The sun was setting on the horizon, a marine layer of haze painted the sky in orange and pinks. Captain Strand cast a glance at the sight, a cigarette already hanging from his lips. If memory served, he and Hook had planned to get some fishing in when they set down; in a place like New Melbourne, there seemed to be myriad ways to scratch that itch. They could head inland to the lakes and rivers to fish them, or the docks and piers, or even a boat on the ocean, if the mood caught them. Cal wasn’t picky, some time with a rod in the water and a cold drink suited him just fine all the same.
As fate would have it, there was an eight-and-a-half foot rod stored off the cargo bay with a modest tackle box, but he hadn’t touched it in seasons; it was an inheritance from Strand the first, of whose namesake he’d appropriated. Cal scratched his chin and strained his eyes peering into the dark of the Doll’s cargo bay for Joe before returning his gaze to the light display of New Melbourne’s sunset over the water.
Joe Hooker did not forget about fishing with the Captain. He slowly made his way down the grated steps to the cargo bay below. He wore his blue coveralls with the web belt around the waist and his pistol on his hip. He had exchanged the spent casing for a live round earlier. No reason going out with one chamber empty.
When he reached the cargo bay, he saw the Captain smoking a cigarette. Remembered the cigar he left in his breast pocket. Hook took the time to retrieve the hand wrapped tobacco and relight it. He hadn’t taken the time to finish it earlier when the Jinks brothers were there to pick up their cargo.
“Are we ready to go fishin’?” Hook asked the Captain as he stepped closer. Then took a drag on the cigar. He sent the smoke billowing out into the cargo bay. “How we gettin’ out there? Horseback?” Joe smiled at that. He hadn’t been on a horse in quite some time.
“Now that’s a fine idea,” Cal called, dropping his cigarette and grinding it beneath his heel. “Let me grab my pack and let’s get out--the dusk is creeping up on us and it’s perfect time for fishin’.” His rod and tackle box was close at hand, tucked behind a crate, strapped to the metal meshed wall. “Reckon we’ll need to find you a rod; I’m sure we’re bound to run into a shop in any direction… Let’s head down to the livery stable, then we’ll head in toward the boathouses. Shiny?” Captain Strand had his tackle box in one hand, the rod in the other as he looked to Hook.
“Shiny,” Hook smiled. He walked off the ramp behind the Captain. They headed up the dirt road in the direction of who knows what, looking for a livery. “Do you happen to know where the stable is?” With the thought of fishing on his mind, Hook was reminiscing back to his boy hood days on the farm. He would often go fishing or hunting with his brothers. Riding horseback was something they did often. He couldn't remember if he rode a horse since he left the farm. “Did I tell ya, I was raised on a farm? We used to ride often back then.”
“Just up the road, here. Won’t take but a minute.” The captain nodded, “Don’t remember you mentionin’ it. What’d your family farm?” As he listened to Joe’s response, the pair of them arrived at a copse of wooden structures, a livery stable among them, judging by the ornate sign depicting two rearing horses, hooves meeting in the middle. “Pensacola Livery Stable,” the sign read. Simple, as the building was, it appeared the inlaid gold to those letters was just about the breadth of their budget.
Before entering the livery, Hook snuffed out his cigar. He had just less than half left. He shoved the remaining stub in his shirt pocket and followed the captain’s lead. Joe dazed off for a few seconds before answering Cal’s question. “We had horses and cattle, some corn, both the kind you eat and the kind cows eat. The misses had a small farm out back she tended to with her daughter, Penelope. Mah brothers and I had plenty of chores to do around the farm. I would imagine it was a good life.”
Entering, Cal put down collateral for two paints with the attendant, and the pair of them were saddled up in near no time at all.
Upon entering the building, Joe was transported back in time. The conversation about the farm outside and now the smell of horse manure and the equine sweat brought him back to his teen years. A time where there was not a care in the world. Joe breathed it in. It was a good smell. Reliving his past with the sights and sounds of this distant world. Everything that happened after time spent on the farm was erased from his memory. He decided he was having a good day after all. He needed to put that earlier event out of his mind anyway.
