Thunder from the Sea

Joan Hiatt Harlow

Margaret K. McElderry Books
New York London Toronto Sydney

Shadows on the Sea

Joshua's Song

Star in the Storm

Margaret K. McElderry Books
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2004 by Joan Hiatt Harlow

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Book design by Sammy Yuen Jr.

Map by Kristan Jean Harlow

The text for this book is set in LombaBook.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Harlow, Joan Hiatt.

Thunder from the sea /Joan Hiatt Harlow.—1st ed.

p. cm.

Summary: Just when his dreams of being part of a family and having a dog seem to be coming true, Tom wonders if trouble with neighbors on his new island home and the impending birth of a new baby will change everything.

Set in Newfoundland in 1929.

ISBN 0-689-86403-5 (hardcover)

eISBN 978-1-439-10741-6

ISBN 978-0-689-86403-2

[1. Orphans—Fiction. 2. Dogs—Fiction. 3. Family life—Newfoundland and Labrador—Fiction. 4. Newfoundland and Labrador—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.H22666Th 2004

[Fic]—dc22

2003010687

To Jordan, Madison, and Jacie, with love and hugs … and a bit of jannie talk from Noanie

NOWDEESTREEMAIDSIS'BOUTDEELOVEEYEST'NBYFAR DEEPRETTIEST'NBRIGHTESTSWEETARTSI'VEEVER SEENINALLMEBORNDAYS! AN'IJUSTLOVES'EMTOPIECES!

Thunder From The Sea

Map

1   Seasick

2   fio
N
a

3   
B
ack o' t
H
e Moo
N

4   Out of t
H
e Sto
R
m

5   t
H
u
N
de
R

6   fea
R
!

7   Somet
H
i
N
' is
N
't Ri
GH
t

8   Missi
NG
!

9   t
H
e fi
GH
t

10   Litt
L
e
W
a
N
de
R
e
R

11   Hea
R
t
B
eat
S

12   ea
R
t
HQ
uake!

13   tida
L
Wave!

14   Mo
R
e Rum
B
Les

15   dese
R
ted is
L
e

16   a Gift

17   t
H
e Mumme
R
's Wa
RN
i
NG

18   t
R
ou
B
Le i
N
C
H
a
NC
e-aLo
NG

19   Ne
W
s f
R
om t
H
e States

20   tom's Heavy C
H
ai
N

21   Hu
NGR
y Ma
RCH

22   U
N
expected t
R
ou
B
le

23   a
R
ace
W
it
H
time

24   Lost o
N
t
H
e ice!

25   ap
R
iL

26   at
H
ome
W
ith t
H
e Bos
W
o
R
t
H
s

27   a Sec
R
et

28   Le
G
aL issues

29   t
H
e Ri
GH
t t
H
i
NG

30   
B
eLo
NG
i
NG

aut
H
o
R
's Note

t
om Campbell held on to the rail as the
Constance
rose and fell in the giant swells of the ocean. Tom's stomach rolled along with the tossing of the waves.
A fine fisherman I'll be if I get seasick like this,
he told himself.
What will Mr. Murray think?
The steamer continued churning through the heavy surf. Tom bent over the side of the ship and yucked up his lunch into the ocean.

He looked over his shoulder, hoping Mr. Murray hadn't seen him. After all, the man was taking a big chance on thirteen-year-old Tom by bringing him into his home to live and onto his boat to work.

He let the roaring wind blow in his face, breathing deeply and praying that they'd soon be at his new home. For the past ten years, home had
been the orphanage at the Grenfell Mission in St. Anthony on the Northern Peninsula. It was the only home Tom could remember.

He was born in Labrador and sometimes when he smelled pine trees or the scent of fish cooking on an open fire, a faint memory would present itself—a fleeting recollection of voices and shadowy faces. He remembered being feverish and his mother rocking him and crooning a lullaby in cheek music—the music Newfoundlanders made up and sang to themselves or their children.
Falalalee. Falalaloo.
The memory was faint and hazy, like a dream.

Both his parents became ill when he was three years old and they were all taken on the hospital ship to the mission. When his parents died, Tom stayed on at Grenfell. He lived in the school and learned to farm potatoes, beets, and turnips for the long winters. The good people there were kind, but not a true family.

Now it was 1929 and at last he'd be living in a real home with fisherman Enoch Murray and his wife, Fiona. Mr. Murray seemed nice enough, but quiet and shy, as if he didn't know what to say to
Tom. Tom wasn't a bit sure what to say to him, either.

