She doesn't say anything

If Red picked up on the change in the relationship between Cindy and Julien she made no comment about what they had been up to. She was however pleased with both the prickleberries and eggs and as they sat by the fire-pit that evening she listened good naturedly to Cindy’s edited version of the lessons she had given Julien on the trip back.

Red had been busy during the afternoon. All of the cottage’s windows had been boarded up and the stonework chimney was also sealed at its peak, two heavy canvas bags lay on the two bunks ready for tomorrow morning. Even so Red had the two ship’s hands sweep the sand from the cottage and swab down the floor, carry in the stack of firewood from the porch and stack it on a rectangular sailcloth along the Eastern wall of the main room. Julien was relieved when the long list of tasks was put on hold and Red called them to the firepit.

“Food’s ready.” She called out to Julien as he returned from watering Davies horse and feeding him a bowl of oats to supplement the poor grazing it had found. Somehow Red had found time to whip up a biscuit batter and in addition to the fish stew and tubers they had bowl after piping hot bowl of pickleberry cobbler.

“Never could make a pie-crust.” Red told them “But the cook on the Kranderkill showed me how to make these drop biscuits and assured me that everything tastes better if its cooked in a Dutch oven with a layer of biscuits topside.”

“She’s not joking.” Cindy assured Julien. “I’m a little surprised she didn’t scramble up the eggs and cover them with her biscuits.” But she took another big mouthful of cobbler, so big in fact that a trickle of blue juice ran down her chin. “Not that I’m complaining about this cobbler.” She laughed cheerfully as she wiped her chin with her hand and licked the juice from her palm. Julien had never seen a girl eat with such gusto in his life he was used to seeing women eat with tiny bites primly dabbing at the corners of their mouths with napkins between bites. The irony of their chatter about having to watch their waists was that Cindy ate more than three times what they consumed and had a figure that rivaled the prettiest of the bunch. Red must have picked up on Julien’s surprise because she chided her niece.

“Slow down, you red-billed herring-gull!” Julien smiled at Red’s comparison, the herring-gull was known to sometimes eat so much during the herring runs that the birds could not take flight and became easy prey themselves. Cindy smiled good-naturedly as she spooned in another bite, but she did slow her pace a little. Red shrugged and turned to Julien.

“So tell me what you know about why Brenan has us sailing for Veertor in such a hurry.”