Cal and Joe lead their mounts outside. Joe put his left foot into the stirrup and swung his right leg over the saddle. He allowed the toe to insert into the stirrup like it belonged. Somehow Joe’s mind confused Cal Strand with Jake, his oldest brother, “Hey Jake…” he started to say, but then cut himself short. “Cap’n do you know where the lakes are? I never been ta New Melbourne before.”
It caught him by surprise, Joe’s calling him by another name, but it got the wheels turning. Between glances inside the livery and the reminiscing of his old farm life, it seemed to Cal that Hooker had just his feet on the ground here, his mind a million miles away. Swinging himself into the saddle, he clicked his tongue to his horse. “Been to New Melbourne before, not this town, but one like it. This direction should take us to the river,” he said, pointing. Now, though, the horse turned toward the opposite, in search of a tackle shop.
“I muss admit, talkin bout the farm and these horses have taken me back to another place,” Joe admitted to Cal Strand. “You do remind me ah ma oldah brothah. His name was Jake. Not sure what it is yet, but you do trigger him for me.” Joe pulled his cigar stub back out and relit it. He smoked the tobacco as they rode along, headed to wherever they were going to get his fishing gear. “I wonder if we’ll run into them Skye kids out here?” Joe thought aloud.
“I just got that kinda face--least that’s what they tell me.” Ca smirked at Hook’s question. “Skye Kids?” He asked, “Is that some new hip band the kids are listening to nowadays?” He chortled, “Give me a tune from Earth-that-was anyday to drown out the electronic bebop they plaster across the cortex.” The main stretch down to the docks opened up before them as their horses slowly walked in the dimming light. As they turned down Palafox Street, one by one the shops that remained open lit their windows. There was “Carry’s Clever Catch,” and “Tina’s Tackle.” Cal shook his head. Was this whole town built for tourists or seamen? Down on the corner there was “Jinks Nautical Outfitters” and beyond that was “Bait, Tackle, and Rig.” Simple and straight to the point, Cal steered his paint in that direction.
“You know those kids that were on the
Doll with us from Persephone? Two boys and a girl? They was the Skye kids. I member one of them telling me their names; Sid, Mathias and, what was the third one’s name? Oh yea, Isaac.” Joe followed along with the Captain on his mount. It sure did feel great to be back in the saddle again.
When they cantered past Jinks Nautical Outfitters, Hook pointed the place out. “That was the place those boys came this morning to pick up their crates for Seatronics. But we don’ hafta stop there. How bout Tina’s Tackle? That sounds inviting.”
Joe led his horse to the front of the shop and headed inside. He knew the rod and reel he wanted and would pick up only a few items for a small tackle box. He wouldn’t need a lot. He planned to pick up a few lures to try out on the lake.
“Ah, Ball-bearings, Pipe, and Blue. They seem like good kids. Shame they had to get caught up in everything...” Cal’s voice faded as he changed the subject to Hook’s suggestion.
“You’re the boss,” Cal called, hopping down from his saddle. “I’ll wait here while you settle up. If you’re keen, you’re welcome to share my tackle line and lures; been seasons since they’ve seen any use.” Cal took in the sight of the town coming alive for the night life. There was a sea of its own swimming in the Captain’s mind. It felt good to breathe the free, salt air of New Melbourne, but this nagging feeling in his gut told him not to get too comfortable, especially since the only reason they managed to get here was at the hands of Badger. Not only that, but the Fed they’d shot full of holes and turned on the sharks was certainly an omen of something on the horizon. Cal considered another cigarette, opening the silver case only to think better of it, seeing only five neatly rolled soldiers left.
Joe went inside the store and returned to the captain and the horses less than fifteen minutes later. He had a rod and reel similar to the one Cal carried. A satchel contained some fishing line, hooks, sinkers, bobbers and a few lures as well as a small box to carry them all in. “I’d say I bout ready to do some fishing, boss.” Joe smiled ready to go.
