. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – First Haul.