Beyond the Bright Sea

by Lauren Wolk

“You can learn things from other people, and you can learn things by keeping your eyes open. But you can learn things from your own self, too. From what your gut tells you. If you pay attention to it,”

Miss Maggie nodded. “I’m glad you trust me with your secrets,” she said. “And I’ll keep them.”

None of us said much as we ate. It was that good. The lobster cakes were hot and buttery, brown and crunchy on the outside, sweet and white on the inside. She’d baked cheese into the biscuits and topped each one with a dab of pepper relish. For dessert, she brought out a dish of strawberries dusted with a little cane sugar. The breeze curtsied as it passed by. A chimney swift sketched a curlicue overhead. If there had been music, it might have been too much to bear.

She dressed like that often when she went after her sheep or helped one of her cows with a calving—all business and matter-of-fact—but the pink in her cheeks made me think of roses. “You look pretty,” I said to her as we sailed out through the Narrows. “Oh, go on,” she said. But I could tell she was pleased. She glanced at Osh.

Osh looked at me so hard I thought I might break. “What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Not a thing,” he said. “I’m just looking at you. Exactly as you are right now. And not because you’ll change, though you will, of course. Treasure or not. But because if I could have built a human being, I would have built you. Just so.” Nobody had ever said anything that good about me.