“Well let’s get goin’--moon’s ‘bout up and I’m hankerin’ for some o‘ whatever you cook up once we get back.” So far as Cal saw it, this was a much needed time to forget; a permitted absence from the weight of what it meant to Captain the China Doll, and what he was beholden to for his troubles. Tonight, all that mattered was the cool calm of the night air, the quiet of the evening, and fish he knew to be spawning just up the river, all with a man who didn’t know Cal from Adam. “Heeyaw,” he called, leading the way inland.
It wasn’t long before they caught the river up from the delta and Cal clicked for his paint to halt. Hitching her to a nearby tree, Cal began removing his tackle and rod. The water looked alive, even from here on the bank, and though there were no other fishermen nearby, Strand had a good feeling, “This is the spot.”
Joe spurred on his mount with a whistle and dug in his heels. The paint took off sharply, appeared to be four year old Filly by the looks of her gumline. She kept pace with Cal’s horse with no problem. She was a strong mount. Joe enjoyed the galloping pace as the the two horses sped down the dirt track.
Finally, they arrived at their destination. It was dark except for the moonlight. Joe was looking forward to this distraction. He needed it about as much as anyone. He would have been perfectly fine without it, but he appreciated being here with this man he had only met recently. But he was his employer and he trusted him for simply that.
He hitched his horse up to the tree and spent a few minutes talking to the horse, “Good girl, You are a fast little filly, you know that? You are so fast.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out carrot. “I brought you a treat. Thanks for letting me ride, you are good girl.” He patted the horse’s neck as he talked to her. Mr. McGinnis told the boys on the farm to treat their animals well, talk to them and they will treat you well in return
Joe spent several minutes setting up the rod and the reel, attaching a hook with lure, sinkers and a bobber. Once he was ready, he caught up with Captain Strand. “Looks good, boss. I’ll move down here ways so as to not cross lines.” He only moved about 20 yards down the bank. Not a whole lot, just to spread the fish out and like he said, prevent their lines from crossing.
Cal watched from beneath his brim while Joe spoke to the horse and offered her a carrot from his satchel. The man had a way about him--it was was in his solemn respect for others and the cautious, wild look in his eye. Much like the horse, Cal reckoned, Hook was always watching, wanting to be treated fairly, to be directed this way and that. In the short time he’d known him, he’d sussed that orders were paramount to the man, and the pecking order meant more to him than a paycheck: it meant order, peace, and rightness in the world. There were demons behind his eyes, Cal knew the look.
Winding his knot, Strand went with a fifteen pound line, glancing over the fading light reflected in the river as it opened to the lake. For the sinker, he chose a slinky drifting weight, and set his hook with roe, leaving the pack out for Joe to use, should he want. Stepping out into the river, Cal reeled back his line and cast at a thirty degree angle up current, to let his line drift downstream and catch the attention of any salmon going the same way.
“So, Joe, you grew up on a cattle farm, with corn, brothers, and sisters, where someone taught you how to make a mean pattie, of which I can attest firsthand. Why’d you leave?” The Captain’s tone was inquisitive as he turned up the bank toward Hook.
Joe thought about the question for a minute or so. He knew different. “To be honest, I would have stayed on tha’ farm if the McGinnis’ allowed me. Life was peaceful. It was grand.” Joe drifted for a few, reflecting back to those blissful days. “But then the purple bellies came and shattered mah life. My brothers and I left tha farm to fight in the war. When the war was over, my brothers were gone, tha McGinnis’ were gone and tha purple bellies had taken tha farm. There was no goin’ back. I decided right then to take to tha heavens. To ply my abilities with people like yahself. Ah’ve been doing it ever since. Ah have not gone back. Tha war took my family. Now, mah crew is mah family.”