He felt another surge of nausea and he leaned over the rail again, upchucking what was left in his belly. He'd never be a fisherman! Right now he positively
hated
the sea!

“Are you feelin' squawmish, lad?” Mr. Murray was suddenly next to him. “You look green in the gills.”

“Aye, I'm a bit sick to the stomach, sir,” Tom answered.

“It's shockin' rough today. Could be an August gale blowin' up from the northeast.”

“I don't usually get seasick, Mr. Murray.”

“Call me Enoch. We'll both feel more t'ease usin' first names.” Enoch squinted at the horizon. “We should be home by tomorrow mornin'. Maybe it'll calm down tonight and you can get some sleep. I ordered a cabin for the night. I didn't have the money for two, but I think you're the one who needs it most.” He handed Tom a key with the number 21 on it. “It's down that way.” He pointed toward the back of the boat.

“Thank you … Enoch,” Tom said. “I promise I won't always be like this.”

Enoch nodded, but didn't smile. Was he regretting that he'd brought Tom back to live with him to help him with his fishing business? Tom felt almost too sick to care.

But he truly
did
care. He'd often wished for a real family in a real house. And now that it finally might be happening, he didn't want to ruin everything.

He wondered if the Murrays had a dog—one that he could run and play with, one that would be his friend. That would make everything perfect.

Tom made his way down to the cabin, hanging on to the rail as the boat continued lurching. Once inside cabin 21, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the one treasure he owned—his grandfather's pocket watch. He opened it. Five o'clock. It was too early to go to bed but he was sick and he just wanted to sleep.

Tom clicked the watch shut. His fingers traced the Celtic knot that was engraved on the cover. He tucked the watch under the pillow, just as he always did, then sank onto the cot, hearing
the comforting muffled ticktock, ticktock, like a heartbeat.

The
Constance
continued rocking—rocking—but now he was in his mother's arms and she was singing the lullaby.
Falalalee. Falalaloo.

W
hen Tom awoke he looked out the porthole. The waves had subsided and the August sun sparkled on the water. He had slept here all night! Mr. Murray … Enoch … didn't have his turn to use the cabin! Tom got up, washed his face in the small sink, put his watch back in his pocket, then went looking for Enoch. He found him standing on the deck.

“Sleep well?” Enoch asked.

“Yes, sir. I never woke once. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hog the stateroom.”

“It's all right, lad.” Enoch pointed to the cliffs. “We'll be home soon. Just beyond there is a narrow harbor that will take us to Back o' the Moon Island. It's a small island with several families that's just opposite Chance-Along, the nearest town.”

“How do you get to Chance-Along?”

“By wagon and boat. There's a rickety bridge at the end of the island. Sometimes it gets washed out in storms.”

“You must have a horse, then?”

“My neighbor, Amos Bosworth, and I bought one together. You'll meet Amos. He's a crousty rogue, but not bad once you get to know him.” Enoch looked Tom up and down. “He has a son your age named Bert—a right laddio like his pa. Gets in trouble a lot. And they have a girl, too. Nancy. And then there are the Rideouts. They've got a boy, Eddie, and a wee girl, Rowena. Ken's a fisherman like me, and Margaret, his wife, is the island's granny—you know, a neighborhood nurse that delivers babies and takes care of sick folk.”

At the big hospital mission where Tom had lived, he had heard the doctors there talk about “grannies” who treated illnesses with herbs and delivered babies in the outports. He'd also heard about the “charmers” who used magic to heal. Tom also knew stories about charmers who, just by holding their thumbs over an aching tooth, could ease the pain, or stop a nosebleed by tying a
green satin ribbon around your neck. The doctors at the mission warned folks about charmers, but they respected the grannies who helped sick people with herbal medicine and common sense.

“It'll be right nice to meet new friends,” Tom said. “Enoch, do you have a dog?”

“Nope. No dog.”

Tom sighed. He figured a dog was just too much to hope for. He gazed out at the shoreline, which was closer now.

“That's Chance-Along.” Enoch pointed to a white church spire and houses that clustered together on the side of the rocky coast. “It's a right modern town. They've even got electricity.” He patted Tom's arm. “You'll be on solid ground soon, my boy.”

“I'll feel better then,” Tom said. “I don't usually yuck like I did yesterday.”

“It was pretty rough on the sea yesterday,” Enoch said.

As the steamer moved toward shore, Tom could see dozens of fishing boats tied up against the wharves. All along the waterfront, thousands of codfish were drying in the sun on the tall flakes—stages
built of tree limbs and branches.
Chance-Along is a busy town,
he thought.