Silent Time Read Online Free Page B

and another in the crib – all boys. A fine start to the family. To further satisfy her craving for an entirely new life, she gave them first names that, as far as she knew, had never appeared on the Walsh side of the family: Nicholas, Tobias and, the baby, James. She used the popular Patrick, Thomas, and Edward as middle names to acknowledge the Merrigan side.
    Once a month, on Sunday, she and Paddy appeared at Mass with the youngsters. Leona enjoyed showing them off in this way and, often mindful of her silent wedding day promise, would look forward to the day when they’d also go to school in the building.
    One morning that April when Knock Harbour and the whole of Placentia Bay, it seemed, was socked in with fog, Leona woke to the sound of shuffling feet and a low mumble of voices in the yard. She went to the window and wiped the morning’s moisture from the glass with a swipe of her hand. She saw a cluster of men, dark-haired, most of them, with pale olive faces, gathering between the stable and the house; still more approached in a line across the meadow.
    She dressed hurriedly and woke Paddy by throwing his pants at him. “Get up,” she said, “I think there’s been a wreck.”
    Wrecks along the shore were rare in those days, but not unheard of. Leona had experienced one as a child when the old man had let her go with the boys on a salvaging expedition. A schooner off Three Brooks had been slowly taking on water for days and was finally abandoned by the crew. It slumped miserably off shore waiting to sink as wreckers from all over the bay formed into a little flotilla heading to salvage what they could before it went down. When Leona got there a free-for-all was in full flight. Someone had broken open a case that contained some sort of alcohol and bottles were being passed around. Hammers and saws sounded amid shouts and bursts of laughter; heavy canvas sails, cross-beamsand thick ropes all tumbled to the deck with reckless disregard for safety. It was a miracle no one was killed. A large crate that turned out to contain a piano was hoisted from the hold. Some of the men banged foolishly on the keys for a while before they took their axes to it and, to the accompaniment of sad, indecorous chords, turned what they could into high-priced kindling before dumping the rest in the sea.
    The old man and the boys had arrived late and went home with only some lumber and a few coils of rope. Meanwhile, she saw others leave the wreck with their brin bags full of neat things they had taken from the galley. She noticed the best kind of pots and pans, cups and saucers, plates, knives, forks and spoons, white mugs with the ship’s name on them; all stuff that wasn’t cheap and that could last a big family, like the one she and Paddy were on the way to having, for generations. She’d felt a strong thrust of envy back then, and the memory of it rustled in her now as she bounded down the stairs with a vague plan already forming in her mind.
    She noted that the neighbouring yards were empty and that the slow quiet stream of men coming across the meadow was headed her way. They gathered quietly, their hands in their pockets, one or two praying with rosary beads; another held a statue of the Virgin Mary to his chest. There were forty or more and Leona realized she couldn’t keep them secret for very long.
    A man with a thick moustache and dark brown eyes, carrying a pair of hefty brown cardboard cases, one in each hand, approached her. He laid the cases on the ground, took her hand in his and said, in uncertain English, “I am Captain Miguel de Silva of the schooner
Santa Maria
. My ship, it is on the rocks near here. She is lost. I need you to help my crew this day while I go to Placentia. I must send owners a message.” He allowed himself a careless shrug. “They have insurance.”
    Leona knew the ship had gone up on the Virgin Rocks, a dark trio that rose menacingly out of the