Joe had his rod and reel set, he had the line on, sinker, floater and lure all rigged up. He moved a bit further from Cal and cast his line out into the lake. Bringing up those dark memories seemed to provide him with a bit more adrenaline to get a decent heave to his cast. It was not in the river like Cal had, more into the lake itself. He slowly wound the line in, simulating prey a healthy salmon might like to take as it swam lazily near the surface of the water.
Focusing on the stillness of the lake and the receding light calmed Joe Hooker down. This place, this moment was going to be a temporary safe haven. A place to push those memories down deeper. He didn’t want them bubbling back up to the surface.
Like when he shot the Fed. It was more a reaction than an intention. The man was an obstacle that needed to be removed. He was a threat to his family. It was nothing more. Any normal person would have done the same thing. Shooting that man in the head was akin to taking out the garbage or cleaning the dirty dishes up after a meal. It needed to be done to preserve the serenity.
Cal thought on that last line from Joe. Was crew really family? You paid them to do a job, you shared meals, chores, hell, even air. The China Doll had been a lightning rod for relationships, that was certain. Cal had met Strand there, and some sort of father figure had emerged. He’d seen fresh-faced Billy grow into a capable and bright-eyed young man from just a teenager--much like Abigail. He’d also met Leticia… and let her go.
Maybe there was something to Hook’s pronouncement. Maybe crew was family, and, standing there, knee deep in the river with Joe on the bank, the wind whipped the silence out to sea, bending the pines in alternating rhythm. The last light of the sun was yet a green glimmer on the rounded edge of the sky, casting monochrome light on the lake and beach. Hook was a dimming figure on the sand, and Cal could feel himself caught up in the wind as the current pulled his lure across the bed of the river. The war had brought change to all of them, but here? Here, the war couldn’t reach.
“Fish on!” Joe called out. He felt the nibble on his lure, then the tugging. He jerked the rod to the left, he had definitely hooked something. He began to reel the line in quickly. The fish began to fight. He stopped reeling letting the fish try to fight away from him, giving him a little bit of line in return. Then the fish tired out. He returned to spinning the reel in again as fast as he could. The line got to about ten yards from the bank and the fish fought again to get away from the invisible string pulling him towards the shore. Joe gave him a length of fishing line allowing the fish to run for a bit, then after a few seconds it tired out again. Joe was able to pull the line back in and a large healthy salmon leapt out of the water wiggling at the end of his arced rod. Joe had a big smile on his face. “It’s a big one!” He didn’t have a net and simply let it drop on the mossy bank. He quickly dropped the rod and grabbed the fish. He got the hook out of its mouth. “Did ya bring anything to put the fish in, Cal? A bucket or something?”
When Cal heard the stirring, he started walking his line back in until the pole was free and his boots were on the shore next to Hook. Resting his rod against the tree his paint was fixed to, Cal wrested something off the ground from behind his mount.
“‘Deed I do!,” he said, bringing the cooler to the water to flood it. Pulling it back in toward shore, Captain Strand looked over the ‘big one.’ “Wuo Duh Tian Ah, you ain’t kiddin’. That thing could feed a family for a week... Or Abigail for a day. Here, drop it in,” Cal said, holding the lid open. He had a great big smile as he tipped his hat back. For a city boy, he was enjoying the peace and quiet of the dark river, just fine. With a snap of the cooler lid he added, “You can rest assured just ‘cuz you pulled the first one, don’t mean you’ll take the grand tally! Just watch me work,” he said, chucking his hat into the darkness on shore.
In a deft movement, the Captain had taken up his rod again, set fresh roe, and was reeled back to cast, ankle deep in the river. “And go find my hat!” He called facetiously.
Joe chuckled at the Captain’s comment about finding his hat. “So we having a competition here? Is that it?” Joe chided.
Then he thought about Abigail. “So, Cap’n you have history with Miss Abby? You knew her before this trip? She often talks about her Uncle Bob. And how did you come by the
China Doll?”
The look in Cal’s eye said that, yes, it was a competition, “More of a gentlemen’s agreement that when I bring home the biggest haul, I get bragging rights.” He cast out again toward the mouth of the river at thirty degrees. Of Abigail, he replied, “No more history than you or I do; just the right place at the right time. Though she has grown on me, and I think it’s the way she puts Rex in his place.” The Captain smiled at his own joke before answering Hook’s last question, “
China Doll’s been my home for more years than I care to count, ever since I was a young buck. Could say it was passed down to me, but that’s a story for another time--don’t think I don’t see what you’re doin’! You’re trying to ply an old man for steamy details from the past to put him off his fishin’! Oh--” the captain perked up as his rod shivered under the tug of something along the bottom. With a gentle nudge Strand realized the weight wasn’t stuck on the bottom and he yanked to set the hook. “Tian-Ling-Ling, Di-Ling-Ling!” (Abracadabra-alakazam).
Hook continued to grin. Obviously the Cap’n had
caught something.
Joe reeled his line all the way in. set it for another cast. He pulled back and to the right, then cast the line forward in a similar direction as the past two casts. ‘Plop!’ the lure dropped into the lake. He slowly began to reel the line in. The line stretched out as it acquired taught while pulling it in. Hook looked out across the lake. At night everyone learns how much they can see. It isn’t like being in a dark closet with no light. There is always some light and you can make out figures.
He continued to reel the line in. He looked across the lake at the pine trees assembled in formation along a slope stretching out for miles into what can only be described as a mountain. The star-speckled blackness illuminating the land with sufficient light to see the beauty of the landscape. The sound of the horses snorting. It might have been something, but he didn’t know the horses, so it might be nothing. But if it were something, the horses would know it before either of the humans detected anything.
He reeled the line in all the way, set it for another cast and repeated the process dropping the lure back into the lake. “Did you catch somethin’ Cap’n?” Joe continued to reel the line in. He heard the horses snort again. Decided it was time to at least give a cursory glance. While reeling the line in, Joe scanned the tree line behind them. He watched the horses, they appeared to be sleeping. He could not see their eyes. ‘Probably nappin’,’ he thought to himself referring to the horses. He smelled the air, but it was a gentle breeze coming in over the lake rather than from the direction of the trees. That would be of no use.
By now Cal was holding up a hefty ten pound salmon to Joe as he gently unhinged the hook by groping fingers alone. Sure, he stabbed his finger once or twice, but there was no way to break his humor now. “I got a good feelin’ about tonight, Hook,” he said before slipping the fish into the cooler. “Just you wait, in a couple hours we’ll be full up with all the main event of your next fish-fry.” Captain Strand had already baited his hook with some more roe before he waded back out into the water.
True to his word, the captain brought in a grand total of five fish, and with the three Hook caught, there was a mighty feast brewing in that clear, windswept sky ahead. As he hitched the now heavy cooler to his horse, he delegated his tackle box and rod to Joe’s. Mounted up in the cool evening air, he watched as Hook led the way back to the livery, and then to the Doll herself.
"I'm gonna need some help gettin' this here cooler up to the galley." Joe was already thinking of the recipe he was going to break out. "Might as well save this for Tamarraw night. If anyone needs food tonight, I'll make some burgers and dogs. They easy. But I will look to see if'n ah need some spices for the recipe."
The men got the fish stored in the freezer. Hook planned to clean them all tonight before he went to bed. He agreed it was a good day after all.
Cal helped Hook to the freezer, then sat on the empty cooler in the galley, “Good idea you had,” the captain posited with a yawn, “The cold and quiet did me some good.” Strand surveyed his still soggy boots and britches, “But now I could do with some cleaning up. Same goes for you; There’s no gettin’ the smell of fish off while here in Pensacola, but we earned some ‘r-and-r,’ I’d say.”
He got up to head toward the showers, “Oh, and if anyone asks who bagged the most fish, you’ll tell them true, won’t you?” The grin he wore stretched from ear to ear.
“Yes sah!” Hook responded. He was fine that the captain caught more fish than he. A shower would definitely be on the agenda.
